Hermione
.
"Granger, what have you done to your teeth?!"
Hermione raised an automatic hand to her teeth and placed her fingers on them, as if to check that they were still there. They were, but still sensitive and short.
"You mean, since you made them three feet longer?" she said sarcastically.
"No, they don't look the same as they did before!"
He looked deeply shocked and couldn't take his eyes off Hermione's mouth, which made her a little uncomfortable. She was so stunned that she barely noticed the fact that Malfoy had moved Hermione's bag and taken a seat in the chair opposite her.
Hermione was quite stunned that Malfoy had noticed the change in her teeth when no one had made the slightest comment to her since the day before. Not Harry, not Ron, not Neville, not Lavender, not Parvati, not anyone. He was the only one who had seen it.
"I had them shortened." she explained.
"What? But why?"
"Because I wasn't going to leave those awful things in my mouth!"
"No but I mean, why didn't you leave them the same size?"
She shrugged vaguely.
"I don't know, I thought I'd take advantage of your awful spell to shrink them a bit."
Hermione couldn't realise that she was having this conversation with the boy who had cast the spell in question. He squinted, his eyes still fixed on her mouth as she spoke, as if judging her physical change.
She had prepared a whole speech in her head in case he dared to come to her table, but it suddenly faded from her mind when he found himself in front of her.
"Did that hurt?" he asked, a little more softly.
"Why, would you be happy if it did?"
He rolled his eyes.
"Yes, I love listening to my victims' stories after I've inflicted a teeth-enlarging spell on them, it's well known."
She almost smiled in spite of herself.
"Yes, it hurt." she admitted. "And ever since Madam Pomfrey made them the same size again, they've been very sore, so I can only drink teas and soups."
He watched her a little longer, obviously in the throes of intense inner reflection. Embarrassed, she looked down at her parchments to avoid looking at him again. After long minutes of awkward silence, she thought she heard a whisper:
"I'm sorry."
She thought she'd been dreaming. It couldn't have been Draco Malfoy who had just said that. But when she looked at him again, she saw a sheepish expression on his face that she had never seen before.
"Excuse me?"
"I'm sorry." he repeated, low as ever. "I didn't mean to cast the spell on you, it ricocheted."
Hermione hesitated for a moment, then looked away from Malfoy's face.
"Your apology doesn't change anything. Even if you didn't mean to hurt me, you did anyway. And you wanted to hurt Harry, the fact that it was deflected onto me doesn't change your intentions."
"I know." he grumbled.
"Why did you do it?" she asked. "What made you do it?"
"He provoked me." Malfoy defended himself.
He looked like a sulking child. She grew impatient:
"Nonsense. You're the one who pissed him off. You made up those horrible badges, which by the way were inspired by my association, and you insulted me in front of him. You don't deserve my forgiveness."
"I know!" he snapped.
He had raised his voice a little, as if he felt humiliated. Hermione rolled her eyes and looked around to make sure no one could see where the burst of voices was coming from, but thankfully the bookcases around them hid them.
"How do you expect me to forgive you with so many wrongs against you?" hissed Hermione through gritted teeth.
"I... I don't know..."
He stammered a little, embarrassed, running a hand through his hair in frustration. Hermione then had an idea:
"Explain to me sincerely what was going through your mind at the time, and maybe I'll forgive you."
"What? Why?" he asked, surprised.
Hermione raised her eyebrows, waiting for an answer. Malfoy sighed loudly:
"You're so curious, Granger."
Still, he thought long and hard about the question, his grey eyes resolutely fixed on the table. His jaw was set, she could see it from where she sat.
"Sometimes..." he began hesitantly. "Sometimes I feel bursts of anger. I'm not sure why, but it paralyses me completely, like I'm in some kind of... trance?"
Hermione listened attentively. It was very rare to hear Malfoy talk like this, and the way he was fumbling for words, it wasn't an easy subject for him. She let him continue quietly, without rushing him:
"It happens to me often, more often than before. And it makes me do things out of control, or say things impulsively without thinking. And... I don't know, I can't stop feeling them, like... Like I need them to live?"
He paused and resolved to watch Hermione's reaction, who hadn't blinked. He continued, abbreviating his confession:
"In any case, I hadn't planned to touch you with my spell. In fact, I don't even know why I did it. It was impulsive."
"I find that hard to believe." Hermione admitted. "Does that mean I'm supposed to forgive you, when you might throw a spell back at me using your tantrums as justification?"
"No!"
They looked at each other, she was calm and collected, he was completely agitated. Then he seemed to remember something:
"Do you remember when I bet you that I'd beat you in the Potions exam last year?"
"Yes, but I don't see how..." she began, surprised.
"I'll make you a deal," he cut in. "You challenged me, if I lost, to never insult Weasley or Potter again. So I'll make you this: I won't insult Potter, Weasley or you for a month. And in exchange, I get to sit at that table. How's that sound?"
"A month? You're not going to die in your sleep without hurling insults for that long?" she asked sarcastically.
"It's going to be difficult." Malfoy conceded with the shadow of a smile. "But I can try. Is that okay?"
"That doesn't mean I forgive you."
"All right."
Malfoy held out his hand over the table, waiting for her to shake it. She hesitated a little longer, then finally did. He leaned back in his chair, suddenly pleased with himself. Hermione had no idea what she wanted to blame him for before he arrived.
He took out a book to study. Hermione felt a little stupid for moving on so quickly, she was supposed to be angry with him.
They set to work in silence. Malfoy had pulled out his Transfiguration textbook too, they must have been reading the same chapter. They didn't talk, but from time to time Hermione glanced discreetly in his direction, which he didn't notice.
He looked like a stone statue, because he didn't move an inch, leaning back against the library table, unlike Hermione who kept fidgeting in her chair.
She sipped her tea absentmindedly, and winced slightly when the scalding water came into contact with her brittle enamel. Malfoy inquired:
"Does it hurt?"
"A little."
He seemed a little bothered by this, so she changed the subject to ease his conscience:
"At least you saved me an operation."
"An operation?" he repeated without understanding.
"I've always wanted to have my teeth shortened, but in the Muggle world it's a very expensive and disabling operation. My parents aren't going to be happy, but I'm relieved I didn't have to do it with them."
He had frowned, both overwhelmed and curious.
"Why wouldn't they be happy?" he asked.
"They're dentists." she explained. "They're doctors who specialise in teeth. They've always refused to let me do this."
Malfoy absorbed her explanation, troubled. He looked a little confused, but didn't comment on where her parents came from and simply replied:
"If it makes you feel any better, Goyle's mum isn't going to be happy about his new nose either. It looks like a poisonous mushroom."
She couldn't help but laugh at this, and he smiled very slightly before returning to his marble face. He continued reading and Hermione did the same, and they both sank into a concentrated silence.
.
.
Draco
.
.
Granger was so captivating when she was working. Even though the chapter on Transfiguration was interesting, Draco kept interrupting his reading to watch Granger from the corner of his eye. He could see the exact moment when she shifted into concentration, the moment when everything around her faded away and she went into a frenzy of work. Suddenly, it was as if she was glued to the text she was reading, completely oblivious to the outside world.
She had tics, too. When she was reading, she would push strands of rebellious hair in front of her eyes in a robotic gesture. Sometimes she would run her fingers across the page, over a precise line that interested her. And above all, she was always swaying in her chair, leaning on one leg, then the other, forwards, backwards, without taking her eyes off the book.
It was a living spectacle, and Draco was transfixed. He couldn't understand how anyone could be so involved in a text on the properties of sea scales.
She didn't see his sidelong glances. Her eyebrows were furrowed and her front locks were tucked behind her ears so as not to prevent her from reading.
After a while, she took a parchment out of her bag and began to write a few notes on what she was reading, probably as study sheets. Perhaps she reread them before going to sleep? Draco was now convinced that he wouldn't be able to get past her in class - she was far too organised.
After long minutes of quill scratching against paper, Draco heard Madam Pince's heels clicking in the library. He looked up at the windows and was amazed to see that it was dark outside. The Library was about to close, even though Draco felt as if he had only been here a few minutes.
"Granger?"
His voice took a while to sink into Granger's concentration, but eventually she looked up. For a moment, she seemed to forget that Draco was here too.
"Yes?"
He pointed to the window:
"It's about to close."
"Already?!" she exclaimed, her eyes round.
She put down her quill and finished off the tea next to her, which was probably cold. Draco put his things away. He didn't want the others to see him with Granger, but fortunately there was no one left in the Library apart from Madam Pince and Viktor Krum.
He usually left quickly without saying goodbye, but this time he waited for Granger to pack her bag too. First, she put away her notebooks and parchments, then her quills, her mug and her wand, all of which took an inordinate amount of time. Finally, she moved away from the table.
She didn't seem surprised to see Draco accompanying her. As he passed, Viktor Krum raised his head and watched the two leave, as if hesitating to say something to them, before changing his mind. Draco couldn't wait to tell Blaise. He'd probably be jealous.
Granger and Draco found themselves in the corridors of the castle. There was no noise, everyone was probably in their Common Rooms celebrating. On a Saturday night, no one was hanging around.
"So, is there a party in the Slytherin Common Room?" asked Granger.
He smiled: she had no idea.
"Yeah. But probably not the same kind as the Gryffindors'." he said, mockingly.
She didn't pick up on the jibe and simply raised her eyebrows:
"Is that true?"
He turned to her. She looked genuinely curious, listening to him talk as if every piece of information he revealed was precious. Like that, she looked so innocent.
"Yeah."
Draco wasn't a talker in life, but it was all the more blatant when he was with Granger. She had a steady stream of words and questions.
They continued walking. Granger seemed to be in a good mood, much more so than the previous year. She looked rested, but Draco could still sense the stress she was feeling, probably because of the Triwizard Tournament approaching. She stopped at the bottom of the stairs and frowned as Draco continued:
"You're not going down to the dungeons?" she asked.
"No."
He continued walking, but had to stop when she continued her questioning:
"Really? Where are you going?"
"Are you a prefect, Granger?" he asked sarcastically.
She moved closer to him, her eyebrows furrowed and her head held high. Like this, she really looked like a prefect. The funny thing was that he was at least a head taller than her.
"No, but I intend to become one. And it's past curfew already." she remarked.
She had that high-pitched voice she used when she was making a reproach, or when she was showing off her knowledge.
"I'm going for a walk in the Castle grounds." he said. "I like to do that before I go to sleep. Have you finished with your unhealthy curiosity? Can I go, Prefect?"
"Oh." she squeaked, immediately losing her overly serious expression.
He turned on his heels again, and almost didn't hear Granger's small voice behind his back ask:
"Can I come?"
He turned round. There she stood, her curly hair caressing her cheeks, in her Gryffindor uniform, twiddling her fingers as if she'd just asked him the unthinkable. She stared at him, waiting for an answer, her chocolate eyes burning.
He didn't know what to say. Studying together in the library was one thing, hanging out with her outside was another. If someone caught them on a bench outside, he'd have no excuse.
He spent a lot of time on that bench watching the windows of Hogwarts go out one after the other, and he'd never had anyone with him to do it. He had always lied when his friends asked him what he did at night.
But he realised that he didn't want to be alone right now.
So he mumbled:
"You're going to be cold."
She smiled a smile, a real radiant smile, and hastily rummaged in her bag:
"It doesn't matter, I've got something to warm me up."
She took out a large empty jam jar and her wand and pointed it at it. She whispered a spell and suddenly a spray of blue flames lit up the bottom of the jar, which she closed with the lid and clasped in both hands. She explained:
"It's a jar of jam from my mum. She often sends me some. When I finish them, I use the blue flame spell to keep warm in the winter. Do you want one too?"
"No."
Granger frowned at the curt refusal, so he added:
"I like the cold."
He turned to go into the Castle courtyard and heard the Gryffindor trotting behind him.
"Do you come here often?" she asked.
That girl never stopped talking.
"Yes."
"Do you go for walks?" she asked, gazing at the park that stretched out before their eyes.
"No, I usually sit here."
He sat down on his usual bench and Granger did the same. It was rather strange to be in such a familiar place with someone else, as if she was invading his space a little. He said nothing and shoved his hands into his pockets.
"And... that's it?" she asked after a moment.
He chuckled.
"Yeah. Why?"
She was already fidgeting on her part of the bench. He could spend hours standing still, thinking. But Granger was incapable of that, she had this obsessive need to do something, at the risk of getting bored. She placed the jam jar on her legs and put her hands in front of it to warm them.
"Aren't you bored?"
"No. I come here to settle down and think a bit."
"What are you thinking about?"
He closed his eyes for a few seconds. Maybe it hadn't been such a good idea to have invited her to his bench.
"Merlin, Granger, how can Weasley and Potter put up with your hundreds of questions a minute?"
He thought he'd hurt her feelings, but surprisingly she smiled a little.
"I think they've got used to it."
Then she lost her smile and her gaze went to lose itself against the facade of the Castle. She murmured:
"Or they have no choice."
He understood that she was referring to the fact that Potter and Weasley had not spoken for some time. Whenever he saw them, it was either her and Potter or her and Weasley. They'd been ignoring each other royally since Potter's announcement in the Tournament.
"Is that why they don't talk anymore?" he asked mockingly. "Is it because you've tired them out too much with your sick curiosity?"
He used the term "sick" again, which she had once used when talking about his jealousy. That phrase had been going round and round in his head ever since.
"No. And aren't your friends fed up with you being so quiet and closed off?" she replied.
"I'm not closed, I'm mysterious." he said with a small smile.
"Ah, is that what you tell Pansy Parkinson?"
"I don't need to tell her, she already knows. She doesn't ask me five hundred questions a minute, does she."
"Well, sorry." replied Granger with his proud air. "If you want us to be friends, you're going to have to learn to open up a bit more to other people, Malfoy."
The latter laughed:
"Friends? Since when do I want to be friends?"
Granger didn't back down:
"We study together every day, we spend time together on a bench, we gamble, we chat, and you've even asked me to forgive you. That's what we call friendship."
"I didn't know there were rules." he says with a chuckle.
"There obviously are. I see you more than Ron and Harry right now."
He saw her more than Pansy, Blaise and Theo, but he wouldn't admit it.
"And you think Potter and Weasley will be happy with your new friendship?" he asked coldly.
This time Granger shut down completely, all hope suddenly crushed.
"They won't understand." she said in a whisper. "And they'd probably be right, I mean, you cast a spell on me just yesterday, after insulting me for three years." she grumbled.
"So, if they're probably right, why do you insist on staying with me?" he asked.
He pretended to be disinterested, but in reality he was dying to know the answer to that question.
"I don't know." she admitted. "Maybe you're not as atrocious as people think."
"I think you're wrong."
Granger rolled his eyes.
"You want to persuade everyone around you that you're evil, but in reality, I think you really need friends."
"No. I have three friends, and they're more than enough for me."
"Three friends? Parkinson, Zabini and Nott?" she guessed.
"Yes."
"I didn't think you considered them friends."
He frowned:
"They're my best friends." he corrected.
"It doesn't really show. It's like the three of them are friends, and you're just hanging out with them without meaning to."
"If you think that, you're a very poor observer, Granger." he said, a little irritated.
"Ron and Harry think your best friends are Crabbe and Goyle." she said, as if to show him that she was better than them.
He burst out laughing:
"What? Really?"
"Yes. But I know that's not true." she said, her eyes shining with mischief. "I know you're using them as stooges, to do your dirty work, probably the work your friends don't want to do with you. I know that Parkinson is your childhood friend, that you're very close, you spend all your time together, maybe even live next door to each other. I know that Zabini's a childhood friend too, and that he doesn't talk much either, so maybe that's why you get on so well. He's always the one you turn to when you're laughing or learning something interesting. And finally, I know you've only known Nott since first year, and at first you didn't like him very much, but over the years you've grown closer and he's become a friend you can talk to when you need to, because he's the most tolerant of the three. Am I right?"
He looked at Granger, dumbfounded. She'd been right all along, from start to finish. He'd misjudged her: she was very observant, he had no idea how she'd guessed all that.
"Er, yeah, not bad."
She repositioned herself on the bench, clearly proud of herself. She didn't let the silence envelop them, though, because she went straight on:
"And I also know that you stopped talking to Parkinson for a while last year."
"And do you know why?"
She frowned.
"No. Why?"
"Nice try." he replied simply.
He had no desire to tell her that Pansy had feelings for him. She smiled slightly.
"See, you are closed. Not mysterious."
"And you, you're too curious."
She was tapping against the glass of the pot, not stopping her waddle on the bench. After a moment, he guessed:
"Stressed, Granger?"
She stopped moving, as if he'd managed to unmask her, when it was pretty obvious.
"I don't know, wouldn't you be stressed if one of your friends ended up in the Tournament?" she asked.
"No, because that friend would have told me he'd put his name in the Cup. He would have weighed up the pros and cons beforehand." assented Draco.
"I'm telling you : Harry didn't put his name in the Cup!"
"Of course he didn't. Is that why Potter isn't talking to Weasley?"
Granger was about to speak, but held back at the last moment and squinted warily:
"If I tell you, are you going to dangle it in front of them to hurt them? Are you going to use what I say to make fun of them?"
"No."
She was still wary.
"How can I trust you?"
"I made a deal with you that I wouldn't insult them for a month."
"Do you really think I'm not experienced enough in Malfoy to know that you might do it anyway without insulting them, to get around your promise? Or that you'd do it after a month?"
Draco smiled without looking at her. Indeed, she knew his twisted stratagems.
"Okay, then let it go, don't tell me."
He could see she wanted to talk about it, but was still wary. He was silent for a few seconds, he could see her thinking without even turning his head towards her.
"Give me your promise." she finally said.
"What?"
"The whole 'Malfoy promise is sacred' thing, or whatever. Give me your promise that you won't tell and I'll believe you."
"I promise I won't repeat it." he said in a dull tone.
"It's not really a question of whether he has put his name in the Cup or not." Granger explained at once, as if the words were spilling out of her mouth without her control. "Ron's jealous, because Harry has all the attention on him without meaning to, and he finds himself in his shadow by being his best friend. He's already got competition in his own family, so seeing Harry get showered with honour by becoming Champion, it pissed him off and he lashed out at Harry."
Draco made no gesture to show that he was listening to what Granger was saying. Yet, he was listening intently.
"And Harry..." she continued sadly. "Harry blames Ron for not realising that he doesn't want this attention, that it's a burden that reminds him of what happened to him when he was little, and that he'll never stop burdening himself with unwillingly."
Draco had to admit that from that point of view, he understood better. Both parties had their faults and their reasons, and it was all mixed up in a tense atmosphere because of the trials of the Tournament. Draco had a better understanding of why Granger was so stressed.
He didn't know how to put what he was thinking without sounding too involved in it, so he simply mumbled:
"It's complicated."
Granger shrugged, suddenly eager to change the subject:
"Now that I've told you why Ron and Harry aren't talking, you need to tell me why you weren't talking to Parkinson last year."
"I promised you I wouldn't say anything, not spill all my private life to you in the process."
She made an impatient little noise but didn't insist.
Granger suddenly shivered: it had to be said that she was wearing only black tights and the night had turned icy cold. She contemplated Hogwarts a little more from outside, and he could see her eyes darting around the various windows. She breathed in the winter air several times. Her cheeks, lit by the flames of her pot, were rosy.
"I think I'll go to sleep." she said after a moment. "Thank you for letting me sit on your bench. You were right, it's nice to sit here and think for a while."
She stood up and dusted off her skirt.
"It's way past curfew now." Draco remarked. "For a future prefect, that's not very reasonable."
"I'll think of something to say." she said with a smile and a shrug. "Do you want my jam jar? You must be freezing."
He was, he couldn't even feel his hands. He shook his head:
"No, thanks."
"Come on, I know you want it. Don't worry, I've got plenty."
She handed him the jar and as he grabbed it, the sensation of warmth was instantaneous. She'd hit the nail on the head. He nodded his thanks and watched her walk away into the Castle. Her footsteps were muffled by the fresh grass on which she walked. Towards the middle of the path, she turned her head very slightly to say to him:
"Good night, Draco."
She entered the Castle and he found himself staring at the place where she had been just a few seconds earlier, his heart wavering in his chest: it was the first time she had called him by his first name.
.
.
Hermione
.
.
Hermione made her way back up to the Gryffindors' Common Room slowly, but her mind was still too focused on the conversation she'd just had with Malfoy to worry about making too much noise.
It was the first time they had spoken for so long, and it was as if she had met a new person. She found it hard to connect the mean, insulting Malfoy she knew with this boy. In any case, one thing was certain: she much preferred this one. She couldn't wait to tell Ginny about it and get her opinion; for the moment, she felt a little lost.
She didn't pass anyone on the way, not even Peeves. She arrived in front of the portrait of the Fat Lady, whispered the password and rushed into the opening.
There was a small party in the Common Room, which was quite usual on Saturday nights. Ron wasn't there, probably already upstairs, but Harry was sitting on one of the sofas in the back. She approached him and saw that he was reading something.
For a second, her heart dropped sharply in her stomach at the thought that he was reading the Marauder's Map, and that he might have seen Hermione sitting next to Draco Malfoy on a bench. But luckily, as she sat down next to him, she saw that Harry was reading a Charms book and sighed in spite of herself.
"Hi." said Harry when he saw her. "I thought you'd already been upstairs. Where have you been?"
"I was outside." she said evasively.
"Outside?" repeated Harry, surprised.
He had dark circles under his eyes, accentuated by his dark glasses. Even his usually bright green eyes were dulled by fatigue and stress. She had rarely seen him so disturbed.
"Yes, I was taking a walk after staying at the Library."
"So late?" asked Harry, this time genuinely surprised.
"Er... Yes, why, what time is it?"
"10pm."
Hermione opened her eyes wide. She had lost all track of time.
"Anyway, I'm glad you're here." Harry said, putting his book back down on the table in front of them. "I've got some news..."
He handed her a folded piece of parchment from his pocket, which she unfolded. She recognised Sirius's handwriting directly and scanned the lines, which told her to meet him on 22 November in the Common Room.
"Oh Harry! That's great, he must have some information for you!"
She felt great relief at the thought of Sirius talking to Harry, and he seemed as reassured as she was.
"Yes. But how can we be sure that no one will notice Sirius? Look, there are still so many people in the Common Room!"
Hermione swept her gaze over the Gryffindor revellers dancing or chatting around the tables and armchairs. Then she took off her coat and pulled two mugs from her bag, into which she poured tea.
"We just need to find a way to get them away, if we need to. We need to think of a plan. Here, have some tea."
Harry took the cup and smiled a little when he saw that Hermione's was the one he'd given her for her birthday last September. He took a few sips and then they spent a good hour devising a ploy to get Sirius out of the way. If anyone spotted him, they'd be in real trouble.
"So." Hermione summed up at the end of their murmuring. "At 12:30, if I see there are still people in the Common Room, I'll announce that I've heard Professor McGonagall coming to reprimand them for the noise. If that doesn't work, I can make the first years think I'm a prefect and I threaten to take points off them, and if that still doesn't work, I imitate McGonagall's voice to get the latecomers to leave."
"Exactly." Harry confirmed. "And if all that doesn't work, your last resort will be to use Dungbombs."
Hermione nodded in agreement. Harry half lay back on the sofa after finishing his tea and yawned a little.
"Harry, I think you should go to sleep. You're exhausted." advised Hermione.
"I can't sleep very well at the moment." he said in a sleepy voice.
"Because of Ron?"
He didn't answer, but his silence counted as a 'yes'. He reminded her of when she was having insomnia because of the Time Turner. She nodded, understanding, and offered:
"Would you like another tea?"
"No, thank you, I think I'll just rest my eyes a little..."
After a few minutes, Harry's head rolled against her shoulder. He had fallen asleep. Despite the music and voices around him, he was asleep, his leg wrapped around Hermione's as if to check that she was still beside him.
She didn't move and watched her best friend sleep soundly.
.
.
Draco
.
.
Draco stayed on the bench for a long time, warmed by Granger's blue flames still dancing in the jar. He looked at the windows of the Gryffindors' tower, still lit. He was trying to guess which one corresponded to Granger's dormitory, figuring it must be out. He had no idea what time it was.
He stood there for a long time, finally at peace in his haven. He thought back to his first year, before he knew Granger was a Muggle-born. He'd found her crying about Weasley outside, and realised that she'd actually been sitting on the same bench he was currently occupying.
Was this a coincidence, or had he always preferred that bench because it was hers?
When he thought back to that Granger who used to moan about Weasley, he was surprised to see how much she had changed. The Granger of the early years was quite unbearable, crying all the time, and her high-pitched voice he had hated. She was nothing like that now.
Of course, she was still just as annoying with her questions and her high-pitched voice that came out from time to time. She was far too serious, too sensitive, too preoccupied with pointless things.
But she had also grown up. Her childish quips had turned into scathing retorts, she'd asserted herself, she'd gained self-confidence. He liked spending time with her in the Library, because she could turn out to be interesting, sometimes even funny.
It was a strange realisation. If he was completely honest with himself, he had never stopped being intrigued by this girl he hated. But it was tonight, sitting on his bench in the middle of Hogwarts Park, that he realised he didn't really hate her any more. She wasn't his friend, or his sworn enemy, she was just... Granger.
He refused to think what his parents might think of that. He knew in advance. But if Granger had risen in his esteem, his father had fallen, and he could now see that not all his father's values were well founded. What he had done at the Quidditch World Cup proved that.
Draco stood up suddenly to put an end to his thoughts about his father. He had no desire to get into it tonight, he just wanted to enjoy the lightness he felt after spending so much time with Granger. He extinguished the blue flames with a flick of his wand and tucked the jar away in his pocket, then made his way back to his dormitory.
His footsteps echoed through the Castle, so he hurried back without being caught. He descended the stairs to the dungeons and tiptoed past Snape's office, said the password in a very low voice and entered the Common Room.
It was, as usual, quite noisy. He still had no idea what time it was, but as the students were tidying up for the evening and not many people were left, he guessed it was very late.
He entered his dormitory and found it pitch black. He groped his way to his bed and found Pansy, dimly lit by the moonlight filtering through the water against the window.
"Pansy?" he called softly.
She was leaning against the pillows of her bed, stoic, arms folded. She didn't turn to look at him, staring straight ahead.
It was only when he lay back in bed that she spoke, her voice as cold as she was:
"Why are you back so late?"
Draco raised his eyebrows: her tone was dry. It was the first time she'd made a remark about his late arrivals; usually, she was still partying, or already asleep.
"What do you care?"
She turned to him, he was surprised to see that her eyes were a little bright, as if she was holding back tears.
"It was my birthday party, Draco." she said harshly.
He nearly smacked his forehead as he realised his own stupidity. He'd completely forgotten it was Pansy's birthday, too busy chatting with Granger and sitting on his bench afterwards.
"Ah. Er..."
"You'd forgotten?" she asked.
She took a cigarette out of her black package and put it between her lips, then waved her wand to light the tip. He was surprised to see his cigarette ignite without her even uttering the spell. She had already done this so many times that she was now able to do nonverbal spells.
He refocused on their discussion:
"No, not at all. I was just out for a walk."
"Why didn't you come to my party? Everyone was there, even Theo."
"I didn't realise you were having it tonight, I thought it was tomorrow." he lied.
She rolled her eyes and took a drag on her cigarette. He wondered how long she'd been waiting for him, lying there like that.
"Besides, I thought it was going to last much longer than that. Saturday nights usually end at 2 in the morning."
"Everyone was knackered." she replied coldly.
She dropped the ashes from her cigarette into the ashtray Theo had given her that morning, which was already full of black particles.
"Did you have fun, though?" he ventured.
"I didn't. I missed you."
She crushed her cigarette in the ashtray and put it back on the bedside table, then closed the curtains around them. When she lay down, Draco took her in his arms. She let him.
"I'm sorry I didn't come. I'll make it up to you, okay?" he said in a breath.
In reality, he was afraid she'd be so angry with him that she'd start ignoring him again, like at the end of the previous year. He was so afraid of it that he was ready to talk to her and show her his feelings, plunging him into a state of vulnerability she knew very little about.
"You're pissing me off, Draco." she replied, but in a much softer voice.
"I know. What can I do to make it up to you?"
He already knew the answer to that question. So, without her having time to answer, he tipped her over and kissed her gently. Her lips were fresh, and he could smell the cold tobacco permeating him, as he did every time he kissed her. She responded to his kiss immediately.
"Silence Charm?" offered Draco.
"Already on." Pansy hissed between breaths.
.
.
.
.
Just after they had finished, Pansy seemed to hesitate between smoking again and falling asleep. She made her choice by snuggling up to Draco, who immediately took her in his arms. She rested her head against his chest and Draco gently removed the ribbon that was still in her hair.
They said nothing for several minutes, Draco was already almost asleep when he heard Pansy whisper:
"I love you."
He froze. It was the first time Pansy had said those words. Yet he knew. He knew how she felt, he knew she had feelings. To hear her say it so clearly was unexpected.
He didn't know how to respond. She knew he had heard her, he had to say something. Pretending to be asleep was unbelievable, saying anything other than what she wanted to hear was hurtful.
He loved Pansy. He loved her so much. But not the way she loved him. He didn't know much about love, but he knew it wasn't that.
Still, he answered softly:
"I love you too."
It was a lie.