Archive of Our Own

For Hermione, there was no sweeter sound than the soft ‘click’ of the door to her Head Girl dormitory room shutting. After a long day of challenging classes, she liked to trek up to her room on the fifth floor, bag overflowing with textbooks, and enjoy the utter sanctity of solitary study time. 

To be granted blessed silence after the hellish year she had experienced was nothing short of a miracle. Hermione intended to seize every opportunity to cram knowledge into her mind before she took her NEWTs. 

And she had every intention of receiving perfect marks when she did.

It gave her something to work toward—something to focus on. Which was something she desperately needed. Because in the moments when she wasn’t keeping busy, when her nose wasn’t buried in an ancient tome, her thoughts tended to wander to dark places she had sworn to leave behind her. 

War. Devastation. Death. 

Reading about the theory behind human transfiguration and the origins of the most archaic runes filled that void. Creating a personal pledge to commit it all to memory gave her a tangible goal she could work toward. 

And so when that wooden door clicked shut after class each day, Hermione revelled in the solitude. Moreso, she revelled in her ability to stick to her plan. The oath she had made to herself.

“I’m going to focus this year, Ginny,” she had told her friend as they packed their trunks at the Burrow on a hot, sticky August afternoon. “Colour-coded study schedules all year. Library privileges. The whole thing.” 

Ginny simply rolled her eyes as she knelt by her own trunk, folding jumpers. “You always focus, Hermione. That’s not exactly new.” 

“But I mean really focus,” Hermione continued. “No distractions. No extra activities or clubs. Maybe not even Hogsmeade.” 

“No Hogsmeade?” 

“Not if it’s going to interfere with my studies.” 

Ginny tossed her stack of jumpers into her trunk, closed the lid, and sat on top. She set her elbows on her knees, leaning forward, her suspicious eyes boring into Hermione’s. “You mean to tell me that if a super fit bloke wants to chat you up or take you on a date, you’re going to turn him down because you’d rather spend an intimate Saturday with a book?” 

“Oh, don’t be so dramatic, Ginny,” Hermione groaned, sitting on her own trunk. “But yes. My self-imposed pact of sorts includes a rule about boys. That is to say, I won’t be seeing them at all this year.” 

Ginny snorted. “Suit yourself. I, on the other hand, have every intention of getting thoroughly shagged this year.” 

Hermione’s jaw dropped. “Ginny!” she cried. “I thought after you and Harry—”

“After me and Harry what?” 

Hermione shifted slightly, grimacing. “I just thought you’d want to, I dunno, give yourself a little break.” 

Ginny sighed, shifting off of her trunk and opening again. “Harry and I just didn’t work. But that doesn’t mean I want to spend my seventh year crying over it. I just want a normal relationship is all.” She paused for a moment, eyes narrowed as she seemed to consider something. Then she smirked. “Or maybe not even a relationship. Maybe just I just want a lot of dicks.”

“Ginevra!” 

Since that conversation nearly two months ago, Hermione had seen Ginny flirting with a handful of boys in between classes and in the Great Hall, but she had yet to see her actually snog anyone. Perhaps it was just dumb luck that she hadn’t caught her friend, but Hermione suspected that she just hadn’t found the right person yet. 

Keeping half an eye on Ginny was the closest thing to social interaction Hermione truly allowed herself this year. She had started taking her breakfast and supper in her quarters to ensure she didn’t get distracted at mealtimes in the Great Hall. 

That routine was no different during a darkening evening in early October. Hermione ran her left index finger around the edge of her plate, collecting the last crumbs of her shepherd’s pie; the ink-stained fingers of her right hand remained wrapped around her quill. She had to finish taking notes on the supplemental reading that Professor Flitwick had assigned her on advanced protective enchantments. If she really focused tonight, she might be able to get through it all—

Knock knock knock. 

The sound of someone’s fist pounding against her door echoed through her otherwise silent chamber. Hermione growled, but refused to answer. Maybe if she just ignored whoever it was, they would go away and leave her in peace. 

Knock knock knock. 

Or not. 

“Granger, open up!” 

Hermione closed her eyes, inhaling deeply through her nose and hanging her head. 

“What do you want, Malfoy?” 

Clearly, he had to discuss something with her as Head Boy. Why else would he be hounding her outside of classes? 

“Would you just let me in? I’d rather not have a whole conversation through a door.” 

Hermione pushed herself up from her desk with a sigh and rolled her neck. She’d only truly just settled in, and a conversation with Malfoy would definitely derail the progress she’d hoped to make tonight. Curling her hand around the familiar brass handle, she pulled the door open. Just beyond the threshold stood Draco Malfoy, looking impeccable as always, his hair styled without a strand out of place and his uniform covering his fine physique without an untucked shirt tail or wrinkle. 

In other words, he was exactly who Hermione should stay away from. 

“What do you need, Malfoy?” she asked, folding her arms across her chest. He’d better have a good excuse for interrupting her. He knew— everyone knew that she was solely devoted to studying this year. 

He cleared his throat. “Sorry to barge in like this Granger, but we need to sit down and talk about Heads stuff. We’ve hardly had a chance to say two words to each other since the start of term.” Draco didn’t seem angry at her. He didn’t even seem annoyed. Instead, the look in his eyes told her that he probably felt genuinely sorry for interrupting her.

A drop of guilt began to spread in Hermione’s conscience and she grimaced. “I didn’t realize you wanted to meet. What did you want to discuss?” 

Malfoy cleared his throat again, shoving his hands in his pockets. “Well, there’s a lot to talk about, actually. McGonagall’s given me a long list of things we have to figure out.” He paused, looking just past Hermione into her room. “I don’t know if you want to figure it out now, or—”

“Now’s not really a good time,” Hermione interjected. “I need to focus for several hours a day, actually, so a long meeting probably wouldn’t be a good idea. What if...” She stopped and bit her lip, scrunching her eyebrows as she wracked her brain for a solution. “What if we just met for a few minutes every couple of days?” 

Draco sighed and ran a hand through his perfect hair. A few more strands fell over his pale face. “I guess. But please tell me we can meet somewhere that isn’t your room.”

Hermione blanched. “Why’s that?”

Draco raised an eyebrow as he leaned slightly to the side, past her shoulder. She knew he could see the messy piles of books, her parchment-covered desk, and small hills of worn clothes beyond the threshold. 

“Because you need to get out more. You’ve practically buried yourself in here since we arrived. When was the last time you went outside?” 

Hermione drew her head back slightly, fighting back a disbelieving smile. “The last time I—uh… huh.” 

When had been the last time she went outside the four walls of the castle? Or spent more than a couple hours outside of her own room? 

What started as light commentary quickly fell into confusion as she realized with a pang that she actually couldn’t remember the last time she had ventured outside. The answer must have been clear as day on her face.

Malfoy shook his head. “Tsk tsk, Granger. We can’t have our Head Girl cracking, now can we? Let’s get you outside, then. Twice a week. We can take a walk around the lake. Work out our Head plans. Sound good?” 

It was a foolproof plan. At least, that’s how it sounded. She’d be able to fulfill her duties without longer interruptions to her master plan. And besides, a brisk walk around the lake with Malfoy didn’t really count as a date. It didn’t count at all. 

Not that she would jump to that conclusion. She just… couldn’t break her oath. 

And even if she did jump to that conclusion, Malfoy… he hardly counted as male in her eyes. Well, an available male, in any case. Not only had she actively removed herself from a potential dating pool, there was also no way that Malfoy would ever consider someone like her—frumpy, frizzy, and diligent—to be anything except a nuisance. 

There was simply no way. But it wouldn’t hurt to look, right? 

So she decided to break her rule. 

There would be a boy. Sort of. 

~*~*~*~

Brisk walks around the lake turned out to be a double-edged sword. While they were certainly productive—they had solved an issue involving first years getting lost, fixed scheduling conflicts among multiple clubs, and begun to plan a series of social events for seventh and eighth years—Hermione couldn’t help but feel that with each stride she took with Malfoy, she was getting further and further from her goal. 

But it wasn’t just his handsome face that distracted her. 

Buried in her books, she hadn’t noticed the change of the seasons. But going outside twice a week brought a renewed sense of awareness that flowed through her body each time she stepped beyond the oak front doors. It was like coming alive again. She was able to track the colour change in the leaves and feel the sudden chill in the air as autumn arrived for the year. 

“Oh, Malfoy, isn’t it beautiful?” she practically sang one clear morning in late October. “This could almost be a painting, it’s so perfect.” 

Instead of insisting she focus on their task at hand, he merely smiled at her, his grey eyes reflecting the early morning sunlight. “It’s a nice morning. I’ve started appreciating them a lot more after… well, after the war.” 

Hermione hummed in response, letting the silence hang between them for a moment. “Yeah, everything seems more beautiful now. Clearer.” 

That particular autumn day, their walk felt more like a stroll as they made their way around the lake, brilliant sunlight reflected in its ripples. Hermione felt as though she could finally breathe—as though the air filling her lungs before now hadn’t quite been enough. Perhaps it was the sun, or the fresh air, or something else she couldn’t put her finger on, but she couldn’t stop the grin that spread across her face as they rambled along the shore. 

She didn’t do much talking at first. Malfoy filled her in on some requests from professors and some issues he had spotted around the castle recently. To Hermione’s surprise, he seemed fairly sensitive to students’ needs, even bringing up a bullying issue with some second years. The emotional way he described his conversation with the young Hufflepuff girl being picked on tugged at her heartstrings, and she found herself both impressed and moved by his commitment to be not just a good Head Boy, but a good role model for younger students. 

Had Draco Malfoy really changed so much in the past few months? He seemed kinder now—softer. It was as though all of his hard edges had been smoothed like a stone in a river. Hermione had noticed how handsome he was before now. Every girl at Hogwarts had. He was handsome, yes but she never would have touched him with a ten-foot pole if someone had paid her thousands of galleons. 

Today—now, this was her first glimpse at a more mature, more considerate Malfoy. And the way her heart beat faster whenever he looked down at her as they walked—it was enough to make her want to break her oath. Almost. Just a little.

She had developed the unfortunate habit of staring at him as he spoke, and today was no exception. As Draco enumerated upon a discussion he had with some bullied students, Hermione couldn’t help the way her eyes went a little glassy as she watched his Adam’s Apple bob up and down with every word he spoke. 

“Hermione?”

Startled, her vision jumped back into focus. 

“Are you—were you listening?” 

Hermione felt heat rise in her cheeks as she nodded and prayed that Malfoy would only suspect it was from the nip in the air. 

What began as a twice-weekly event somehow turned into three times a week, then once every weekday. And somehow, even that turned into sitting together in the Great Hall at lunch. 

The oath Hermione had made to herself at the beginning of the year still stood in her mind. But it had grown more… flexible . Was Malfoy a distraction? Of course he was. But she couldn’t help herself. The way he flashed a grin at her when she sat across from him at the Slytherin table—the way his eyes gleamed when he started talking about the time he’d spent traveling as a child—it was nearly impossible to stop the overwhelming affection growing inside of her whenever he was around. 

Had he always been this charming? This sweet? This fit? 

Well, yes to that last one. 

Hermione felt as though she was burning from the inside out as she sat at her desk on an evening in mid-November, papers strewn in front of her higglety pigglety. She had meant to spend several hours studying the history and theory behind more obscure potions ingredients, but instead found herself daydreaming about Draco’s smile. 

She shook her head, as though doing so would fling her thoughts across the room. This was ridiculous . Here she was, pining after Draco Malfoy of all people when she had sworn not to get distracted this year, let alone by a stupidly handsome, kind—

Dammit. 

And the worst part—the very worst part was that there was a chance that he fancied her as well. Ginny had mentioned in passing that she had caught Draco staring at her on more than one occasion. But there was no way. It was simply impossible. Draco, fancy her? Ridiculous. 

And even if he did… no.  

She didn’t need the attention. She couldn’t afford the distraction. 

But Merlin, how she wanted him. 

Thoughts swirling and pent up attraction threatening to boil over, Hermione leaned back in her chair and groaned. She wasn’t going to get anywhere if she kept this up. 

Perhaps , she mused to herself, if I tell him that I fancy him, he can just say no and I can move on and get back to studying. 

She stood and began pacing around her room, hands clutched behind her back much as they might be if she was taking one of her usual walks with Draco. 

“Draco,” she began in a whisper, staring at her shoes. “I wanted to tell you that I-I fancy you.” 

Hermione paused, a shudder running through her. No, that was far too direct. She tried again. 

“Draco, I’ve actually enjoyed getting to know you these past few weeks and I wondered how you felt about me?” 

Ugh. That left her far too vulnerable. 

Back and forth she paced, from her desk to her bed and back again. She was certain that after nearly thirty minutes of this, she’d have worn a hole in the floor. Instead, all she was left with were racing thoughts and studying she still hadn’t done. 

This was ridiculous. 

Stomping over to her desk, Hermione reached for an empty sheet of parchment and a quill. Maybe if she just wrote it down, she’d be able to get her thoughts out properly. With any luck, her mind would then be free to think about more important things. She could just vanish or burn the letter when she was done and forget about the whole thing. 

That had to work. 

Hermione put quill to parchment and began to write. 

I don’t know if you’ll ever read this, but I wanted to write this all down so I could get it off my chest.

I had a plan for this year. A good plan. A plan that didn’t involve boys. A plan that didn’t involve you. But despite my best intentions, I’ve fallen for you. Completely. Hopelessly.

I’ve fallen for you so much that I can’t focus on anything. You’re just so different from who I thought you were… who I thought you would be. In a good way, of course. The way you care about the other students—even little Hufflepuffs—shows me what kind of person you are. 

And I’m sure you know how handsome you are. You’re so good-looking it hurts. I’ve always thought so, actually, but Merlin knows I would never have said anything. I mean, how could I have? 

But now? When you smile, it feels like I could turn into a puddle of myself on the floor. I’d never seen you smile like that before. It’s nice. I hope you can always smile like that. 

Frankly, I have no idea if you feel anything like that about me. I’m not of particular beauty, nor am I dainty or well-mannered. So I would understand if you aren’t interested. But I just had to write this down — to try and tell you how I feel—otherwise I was going to go spare. 

Yours,

Hermione

Hermione wrote it all down in a frenzy, the words flowing from her quill with ease. After scribbling her signature, she dropped her quill, flexing her fingers to rid herself of hand cramps. Leaning back in her chair, she looked over what she had written. 

Was it entirely mortifying? Absolutely. But this was an outlet—albeit a private one—for her distraction. This letter would never see the light of day. Hermione was certain she would die from embarrassment if it ever fell into Draco’s hands. Heat rushed to her ears at the very thought. 

Feeling far more at ease than she had before, Hermione sighed deeply, tilting her head back. There. It was done. Now she didn’t have to think about it any more. Folding the note, she stuffed it in a plain envelope and slid it between the pages of a charms textbook for safekeeping. Satisfied, Hermione squared her shoulders and returned to her intended studies. 

Out of sight, out of mind. 

~*~*~*~

For over a week, the letter stayed tucked inside of the charms textbook. And though she occasionally eyed the sliver of envelope peeking out from the pages, she refused to re-read it or even take it out. Just being around Draco and his stupid smile regularly was enough to remind her of what ridiculous things she had written; she didn’t need to revisit them in person. 

She had to put that nonsense behind her. After all, she had goals to meet this year. Her oath. It had to be upheld. 

It was a particularly icy night when Hermione made a last-minute visit to the library just an hour before it was set to close for the night. In all her frenzied studying, she hadn’t realised that a handful of books were due that day. So at half-past eight, she threw on an old jumper and a comfortable pair of trousers before hastening to her favorite place in all of Hogwarts. 

Madam Pince glared down at Hermione from behind her thick spectacles as she pulled the nearly-overdue books from her bag. 

“I’m so sorry,” muttered Hermione, removing the final book and placing it on top of the stack on the desk. 

Madam Pince’s frown deepened as she waved her wand to enchant each book back to its shelf one by one. Just as she was about to move the last book, Hermione spotted the familiar envelope sticking out of its pages. 

“W-wait!” she cried, her heart leaping into her throat, the rest of her body frozen in horror. Meekly, she held her hand out. “I… I left a bookmark in the charms book. If I could just—”

“Do, hurry up, Miss Granger. You should know better by now that I do not condone the sticking of rogue items in my books.” 

Hermione quickly snatched the envelope, clutching it to her chest as the librarian sent the charms textbook flying past her head with a swish of a wand. Swinging her bag over her shoulder, Hermione turned to face the door with every intention of heading back up to her dormitory when she collided with something very solid and bright red. 

“Ginny!” Hermione cried once she regained her balance. 

“Silence!” hissed Madam Pince, staring down at the two girls menacingly from her perch. 

Ginny shot Hermione an impish grin before motioning for her to follow her deeper into the library. Hermione gazed longingly at the door for a moment and was about to open her mouth to tell her friend that she’d really rather just go back to her room, but the continued glowering from the librarian drove Hermione to follow Ginny deeper to the library instead. After a minute of bobbing and weaving through various aisles and shelves, Ginny indicated a table where they could sit in one of the quietest back corners. The girls slid into their seats across from each other and Hermione immediately leaned forward. 

“I was about to leave, Ginny. Why’d you lead us all the way back here?” 

The redhead continued to grin as she leaned in, too. “Because I didn’t want Madam Pince to catch us talking. And because I needed to tell you something. I never see you anymore.” 

Hermione shrugged, looking down at her fidgeting fingers. “I’m just busy is all.” 

“Busy chatting up Malfoy?” 

Hermione’s head snapped up, her eyes wide. “Chatting up—? I-I’m not chatting him up . He’s Head Boy! I’m Head Girl, so we—”

“So you have plenty of time alone to shag. I get it.” 

“Ginny!” Hermione practically shrieked her friend’s name before clamping her hands over her mouth. She was positive she’d gone beet red by now. Steadying herself, she managed to control her voice enough to whisper, “What did you need to tell me?” 

Ginny opened her mouth, clearly ready to speak, but her eyes traveled to Hermione’s left. She followed the redhead’s gaze until her eyes landed on an envelope clutched—nearly crumpled— in her hand. 

Shite. 

“What’s that?” Ginny asked, a mischievous air in her voice.

“Nothing.” Hermione tried to shove the envelope unceremoniously into her bag, but Ginny lunged for it, showing off her Quidditch instincts in full force as she dove across the table. 

“Who is this a letter for?” Ginny demanded as Hermione held the envelope just out of her reach, her arm stretched as far back as she could manage. 

“None of your business,” hissed Hermione, tilting her chair back in an attempt to inch her letter to Draco just a little farther from Ginny’s grasp. 

“Seriously?” 

“ Yes , seriously.” 

With a sigh, Ginny pulled back and collapsed into her chair. “Fine. Keep whatever secret that is. We all have our secrets.”

“What sort of secrets do you have, Ginny?” Hermione snorted, reaching down to tuck the letter into her bag.

“Oh, mine’s not that much of a secret. I’ve been writing to Blaise Zabini all year.” 

Ginny said this with the same tone as one might use when describing that owls could fly.

Hermione’s jaw dropped. 

“Blaise Zabini?”

“The one and only.” 

“But why? How—?”

“We got to chatting one day in Herbology. He’s got a nice arse. What else is there to say?” 

Hermione closed her eyes and shook her head in disbelief. “Does this have anything to do with what you wanted to tell me?” 

Ginny waved her hand. “Forget that. I want to show you, the apparent queen of secret letters , what I’m going to send to Blaise tomorrow.” From out of her own school bag, Ginny drew out a folded square of parchment. With a flourish and a wink, she held out the note between her index and middle finger. “Go on. Have a look. I don’t have nearly as many secrets as you do.” 

Hermione snatched the letter, unfolded it, and began to read, her eyes traveling from left to right across the page. 

“Ginny!” she cried after only two sentences. “Th-this is positively… urgh! Do I have to read it?” The message Ginny had written down was nothing short of filthy. Hermione shuddered. Looking up at her friend, she saw the redhead was smirking, her hands behind her head. “Do you… do you actually do these things with him?” 

Ginny only waggled her eyebrows.

Making a face, Hermione tossed the letter back to her friend. “I don’t want to read any more.” 

“That probably makes whatever you wrote look extremely tame, I bet.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Of course it is. But my letter is still private .” 

Ginny pouted. “Oh, you’re no fun. Will you tell me at the very least who it’s for?”

Clearing her throat, Hermione looked determinedly at a shelf of astronomy books to her right. “It’s for Malfoy, okay?” 

If Ginny’s eyebrows could have flown off of her forehead, they would have. She gave a disbelieving snort and slammed her hands down on the table. 

“Are you serious? Hermione, Malfoy? I mean, I know I made a joke about you two shagging, but —” 

“Well you’re apparently shagging Blaise Zabini, so I don’t see how you can judge me.” 

Throwing her hands in the air defensively, Ginny raised her eyebrows, her lips turned down. “Fine, fine. I won’t pester you any more. Besides, you probably have hours of studying ahead of you and I have no intention of getting involved in any of that.” 

Standing, Ginny slung her bag over her shoulder, pushed her chair, and made her way over to the opposite side of the table. She kneeled next to Hermione’s chair, placing a lingering hand on her shoulder. 

“Look, I’m just glad you want to do something other than sit in your room with your nose buried in books.” Ginny squeezed her shoulder, and Hermione could sense a smirk growing on her friend’s face. “Even if that something you want to do is Malfoy.” 

“G-Ginny!” 

By the time Hermione finished spluttering, Ginny was nowhere to be found. 

~*~*~*~

Hermione woke to the alarm vibrations of her wand under her pillow. Her body protested as she dragged herself into a sitting position with a groan. For seven in the morning, it was far too dark. She had been up until two, scribbling on what seemed like an endless scroll of parchment, trying to scratch away at an Arithmancy essay. Her desk looked like a war zone, covered in piles of half-full ink bottles and quills that she had been too exhausted to pick up last night. 

Today would be another long day. She had three classes, including double transfiguration in the morning. 

The only bright spot she had to look forward to was the brisk walk she and Draco would be taking after breakfast. Deciding to focus on that, Hermione rolled out of bed and began to dress, making sure to stuff a scarf and woolen mittens in her school bag for her time outside. 

Trudging down to breakfast from the fifth floor, Hermione stifled several yawns. The usual dull, scattered chatter filled her ears as she drew closer to the Great Hall. After so many hours locked away in solitude, she had to admit that the presence of other students was rather comforting. 

Sliding onto a bench beside Ginny at the Gryffindor table, she immediately reached for a mug and the coffee pot. Pouring herself a steaming cup, she sighed contentedly with the first sip. 

Yes. This was definitely what she needed. 

“You look like you’ve been hit by the Knight Bus, Hermione. You okay?” Ginny asked with concern as she spread some strawberry preserves on a piece of toast. 

“Never better,” Hermione answered with a yawn. “I can’t wait for winter hols. I’ll finally be able to sleep.”

“ Or ,” said Ginny, popping the toast in her mouth, “You could just stop driving yourself spare and go to bed at eleven like a normal person.” 

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Ginny, you know why—”

“Oh look!” The redhead interrupted, gesturing to the ceiling. “Mail’s here.”

The words on Hermione’s lips died as a dozens of owls swooped down from the ceiling, carrying parcels of all shapes and sizes in their talons. 

“You should look over at the Slytherin table,” Ginny whispered. 

Hermione glanced briefly at Ginny, who looked suspiciously gleeful as she nodded her head in the direction of the farthest table. 

“Oh, Merlin, Ginny. Did you send your letter?” 

Ginny turned to Hermione and smirked, one eyebrow quirking. “Sort of.” 

Dread immediately flooded Hermione’s stomach as she looked between her friend and the Slytherin table. Her thoughts began to race as she tried to piece together the meaning behind her words. “Ginny…”

“Yes?” 

“What did you do?” 

“Oh, not too much. Post’ll just be very… interesting this morning.” 

As if in slow motion, Hermione’s eyes turned up toward the ceiling as more owls came pouring in. 

And then it hit her. 

“You didn’t .”

“Oh, but I did.” 

Hermione tore through her school bag, looking for any trace of her embarrassing, never-supposed-to-see-the-light-of-day letter, only to find it conspicuously absent. 

“Ginny,” Hermione whispered, her tone low and dangerous. “Where’s my letter?” 

“I stole it out of your bag in the library and sent it,” said Ginny plainly, not a trace of guilt in her voice. 

“You what? Why in Merlin’s name would you do that?”

Ginny shrugged. “It needed to be done.” 

“It needed—? Ginny!”

“Shh, look!” Ginny interrupted Hermione again, pointing discretely over at the Slytherins. Blaise Zabini and Draco sat next to each other—they were easy enough to spot, what with Draco’s platinum blond locks contrasting sharply with Zabini’s darker skin. A tawny owl had swooped down and dropped an envelope each in front of their plates. 

 Hermione watched in horror as both boys reached for the letters. 

“I can’t watch,” Hermione moaned, burying her face in her jumper. “Kill me, Ginny. Kill me now.” 

“Oh, no you don’t. Come on, Hermione. I did this as a favour to you.” 

“A favour ?” Hermione spluttered, unable to bring herself to even peek at the Slytherin table. “I specifically told you that I didn’t want—”

“That’s strange.” 

Hermione blinked. She furrowed her eyebrows. Turning her head to follow Ginny’s gaze, her eyes landed on the two Slytherin boys. They had both torn their envelopes open and were staring at their respective letters. 

Blaise was staring at his with one eyebrow cocked so high, it was almost at risk of disappearing into his hair. 

Draco, on the other hand, had turned the colour of a tomato. He was wearing a look that Hermione was personally all too familiar with—like he wanted to sink into the floor and disappear. 

“What’s strange?” Hermione asked as she watched the two boys’ reactions. 

“I… Blaise isn’t reacting the way he normally does. He usually winks at me or makes a crude gesture or something.” Ginny half-pouted and folded her arms. “I wonder why…” Her voice trailed off for a moment until she whispered a tiny, “Oh.” 

“Oh what?” 

“Oh… I think I know what happened.” 

“You… what—? 

Hermione glanced back over at Draco and Blaise. To her continued mortification, they were reading each others’ letters. Both looked more surprised with each passing second. 

And then they switched their parchments.

Hermione almost fell off her bench.

“Yeah, that’s what I was afraid of,” admitted Ginny, reaching for more toast. “Looks like the owl mixed up the letters.” 

“The owl? Are you seriously blaming this on the owl? ” Hermione buried her face in her hands. She could not believe that Draco had actually read the sappy letter she wrote in secret to get her pining out of her system. 

“Well, the letters weren’t properly labeled to be fair.” 

“Ginny, nothing about this is fair. You completely disregarded me when I specifically asked you not to read that blasted letter. Let alone send it. I—”

From above them, someone cleared their throat. 

Hermione looked up and almost dropped her coffee mug. 

There stood Draco Malfoy, a smirk painted on his smug, stupidly handsome face. 

“Uh—um—h-h-” Her tongue was swollen. Or maybe her brain was. She couldn’t speak. Or think. Or breathe.

“Hi, Granger,” Draco said, the corners of his lips hardly able to contain a smile. “Can I, uh, talk to you for a minute?” 

Hermione felt all the air leave her lungs. 

This was it. This was how she was going to die. 

Unable to make any sort of sound, she just nodded and swung her leg over the bench robotically. Ginny flashed her a thumbs up as she stood, and Hermione was genuinely tempted to give her the finger.

Draco didn’t say anything as they filed past all the other students who were innocently eating breakfast, completely unaware that one of their classmates was about to die of embarrassment in the corridor. 

Hermione thought they would stop as soon as they reached the Entrance Hall, but Draco continued walking, and it wasn’t as though Hermione was in any position to ask him questions. So she followed behind silently, her heart thumping more erratically with each step. Pushing the castle doors open, Draco gestured with his hands for Hermione to step through first. She obliged him. 

Oh, gods. Why had she written any of that down? Why did Ginny have to send it? And why, oh why , did the letters have to get mixed up? 

Hermione’s throat practically closed as a new wave of mortification crashed over her at a novel revelation. 

What if he thought she had written that ghastly, inappropriate, explicit letter that Ginny had written for Blaise? The very thought made her want to melt, becoming goo like the mud beneath their feet. Thoughts swirled in her head like a tornado as they traipsed across the gloomy grounds. Skies that had so often been blue this autumn were shrouded in grey clouds and everything was sopping wet to the point that Hermione dodged several mud puddles on their trek to the lake. 

All the while, neither said a thing. 

Only when they reach the edge of the lake did Draco open his mouth to speak.

“So…” he began, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I got an interesting piece of mail this morning.” 

Hermione swallowed. She decided to do something she rarely did: play dumb. “Oh, did you?” 

“Yes. In fact—” Draco paused and to Hermione’s utter humiliation, he withdrew a familiar-looking folded parchment from his trousers pocket. “—I wonder if you could clarify something for me. Seeing how smart I know you are.” 

Hermione could only stand there feeling numb as Draco began to read. 

“I want you to put your hands all over me, to feel you touch me and make me come with your fingers. Then your tongue. And then your massive cock.” 

Hermione choked on her own spit. Oh, Merlin. Her worst fears had been confirmed.

He thought that Ginny’s god-awful letter was from her.  

Somehow, him reading it out loud made it worse. 

Yes. She was certain now. This was how she would die. 

“W-what? I didn’t—” Hermione felt like chucking herself into the lake. She didn’t care that it was December. She’d rather face the giant squid in freezing water than continue this conversation. 

“What I want to know,” said Draco, plowing through with a suddenly serious expression on his face, “is why Ginny Weasley is under the impression that Blaise has some sort of giant cock. I’ve seen the bloke in the showers and believe me, it’s not that impressive. Mine, on the other hand…” he trailed off, smirking slightly as he stuffed the letter back in his pocket. 

Hermione was sure she had died and was now residing in some sort of embarrassing hellscape. That seemed to be the only reason why Draco would talk to her about his… well, his… thing. 

She couldn’t even bring herself to think the word. 

Gods, maybe she shouldn’t hole herself up in her room so often if she was this pathetic…

Or maybe she should. Forever. And never come out again. 

Yes, that sounded reasonable. 

“So do you know why Weaslette has this impression? I mean, I know girls talk, and I want to know what you’ve heard. Just for my own egotistical purposes.”

Hermione stared up at Draco, slack-jawed. She searched his eyes, looking for some sort of clarification—any kind of indication that he was joking. That this was all some sort of nightmare and that she would wake up at any moment and it would be dark outside again. 

“I-I don’t—” 

She squirmed under his unwavering gaze. 

And then he burst out laughing. 

“Oh, Merlin. You should see your face. I can’t take it anymore.” He doubled over for a moment before wiping his eyes with his index fingers. 

Hermione froze. 

“Wh-what?” 

“Sorry about that,” said Draco, catching his breath. “I couldn’t help myself. After I read that letter meant for Blaise this morning, I was just as mortified was you. I mean, once we figured out it was from Ginny, meant for Blaise, it all made sense, I wanted to play just a bit, is all.” 

He was babbling, and for the first time, Hermione sensed a nervous edge to his voice. Her stomach flip-flopped as she watched his confident swagger melt way. 

“Oh, um, it’s okay I guess,” she said quietly. She felt her muscles relax as utter relief practically swept her away in the December wind. Though her cheeks still burned, she managed to find the wherewithal to speak. “I honestly don’t know why Ginny wrote that letter. She had me read it yesterday and it was far too much for me.” 

Draco shot her a half-smile and indicated with his head that they continue their walk. Her heart hammered in her chest, though she wasn’t sure whether it was indicative of attraction or mortification. 

“So…” said Draco after a minute of walking in silence. “Did you two exchange letters or something? For a laugh?” 

Hermione tried to read Draco’s face to figure out how to respond, but she couldn’t quite pinpoint how he felt about her actual letter. Was he happy about it? Disgusted? Mildly intrigued? It was impossible to say. 

She shook her head, her face heated. “No, it wasn’t like that at all. Ginny—she stole my letter without my permission and mailed it.”

Circe, if this conversation kept going in the direction where she thought it might be going, she was going to cry.

“So… the letter you wrote to me. Did you not want me to see it?” 

Draco stopped and looked down at her, confusion painting his handsome features. He seemed almost… disappointed. 

How odd. 

A light breeze ruffled his hair, and Hermione’s insides twisted just looking at him. 

“I-I didn’t. No. I wrote that letter privately.” She hardly recognized her own piteous, hushed voice. 

Draco frowned, nodding slightly. “I see.” He ran his hands through his hair and sighed. “Well, I’m sorry I read it, then. If I’d have known—well, I wouldn’t have… not that I didn’t like what you wrote.” Grimacing, he pulled out the second letter from his pocket and held it out to Hermione. “Here. Have it back.” 

Hermione’s head buzzed with this turn of events. This was, out of all possible outcomes, the least expected. Draco Malfoy, the boy who had spent his childhood days teasing and taunting her, hexing and belittling her, had seemingly vanished into thin air, leaving behind the man who stood before her now—sensitive and kind and… 

“No, that’s okay,” she heard herself say. “You’ve already read it, so…” Hermione froze. Draco’s words sunk in a level further. She replayed each one in her mind, slowly, deliberately. Swallowing, she spoke again, her voice shaking. “W-wait. Did you say you… liked what I wrote?”

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and offered her a tentative, closed-mouth smile. “I did.”

“Oh.” 

The word came out so quietly that she could scarcely hear herself say it. 

Draco licked his lips and tentatively unfolded the letter, revealing Hermione’s own handwriting. She gulped. 

“I… ever since the war—” He cleared his throat and blinked, clearly searching for the right words to say. “I came back here not knowing what people would think. Of me, I mean. Of what I had done and who I am—who I’m trying to be now.” Draco paused for a moment, and then with determination in his grey eyes, he reached out his hand to grasp hers. 

His warm palm enveloped her cold one, and Hermione felt a shiver travel up her spine. 

“What I’m trying to say is that I was… moved. By your letter. And not just that you saw me as thoughtful or whatever. But that you of all people— you whose life I made hellish for years— you who I can’t stop thinking about—who I haven’t been able to stop thinking about—you actually fancy me.”

Hermione grimaced at the childish word. “Is that… good?” 

Draco chuckled, squeezing her hand. “Hermione, that’s… gods, that’s the best news I’ve heard in a long time. Talking to you—spending time with you on these walks—it’s become the highlight of my day.” 

A grin split Draco’s face, and on a grey morning like this, his face became the brightest thing in sight. Hermione couldn’t help but smile back. 

“Really?” she asked. “Us talking is the highlight of your day?” 

Draco’s smile faltered, though his grip on her hand tightened. “Coming back here… it’s dragged up old memories that I’d rather leave buried. And most people haven’t exactly been welcoming. But you, who has every reason to stay mad at me forever, actually started talking to me. Of your own free will. And I thought that it was just out of a sense of duty or something.” Draco swallowed. He turned his body to face hers, reaching out with his other hand—the one holding her letter—and looped his pinky through hers. 

“But then I read your letter, only to find that you don’t see me as I was. That somehow, miraculously, you see me through fresh eyes.” 

Draco closed his eyes and breathed in the crisp, December air. 

“I like you a lot, Hermione,” he said to the skies. “And if you’re up for it—if you can find time in your busy study schedule—I’d like to take you out on a date.” 

His eyes returned to her own, and this time, she knew for a fact that her blush was not a result of the weather. Under his earnest gaze, any trace of the oath she made to herself crumbled. 

Sure, studying was important. But sequestering herself all year? Forbidding herself the joy of going on a date with Draco? 

In principle, it had made sense at one point. But now, it seemed far more prudent to toss it all out the window. 

Hermione couldn’t help the smile that radiated across her face. 

“I’d like that, Draco. I’d like that a lot.” 

And then, before she even had time to formulate her thoughts or next steps, Draco moved closer and bent down so close that his nose brushed hers. 

“Is this all right?” he whispered against her lips. 

Hermione nodded and he closed the distance between their mouths. 

As they kissed by the lake on that dreary winter morning, Hermione knew she had been right about one thing, for she felt at this moment, that she might die from happiness. 

~*~*~*~

Preparing for a date was much harder than Hermione had anticipated. After spending an hour sifting through her clothes only to find nothing suitable, she called in the only person who could handle this impending disaster. 

Ginny had her together within twenty minutes. 

The redhead, despite her boldness, had a killer fashion sense as well as the gall to smirk through her apology. 

“You know it doesn’t count if you say ‘I’m sorry’ while grinning like an idiot,” Hermione remarked as Ginny twisted her hair into a complicated braid. 

“Oh, hush. I did you a favour by sending that letter and you know it. So stop complaining and sit still.” 

Hermione stuck her tongue out at her friend, but complied nonetheless. 

This was it. The big day of her first real date with Draco. They had, of course, continued daily walks around the lake with some added-in snogging. But this was different. They would spend today walking around Hogsmeade instead. And Hermione had vowed not to pick up a textbook for the entire day. 

It felt… freeing. 

She had to admit that since letting go of her vow, her more-limited studying time had become far more effective. And now that she was taking time to enjoy life, everything seemed brighter—happier. 

She wasn’t about to give that feeling up to bury herself in too many textbooks. 

Once Hermione was satisfied with Ginny’s handiwork, she thanked her overly-smug friend and made her way down to the Entrance Hall, where she had agreed to meet Draco. As she stepped closer and closer, butterflies began to build inside of her. Even her fingertips seemed to tingle as she tried to hold fast to the handrail. 

She tried to stay her nerves, but she couldn’t help the way her stomach swooped at the sight of him standing in the Entrance Hall, looking handsome as ever as he waited for her. 

Hermione opened her mouth to greet him, but the words died in her mouth when she caught sight of the expression on his face. 

The corners of his mouth were turned down, and lines of worry stretched across his forehead. His fingers drummed against his leg, and as Hermione drew even closer, she could see the pain etched in his eyes. 

“Draco?” 

His head snapped up as she took the last step onto the ground floor. 

“Hermione, you’re here.” 

His entire demeanor changed at her appearance, shifting in clear relief. Shoulders that had been so tense now sagged, and Hermione wasted no time stepping forward and wrapping her arms around him. He clung to her with such ferocity that it made her heart stutter in her chest.

“What’s wrong?” she managed to ask when he finally pulled away. 

“It’s my father,” he said, sniffing. “He’s—he passed away last night. His heart just… gave out.” 

Hermione felt herself freeze, unsure how to react to this news. 

“I know he wasn’t exactly a good person,” said Draco. “In fact, he was pretty horrible by some accounts. But he was my father.”

Hermione swallowed, her tongue thick with an odd sort of dread. 

“I-I’m so sorry, Draco,” she managed. “I don’t quite know what to say.” 

It was only then that Hermione fully took in Draco’s appearance. Instead of regular robes, he was sporting a traveling cloak. Behind him, his trunk sat on the floor, packed and locked. 

“Are you—are you going somewhere?” Hermione asked, her eyes flicking from Draco to his luggage. 

Draco sighed. “That’s what I needed to talk to you about. In my father’s absence, I’m the only one able to oversee Malfoy Industries. A lot needs to be sorted out, and I… I likely won’t be able to return to Hogwarts for the rest of the year.” 

Hermione’s heart sank to her toes. She had been afraid of rejection, yes, but in a way, this was far worse. 

“The whole year? Will I get to see you at all?” 

Draco ran his hands through his hair, the worry lines returning to his face. 

“I… don’t think so. I’ll be in meetings from dawn until dusk, and that’s after I get all my father’s paperwork in order. I’ll be lucky to even get home to eat.” 

Hermione nodded, frowning. “I see.” She couldn’t help the disappointment that crept up the back of her throat, burning every inch it enveloped. 

“But we can write,” assured Draco. “And at the end of the school year, I should be free enough to see you again.” 

Hermione sighed. “Will you be all right, being alone for all that time?”

Draco shrugged. “I don’t have a choice. But knowing I’ll have you after it’s all over helps. I’m not too proud to admit that.” 

Hermione reached out and squeezed his hand, offering a reassuring smile. 

“Wait for me?” he asked, an air of uncertainty marring his voice. 

She squeezed his hand again and nodded. 

Their gaze lingered with so many words unspoken, so many moments not yet shared. 

When Draco leaned down to kiss her, firm and sweet, Hermione could practically feel his entire heart with the touch of his lips. It was as though he meant to reassure her and yet seek assurance from her at the same time. His kiss wasn’t desperate. It was full of yearning, yet patient. It was full of love. 

In the moments that lingered between them after he pulled away, their faces so close that their breath mingled, that’s when she knew that he would truly wait for her. That this could grow into something very strong and very real. 

And when he walked through the oak front doors, glancing over his shoulder one last time, she couldn’t help the sense of loss that filled her. The doors closed, not with a soft click, but with a final sort of thump. 

The sound was no longer sweet, but instead, echoed with loneliness. 

And yet, Hermione wouldn’t have it any other way. 

The memory of Draco’s soft lips still fresh in her memory, she returned slowly back up the steps, not to study, but instead, to write a letter—the first of many.