Hermione woke reluctantly, the early morning light lifting to create a violet cast on the room.
She blinked her eyes open, immediately feeling sensitive and alert, too quickly aware of the events of last night. And the shifting weight of Draco, at the side of the bed.
She lay there for a moment, breath shallow, trying to puzzle through her next moves. The room it seemed was in a perpetual state of early dawn, so that even though she was sure she slept through the night, the space maintained a quiet sleepiness which could easily draw her back into rest. If it wasn't for Malfoy.
And yet, part of her wished she could. That she could simply close her eyes, and let her self drift off again. It had been the most undisrupted sleep she'd had in months and already she wanted more of it.
But from the sounds coming from behind her, Malfoy was already up and gathering himself, muttering a spell lowly under his breath, like he didn't want to wake her up.
She rolled to her side, then sat up to watch him. He was transfiguring something into shoes, changing the look of his clothes so they were less obviously pajamas. The side of his pale check was indented with lines from the pillow, which may have made her smirk with contempt, if it wasn't for the angry scowl on his face.
Feeling her eyes on him Malfoy stilled, then turned to look at her.
She withdrew slightly. Suddenly, she couldn't help but think of the all terrifyingly human aspects of her that were on full display. She thought of her hair; the wild way it stuck up in the morning, which no doubt it was doing now. She though too of her breath, the sleep in her eyes, and all the intimately embarrassing things that came with waking up. She shifted awkwardly, but made no move to fix herself.
"The door's back?"
Malfoy blinked slowly.
"You have eyes, don't you?"
It was possible she was still too tired for this, for their strange back and forth bickering, which in the light of not-quite day felt like posturing. She let out a huff of air, then rubbed her sleep filled eyes.
"Right."
Malfoy watched her for a moment more, then smoothed down his hair and made to stand. She let her hand drop.
"That's it then?" She asked, her words coming out clipped. She found that she didn't much like the idea of him storming out, pretending as if nothing happened. As if this wasn't hard for her too. As if she wasn't also embarrassed.
Malfoy looked more than ready to leave, poised toward the door, but his eyes were trained on her, brow furrowed and staring like there was something in her face he couldn't help but try to understand.
"Yeah. That's it."
She nodded once.
"So you're back to playing at cruel?"
His lips parted, and she had the brief satisfaction of feeling as though she's caught him off guard.
"What do you want do you want from me?" he asked, voice strained.
Even in the soft light of the room, with the nearness of sleep making her bones heavy, Hermione felt the tension running between them like a taught, fraying rope. It made her even more frustrated. She met his stare head on.
"I just want you to know it's a choice, that's all. And that it's ridiculous."
Malfoy eyebrows shot up.
"You want me to act differently? What, you want to lie in bed and talk about it? And Granger, none of this has felt like a choice."
Unconsciously she fumbled for the corner of the bed sheet, lifting it up closer to her chest then smoothing it down.
"Of course I want you to act differently. I'm sick of the mood swings. You can't be nice one second, then cover it up by being awful the next. It doesn't work like-"
"Nice." He said with a laugh, lips curving into a sneer. "That's what you think I am? Nice? Just because-"
"-don't know, but you're something, and you can stop pretending you're not. That sort of goes out the window once you've spent the night in the same bed with someone doesn't it?
He let her words hang there, falling back into the silence of the room. Then he took a step forward.
"Is that what you want? Some nice boy to come by and fix all your troubles? You knew that's not what I was the second we started whatever this is. I'm not Potter or Weasley."
Hermione sat up straighter, feeling anger rise up in her chest.
"I don't need anyone to fix my problems for me Malfoy! And of course you're not Harry or Ron, I never-"
"-well, you could have fooled-"
She shot up then, throwing the covers off so that she was standing before him.
"Say what you want, then! Deflect all you want. But you know what I think? I think you're scared."
Malfoy shook his head, slowly, eyes bright and searing into her.
"I'm not scared."
"Of course you are! Scared to admit to yourself that you need me. Because you do, Malfoy, otherwise what are we-"
He moved closer to her, and his voice came out low as he stared down at her with a soft intensity.
"What do you want from me? Hm? What do you want?"
She blinked at him, then hardened her gaze.
"I want you to treat me normally."
"And this isn't normal for me?"
"It is. But it's also bullshit," she gestured to the room around them, "look at this. Look at where we are and what we've been doing. And recognize, maybe for just a moment, how ludicrous it is for you to go back to pretending like we can't stand each other, as if we even could go back, as if we aren't so far beyond that-"
"Oh we are? We're beyond that? Where are we then Granger, go ahead and tell me."
Hermione sucked the side of her cheek into her mouth, biting so hard she almost drew blood. She wanted to grab him, to shake him, or even to slap him. Anything to cross the invisible bridge he built between them over and over again, to knock it down and then laugh at him for it.
"I don't know where we are, but this one step forward ten steps back thing is-"
"Ten steps back-"
"Yes, ten steps back. Like how you pretend to be all cold when we're together, but if you feel shirked by me you throw a fit, like-"
"I don't-"
"-you're only comfortable being aloof or fighting with me, but you've stitched me up while I'm bleeding out, woken me up while I'm in a panic and crying-"
"Fuck! Aren't you the one caught up on all my past evil doings? Then when I try to do the decent thing you-"
"-besides the point because I've obviously put that side, at least-"
"Obviously!"
"-and it's not just the decent thing Malfoy, waking up in someone's arms feels a bit more than just the decent thing if you ask me."
She hadn't quite meant to say that last part. It was the one part she never planned on addressing, and now, the air was thick with a charged silence. She had the distinct feeling that she'd just tramped on a daisy, or smashed something delicate. She wanted to suck the words back in.
But Malfoy's gaze had taken on a predatory air, and he moved closer still, until they were hardly an inch apart.
"Let me get this straight," he said, his face so near hers that she could practically feel the searing heat of his words, "since you're obviously passed all the terrible shit between us, and you're fine with whatever the hell this is, then where does that leave us? Hm? That's the piece I'm trying to puzzle out from all this, Granger, what. the. fuck. do. you. want. You want me to be your friend? To tell you how wonderful it is that I have to patch you up after you nearly kill yourself in your sleep? Because it's not. I don't want to need you, and I don't to want to have to do this."
"But you do," she said, "you do need it."
She knew then, that it wasn't normal for them to be this close. That if she took one more half step, she'd be pressed against him. That his face was leaned down and over her and that the angry stutter of her heart beat had somehow taken on the thrum of anticipation.
"I need it too," she continued, and his eyes were now skirting down her face, probably just now noticing, as she had, how close they were. "Is that what it'll take? Me admitting it first?"
"Sure," he bit out, but his voice sounded strained, "give it a shot."
"Fuck you Malfoy. I need you. You can't just storm out and leave, because then I won't know if you'll come back. And I need you to come back."
"Why," he said, tilting his head, eyes landing on her mouth. "So you can yell at me some more?"
"So I can sleep."
"Hm. I think I'd like to hear you say it again."
She scoffed. "I bet you would, wouldn't you? But it doesn't work like that. It's your turn."
Malfoy's brows rose high on his face, taunting.
"To tell you I need you?"
"Yeah," she murmured, "go on."
He let out a little laugh.
"Fuck no. I-"
In a flash Hermione reached out and pushed him, both hands connecting with his shoulders.
Malfoy stumbled back, looking surprised but then quickly recovering. "What-"
"See Malfoy, this is what I mean. One step forward ten steps back. That's where we're at. And that's exactly where we'll stay if you don't start admitting to yourself that you're alright with this. That despite it all, you actually can stand me."
She turned toward the door, ready to storm out and leave him there, when he caught her by the hem of her shirt and pulled her back. She swiveled to stare at him, brow furrowed and more angry words forming on her lips.
Again his face was close to hers, his stare intense and verging on irate.
"Of course I can't fucking stand you. Of course I can't. You stupid fucking—"
And then he was pulling her forward, and his mouth was crashing into hers.
One of his hands came up to cradle the side of her head, fingers sliding through her hair and tangling it, pulling her almost roughly into him.
Hermione gasped into the kiss. His mouth was hot, his lips soft and tasting surprisingly of peppermint. He kissed her quickly, teeth nipping at her bottom lip, as if at any moment one of them would realize what was happening and break it off.
She gripped his shirt tightly with both hands. He was warm and solid under her touch, and she moved her shaking hands to grip more of him, landing on his arms, one of which was snaking down to her waist and pressing into the small of her back to hold her against him.
She hadn't known she'd wanted this. Couldn't stop to let herself think about, because if she did, the moment would be over. And she was suddenly sure that she didn't want this to be over. She liked the feeling of him there, moving against her, communicating to her without talking. It was a level of closeness she'd never thought she'd get from him, and she felt overwhelmingly like all the answers she wanted could be chased down here, in the spaces where they met.
She was pressing against him, her body contouring its shape to his, eliciting a small, rough sound from the back of his throat, as if he hadn't expected her to return his fervor. His hands were wandering down her back to her hip, and she kissed him harder.
Thoughts stuttered in and out of her brain. Why was she doing this? Why was he doing this? What was—
Malfoy's tongue slipped into her mouth, flicking and probing, in a way she hadn't known she liked, but that scattered her thoughts and had her pressing her hips toward him.
A breathy sound at the back of her throat surged forward, low and surprising, as she realized he'd backed her into the wall. He broke the kiss to press his himself into the crook of her neck, leaving a trail of hot, wanting kisses that had her struggling to breath.
"Is this what you want, Granger?" He muttered into her skin between soft nips of her skin.
His words stuttered her brain. She'd never been kissed like this before. It felt ravishing, consuming, and she was scared for a moment that she wouldn't know how to stop it.
Just as she thought this, Malfoy's hand fell to her thigh, gripped her hard and hoisting it up so that she was semi wrapped around him. At this closeness, she could feel the unmistakeable press of his hardness against her, and her stomach swooped dangerously low as she let out another, embarrassingly breathy little sound. His mouth was at her throat, then the side of her her jaw, leaving a greedy trail of kisses up her neck. Heat was pooling below her abdomen, overwhelming and pulsing.
He slid his hand up, his fingers ghosting under the the loose fabric of her shorts, grazing over her hip bone. She flushed, red hot. She never wore panties to bed, which would now be obvious to the both of them.
Malfoy let out a low, guttural groan.
"Christ, I-"
Alarm bells rang in her mind, delayed but loud. She grabbed onto his arms, pushed him away with more force than she'd intended. Malfoy stumbled back, his face flushed, lips swollen.
"I can't," she said, shaking her head, "I have to- I just can't."
He ran a hand quickly through his hair.
"Fuck, Granger, I'm sorry I-"
But he didn't finish his sentence, just shook his head, then turned away and left.
.
Hermione felt like ghost, unsure of herself or the world around her, like she could be blown away by the gentle breeze that came in through the castle walls.
She'd stood there, silent by herself in the room of the requirement, waiting for her head and her heart to settle for a few long, achingly slow minutes. Then she walked back to her dorm, her head pounding with thoughts by the time she made it to change for classes.
Now the day's lessons were passing in a shadowy, confused blur.
They were inching closer to winter break, the days growing colder and shorter, and this meant final exams. In another world, another life, her mind would have been consumed by the thought.
Instead, she found herself unable to focus, and absentmindedly touching her fingers to her swollen lips, remembering what it felt like to kiss the one boy she absolutely should not be kissing.
She knew that. That that was who he was to her. And yet, she couldn't quite quell a sense of shame or even regret when she thought about that kiss.
What she felt, mostly, was confused, and a bit surreal.
Malfoy had kissed her. Wantonly, profusely. Amidst all their strange times spent together, she had never imagined it would lead to this. That he'd ever want that, from her. She couldn't wrap her mind around what it meant. Couldn't wrap her mind around the fact that when she thought about it, the feeling that grew and squirmed in her was an excited, fluttery curiosity, tempting to indulge, and wrong in every way.
Stuck in the most boring transfiguration class of her life, and tapping her quill against the side of her cheek, she tried to think of something else, and wound up right back there, her stomach flipping at the memory of his hands, his lips.
So, in order to ground herself, she tried to make a list of all the reasons what had happened was a horrible mistake.
1. Draco Malfoy was a former Death Eater.
There was really no going around that. No sugar coating what his past had been.
2. For a decent stretch of her life, he'd been her most significant tormentor.
Again, it was a brutal fact. She hadn't even known what the word 'mudblood' meant until he'd hurled it at her with an ugly sneer. She had to reconcile with the thought that maybe a part of her wanted his approval, just to prove to herself that he'd been wrong about her all those years ago. That the whole of the spiteful, hateful side of the wizarding world, was wrong about her. She'd always been addicted to proving herself. This was perhaps, a very, very ugly version of that.
3. Her friends would hate her for it.
This one, she desperately did not want to think about. And when she did was when the shame crept in. She thought of Harry, who despised Malfoy. Of Seamus, and Dean, and all the other Gryffindor boys who would gladly beat him to a pulp.
She thought of Ron.
Ron, who'd lost a brother in the war that Draco had ushered into Hogwarts. Ron, who she couldn't be with, because they were just too different, but who loved her anyway. At this thought, the butterflies in her stomach grew cold and dead.
It had been a mistake. A horrible, shameful mistake. Thinking of Ron's sweet freckled face, his quiet torment, and the look he would give her if he found out, made her sick with self hatred. She couldn't put him through that. She wouldn't.
And there was a final reason, too.
4. Despite the odd closeness, the reliance they'd formed on each-other, a very large part of her was still unsure of who Draco Malfoy was. How he spent his days. What he thought about, and if he had actually changed enough to warrant what had apparently, and without her even knowing developed into a desire for him. Because whatever storm had woken up in her within those few, confused breathy moments, was mangled deeply with desire.
And this, as much as anything else, frightened her. It was possible, no, probable that she had to end it.
But even as she considered it, a part of her heart clenched, and a quiet unbidden voice in her brain came to life, whispering what if? Because in her gut, she felt he was different. Changed. And at that thought, that part of her that was too curious to let it go, that whispering little voice, became louder, and more confident with its rebuttals.
1. Draco Malfoy had probably saved her life multiple times now. He was well and honestly the only person alive who knew what she was like these days, what she was going through, and despite his bursts of anger and coldness, he never made her feel ashamed of that.
2. His past was ugly, but it was formed out of a world of hate and fear. And part of her mourned for that horrid little boy who raised amongst the worst kind of people, nurtured only with rage and disgust.
3. Harry had saved his life. And despite his youthful hatred of him, had gone through literal hellfire to do it. But that was probably just because Harry was Harry. Because he always knew what the right thing to do was, and fought harder than anyone else to do it. But still, it had meant something, hadn't it?
4. She didn't think she was strong enough to pull away without closure. Without at least trying to see if her suspicions about him were correct, if he really was as different as he seemed.
Because, if she drew a line through the past and focused only on what she knew of him now, then admittedly, she sort of liked who he was. She liked that he was funny, and smart, and attentive. She even liked that he bickered, that he held himself in high regard to keep the world at bay. She liked the way he spoke, the way fixed things, the way he'd kissed her-
It was dangerous, liking him this much, without knowing if she had any real reason to, or if this were just another symptom of her brittle, trauma filled brain.
But something would have to give. Either she had to end things now, keep their time together a reprehensible secret, or try harder to figure out who he was, and why she hadn't minded at all that he kissed her.
Hermione had made up her mind by the time she took lunch in the great hall. Made up her mind to not think about it, not until she absolutely had to.
She took a seat next to Neville, and filled her plate absentmindedly, though she had no intention of eating.
"You still on for another study session Hermione?"
She jumped in her seat, nearly knocking over her water glass as she did.
"Oh. Um, yeah, of course."
He beamed at her.
"Great. I can't tell you how much it's been helping."
She smiled, not looking so much at him as through him, and made to turn back to her food.
"Woah, Hermione- I- don't take this the wrong way but you look fantastic."
Now, she really did spill her water, right down her shirt as she meant to lift it to her lips.
Neville flushed a profuse red.
"Not- not in a flirtatious way or anything. You just look all- I don't know, bright and full."
Seamus clapped him on the back with a grin that was obscenely full of sausage.
"Nice mate, take yer shot why don't ya?"
The other boy turned, shook his head and bright pink ears.
"No, I'm not-"
"Thanks Neville." She said, her eyes too wide, feeling like a dear caught in the headlights.
Full. Bright, and full. Hermione felt anything but.
Dean shared a laugh with Seamus, obviously at poor Neville's expense. But she couldn't jump to defend him, not when her chest felt inextricably tight. Was it the sleep? Or was it something else?
She'd been trying very hard not to look over at the Slytherin table, but now, the compulsion seemed impossible to hold back.
Shoving the food across her plate she glanced up. Malfoy was there. Looking distant, and removed, and not at all like she'd snogged the life out of him a few short hours ago. But- he looked better too, she noticed. Even from here, she could the circles under his eyes were less violent, his typically ram-rod straight posture slightly more relaxed as he clutched his tea.
She looked quickly back down again, scared that he'd somehow feel her gaze.
"What about you 'Mione? Any plans for winter break?"
She snapped her head back up, to Dean, who wore a friendly, almost too encouraging smile. This is why she liked to take lunch outside. It was no fault to him, it just- she liked to be alone with her thoughts. And now more than ever, she felt she needed it.
"No, uh, just staying here."
"Oh. Wow, you'll probably have the whole place to yourself, what with the rest of the classes being gone."
She furrowed her brow.
"What do you mean, people always stay behind."
He chuckled, brought up a hand to muss her hair.
"Where's your head at?"
"Probably too focused on final exams. Some things never change at least," said Seamus, rummaging around on his plate with swaying vigor.
"I don't-"
"Hermione, they're not letting any of the younger years stay in the castle. That's a privilege reserved only for our sorry asses."
"I'm surprised they're letting any of us stay," mumbled Neville.
"What? Why?"
"Well, I think they're planning on going full throttle on the renovations, trying to fix up those last few scary bits of the castle. My guess is they're trying to kick most everyone out for it. Save for us special seventh years. Probably know most of us don't have families left to go back to."
A somber air fell over the table, where for a moment, the clinking of forks and glasses filled the space of their conversation.
"Anyway, I'm just glad it'll be fixed by the time we get back. Gives me the heebie jeebies," said Dean, his voice soft.
Hermione sat up. Wrenched herself up, really, and then all three heads were turning towards her. Her mouth felt dry, her tongue swollen.
Across the great hall, her eyes found his. And he was staring at her too now, for a brief, piercing second, before he leaned back and looked away again.
"-Mione?"
"I have to go- forgot something."
And then she was hurrying out, as fast a walk as she could manage, but not before she caught a trail of what Seamus was muttering under his breath.
"-just glad she sat with us. You see her eyes?"
.
Hermione, as much as she tried to forget it, was technically a war heroine. Aside from the strangers that recognized her on the street and cried, or on a rare occasion tried to touch her hair, it didn't mean much. At least, not now anyway. But in the first few months that followed the close of the war, it did mean one thing- a lot of unsolicited gifts.
She'd given most away, or to Ron, who never seemed to tire of them no matter how ridiculous they got. But, sheepishly, she'd kept a few hidden underneath her bed, stored for a rainy day.
A golden hair brooch that was supposed to make the wearer more alert and beautiful (which she still felt guilty about keeping, and still hadn't worn). Two sneaker scopes, because she would always be a bit paranoid. An engraved dagger that she would never use, but felt too personal to give away. A paper heart ornament a child had made, with a messy 'thank you' scribbled onto its center.
And lastly, the finest bottle of malt whiskey wizard money could buy.
Finally done with classes, and having backed out of her previously promised study session with Neville (with profuse apologies), she was free to head straight to her dorm room, and with her mind buzzing with too many thoughts, pull out the chest of keepsakes.
As she carefully unlatched it and began to parcel out the items, her mind recemented itself, just as it had when she'd learned about winter break. About the looming possibility that she'd lose whatever safety she found in those torn up halls, impossibly and to what end she did not know, with Malfoy.
But maybe a symptom of war was that it created selfishness. That once people saw how bad things could be, they clung to anything that made them feel good, or forget. Because even though she'd mulled over the choice like a slick, dirty coin in her brain, over and over again, it now felt like forced pretense to imagine it falling any other way.
You must be insane, Hermione, utterly insane, she muttered to herself, even as she reached for the cool glass of the bottle.
.
The walk she took, quiet and sneaking to the broken area of the castle, felt longer than usual. She knew it was because of her nerves. She did her best to quiet them, pretending it was the cold against her forearms and bare legs that made her shiver as she went, her book-bag swaying uncomfortably with its new, protruding weight.
She found him outside of the old potions room, in a loose grey t-shirt, his hands in his pockets.
At the sight of him, leaned back against the wall and looking askance, the skin at the back of her neck began to prickle.
She'd thought through what this moment would be like, seeing him again after what happened. But that still didn't prepare her for the spike of adrenaline that coursed through her body, and the deep, unwanted feeling of helplessness.
Malfoy turned his head, stared at her with removed look.
"Hi." She felt immediately stupid as she said it, especially with the unreadable way he was staring at her.
"You uh- you came back."
Malfoy shrugged.
"So did you."
She shifted on her feet.
"I've brought my books, so-"
He nodded once, then without sparing her another glance, started to turn into the old potions room.
Hermione's brow furrowed.
"I-"
He paused in the doorway, turning to look at her impatiently.
She blinked.
"You want to go in there?"
"Is there an alternative?"
"Well, yes. I mean, I just thought-"
Malfoy's lips parted.
"What, you want- you want to go back?" He gestured with his head to the end of the hall, the direction of the room of requirement.
Hermione fought the urge to wring her fingers.
"It just seems more suited to-"
"You can't be serious."
Finding her footing in her anger, she crossed her arms over her chest and shot him a glare.
"Why wouldn't I-"
"You want to go back to that single bed? After this morning?"
She darted her tongue out, licked her lips, and waited for a clever response to come to mind.
Malfoy shook his head once, shrugged, and looked away.
"Alright." He said, offhandedly. Then he was adjusting the strap of his book-bag, and starting down the hall. Hermione followed after him, her heart swollen up into her throat.
"About that Malfoy-"
He turned quickly on his heal, eyes hard.
"Yeah, about that. Listen Granger, It wouldn't have happened in any other circumstance. I'm exhausted, bordering on delusional, and-"
With an incredulous huff, she lunged her hand impulsively out to his shirt collar, pulling him forward and kissing him swiftly. It was fast, a few lingering presses and a quick slide of his tongue, and then she was pulling away again. But as she did, she saw him lean forward, chasing more of the kiss.
"Right," she said, feeling pleased with herself. "Now that that argument is out of the way."
There was a moment of surprise on his face, before he recomposed himself into a glare. But even then his eyes were half lidded.
"I'm not made out of steel."
She swallowed. No, he wasn't. She was now acutely aware of the fact that he was warm, hard but pliable in all the right places, and the memory of his body pressed against hers flashed through her brain.
"Neither am I."
She hadn't really planned on kissing him again, but she wanted it out of the way. Clinically, wanted to bring to light the absurdity of their situation, so that neither of them could pretend it wasn't there. Now though, there was a steady thrum in her veins that seemed to itch towards him.
Malfoy's hands fell into his pockets, as they took an awkward step back from each-other.
"Anyways, I don't care if it's just because you're lonely, but the least you can do is not try to deny it. You want to kiss me Malfoy, wanted to this morning. And that's- that's fine, but-"
He sighed, shutting his eyes tight as he gripped the bridge of his nose, like he was in pain.
"Should've known you wouldn't give it a rest. I'm not doing this, I-"
"Not doing this! Malfoy, the fact that you even showed up-"
"-just go back to my bloody dorm and-"
"-won't accept that. There are clearly some things we need to talk about, so-"
"-can't just accept a situation for what it is-"
"Here!"
She jutted out the bottle of whiskey forcefully, glaring at him as the brown liquid sloshed and trembled between them.
He glanced down.
"What is-"
She sighed heavily, threw up an arm in an annoyed gesture.
"I don't know, I just figured it could help us smooth things over, since we obviously have a problem communicating under normal circumstances."
His eyebrows raised.
"And you thought alcohol would help that?"
"Sure, I guess."
He nodded, eyeing the bottle with suspicion, before flitting his eyes back up to hers.
"Alright. I hope you like hangovers."
.
.
.
Good lord- I'm so sorry for how long this has taken to upload. I hope the bit of spice in this chapter makes up for it.