Like breakfast, Draco hadn't been at dinner. Even so, how he dominated every second of Hermione's thoughts made his presence powerful and heavy at the Gryffindor table. The feel of his hand brushing down her arm. His long fingers clasped around an outstretched cup of fresh pumpkin juice.
More than anything, his voice played over and over in her mind, more tangible than anything else. The words he'd spoken so casually at lunch no longer felt casual.
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?
It played over and over like waves on a beach. Rhythmic. Soothing. Powerful.
Something important. Something to continue from our conversation last night.
She hadn't been able to shake the nerves from her bones since he said that over lunch.
The fact that he was now not at dinner at all did nothing to ease her spirit. She'd noticed his absence as soon as she stepped into the Great Hall, but she pushed the worry from her mind.
He wanted to talk to her.
He would talk to her.
After dinner. Notatdinner.
She could wait.
She'd have to wait.
She would wait.
While she waited, she ate dinner with Harry and Ron, both of whom sported much better attitudes than at breakfast that morning, and no one brought up Draco.
After all, Harry had far more interesting things to discuss: His most recent meeting with Professor Dumbledore, for one, and the memories they'd seen in the Pensive, for another.
She'd not fully understood why the headmaster had taken such time to show and explain these memories to Harry. Yes, she agreed that informing Harry of the true state of things was far overdue, but these memories didn't seem to have much importance in the grand scheme of defeating Voldemort. Sure, the circumstances of his birth via love potion were as intriguing as it was pitiful, but didn't give Harry any real direction.
She thought the same when Harry described what they'd seen in the Pensive on his second visit. Voldemort showed paths of being sociopathic as a child. Is that really that surprising? After all, they'd already known that when Tom Riddle was only 17, he intentionally set Slytherin's Basilisk loose in the school.
Hermione worried that these meetings might not be the most effective use of Harry and Dumbledore's time together. Did they really need to take such long breaks in between sessions? If all of this information was oh-so important according to Dumbledore, why not prioritise these meetings a bit more? What else could be more important than giving Harry everything he needs to know to defeat Voldemort?
So when Harry started talking about his most recent meeting with the Headmaster, Hermione already had a bit of a sour taste in her mouth.
Not to mention how Draco, in a desperate time of need, went to Dumbledore for help and was told tocarry the fuck on.
She'd lost every shred of respect for Dumbledore as she read through the notes Draco had made to review the conversation. Draco wasn't being dramatic, or daft. She read what he'd said, decoded his slew of riddles, and analysed his body language.
Dumbledore didn't help the desperate and terrified boy who poured his heart out over tea.
She wasn't sure she'd ever forgive him for that.
She may no longer respect the way Dumbledore used his vulnerable students like pawns in a game, but she was Harry's friend, and after all, if Dumbledore wasn't going to help Harry, who would if not her?
So she sat– pushing Draco from her thoughts as best she could– and she listened as Harry told them everything he'd seen in the pensive with Dumbledore the night before.
And this time, she knew they'd uncovered something important.
A Horcrux.
She'd never heard of such magic before, which probably meant it was something sinister. She filed away the information for future consideration. Perhaps she might mention it to Draco. She didn't want to offend him or startle him of anything, but his family being so ancient and… well… dark… Maybe he's heard of them?
Speaking of Draco, the stroke of the bell tower signified that Dinner hour was over, half seven. She packed away a few rolls just in case he would be hungry and, with polite goodbyes and a promise to check the library on Horcruxes, Hermione left the Great Hall.
When she stepped into the Room of Requirement, it was immediately clear that Draco had been there for quite a while.
Parchment lay strewn across every surface– his desk, her coffee table, even the floor. She couldn't tell what he was working on at first glance. It didn't seem to be the vanishing cabinet, at least.
The books he had open, and there were many of them, spanned many unrelated topics. Defence Against the Dark Arts, Advanced charms, transfiguration, Apparition, potion work and antidotes… images and words jumped off each page competing for her attention, but even after a moment of studying the mess around her, she could not figure out how it all went together.
That's when she saw it.
It reminded her of the starlit sky from the night she'd led Draco to the top of the astronomy tower, the night when her life both began and ended. When she thinks about that night, she thinks of many things. The feel of Draco's strong shoulders, his hands on her face, the way he kissed her so passionately without a thought…. But most of all, she thinks of spectacular constellations made up of beautiful, individual, shining stars, and the way his eyes shone just like them… that is what she thinks of as she admires Draco's creation on the wall of their special room.
Thousands of tiny glittering lights beam from the expansive wall behind their couch like a living work of art. Each speck of illumination glowed a warm white marker and, she noticed now, formed shapes like constellations on the wall.
But the splattering of glowing lights on the wall weren't constellations, characters, myths. No, it was obvious now. The glittering shapes he'd made were rooms, hallways, closets.
A map.
The most beautiful map she'd ever seen.
But why?
The glow cast Draco in a haunting light. His jaw was tight, eyes mad. She'd never seen him so intensely focused.
She let her bag fall to the ground with a thump. "It looks like Churchill's War Rooms in here."
She hoped he would find it funny, or flattering, or curious, but he just looked up from the massive tome he'd been eyeing and blinked at her.
"What?" It was like she'd pulled him from a trance.
Realising she'd interrupted what she recognized as a deep, complex thought, she shrugged dismissively. "Nothing," she started. "I have no idea what this is, Draco, but this is beautiful" She gestured to the map he'd cast and hoped her eyes conveyed her amazement rather than any judgement.
He shook his head as if to clear his mind, then ran his hand through his messy white-blonde hair, and looked at the space on the wall she'd indicated. "Oh," she was pleased to see a smile crack his focused and stony facade. His head tilted at an angle. "I suppose there is a certain beauty to this. It's a map. Of Hogwarts. Not the whole castle, of course, just the dungeons. I was trying to visualise every detail."
He didn't turn his head away from the map. Hermione saw the light reflect and flicker in his grey eyes. It made him look lovely and alive.
"This was the first real spell I ever learned. I've been doing it since before I had a wand. My mother, she'd let me use hers when I was a boy. She was always redecorating and remodelling the manor, so she'd make these maps, these sketches, of her designs. They'd fill a whole wall for where she'd put the artwork or the curtains. She'd clear a whole room and set the floor alight marking where furniture would go. I loved them when I was small. I suppose, I forgot how special they were, how they shined, how beautiful it was–is." He looked at her then with shining eyes. "Thanks for reminding me."
She didn't say anything for forty-nine seconds.
Speechless.
Struck.
Swooning.
He looked at her warmly,sowarmly. And he was calm, at peace, she could see it in the way his brows softened and his shoulders dropped the tension they usually carried. She wasn't sure if he actually had more colour in his cheeks, or if it was the lighting, but either way, it suited him.
He looked happy. Healthy. Whole. Even if it was only for forty-nine seconds, she didn't want to say anything to disrupt the moment.
This was the real Draco. Her favourite Draco.
She'd make it her life mission to settle his soul every chance she could because this was how he was supposed to be. Deserved to be. At peace.
When life was so messy, complicated, and dark, every moment of light was vital.
When she realised she was still staring at him plainly, she smiled.
"What is the map for?" she asked.
"It's a map of Hogwarts Dungeons," he explained. "Or at least everything I can think of right now, but I feel like I might be missing something."
She stepped backwards so that she could look at the map from farther away letting the tiny individual dots of light blend into lines and shapes. Studying it, she could see the passageways she knew, oriented herself by finding the Defense classroom and going from there. Potions. Filch's office. The Kitchens.
She stepped forward, pointed hand outstretched. "A closet." She offered. "There's a closet between Potions 1 and Potions 2 for cauldron storage."
Draco nodded and wordlessly traced the outline of this closet with the tip of his wand. As the wand moved across the wall, the shimmering dots sprang from it, following in its wake. They lingered there, glistening, like all the others.
She loved the way the magic reflected in the warmth of his eyes and wondered if he might think the same about hers.
Before she could let her thoughts run away with that idea, Draco was clearing scrolls from the cluttered couch, making room for her to sit.
"I asked you here for something important, Hermione." She detected a touch of nerves in his voice. "Will you sit?"
She obliged quickly, ready to listen to whatever he had to say.
"I need your help," he rushed out, eyes a bit wide.
The soft shoulders and relaxed jaw of a few moments before were now gone. Back was the Draco she was most accustomed to. Tight, stressed, and tired-looking. She loved this version of Draco, too, but not in the same way. She lovedthisDraco by wanting to take away his pain.
"Anything, Draco. Of course," she promised. "Help with what?"
"Don't agree too soon, Hermione, as much as I appreciate it, I feel like you should really put some thought into this. I'm asking a lot of you. There's danger involved and–
"Draco, you haven't asked anything of me yet. And I want to help. Tell me what it is."
He nodded, took a quick breath, and didn't need her to say anything else.
"I need help stealing back the bottle of poisoned mead Istupidlygave to Professor Slughorn. I thought about it and you were right, last night. Exactly right! How would Voldemort even know if I took the bottle of mead back? As long as I don't get caught, taking the bottle back puts me at no further risk than I already am. It's the right thing to do, and I want to do right from here on out. Will you help me? I need a plan, and I figured with you being, well,you, and with you being part of the Slug Club, you may have some helpful ideas for me. But if you don't want any part of this, Hermione I understand. You don't have to, but I just thought–
She cut him off, bringing her hand to still his nervously bouncing knee. "Of course, I'll help you, Draco. Of course."
She was proud, so proud, of him. She knew this was no easy decision. Stealing back the mead, while being the right thing to do, was no small feat. If they took back the poisoned bottle, they'd – he'd – be actively defying Voldemort for the first time.
Right or wrong, that took some serious bravery.
Inside, she felt an incredible pull to throw her arms around him and hug him close, to show him how amazing his decision made her feel, how proud she felt of him.
He eyed the touch of her hand on his knee and released a breath. "Thank you, Hermione," he said quite seriously. "I– I don't want to mess this one up, you know?" His hand covered hers, holding it there. "I don't want anyone else to get hurt so… thank you."
He let out a small, remorseful smile and removed his hand. She blinked at the loss of warmth from him.
She removed her hand after another beat, too, afraid it would be too much if she lingered any longer even though she craved the contact. The electricity swirling around them was dangerous.
"What can I do to help?" She asked, refocusing.
Draco pulled a sheet of parchment toward him and explained what he'd written so far. He'd clearly thought about this a lot already, which was another thing to ponder. It was clear by the sheer volume of work he'd put into this idea already that he would have made a plan to take back the mead on his own, even if she didn't want to help.
Another wave of pride swelled within her.
Her heart was melting, she could visualise the puddle of mush that was made of her as it pooled around her feet on the cold, flagstone floor. An overwhelming sense of fulfilment consumed her. She tried to remember, for a moment, how he'd changed in the last few months. He once spoke to her with such venom and disdain, and yet now he was thanking her, caring for her, turning against everything he knew to do the right thing, emboldened by her encouragement and support. She let out a sigh of contentment, of joy, of pride, and smiled as she looked over his shoulder to read what he'd written.
Standard-sized bottle, antique green glass, stoppered with standard cork and wax seal (colour unknown). The bottle is marked with the classic Three Broomsticks emblem, etched into the glass, characteristic of her top-shelf stores. (No paper label).
Delivered on the 25th of December via owl from Madam Rosmerta of The Three Broomsticks
Horace Slughorn: Cunning, smart, manipulative. Slytherin Head of House. Teaches many sessions of Potions throughout the week. (Class schedule would be helpful)
Slughorn often drinks wine (minimum two servings) with dinner and regularly attends the Great Hall for meals.
Slughorn keeps his bar cart well stocked with various drinks and spirits, located in his rooms.
"I'm writing down everything I know already," he explained, noticing her attention. "About the mead, Slughorn, his office… Have you ever been in his office?" he asked.
"Y– yes," she stumbled, blinking at him, momentarily having a difficult time putting words together. In this moment, the stark difference between Draco Malfoy and her Gryffindor friends was hard to ignore and comforting to observe.
Harry and Ron were her best friends. Caring, passionate, daring, and strong. They saw problems and then faced them– clumsily and with little planning, and a disconcerting amount of entirely-avoidable danger.
Usually.
But Here sat Draco, a startling contrast, making a carefully thought out plan and consulting her for help, rather than expecting it. It made her all the more eager to help.
Yes. They'd take the bottle back. They'd keep anyone else from getting hurt. They'd find a way to save Draco and save Dumbledore and saveeveryone.
"We will need a second bottle then, something to replace it. Can you get another one?" Hermione asked him.
Draco nodded slowly, writing that down, and then he looked at her. "Yes," he said, punctuating his answer with an excited jab of his quill. "Yes, I'll take care of that immediately. Good thinking."
"What else?" Hermione asked.
"Did you attend that Slug Club dinner party back at the start of the year? Blaise mentioned it. What do you remember of his office from that?"
"Well," she started, smiling, "He's got a lot of magical artefacts. I'm not sure what they all do. They may be something we need to consider if we're going to sneak in. His rooms are cluttered and messy. There are piles of books everywhere… vials of potion ingredients. You know, just… cluttered a bit. But everything is important to him in some way. Most things are gifts from previous students, the notable ones that he loves to collect and name-drop to feel important…"
Hermione trailed off before continuing. "Professor Slughorn seems to be a very superficial man. He's desperate to earn favour with those he thinks will have influence and importance." Hermione nodded, happy with her quick analysis. She continued, "Influence is what he considers most valuable."
Draco scribbled this down hastily, noting the importance.
"We can use that somehow, I'm sure," Draco offered. "He hand-picks students for the Slug Club that he wants in his circle." He said, turning his chin to look at her with a grin. "He picked you."
She smiled sheepishly. "Yes, I suppose he did."
"We can use that."
"Use what?"
"Use you," Draco uttered.
"Excuse me?"
"I mean," he began defensively, realising how it sounded. "It would be easy for you to bait him, wouldn't it? He likes you,choseyou. We can use that– useyou. What if you distract him, talk with him, keep him busy, while I somehow sneak in and take it?"
"Draco, I think you're overestimating my acting ability. I don't know how I could–
But Draco, thinking of something, lit up having already thought this through. "Forgive me, I don't mean to push this on you if you don't want to do it, but consider this for a moment… It would hardly be acting, right?" He shrugged. "You'd just have to stop by his office, potentially after dinner when he's already a bit inebriated. Ask him about Potion making, offer some flattery, and ask some of your highly intelligent questions to remind him how brilliant you are. You know, be your typical swotty self," Draco couldn't stop himself from smirking, even as she pretended to be offended.
The playful push at his shoulder also couldn't chase away his smirk. The comfortable way she touched him made his spirits soar.
With a small smile sneaking onto her face, Hermione turned over the idea in her mind and took a breath. It certainly sounded doable when he explained it that way. Asking questions of a professor was hardly out of character for her. And yes, she could admit that she could be quite swotty from time to time. But how could it distract the old man so much that he wouldn't notice Draco sneaking in?
Hermione voiced her question, but Draco was ready with possible solutions.
Polyjuice Potion would take far too long to brew, and even then, who would he change into? A Confundus Charm was much easier, but wouldn't yield predictable results. Confunding a teacher… Hermione wasn't sure she could do that. Quidditch tryouts were one thing but a professor…
Draco suggested a Disillusionment Charm, which, she had to admit, wasn't a bad idea. They hadn't learned it in class yet, but she'd read ahead in the Charms textbook and understood the theory. She certainly hadn't tried the complex charm yet, and they'd have to be very successful with it to not get caught by Professor Slughorn.
She began to ask about his skill with that particular charm when he pulled the charms textbook forward and flipped to find the page.
"I've never tried it, but I've been Disillusioned before." At her curious eyebrow, Draco smirked. "When we were kids, like age seven or eight, my friends and I got really into Hide and Seek for a while. I know it sounds silly, but our parents didn't ever want us around, so naturally, we found ways to make hiding fun. Well, the thing was that Theo was somehow amazing. We'd never be able to find him. Pansy and I searched the whole grounds of Malfoy Manor once before finally having to ask a House Elf to help. Well, anyway, of course, this infuriated me to no end. I hate losing, I always have, even then. I'd finally had enough of Theo's winning streak, so I'd convinced my mother to Disillusion me so I could win," He paused, smirk falling slightly before he looked at her and smiled a soft smile. "I suppose it was cheating and not a fair win, but after being bested by that fool for months, it made me feel better."
A chuckle escaped his lips then. "I don't know how this was relevant, other than I'm familiar with the sensation of the spell." He shrugged. "Not sure how helpful that is, but anything could be helpful."
Hermione smiled encouragingly at him in response. "You're right, anything could be helpful." They sat in silence, Draco scribbling down more notes and Hermione reading through the information on Disillusionment Charms.
She could learn this. She's learned more advanced things before, she could do it again.
The quiet hum and the sounds of studying were comforting to Hermione's worried heart. Quills scratching, pages turning, and Draco's calm and steady breathing provided easy background noise that helped her focus.
When she noticed this, she thought about how perfect Draco was as a study partner. He wasn't distracting or obnoxious. He didn't interrupt her for frivolous reasons but somehow knew exactly when to ask a question or offer ideas. He didn't crowd her space, or mock her efforts. He complimented her detail and returned books to the shelf for her when she closed them. Occasionally, he'd smile at her over the top of his book, or just stare at her for a moment as he thought through something before returning to his work.
This always felt incredibly intimate and made her heart thump wildly in her ribcage, but it wasn't a bad thing necessarily. It felt natural. It felt right to share space while working on separate things. He gave her the mental space she needed to think while staying physically close in a way that made her feel secure. She–
"Oh! I almost forgot to tell you!"
Jerked from her third attempt at reading the paragraph on the page in front of her, she again noted Draco's perfectly timed distraction.
"What?" she wanted to know, a bit of worry settling in her brow.
"Snape approached me today."
She was surprised of course, and his sentence did nothing to settle any of her worries. Her sharp tone of voice and wide eyes gave this away. "Hewhat?"
Draco's leg was bouncing when he started to explain further. "He asked me to stay after class, after Defense today. I'll tell you, my eyes went wide, too. I felt like I was going to have a panic attack. I didn't know what to think, what he was going to say."
Noticing Hermione's growing frown as he spoke, Draco shook his head and decided to get to the point.
"No, it's okay!" Draco soothed, albeit poorly. "He offered me Occlumency lessons."
Hermione could only stare at him for several beats. She blinked. "I hate to sound repetitive, but… hewhat?"
Draco looked at her as if she had a second head. As if he thought that this was a completely brilliant development and didn't understand her shock.
"He kept me after class," Draco spoke slowly, confused. "He boasted about his mental faculties, going on and on about how being a master legilimens and occlumens had benefited him. How any wizard can master magic, spells, or even potions, but very few can truly master their own minds. Most people are unhappy in their mind, you see, which makes these fields of study most impressive. Anyways, he offered–
"I don't know about this, Draco," She interrupted. She was biting her lip. "I mean, can we trust him?"
He was prepared for this argument and sat up straighter to respond. "Well, that's the thing, Hermione, we don't know who he's loyal to yet, but this might be the opportunity to find out."
"But if you let him into your head again, you run the risk of him learning more than would be safe for him to know. This could very well be a ploy to learn more from you, too, couldn't it?"
Draco, to his credit, seemed to consider this for a moment because he ran a slightly shaking hand across his face before looking at her steadily. He leaned forward and she watched his eyes flit over their cluttered coffee table and all of its contents.
He sat up taller. "But Snape already knows everything," he said clearly, decisively. "Snape already knows everything of importance. If he wants to ruin me, he has everything he needs to do so. He doesn't need anything else."
Hermione could see the silver swirling in his eyes, molten, and moving. She thought of volcanoes and magma and the way pressure builds below the surface before everything changes.
"The night at the manor," Draco said, "Snape searched through my mind and I can't think of anything of value he hasn't seen already. I mean, think about it, Hermione. He saw that I was behind the cursed necklace. He saw the vanishing cabinet and the progress we've made so far. He saw us on the astronomy tower…" He smiled sheepishly as he trailed off and she might have caught his cheeks pinken, but he looked away to compose himself. "Snape saw that I met with Dumbledore. He saw me ask for help… If he wanted to turn me over to Voldemort, he would have done that immediately. He would have, right then and there, told Voldemort that I was in love with a Muggleborn– Potter's Muggleborn at that, and he would have told him that I'd betrayed him, turned myself over to Dumbledore. Wouldn't he have done that? Why would he wait?"
She shrugged, not being able to find any fault with his argument. She was also stuck on being referred to as "Potter's Muggleborn," and the way Malfoy's lip curled when he said it. She'd think about that later that night as she fell asleep. "Well, I don't–
But Draco wasn't done.
"Conversely, if Snape was loyal to Dumbledore, wouldn't he have punished me in some way for what I've done to Katie Bell? Or, I don't know, maybe he would have done something to help me? Stop me? He bloody brewed the vial of poison for the mead himself and all but forced me to take it. How do you figure that?"
The temperature of the room rose and was growing uncomfortable. Draco was wringing his hands. The calm and comfort of before was gone.
Hermione reached over and covered his hands with hers, stilling him, grounding him. "I hear what you're saying, I understand, and I agree. Professor Snape does know enough about you to cause problems on either side. We need to ask why he hasn't said anything yet?"
Draco nodded, his breath settling. "Perhaps Occlumency lessons are the way we solve this puzzle. He already has enough damning information about me, but I can use this as an opportunity to see into him. I'm… I'm rather decent at mental magic, I think. I think I'll do well with the lessons and I can–
"No," Hermione said sharply.
"What do you mean,'no'?"
"You want to flip it and get into his mind, don't you?" she accused.
The tops of Draco's cheekbones pinkened as if caught. "Well," he said, "What's so wrong about that?"
Hermione sighed as her hand found his knee. "Look, Draco, it feels like a dangerous idea. Harry took these lessons from Snape last year and they were dreadful, honestly, Harry was miserable and angry following each session and Snape was shamelessly disagreeable, torturous even. I'd hate to see you–" She let that sentence hang there for him to finish and let out a breath. "Look, I just worry that it would do more harm than good. It was awful for Harry, and in the end, Harry wasn't any better off than he was before."
It was Draco's turn to take hold of her hands. He took the time to look into her eyes, holding them. His eyes were fierce with a softness around the edges, and the skin at his temples crinkled slightly.
He spoke slowly, steady gaze unwavering.
"Hermione… I am so much better… than Potter… could ever hope to be."
This earned him a cracked smile. "Draco, I'm serious," she laughed, pulling her hands away.
"As am I!" he defended with his own smirk.
"Harry is great at Mental Magic," she defended. "He could cast a corporeal Patronus in third year and can throw off the Imperious curse faster than anyone in our year–"
"Fine, sure, Potter isn't completely useless, but a Patronus is a highly emotional magic. Itrequireshappiness. Occlumency, however, requires self-control, which, I'm sure you can agree, Potter isnotcapable of." Draco's smirk grew. He knew he won the argument. "Not to mention," he added, "Potter and Snape hate each other. That can't have made their lessons easy."
"That's true," Hermione reasoned. "And Professor Snape has always held you in his favour."
They were silent for a moment, both of them realising that they were sitting very near one another, yet neither of them wanted to move away.
Draco's tone was heavy when he broke the silence. "I think I should do it," he said.
Hermione let out a long breath, letting her shoulders fall in resignation. "I just want you to be careful then, Draco. Please."
Draco squeezed her hand gently, before standing and starting to clean up. The silence was heavier now than it was before, but still, Hermione found it comfortable.
He walked her back to Gryffindor Tower without her having to ask and, not that she was expecting it, he did not kiss her goodnight.
He did promise he'd be on time for classes tomorrow, and she promised to save him a seat in potions.
Her heart was filled with all of the warm feelings, but it still took her a while to fall asleep, which was annoying, and she berated herself and her unnecessary, swirling, thoughts.
She berated herself because there were important things to think about, but she wasn't thinking about any of them! She wasn't thinking about the plan to retrieve the mead, or Draco's monumental and valiant decision to atone for his mistakes and make things right. She wasn't thinking about horcruxes or Harry, or Tom Riddle's traumatic childhood. She wasn't thinking about the danger, or Voldemort, or Disillusionment Charms. She wasn't thinking about Snape or Occlumency lessons or the memories Snape would see inside Draco's mind.
No.
She was thinking about the fact that Draco didn'tneedher.
He didn'tneedher help. He was going to do this with or without her. He didn't need her help or her permission. He didn'tneedher, but hewantedher.
It might seem to be a subtle, unimportant difference, but to Hermione, it meant everything.
He wanted her to help shape a plan to get the mead. He wanted her opinion on lessons with Snape. He wanted her to be included in every bit of his life, but he wasn't pushy or expectant or desperate in the way she'd experienced with others before.
Harry didn'twanther help learning about Horcruxes, heneededit. He always needed her. He probably always will, honestly. From cursed broomsticks to Devil's Snare, the Accio spell, starting Dumbledore's Army, saving him from Umbridge… Harry needed her quite often. Ron, too. Everyone was always needing her. Her notes. Her time. Her brain. Her magic.
Being needed felt good, too, of course, and being needed was important. But beingneededwas not nearly as special or warm or fulfilling as beingwanted.
Necessity was so impersonal. Want was the foundation of a meaningful life.
You need to eat healthy food every day, but it doesn't mean you want to. You need to visit Madam Pomfrey for foul-tasting potions when you are ill, but it doesn't mean you want to take them.
When you need something and you get it, it is hardly anything special It's expected almost. But when you want something and you get it, it is extra. A bonus. A prize.
To Draco, her help was his prize.
It felt good to be wanted.
She hadn't had much experience with the feeling before, but now she knew that it was the most incredible, fulfilling feeling in the universe. She felt light, and safe, and warm. She loved this feeling. She–
A startling question popped into her brain and she swallowed.
Waswantbetter thanlove?
After all, you couldlovesomeone and notwantthem.
She cursed herself some more and tossed around in bed. Her thoughts were beginning to sound like Parvati's… or worse, Lavender's. She was too smart, too strong to be pondering such ridiculous, girly thoughts.
She had many more important things she should spend her time considering, not her relationship with Draco or the way he wants her.
No.
It is in human nature to often want something so badly that you ruin it before it begins. Overthinking. Fantasising. Imagining. Expecting. Worrying. Doubting. Hermione wasn't going to do that. Not this time. She wouldn't. She would just let it naturally evolve. Surely, that was the best way.
She wouldn't think of how his eyes light up when he speaks of warm childhood memories. She wouldn't overanalyse his reaction to Zabini's attempts to get a rise out of him. She wouldn't expect goodnight kisses, or imagine his hand in hers.
She wouldn't.
She might not.
She would try not to, at least.
She would just let it naturally evolve.
A/N: Thanks again to everyone who took the time to comment, like and subscribe last week! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. Fun stuff is coming your way.
Love and Hugs, OxfordElise