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Hermione blearily rubbed her eyes as she glimpsed at the clock for what must have been the thirtieth time. It seemed like it had been an eternity, but really only ten minutes had passed since she last drowsily glanced at it. The mocking hands were no comfort then, and they were still no comfort now as they alerted her to the fact it was now just after half two in the morning. She shifted around in the armchair she had been curled in since ten, her legs numb and her Transfiguration essay long since abandoned on her lap. Even Crookshanks had left her around midnight to sleep on her pillow, where her head should have been. Yet, as her body fought to succumb to sleep, she remained awake, patiently waiting for the Head's door to open.
It was another hour before it finally did.
Hermione, hidden in the corner of the room, jumped when the door swung open and the Head Boy stumbled in, tipsy from partying with the Slytherins over their win against Gryffindor in the Quidditch game that afternoon. Hermione was disappointed in his obvious lack of care or responsibility regarding his duties as Head Boy, but she figured she could let it go just this once. As it was, they had no school that day, being a Saturday. She had to give him some credit, as well, for the Head Boy certainly could ingest a good amount of Firewhisky before actually feeling the effects. And then he still managed to find his way to the Head's Common Room and say the password. She knew if it had been Harry or Ron, they'd have been passed out cold after the first two drinks.
Though, there was a fair amount of disdain in her eyes as he could not make it farther than the couch before he passed out, which was the whole reason she had been waiting up in the first place. It certainly hadn't been the first time she had stayed up waiting for him to come back from wherever he had stayed out, and she knew it most certainly wouldn't be the last. She couldn't very much say she enjoyed it, but it did bring a certain sort of… break to her normally strict and perfectionistic life.
After all, it wasn't much fun knowing that she nearly had him memorized and he probably didn't even know her eye color. Hermione sighed as she stood from her seat, joints cracking and muscles groaning from having been in one position for so long. Walking over to sleeping boy, she unfolded the blanket that she had prepared ahead of time, while muttering a quick spell that removed his outer Quidditch gear and shoes. Placing the blanket over him, she gave him a regretful look, before turning and heading into her room, finally being able to rest now he was back.
Her last thoughts as she closed her eyes and drifted into a dreamless sleep was that when he awoke, he would have no idea it was she that had done it. And even if he did, he would deny it. After all, she was a worthless mudblood, and he was the Slytherin Prince.
Tiny heart, stuck inside yourself
When will you open up to me?
I love you so, wanna meet you again
Before one of us must go…
Hermione sat at the back of the library. Her table. It was dubbed as such because from where she sat, she could see everything that went on. Everything, including him. Where he sat, leaning back casually in his chair, his so called friends surrounding him as if the library were the coolest place to be. Hermione liked to pretend the reason he came to library was because he knew she watched him, but she knew that was false hope. In all honesty, it was most likely the fact that Madame Pince wasn't that snob that everyone believed her to be, and the library was rather fun to be in. Especially for a Head Boy who was trying to hide from a certain, squeaky-voiced slut.
Hermione sighed as she rested her cheek in her hand, her other arm laying through the crease in the book she had been desperately trying to read to distract herself, to no avail. It was that same stupid Slytherin tramp that had begun Hermione's fascination with the Head Boy, and it was for that reason, among many others, she wanted to strangle the pug faced girl.
Hermione had been minding her own business, sitting out in the tree by the Lake reading, enjoying the peaceful morning, when he had suddenly appeared beside her, hand clamped tightly over her mouth. She had tried desperately to fight him off, but she was in a tree and didn't want to risk falling. She had no idea why he was there, nor why he was preventing her from talking, until one Pansy came running beneath the tree, screeching about her 'Drakie Poo' having gone missing. She would have felt bad for the girl, had she not been so annoying. In fact, if it were any other person, she would have happily thrown the guy beside her down to the crying girl and let him suffer. However, Hermione had a particular disliking for Pansy, and indeed felt rather bad for the Head Boy to have to put up with that, even if he himself was a stuck up prat.
After what felt like forever, but was only really a few minutes, the hand was removed from her mouth. She shot a rather nasty look at her attacker, but it was wasted. He had taken to leaning back against the trunk of the tree where he was sitting, basking in the warmth of the early morning sunlight, eyes closed, a small smile playing at his lips. It was the first time Hermione had ever seen him look so… normal. The sun gave his skin a certain glow and created almost a circle of light around him, and the way he had one leg draped casually over the side of the branch made him look so relaxed. And sitting in the tree, without any of his cronies, bathed in sunlight, just taking a moment, and almost smiling; Hermione found herself thinking he was the most beautiful thing she had ever seen. She blushed at the thought and turned back to her book, trying hard to finish reading.
They sat like that well into the day. Hermione never did finish that book. She was too busy sneaking glances at the strange Slytherin that seemed so different to her now than he had just hours before. They didn't say a word as they parted, and had hardly spoken since, much to her dismay, and so she'd never had the chance to ask him why he had stayed that day, not that she might've had the courage to do so. Nonetheless... Her thoughts had been all but taken over by the blonde. And though she would never admit it, she longed to, just once more, have a meeting like that. After all, when they graduated, she was most likely never going to see him again. She wanted just one more chance to study the mysterious Head Boy, one more chance to get a peek at the side she presumed he showed to so few. She felt privileged for having gotten to see it, and she wanted it again.
But she had been stuck watching him in silence, taking care of him from the shadows. It wasn't all that bad, as she did learn much about him, much more than she would've ever thought possible. But it wasn't enough. It wasn't even close. In the span of a short few months, he had grown to be so much to her. She only dreamed he'd realize it, so she could delve even further into the mysteries that he was. But alas, that's all she could do. Dream, and wait.
Your lips touched every hand but mine
If you choose me, I'm waiting for you
If you choose me, I'm waiting for you
Always waiting.
Hermione rounded the corner of the corridor and came to an abrupt halt. It was midday on Sunday, Hogsmeade weekend. The end of the castle was usually particularly empty. So, why, then, did she hear the sound of someone crying coming from one of the abandoned classrooms?
She padded down the corridor, being quiet as to not startle whoever it was. Chances were they wanted to be alone, and she having caught them, especially in such a defenseless position, would have defeated that purpose.
As she neared the classroom where the noises were loudest she began to have a feeling of dread. She knew those muffled sobs. She had heard them a few times from her bedroom while she had been 'asleep'. Oh, if only there was something she could do for him. but she knew if she were to walk in there while he was in such a state, she would be faced with the rage of a lifetime. She wished more than anything she could go in and comfort him, but she knew she couldn't. He would never let her get close to him.
Instead of facing certain death by barging in and forcing comfort, she did what she had done every time she heard it in the Head's Dormitory. She sat outside the classroom and curled her knees beneath her chin, burying her face them, and let his sorrow and pain wash over her. She let the pain of not being able to help him, of him being forced to face this alone, whatever it was, fill up her heart and drown her. She connected with his anger and his sadness, and as she sat against the wall just outside the room, tears began to flow down her cheeks. If she could not make him happy, she would cry for him.
Perhaps she was a coward for not facing the bravery Gryffindors were supposed to have, and doing what she thought was right. But this was beyond her and her petty insistencies on moral ethics. This was the thoughts and feelings and emotional well being of a once-upon-a-time enemy. There were no protocols for those sorts of things. He was a Slytherin; by definition, she shouldn't have even wanted to make him smile, to see the relaxed attitude she had glimpsed that one time. She should have laughed at his pain, found comfort that he was getting karmic retribution for all the hate he had shown her over the years. But she couldn't.
She couldn't, not after seeing him looking peaceful and angelic while he was passed out on the couch. She couldn't, not after watching as he laughed honestly with his friends. She couldn't, not after the hard work and dedication he put into everything. She couldn't, because he was just as vulnerable and susceptible to feeling emotions, whatever they may be, as she was, regardless of how well he hid them. And who knew? Perhaps the reason he hid them was far darker than the outcome that was his personality. She couldn't, because she cared for him.
So, even though he didn't know, she cried with him.
Tiny heart, you're not by yourself
When will you recognize the beat
Of my own heart, grieving in your hand
You crush me when you run that way
Hermione had, ever since that first fateful day, come to the conclusion that he wasn't the player everyone assumed him to be. Yes, she admitted, he slept with many girls, and he had yet to maintain a relationship longer than a week. Yet, she didn't think -- no -- she knew he didn't do it to be hurtful. He never seemed to spite the girls, or try to purposely make them cry when they found out it wouldn't work. It was just part of him, the lonely part that was begging for someone to love, but had no idea how as he had never been taught.
Hermione could've showed him.
She was standing by the Head's door waiting when the latest girl, a fifth year Ravenclaw, came storming out of his room. She made for the exit and spotted Hermione, to whom she gave a rather nasty look. Hermione ignored it, and instead handed the girl a cup of tea, a bagel and cream cheese, and an apology note she had customized to appear as if it had been from the boy the Ravenclaw had just left. The girl gave Hermione a funny look, accepted the items with a bit of hesitancy, and left, sending Hermione a final glance over her shoulder, this one filled with a hint of warmth and gratitude.
It was for those looks that Hermione stood beside the door every time he had a girl over. Every single girl, every single morning after, every single one night stand, she was there, ready to fix the mess he had created. A cup of tea and a bagel, a butter beer and a sandwich, a pumpkin juice and a brownie. Whatever time of day, whatever it was she knew the girl would need, she was there with it. And she always had an apology letter on hand. It was short and sweet, and entirely blunt, but it got the point across and prevented the problems that could have arisen.
He never even knew, but she was saving his ass from loads of pissed off girls.
And she hated to tell herself, but she didn't do it for the girls. She did it for him. She did it so he wouldn't have anything else to worry about. She did it so she could feel useful in his life. Yes, she felt better when the girls looked back at her with warmth and gratitude, but that look assured that they wouldn't ruin the person she was trying to save. And really, that's what it was about. Even if watching as every girl came and went broke her heart, even if she sat in her bedroom with her pillow over her head crying, even if he could never show her what he showed them, she was doing something good for him.
And even still, she'd wait.
Your lips touched every hand but mine
If you choose me, I'm waiting for you
If you choose me, I'm waiting for you
Always waiting.
It was in April that he finally spoke to her.
She was sitting in the Head's Common Room in her usual armchair, staring into the fire as she ignored her Potions homework. She had really been slacking off in a lot of classes, not that it mattered since she still aced everything. But all she could think about was him. And she almost thought she was going crazy when the door swung open and an angry but heavily bruised Head Boy stormed into the room.
She didn't really even think about what she was doing. Hermione supposed that she was so used to caring for him when he wouldn't notice, that her newly developed instinct took over when she saw the scratches and busted lip. She hardly gave a thought that he hadn't realized she had been in the room when he arrived, so when she reappeared with a first aid kit, knowing, most likely above anyone else, that he would refuse to see Madame Pomfrey, he was slightly startled. He gave her a nasty look, and tried shoving her away as she tried to apply a bag of ice to his lip, but she glared at him and he relented.
It wasn't the first time she had tended to his cuts and scratches. Often, when he came back drunk, he would have a bloody nose or a scratch. But he was always passed out then. This was the first time she had ever tended him while he was awake. Yet, it seemed no different. Aside from the initial reluctance, he let her care for him. He sat patiently on the couch while she applied potions and magical creams to the bruises and cuts adorning his face, neither saying a word. When she was finished she slowly packed up her things, gave a last check over of his face, and slowly stood. Never looking up, never meeting his fiery grey eyes, for she knew with the uncanny ability that she was certain she now knew him with, that they were watching her, she turned and fled to her room.
The Head Boy watched her go with an unreadable expression. He reached up and gently touched the spot his lip had busted open; there was no hint there had ever been a cut. Her fingers had traced his face with practiced ease, and her skin had been so soft. He felt like she wasn't supposed to touch him; like her innocence and purity would be tainted if she came too close. Yet, her fingers seemed to know his face like her own.
He lay across the couch, his finger still resting on his lip. Why would she have even cared for him? He was supposed to be her sworn enemy. He had tormented her for years. Granted, for some reason, that had stopped this year (or maybe last, he couldn't remember). But surely she couldn't get over it that quickly? He had called her the worst of names, and treated her even more terrible than the things he called her. Why now was she suddenly showing concern? If this had happened before, he would have assumed she'd have scoffed and said 'serves you right' or something along the lines. But come to think of it, had she even called him anything this year? Had they talked, even if insulting, at all?
They hadn't, he realized. They had simply acted as if neither existed. Or, at least, it seemed she had been acting. There was no sign of anything but concern in her eyes. And the tenderness that she showed him. He had never received that before. Well except for…
The Head Boy bolted up. It made so much sense. The blankets at night, the tea by his bed, the notes from when he was hung-over, how the girls weren't angry with him, how all his cuts seemed to vanish overnight…
He jumped up and practically ran to Hermione's door, not the least bit surprised when he only had to knock once. When she opened the door, she seemed surprised to see him, but at the same time a tad expectant. She looked up at him, her eyes wide and a bit fearful. Had he figured it out? Had he come to yell at her, to hex her, to threaten her? Had he come to reinstate the image he worked so hard to create, that she was seeing right through?
Staring down at the petite bushy-haired bookworm, the Head Boy couldn't help but be amazed. This girl, a Gryffindor, a person that he was supposed to hate, supposed to view as beneath him, had gotten closer than anyone to the deepest part of him. Of course he had noticed the blankets at night, and the tea in the morning by his bed. He had assumed it to be the house elves. He was confused by the notes for the days he was hung over or sick, and even more so when his cuts vanished over night. He had never understood why, when he felt particularly down and maybe even cried a bit, he felt as if someone was taking half the weight. He would have never believed it, until he looked at the girl in front of him.
He had so many things to ask, so many things to say, so much he wanted to know. But the only thing he could manage was, "Why?"
Startled, Hermione blinked and shrugged, blushing slightly. "Because I care."
You will never know, what you have done to me
You will never know, losing love from me
You will never know, a single day alone
Things had been awkward between the Slytherin Prince and Gryffindor's Golden Girl. She still carried about as usual, leaving him tea in the mornings and such, but now that he knew it was her he took special care to not do anything extravagant that would require her attention. It hurt knowing that he didn't want her, but she knew it was going to happen. She had hoped against it, but she wouldn't have put her hopes into things she knew couldn't be. They were too different.
She didn't see the looks he was giving her when she was reading by the fire or hunched over and scribbling furiously at an essay. She had no idea of the amount of time he spent watching her, trying to see the traits in her that caused her to care about him. He barely even realized that he was doing exactly what she had been doing the months prior. She may have been a know-it-all, but he was every bit as into knowing everything as she was. And if there was one thing he didn't understand, it was her.
How could she care for him? Even more than that, how could she openly admit to caring for him, and then not expect anything in return? It was so… strange. He was a Slytherin. He was all about deals, bargains, you scratch my back I'll scratch yours. Yet she just cared for him, looked deep into him when nobody else was, and she didn't seem to expect anything in return. He didn't understand, and it was for that reason he watched her every day. It was for that reason he began waking up earlier so he'd be awake when she was making the tea. It was for that reason, he found himself caring for the Gryffindor.
Tiny heart, stuck inside yourself
When will you open up…
Hermione was sitting in her tree. She had just graduated from Hogwarts, and now she was spending one last time in her tree, staring out over the Black Lake as the thought back over the last seven years. This was it. She would be leaving her precious school, her home, for the last seven years, to face the real world. She was going to be facing real troubles, bigger troubles than tests or Head Girl duties. This was a big moment. She was so deep in thought, she didn't notice when a second figure joined her. However, she did notice when hands covered her eyes, and the voice she had come to love stated, "Guess who…"
Laughing, she took his hands off her eyes and turned to stare at him. It was nostalgic, seeing him sitting in the tree beside her, just as relaxed and carefree as that first day. Except he no longer wore his Slytherin robes; now he was adorned in a Hogwarts Slytherin graduation gown. And that's, perhaps, what made the picture even better to Hermione.
"What brings you up here? Shouldn't you be celebrating?" She asked.
He shrugged, as if celebrating was the last thing on his mind. "I could say the same for you."
Hermione smiled softly, turning back to the water. "Just thinking about some memories."
She knew he was smiling behind her. She had done it, after all. She had found him. She had found the boy who was with her that day, and she had brought him out. Sure, he was only there for her, but he was there, and that's all that mattered.
"Hermione," he said suddenly, his tone changing from playful to serious. Hermione turned around to watch him warily, already knowing what was coming. She had been preparing for it since day one. She would never fully accept it, but she was prepared. After all, she was Hermione Granger, stuck-up, know-it-all bookworm. She wasn't so dense she didn't see this coming. If she was, she might as well use a time turner to decline the position of Head Girl. He may have opened up to her, but he was still the scared, neglected, and unsure boy that she grew up with. Yes, she knew what was coming.
"My father… well he won't hand over my inheritance until I work at least five years under him. And without my inheritance, I have nothing. I haven't given up on my goal of becoming a healer, though. My father and I agreed that after five years if I still wanted out, I could collect my inheritance and leave," he said, staring past her through the leaves, his face void of emotion, but his eyes haunted.
"But that's great news!" Hermione exclaimed, knowing the battle he and his father had over what he would do after Hogwarts. But she knew he wasn't done, and what he said next tore her heart in two. But she was expecting it. Even after everything, she hadn't learnt everything about him just to be surprised by this. Sure it hurt. But it was reality.
He met her eyes, and she held back a flinch when she saw the pain that was in them. He wanted this even less than she did. "You know my father would never… he would never-"
"He would never accept me," she finished, trying to mask the ache that filled her heart.
The boy across from her frowned, his hands tightening into fists. "You know I can't go against him; not when I've been offered a deal like this. I didn't even think I'd get this much. And you, well hell, he'd take one look at me and you and rip it all out from under me."
Hermione tried to show she understood, but she was so close to crying that she was afraid to speak. She took a few steadying breaths, trying hard to ignore the hurt the she felt from his words, knowing he meant no harm. It was a few minutes before she was composed enough to speak. "When do you leave?"
He looked away, his eyes taking on a far-away glaze as he grimaced. "Tomorrow morning."
If her heart hadn't shattered before, it was crumbling to pieces now. She had just gotten him, and now he was being torn from her again. How was this fair? How was this at all fair? She had cared for him, she had opened him up, she had turned him into the person he wanted to be! In turn, he had found someone he could love and trust and understand! And now… now it was all for nothing.
They sat in a heavy silence as the sun set behind them, both too sad and distraught to move. For all they knew, this could be the last time they ever saw each other. Merlin knows his father would try to set him up with Pureblooded freaks that only care for his wealth. How was she supposed to trust him not to fall for it? How were they supposed to trust his father to uphold his deal? How could they trust anything?
As it got darker, Hermione began to shiver, and he noticed. Giving her a hand, he helped her out of the tree and back up towards the castle, fingers intertwined so tightly, afraid they would get lost in the darkness. He stopped before the castle entrance, causing her to stop as well.
"I know… I know it might not mean much now, and I can certainly understand if you don't trust me or don't want to, but… but Hermione, you're the only one who's ever understood me, and well, I can wait if you can."
Hermione's eyes widened, and she fought the smile that was trying to make its way across her face. That was all she had ever wanted to hear but logic still reigned true in her mind and she ducked her head. Remaining the ever realistic Gryffindor, she stated, "Five years is a long time…"
He looked stricken, waiting for the dreaded word to come from her lips. Instead a grand smile spread across her face and she threw her arms around his neck, whispering in his ear.
"But, I'll always be waiting."
Your lips touched every hand but mine
If you choose me, I'm waiting for you
If you choose me, I'm waiting for you
The following morning found Hermione waving goodbye, a sad but optimistic smile on her lips, tears rolling down her cheeks without fail. She watched as the man she had come to love boarded the early Hogwarts Express and left her behind for the beginning of their five year separation. But if he could wait, so could she.
Always waiting…