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Hermione had never been more thankful for having her own dorm. Being a head girl had it’s perks.
Of course, she wouldn’t have grown so close the current blonde, pointy, ferret-y bane of her existence if she hadn’t become head girl. And if he hadn’t became head boy. Honestly, she would go back to rooming with Parvati and Lavender in an instant if it meant she could forget about Draco Malfoy.
“You’re not bad to look at, you know.”
Hermione’s head snapped up from her studying, her lips turning in a frown. “Are you okay, Malfoy?” She was sitting across from him in their shared common area, both with books in front of them.
“Just thinking about my choices. If I had made better ones.” Draco murmured, averting his eyes quickly and hunching back over his book.
“So you decide to tell me I’m not bad to look at.”
Draco smiled drily, giving one gentle nod. “I think things could’ve been a lot different if I had stood my ground.”
Coming back for her 8th year hadn’t felt like a mistake. She valued her education above everything, and even without Harry and Ron, she felt truly at home in Hogwarts.
But now, sitting in her dorm alone, marathoning old romance movies from the 70s and drinking her way through her second bottle of Bordeaux, Hermione wished she never came back.
“Gorgeous. Let me see you.” Draco’s voice was breathy, laced with something Hermione had never heard from him - longing.
Hermione lifted her arms and Draco dragged her school jumper over her head, his grey eyes clouding as he moved his hands over her.
With a quick movement, his shirt was on the floor, exposing his lean seeker’s body. Hermione’s fingers brushed over the firm muscle of his chest, fingers drifting down, pulling at the exposed waistband of his underwear. The head boy let out a soft groan, wasting no time in gathering her up and lifting her legs around his hips, one hand pining her against one the walls in his silver and black dorm room.
The muggle on her TV was kissing his beau’s neck, both of them smiling happily.
She felt the ghost of Draco’s lips on her neck again. He had a tendency to bury his face in her neck and pepper her with soft kisses.
Disgusted, she clicked at her Muggle TV remote and changed the channel to some cooking show.
“How do muggles do this?” Draco’s face screwed up, glaring at the offensive piece of paper titled ‘Auntie Donna’s Fantastic 15-Minute-Prep Coconut Cream Pie Recipe’.
“You can read, can’t you?” Hermione teased, whisking away at a bowl of half-finished pie filling. “Be a doll and get me the coconut flakes, I’ll need them shortly.”
Draco ignored her, instead peeking at the bowl in her hands and dipping his finger resolutely in the mixture.
“Hey!” Hermione said, but Draco had already licked it tentatively, his eyebrows raising in approval. “Merlin, Granger, I’d dismiss all my house elves if you cooked and baked for me.”
At this comment, Hermione gasped. “You wouldn’t!”
“Maybe I’m being dramatic. But I might consider it, since you're so lovely to me." Draco winked at her, grabbing her waist from behind and pulling her to him, pressing kisses along the length of her neck.
Hermione shakily set her wine down, changing the channel again. She was a grown woman. She could get over a stupid, ferret faced, sly, uppity, affectionate, surprisingly caring, absurdly handsome boy.
She turned off the television, scanning her dorm for something else to distract her. She promptly ignored Draco’s belongings scattered around her dorm (a few of his ancient runes books, fancy pure white quills that had to have cost him at least 10 galleons apiece, and a few of his black jumpers that Hermione had taken to borrowing). She was about to risk leaving her dorm to grab a snack from their shared kitchen (a stomach full of only wine and a few chocolate frogs was really not advisable) when a knock came at her door.
“Hermione? You weren’t at charms today, and weren’t early to ancient runes so I ditched to check on you. I can hear you shuffling around in there, you alright?” Draco’s voice was full of concern.
Hermione glared at the door. A lot of concern in his voice for someone who clearly had bigger priorities. Her eyes dropped automatically to her coffee table, where the object of her sorrows sat innocently aside her Bordeaux.
The pages of the Daily Prophet displayed a full spread on Draco Malfoy’s arranged engagement to Astoria Greengrass, younger sister of Daphne Greengrass.
A moving photograph of Astoria, smiling flirtatiously and blinking those absurdly long lashes. You could only see the back of Draco’s head in the shot, but his broad shoulders, signature black overcoat and white blonde hair were too recognizable to deny. ‘Astoria Malfoy? Youngest Greengrass daughter engaged to Malfoy Heir’ was written in big, bold text across the top of the paper.
“Hermione?” His voice edged on panic. Hermione almost scoffed. Serves him right. He had nothing to panic about. He was an engaged man, who’s pointy nose was not to get any closer to her business. She should have pushed him away ages ago. But of course, in true Gryffindor fashion, she had opened her heart and arms and forgiven every single bad thing he’d done.
She couldn’t resist whispering through the door. “I thought you’d changed, Malfoy.”
He quieted. For two whole seconds. Then a soft clink and her door slowly swung forward. Draco had always been a powerful wizard, and non-verbal alohamora’s were never difficult for him.
“What’s happened, Hermione. Did I do something? You never use my surname anymore.” His eyes were full of concern, traces of fear.
He met her red, teary eyes, his grey ones widening and immediately reached for her. Strong arms, no doubt instinctively reaching to hold and comfort her. She backed up, tripping over the edge of the couch and almost hitting her head over the coffee table. He caught her, of course, catching her by the waist before she fell.
“Do you need Madam Pomfrey? I need to know what’s wrong, Hermione, I can help. Are you hurt?” He was pleading, care leaking from his voice. He dipped his head to her shoulder, nuzzling her as his hands patted her sides, pressing gently, looking for physical harm. Taking care of her like a boyfriend would, like a concerned significant other. Like what she damn well thought he was before this news broke. He was a damn good actor as far as Hermione was concerned.
“Let go of me. You’re a liar and I’d be happy to have you as far away from me as physically possible.”
Draco’s eyes whipped back to hers at the coldness in her tone. “I’m sorry?”
“You heard me. This—relationship—was clearly nothing close to what I thought it was.” Hermione wrenched herself from his grip and reached for the newspaper page, thrusting it into his frozen hands.
He looked at it in confusion, before panic crossed his face. “Oh Godric,” he groaned, “Hermione, this isn’t what you think—“
“I don’t care, Draco. This is over, whatever game you were playing is over. You’re betrothed and I had to hear about it with the rest of wizarding britain.” Hermione’s curls were flying, and Draco could almost swear he saw electricity crackling through them.
“I’m not betrothed. This is just another setup from Rita Skeeter, I swear it,” Draco dropped the paper to the floor, his eyebrows furrowed as his mouth set into a hard line, “What bothers me is that you instantly believed it.”
“Draco!!” Hermione shrieked, throwing her hands into the air and tipping her head back in exasperation. “You have spoken highly of Astoria Greengrass on every occasion her name has been brought up. You’ve told me how much your parents have been pushing you towards marriage. And I know full well that even though we’re 20, I want to wait until I have a career in place to marry and you don’t. You want to get married straight off school and Astoria does too. You’re both pureblood and beautiful and your mother likely loves her. You two make so much more sense than us. You don’t have to lie about your intentions, all I’ve ever asked is that you be honest with me, but obviously that hasn’t stuck as your ENGAGEMENT announcement is on the cover of the Daily Prophet.”
Hermione’s chest was heaving, she knew she must look borderline psychotic but she could not help herself. Being strung along by a man who promised he’d ‘changed’ was severely fucking with her. “You haven’t even been around much the past week. Is that what you’ve been up to? Going off with Astoria?”
Draco was quiet, blinking twice and giving a small shake of his head. Hermione’s room, previously full of rash anger, turned quiet and somber. “This isn’t exactly how I wanted this to go.” Draco murmured to himself, sticking his right hand in his pocket.
“I’d rather it gone differently as well.” Hermione breathed, about to sink down on her couch, but Draco caught her arm, “Don’t sit.” he requested quietly. Hermione remained standing, confused and still upset.
Draco sighed. “I wasn’t meeting with Astoria to ask for her hand,”
Hermione scoffed, but Draco continued. “I’ve been mostly absent the last week due to my trips to Southern France, and Azkaban. Where my mother and father reside, respectively, as you are no doubt aware.”
Hermione bunched her eyebrows together. “You haven’t talked to your father since the Final Battle.”
“Correct,” Draco gave a nod, a strand of silvery blonde hair dropping in front of his eyes, “However, I had something I had to tell him and mother, and make some arrangements based off that.”
Hermione remained frowning. “That still doesn’t explain Astoria.”
“I was getting there.” Draco gave a shadow of a smirk, “I was consulting Astoria for advice. Advice on, uhm, female things. Preferences.”
“Female things.” Hermione deadpanned.
Draco huffed a giant breath. “God witch, fine. For the brightest witch of our age, you do really need things spelled out for you.”
Withdrawing his hand from his pocket, he produced a little black box. Carefully he knelt, lifting his eyes to meet Hermione’s.
“I was consulting her for advice on a ring. After I visited my mother and father to inform them of my intentions and make the suitable arrangements. Add your name to our vaults, our properties wards, and such. I know you don’t want marriage right away, but I just...I know it’ll always be you. We can stay just engaged for a few years. I just want to see my ring on your finger.”
Draco opened the box with care and held it up to her. A simple, elegant rose gold band with a beautiful speckled salt and pepper diamond sat, surrounded with a few smaller, sharper cut diamonds of the same color.
“I want you to marry me, Granger. Would you do me the honor?”
Hermione gaped at him.
Draco blinked, shifting uncomfortably, “I was going to wait several months, but seeing as how you would never except my word about not being engaged to Astoria as truth without a damn good reason-“
“Yes. Of course.” Hermione gasped, kneeling at his level and crushing him in a warm hug. “I can’t believe you told your parents. Did you mother faint?”
Draco grabbed her face with one hand, pulling her into a kiss. “My father was the difficult one. Still pretty against it, I’m sorry to say, but nothing he can do from inside a cell. My mother was overjoyed, if you could believe it. She asked me how on earth I managed to snag you, and I quite agree.”
Hermione giggled and Draco pressed one more kiss on her cheek before he pulled back, sliding the ring on Hermione’s ring finger.
“I’ve dreamed about this.” He murmured, his smile visible in his eyes, “And while I had expected it to be more of a grand thing and not on the floor of your bedroom, after being accused of infidelity-“
“Shut up.” Hermione ordered, grabbing him by the tie and hauling him back in for another mind-melting kiss.
Maybe in their future, she wouldn’t be so quick to distrust him.