Chapter Text
An elbow gently poked Hermione in the ribs and her chin slipped off her hand.
“What?’ she asked irritably.
“Class is over,” Harry murmured, closing his Defence Against the Dark Arts for Beginners Book and stuffed it in his bag, to join the exodus leaving Dolores Umbridge’s class room.
“Oh, right,” Hermione said. She didn’t need to pack away her books, as she had0 already read the assigned chapter for the day and had spent the last 40 minutes daydreaming. Originally during these classes, she would reread the chapter the rest of the class were supposed to be learning, or go through the bits of the book she disagreed with so she could find fault with Umbridge’s teachings. Lately she had found her mind drifting away in these useless Defence Against the Dark Arts lessons.
“What were you thinking of?” Harry asked as they walked out of door and turned down the hallway to make their way up to Gryffindor Tower.
“Oh nothing,” Hermione said, nonchalantly as Ron appeared on Hermione’s other side.
“What’s nothing?” he asked, not wanting to be left out of the conversation.
“Hermione’s been slacking off in class,” Harry said across her.
“Impossible. Next you’ll be saying a Muggleborn got sorted it into Slytherin,” Ron said laughing at his own joke. He snorted.
“Shut up,” Hermione said and ignored Harry and Ron’s discussion about what could possibly have distracted her away from school work. As they walked through the Entrance Hall, towards the marble staircase, Hermione caught a whiff of an enchanting aroma. She looked around to see what it could be. A mass of Slytherin students crossed the flagstones, heading towards their own staircase that led down to their dungeon dormitory.
“Ugh, Malfoy,” Ron scoffed, as a familiar shock of white-blond hair was clearly visible amongst the sea of black and green. “Is there a slimier git than him?”
“His father?” Harry offered and the three of them began the long trudge up the marble staircase to Gryffindor Tower. Hermione looked back over her shoulder, still wondering where that scent was coming from. Her eyes found Draco, who was looking up at her. She blinked and quickly turned away, forgetting about the trick step she was about to put her foot on to. Harry and Ron each grabbed an elbow and lifted her out of danger. She squeaked in surprise, but thanked them for not allowing her to become stuck in the middle of the staircase with the Slytherins looking on.
“You are distracted, aren’t you?” Ron observed. They had made it to the third floor, four more flights to go.
“Yeah, I guess so. It’s just so frustrating about Defence Against the Dark Arts. I’m going to fail if that toad keeps teaching us nothing,” Hermione complained. “We need to do something.”
“Yeah but what?” Ron asked.
Hermione shrugged, not really wanting to get into this right now. She was curious about the strange but alluring scent, of which lingering notes were still permeating her nostrils.
Finally reaching Gryffindor Tower, Harry confidently announced the password and the three scrambled in through the portrait hole. The same scent Hermione had smelled down in the Entrance Hall hit her full force, along with the smell of new parchment and mown grass. She sniffed the air.
“You smell that too?” Harry asked, who put his nose up and took a few big whiffs, trying to find the source. Ron did the same.
“Did Fred and George steal bacon sandwiches from the Kitchens?” Ron asked enthusiastically and his stomach rumbled in anticipation.
“What are you talking about? All I can smell is Treacle Tart,” Harry countered and walked over to where the large overstuffed chairs were sitting in front of the fire place. There he spotted Katie Bell on the floor, legs crossed, her wand pointed at the hearth rug. She seemed annoyed at something,
“What’s up?” Harry asked.
Katie looked up and sighed. “Oh I got given a stupid love potion and I dropped the stupid package and it smashed. Now I’m trying to siphon it up, but the stupid spell isn’t working.”
“Let me help,” Hermione said and got down on the floor beside Katie. It all made sense now, this was the source of the scent, the parchment and grass and the third smell she couldn’t quite describe, but it was complex but bewitching.
“Thanks, Hermione,” Katie said with a sigh. “As much as I like peppermint, I don’t want to smell it all evening.”
Hermione had forgotten all about the enticing scent until it appeared again in Potions class. Sitting with Harry and Ron as usual, Hermione whipped her head around when the smell floated past her, masking the usual noxious smells of the dungeon classroom. She couldn’t see what the scent could have belonged to. Subtly she leaned over and sniffed at Ron. There was a distinct smell of soap, but not the captivating scent that had ensnared her senses.
“What are you doing?” Ron asked, but there wasn’t time to get an answer as Snape called them to order.
Twenty minutes later they were standing at their cauldrons, mixing up Befuddlement Draughts. In middle of adding the Lovage to her bubbling brew, Hermione caught that seductive aroma once more. She turned to see Draco standing behind her. She jumped in surprise and aimed her wand at him.
“What are you doing?” she asked suspiciously.
“Nothing,” Draco replied with a smirk.
“Yeah right,” Hermione sneered. “Go away and leave me alone.”
“Can’t a bloke just walk past anymore?” Draco quipped and with a handful of Sneezewort went on his way back to his work bench. Annoyed, Hermione turned back to her cauldron, the beautiful fragrance had gone, to be replaced by the smell of Lovage mixing with Scurvy Grass. She cursed Draco under her breath that he made her miss her chance to investigate its source.
By the end of the class, Ron’s potion was a gurgling mess, Harry’s was bright orange, but Hermione’s was the perfect shade of dark green. They each bottled a flask and gave it Snape for marking. He sniffed his usual sniff of derision when Hermione handed him her perfect draught.
They all left the classroom together and once more began the long trip up the stairs to Gryffindor Tower, until they reached the First Floor and Hermione broke away to go to the Library.
“Where are you going?” Ron asked when she didn’t begin the next flight with him and Harry.
“Library,” Hermione answered. Ron shrugged indifferently and continued up to the Seventh Floor with Harry.
The library was usually quiet at this time of day. None except for the truly dedicated students came here straight after classes had ended for the day. Most wanted to relax in their common rooms before they started on any homework.
Hermione always liked to sit at the tables near the windows that looked out over the Lake. She opened her Potions book, but didn’t actually read anything. She got distracted once more by that fragrance. Allowing herself to breath it in, she discovered without the more recognisable smell of parchment and grass, she was able to discern different notes. Initially there was a fruity sweetness, blackcurrant and apple; then it faded to something woody like birch and finally there was a lingering earthy scent of moss and musk. It reminded her of an expensive men’s cologne.
A noise took her out of her daydream and she looked over to the book stacks. Shelves and shelves of books in front of her and between the shelves there was a glimpse of white. She squinted and looked again. It was Draco.
“Malfoy, again!” she muttered and stormed over to him, with hands on her hips in the angry teapot pose.
“What do you want, Granger?” Draco sneered.
“Are you following me now?” she demanded.
“Why would I do that? I’m getting a book,” he replied, holding up a copy of Toadstool Tales.
“I didn’t know you were such a fan of Beatrix Bloxam,” Hermione mocked. Draco looked at the book in his hand.
“Yep,” he replied, a pink tinge appeared on his cheeks. Without another word he left. Happy to be shot of him, Hermione went back to her table and to her daydreaming. And once again, thanks to Draco, the delicious aroma had gone.
“No,” she said to herself, as the penny dropped. She looked back at the shelving and where Draco had been standing. “Oh my god, no!”
Picking up her book and bag, she hurried out of the library. As she exited, she slammed right into someone. Someone who smelled of blackcurrants and apple. Hermione landed on top of Draco with a grunt. In desperation, she tried to get off him and only managed to tangle their robes together.
“What is your problem?” Draco exclaimed and went to push her off him, but got the Slytherin ring he wore on his little finger caught in her bushy hair.
“Ouch! Stop, stop!” Hermione growled and grabbed his hand, “Stop moving, something’s caught.”
Grimacing, she carefully tried to extract his hand from her hair. Soon she became preoccupied and she closed her eyes as that irresistible aura wound its way through her.
“Granger?”
“Hmm?”
“My hand,” Draco said and Hermione suddenly released she still had a hold of it. Paying more attention, she tried again to free Draco’s hand, pulling out a few strands of her hair in her efforts. Hermione looked at him, her lips parted as she breathed him in. Those grey eyes were looking right back at her. Finally coming to her senses, Hermione managed to untangle their robes and she stood up quickly, moving a few paces back. Draco got to his feet and brushed the dirt off his robes. Distractedly she watched him, lost in the enchanting scent that he seemed to radiate.
Standing up to his full height, Draco looked at her. Their eyes met again and Hermione felt her heart thump in her chest to echo a sudden pleasurable low-down tickle.
“You smell so good,” she breathed out and without any further thought, she pushed him up against the corridor wall and pressed her lips to his. There was only a momentary resistance to her kiss, and then Draco was kissing her back, hard and passionate. He pulled her closer and she clutched at his robes. Hermione’s hand found its way into Draco’s hair. It was soft and smooth, and felt like the most expensive silk between her fingertips. Their tongues tangled together, she moaned at the taste that so perfectly complemented the aroma suffusing her nostrils. Deeply she breathed him in.
Managing to pull away from his tantalising lips, Hermione exhaled heavily. Draco was breathing just as hard. She looked into his eyes again, the grey had diminished to allow for large pupils. He smiled. Hermione blinked. It was the first true smile she’d ever see him give. It softened his face, eliminating the sneer that was its usual fixture. The back of his fingers ran down her cheek and she nuzzled against them with her eyes closed. He cupped her face and unable to resist they kissed again.
“I have to go,” Hermione managed to say in between kisses. Eventually she pulled away again, and touched his reddened lips. Picking up her bag from the floor, she turned and ran away, leaving a thoroughly bewitched and bewildered Draco alone in the corridor.
For the rest of the week Hermione managed to avoid Draco. Gryffindor didn’t have any further shared classes with Slytherin and she didn’t even go to the Library, which Ron noted as the first time in forever.
“The books must be missing you,” he quipped and Hermione gave him a death stare.
Over the weekend she didn’t even leave the Gryffindor Tower to enjoy the last of the autumn sunshine. Any quiet moment she had her mind unhelpfully piped up to remind her that she had kissed Draco Malfoy. Mortified, soon her self-admonition of her appalling judgement turned to desire when unbidden thoughts surfaced of the soft feel of his skin and hair underneath her fingertips; the delightful taste of his lips against hers and his captivating scent.
Monday morning, after a bone-crushingly boring History of Magic class, even By Hermione’s standard, her eyes must have glazed over as Harry poked her hard in the ribs.
“What?” Hermione asked irritably, rubbing at her side.
“We have Potions now,” he said, gesturing at the loud scrape of chairs and the collective sigh of relief that Hermione seemed not to have heard.
Potions. Slytherins. Malfoy.
“Right,” Hermione said, trying to keep the panicky squeak out of her voice. As they Gryffindors descended into the Potions corridor, Hermione caught a trace of that glorious smell. She sighed softly. The Slytherins were already seated in the classroom and Hermione scrambled to find the seat furthest away from Draco. In all his biased grandeur, Snape rebuked the Gryffindors for being late, even though the bell for the start of class hadn’t sounded. Hermione buried her face in her Potions book and listened to Snape as he went through the unacceptable standards that the previous lesson had put up and for punishment they were to brew the Befuddlement Draughts again.
Quickly Hermione got to work and set up her cauldron. Ron peered over to her every now and then to see what she was doing so he could copy. She was too preoccupied by not lifting her head, that she didn’t notice Ron’s blatant cheating to tell him off.
“Hermione? Do you have any Lovage?” Harry asked. “I’m all out.” Hermione looked up at the mention of her name and caught Draco’s eye from across the room. With a squeak, she turned away and knocked over Harry’s cauldron in the process, spilling the contents over the work bench. The Slytherins clapped and jeered at her clumsiness. Her cheeks went bright red, and using the siphoning spell, she cleaned up the mess. Snape wandered around the classroom and raised an eyebrow, obviously annoyed that she had done a good job of cleaning up so he couldn’t reprimand her.
“Sorry!” she apologised hastily to Harry and pushed all her ingredients over to him.
“Okay, something is up with you,” Harry said, beginning his potion again. “You have been weirder than normal, you’re all jumpy and you were basically a hermit all weekend.”
“Nothing, it’s nothing,” she replied in a much higher voice than normal and hazarded a glance in Draco’s direction. He was working on his potion, as if though he could feel her gaze on him, he looked up and quirked the corner into a small smile.
It wasn’t right. Hermione should not be having desirous thoughts about Draco Malfoy. It was against all laws of man and nature. A sudden thought came to her. She frowned angrily and scrawled a note to him. She needed to get to the bottom of this. Under the pretence of getting more supplies from the store cupboard, she dropped the request to meet her in the Library after classes today into Draco’s bag.
And like most occasions when you’re anticipating something, the rest of the school day crawled. The fifth year free period after lunch, for those Gryffindors not studying Muggle Studies, was interminable. With no homework to keep her mind occupied as she had finished it all, Hermione’s thoughts kept returning to the kiss.
Double Defence Against the Dark Arts almost had Hermione pulling out her hair. Bored beyond comprehension, she sat doodling with a quill on a scrap of parchment. After twenty minutes she looked down to what her mental meanderings had drawn and was horrified to see a large letter D embellished with hearts and little birds. Quickly she screwed up the parchment and stuffed it into her robe pocket, making a mental note to burn it when she had the chance.
Finally the bell sounded and she collected her bag – she hadn’t even bothered to get the DADA textbook out – and told Harry she was going to the Library as she ran out the door. Down to the First Floor, Hermione scattered a bunch of Ravenclaws on their way up to their dormitory tower.
As usual the Library was quiet at this time of day and Hermione walked down towards her regular desk, but was accosted by an arm coming out from the book stacks and drawing her into a private corner.
“Can’t get enough of me, eh Granger?” Draco murmured, pulling her back hard up against him. She squirmed against him, making him inadvertently moan softly against her ear.
“No,” Hermione exclaimed in a whisper so she wouldn’t be heard by the insanely nosy Madam Pince. “No, I mean, I yes. No, that’s not why I wanted to see you.” One of his hands roamed down over her stomach. Biting her lip she arched back against him, putting her hand over his and guiding it down towards her thigh. The enthralling aroma of blackcurrants and apple filled her senses and she closed her eyes, losing herself to the soft kisses playing along her neck.
“No,” she moaned, trying to pull herself out of the enchantment. Wrenching herself away from his touch, Hermione backed away and turned to face him, her head still hazy with longing. She held up an accusatory finger, waggling at him. “You put the whammy on me.”
“What are you talking about?” Draco said in his lazy drawl.
“A love potion! You must have slipped me a love potion,” Hermione said. It was taking all her mental strength to stop her mind wandering to more pleasurable activities.
“Why would I? And when would I have done it?”
“I don’t know,” she replied, keeping her voice to a harsh whisper. “Why else would I be acting this way?”
“There might be another reason,” Draco murmured and took a step towards her. He reached out to take her hand in his. “Maybe you like me.”
Hermione didn’t resist when he took her hand. “But I can’t like you,” she said miserably. “I’m an intelligent girl and you’ve been nothing but horrible to me, since First Year.”
“Maybe I was jealous, seeing you with Potter and Weasley all the time,” he whispered. His low husky voice caused a shiver to go down her spine and her resolve was quickly melting. Without realising what she was doing, she stepped closer to him, turning her face up towards his.
“I can’t,” she murmured, their lips were so close and his breath was warm against her face, she could almost taste him. Her hand made its way into his silken platinum hair. She stroked it and it played through her fingers like water. And that seductive scent, it was too much. Her senses were in overload. Everything about him was killing every rational thought she had in her head. Unable to resist any longer, Hermione surrendered to her desire, and their mouths came together in a deep kiss.
It was more than a simple teenage crush, Hermione’s head was so full of Draco, she wanted to feel every inch of his naked skin against hers; to lick him all over; to bite him; to devour him; make him hers and only hers. The kiss grew and their tongues wrestled for dominance. Her hands gripped at his robes as he pulled her closer. She arched towards him, moaning against his lips, pressed him back against one the bookshelves. Almost a whole shelf of books crashed down to the floor. They sprang apart, panting, worried Madam Pince was about to descend upon them for the abuse of books lying on the floor.
Before they were spotted, Hermione got down on her knees to gather up the books. Draco joined her and grabbed the couple that had spilled out into the main aisle. As expected Madam Pince hove into view.
“What are you two doing?” she demanded, her face contorted with rage for the mistreatment of her precious books.
“They fell,” Hermione answered, hiding her flushed face. “We’ll put them back. Sorry.”
“Be careful with them. You’ve probably already damaged them,” Madam Pince accused and stormed back to her desk.
“Stupid old hag,” Draco muttered and went to stand up to put the books in his hand back on their correct shelf, but for Hermione those few minutes not kissing Draco was far too long. She grabbed the front of his robes and pulled him back down to her.
Smiling, Draco gladly took Hermione’s invitation for more kissing and moved down to press his lips to hers.
“You’re quite fierce, aren’t you?” he said playfully as their kiss broke apart once more. He sat with his back against the lower cupboards of the bookcases, moving into a more comfortable position on the floor. Hermione shuffled over to lean against him, resting her head on his shoulder.
“Sorry about that,” she said, but didn’t really mean it. She’d been called bossy her whole life, but she took it as being confident and knowing what she wanted.
“No, I like it,” Draco confessed and put his arm around her shoulders. Hermione reached over and took his other hand in hers and played her fingers over the cold silver of the Slytherin ring that adorned his hand.
“This isn’t right,” she murmured, interlocking their fingers, “I shouldn’t be having these feelings, and you definitely shouldn’t be.”
He kissed the top of her hair and murmured, “You’re worth it.”
Hermione felt a hot blush spread across her cheeks. “No one’s going to understand. I don’t even understand. Harry and Ron are going to hate me.”
“Don’t worry about those losers,” Draco said before he could stop himself.
“See? This is why no one likes you,” Hermione replied in jest, then continued in a softer voice. “They’re my only friends.” He gently squeezed her hand.
“Least you have friends,” he said quietly. “I have hangers-on.” Hermione heard real sadness in his voice. She angled her head to look at him, his grey eyes were looking straight ahead as though he was lost in his thoughts. She leaned up and kissed his cheek and saw that little pink tinge that coloured his skin whenever he was embarrassed.
“It could be our little secret,” Draco offered. “You don’t want to tell your friends; I can’t tell my family.”
“Doesn’t that tell you something?” Hermione countered.
“Yet you’re still here,” Draco said simply.
“Shut up,” she said, smiling and cuddled back in against his chest. She liked being here. She liked being in his arms. She liked the way his hand held onto hers. She liked the way he kissed. She liked the way his scent drove her crazy with desire. She liked the way that made her feel. She liked Draco Malfoy.
Their future encounters were limited to stolen moments in the Library, which didn’t raise much suspicion from Ron or Harry as they were used to Hermione disappearing off to the Library for hours at a time, and a few discreet meetings in some of the more secret places in the castle. And while they were finding quiet spots to be alone, the world kept turning around them. The worst of it came after a Gryffindor and Slytherin match where Harry had given Draco a black eye and a bloody nose.
“You brought it on yourself,” Hermione said firmly when Draco had met her in the Room of Requirement. Hermione had thought that this little miracle of the castle would give them a very private hiding spot. On their first visit, they had held hands and walked back and forth, both reciting silently, “We need a place to hide, that no one will be able to find. Just for the two of us.” The Room obliged superbly. It had created something akin to a small apartment. With chairs and a bed and even a bookcase full of books even Hermione hadn’t read.
Draco sat down in one of the chairs wincing and holding his stomach. “I know,” he said, “I couldn’t stop myself. I see Potter and Weasley and they make me so angry.”
“Especially when they’re beating you at Quidditch,” Hermione said. This particular incarnation of their private hideaway had produced a sink with hot and cold running water, facecloths and towels. Gently Hermione pressed a cold compress to Draco’s eye. He breathed in sharply through his teeth. But not caring about any further pain, Draco pulled Hermione down to sit on his lap. “You need to stop being so horrible to them.”
“Easy for you to say,” Draco replied and laced their fingers together. “I don’t like them and they bring out the worst in me.”
“And letting Harry beat you half to death is your punishment?” Hermione asked, “You really have a death wish, don’t you?”
“You’ve no idea,” Draco muttered.
“Then tell me,” Hermione said. She set the cold compress to rest against his bruised jaw and gently kissed the other side of his face. He turned his face to capture her lips with his.
“I’d rather kiss you,” he smiled and Hermione didn’t resist. She wrapped her arms around his neck and sunk into his tentative, soft kisses, due to his bruised face. He lightly stroked her hair. She had pulled it back into a loose braid, to keep its bushiness contained.
“Just promise me you’ll try and be nicer to them?” Hermione asked, fluttering her eyes open when she pulled back from the kiss. Draco pouted and caused himself to wince.
“Idiot,” she smiled, “And while we’re on the subject of idiots, the Inquisitorial Squad?” She tapped the “I” badge that was pinned to the front of his robes.
“What about it?” Draco asked.
“They’re terrorising the younger kids, not to mention everyone who isn’t in Slytherin,” Hermione said.
“I can’t control everyone on the Squad,” he said, looking away from her. “But you know why I need to be a part of it right?”
“Your father. Yes, I know. To get in the Ministry’s good books. Why do you even care? You should join us in the DA,” Hermione suggested.
“And get beaten up by my father too? No thanks. I’d be disowned if he knew I talk to you, let alone what we actually do,” Draco said with a smirk, his white-blond eyebrows dancing up his forehead.
“Put those eyebrows down,” Hermione said with a smile, using a finger to gently push one of them down. The other popped back up, making her giggle. “Stop that, we’re having a serious discussion here.”
Draco let out a soft sigh. “I don’t want to have a discussion. I want us to go over to the bed and forget about the world.”
Carefully, Hermione got off Draco’s lap and held out her to hand to him, to help him up out of the chair. Biting her lip, she led him over to the bed and sat down, drawing him down with her.
It wasn’t until after Christmas that Hermione got to properly talk to Draco again. During their first Care of Magical Creatures class for the new term, Hermione brushed her hand against his, giving him a note to meet her in their special room at the end of the school day.
Draco arrived at the Room of Requirement only moments after Hermione. Barely letting him close the door first, she wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.
“I’ve missed you,” she said softly against his lips. Draco ran his finger through a loose strand of her curly hair.
“I’ve missed you too,” he said and took her hand, “But I think we need to talk.” He went to lead her over to the comfortable chair. She let her arm stretch out as she hadn’t moved. Those words never boded well when anyone said them.
“You don’t want to do this anymore. You don’t want to be with me,” she said, it wasn’t a question and she was annoyed with herself that she started to feel the hot prickle of tears in her eyes.
“No, no, it’s not that,” he replied quickly. To reassure her, he turned back to take her other hand in his as well. “You know I want this, you. This is about something else. Come and sit down with me.”
Draco took a seat in the chair and Hermione sat sideways on his lap. “What’s going on?”
He looked at her, and held her hand tightly. There was a trace of trepidation in his grey eyes. “I know a lot of people don’t believe Potter when he says that the Dark Lord has returned,” he began, but he didn’t need to finish as Hermione jumped in.
“You’ve seen him too, haven’t you?” she asked and Draco nodded.
“Oh Merlin,” she breathed out, “Your father really is a Death Eater.” And once again he nodded, looking more scared than she had ever seen him before. His anxiety seemed to be contagious as her own fear fluttered through her.
“You can’t tell anyone. I’m worried,” Draco said in a soft voice. He reached up and cupped her face. “I’m worried what will happen to you.”
“Why me? He’s not after me.”
Draco dropped his eyes to look anywhere but into her deep brown eyes. Hermione gently stroked the back of her fingers over his soft white-blond hair.
“What do you know?”
Draco shook his head. “I can’t. I can’t say.” He sighed and drew her closer. “I just want to hold you and keep you safe.”
“Draco, I’m right here. Nothing’s going to happen to me,” Hermione whispered and gently pressed her lips to his. They kissed softly and slowly it grew more passionate, with the suggestion of danger in the air. All through Christmas Hermione had been thinking about Draco. Skiing with her parents hadn’t worked out, mainly because her thoughts kept wandering to her blondie bear instead of concentrating at the task at hand. Grimmauld Place had been solemn and awkward when she had first arrived. Even though she was glad Mr Weasley was alive and well, she had been looking forward to coming back to Hogwarts; to her Draco. There was an element of excitement in keeping their relationship secret, and she enjoyed that aspect perhaps more than she should. She wasn’t ashamed of her feelings for him, but Harry and Ron would never understand. How could they? They only saw the surface and not what was buried deep. Not that Draco helped his case. He couldn’t resist needling her Gryffindor friends, putting them more and more offside. Sometimes she just wanted to shake some sense into him, then her attraction to him took over her own senses and they just ended up kissing and kissing sometimes led to something more intimate.
“I should get back. They’ll be wondering where I am. And we need this room for the DA,” Hermione said, pushing herself up off his lap. Draco wrapped his arms around her.
“Can’t we stay here? Just for a little longer,” he murmured. Hermione relented and pecked his lips.
“Ten minutes,” she said and curled up. He rested his cheek against the top of head and stroked her arm. She could feel the nerves coursing through his body. Sitting in the overstuffed armchair, he may have appeared calm, but on the inside he was a fluttering mess. Slipping an arm around him, she held him close.
***
“What is this?” Draco demanded, holding up a copy of the Quibbler. He had followed Hermione into the Library and confronted her. There was photo of Harry on the cover with the promise of an interview, revealing all he saw on the night the Dark Lord was resurrected. He slapped the magazine down on the desk she was sitting at.
“Something the Umbridge has banned,” Hermione said, an air of smugness in her voice. “You shouldn’t have that.”
“Do you know what Potter said about my father?” he demanded. His pale face was quickly turning a deep shade of pink.
“Nothing you hadn’t already told me.”
“That was in confidence. Now the whole world knows.” His voice was obviously getting too loud for Madam Pince’s liking as the stern librarian poked her head around the nearest shelving stack and hushed them loudly. They looked at her and she frowned at them, making sure they weren’t going to make any further racket.
Once Madam Pince was assured they were going to remain quiet in her precious library and headed back to her desk, Draco sat down opposite Hermione.
“I don’t see the problem. It’s not like it wasn’t already a rumour,” Hermione said, “Besides, people need to know You -Know Who is back. Now that Umbridge has banned it, everyone will read it. They’ll know the Ministry has something to hide.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Draco countered, leaning forward, keeping his voice low, “This affects my family, our standing in society. The Ministry will want nothing to do with us now.”
Hermione rolled her eyes, “Why do you care about that? Fudge is categorically denying that You-Know-Who has returned, he’s ignoring evidence, using his influence at the Prophet to tell the world there’s nothing to worry about. Not to mention Ms Toad of Toad Hall who is deliberately not teaching us Defence because of some paranoid rumour that Dumbledore wants to overthrow the Minister.”
“You don’t want to get Umbridge offside,” Draco said, he reached across the desk and touched the back of Hermione’s hand. “You know what she’s like and what she can do. You keep pushing, she’ll push back harder with the Ministry behind her.”
“All the more reason…” Hermione started but Draco squeezed her hand.
“You get rid of her from here, she’ll just go back to the Ministry and she can do a lot more damage there. Let her run her little fiefdom here.”
Hermione frowned at him, not quite believing what she was hearing. “It’s okay for you. You’re the poster boy for the Purebloods. If we don’t fight back, I just end up on the bottom of the pile,” Hermione argued.
Draco let out a soft sigh and lifted his hand to stroke her face. “I wouldn’t let that happen to you. But if you keep fighting the system, I won’t be able to protect you.”
She put her hand over his. “I don’t need you to protect me.”
“I want to,” Draco replied.
“Then help us. It’s not just me, there are Muggleborns throughout this world who will be persecuted, hunted down just because of their blood. You can’t honestly believe there is a difference in magical ability between you and me, just because my parents aren’t a witch and wizard.”
“You know it’s not about that. It’s purity, exclusivity.”
“But why? Why dilute the Magical ability by keeping idiots such as Crabbe and Goyle, but excluding me just because of blood? Logically, it makes no sense, regardless of the moral implications. You know how inbred and insane those ancient wizarding families are.” Hermione suddenly stopped talking as she saw the deep scowl appear on Draco’s face. She had just insulted him and his family. She knew aside from the obvious Malfoy blood, his veins ran with ancient pure Black blood as well.
Draco blinked away his sudden displeasure and looked at her, worrying his bottom lip with his teeth. “The Malfoys,” he began hesitantly as though not sure he should confide this particular secret of his. “It’s not widely known, the Half-Bloods are concealed on that side of the family tree.”
“So you understand,” Hermione said with relief, “They understood the Wizarding World can’t survive with just the Purebloods,” then she gently added, “You need to stop being Umbridge’s lapdog.”
“And I keep telling you I can’t.” He stood up and started to walk away. Hermione hurried to follow him and pulled him out of the aisle into an empty row of shelving. She put her hands on his face and leaned up to kiss him.
“Please, join us. I worry for you too, you know. You don’t have to do everything your father tells you to,” she said softly. His arms snaked around her and he leaned forward to rest his forehead against hers.
“You’re not Lucius Malfoy’s son. You’re new to this world, you don’t understand our ways,” Draco said and wished he hadn’t. Hermione took a hold of his arms and drew them away from her. “I didn’t mean that.”
“Yes, you did,” she said. “I don’t even know why I’m here. I clearly have some sort of brain impairment thinking we could ever work. We’re far too different.”
“You’re right, I did mean it. You don’t know what it’s like to be a Malfoy. A dynasty of over a thousand years. You don’t have that kind of baggage. Do you know how hard it is to shed that? To realise you’re in love with someone that your whole family hates and wants to abolish.” Draco stopped talking his face turning pink again, this time in embarrassment.
“You’re in love with me?” Hermione asked softly. In the months they had been sneaking around, she had talked herself into believing that what they had was just lust-fuelled, the attraction of the forbidden; teenage hormones. Never had she entertained it was something more serious.
“Of course I’m in love with you,” he replied, stroking a hand over her hair. “How could I not be? You’re beautiful and intelligent. And that’s why I’m so angry at you, that you’re going along a path that will get you hurt, or killed.”
“You just said it, your family wants to get rid of me and my kind. I have to fight because either way I’m dead.”
“Don’t say that. We can hide you, fake your family tree,” Draco offered, but Hermione shook her head.
“And you know I can’t do that. I wouldn’t be able to live with myself if I lied about where I came from.” Unable to stop herself, Hermione kissed him again, wrapping her arms around him. “I love you too. I try not to but I can’t stop. I know we’re so wrong, but I want it, I want you.”
They kissed again, Draco slid his arms back around her to hold her close. He hugged her tight. “One thing, if something happens and you want to go to the Ministry, don’t.”
“Why?”
“I don’t know. I have a bad feeling.”
***
Unable to sleep, Hermione sat up into the early hours reading by the light of her wand. The pain in her side had been slowly receding, but it still wasn’t comfortable so she took naps either day or night, depending on whenever the pain dulled enough to be able to relax. The hospital ward was quiet. Ron was sleeping in the next bed and the sounds of his snores were comforting. However, she’d drawn the privacy screen between their beds, so her reading light wouldn’t disturb his sleep.
“I told you not to go to the Ministry,” came a soft voice by the door of the hospital wing. Hermione looked up. In the shadows she could make out the familiar white-blond hair. Draco was leaning against the open door. Hesitantly he came into the ward to sit by her bed and bashfully put a green apple down on her bedside table. “I didn’t know what to get you. Flowers die too quickly.”
“Thanks,” Hermione said, “You didn’t have to get me anything.” She put her book down and took Draco’s hand in hers. She looked up at him, and couldn’t help the accusation that quickly passed her lips. “Did you know?”
He shook his head and dropped his eyes to their entwined fingers. “No,” he murmured. “Not exactly. I overheard Aunt Bellatrix telling Kreacher something. I didn’t know what it was, except that it was something at the Ministry.”
“I kept telling Harry it wasn’t right,” Hermione said, shaking her head, and sucking in a painful breath.
He reached over and stroked a piece of hair from her face. “Are you okay? I’ve been wanting to visit. I thought it was best to stay out of the way. You know, because of Father; what happened.”
Ron’s snores stopped for a moment and they froze. Hermione put her finger to her lips to tell Draco to keep quiet. The bed behind the curtain squeaked as Ron turned over and the snores resumed again. Hermione waited to see if they were fake or not. When she was confident they weren’t, she murmured, “You’re not your father.”
“He almost killed you,” Draco whispered hoarsely as though the very thought pained him greatly.
With a slight grimace, Hermione sat up straighter and leaned closer to Draco. “It wasn’t Lucius who got me with that curse,” she assured him.
“It could have been. If I’d lost you…” Draco rested his other hand against Hermione’s cheek.
“I’m here. I’m right here,” she said and squeezed his hand. They say together, silently, listening to each other’s breathing, interspersed with the sound of Ron’s nearby snores. “It was a disaster anyway. We shouldn’t have gone.”
“Did you hear what was in the Prophecy before it smashed?” Draco asked conversationally. Suspicious, Hermione pulled away from resting her head against Draco’s.
“Why?” she asked and there was a sudden chill in her heart. She hadn’t heard anything beyond what was already known that Harry was the one prophesised to vanquish the Dark Lord.
He realised his mistake. “No, no. Don’t tell me. I was merely curious. Cross my heart.” And he placed his hand against his chest. She leaned in against him again, breathing in his calming scent. She’d come to recognise it with warmthe and happiness.
“We can make this work, can’t we?” she asked hopefully, knowing they were close to summer holidays and the unknown it held.
“We can,” Draco murmured, pressing a kiss to her forehead.
A few days later, the Hogwarts Express train compartment was loud and exuberant on the way back to King’s Cross. Harry did his best to join in, for the most part he sat quietly looking out the window. No one disturbed him yet they welcomed him warmly when eventually he decided he wanted to join in on the Weasleys’ game of Exploding Snap. Although not feeling as bad as Harry, a knot grew in Hermione’s stomach every time her eyes drifted to the three oozing slug-like creatures stuffed up on the overhead compartment. The DA members had fired a multitude of hexes at Malfoy, Crabbe and Goyle and those slugs were what were left of their transfigured forms.
The train slowed down once it hit the London outskirts. Fred, George and Ginny had migrated back to their original compartments to collect their trunks, while Neville had offered to help Luna with hers. Alone with Harry and Ron, Hermione voiced her concern.
“Maybe we should unjinx them? We don’t want to get into trouble,” she said, pointing up at the luggage rack. The three boys were squirming and writhing, making horrible squelching noises.
“I don’t really care,” Ron shrugged and offered Harry his last chocolate frog, who had moved back to the seat nearest the window and was watching the houses become denser. Ron pulled all three trunks down when the train pulled up to Platform Nine and Three-Quarters.
“Come on Hermione. Forget about them. Someone will find them,” Ron said as he and Harry pulled their trunks out into the corridor, following the student population off the Hogwarts Express.
“I’ll catch up,” she called and drew the blinds in the compartment. The boys didn’t hear her and continued their way onto the platform.
“Finite Incantatem,” she cast, aiming her wand up at the slug she assumed was Draco, by the remnants of white-blond hair she could see. Emerging from the muddle of jinxes and spells that the other had cast upon him, Draco appeared scared and shaking, much like when he had returned from being transfigured into a ferret.
“Are you okay?” she asked, hold her hand up for him to take and get down from the luggage rack. He jumped down, his knees almost buckling under him as he landed.
“You know, if I did that, I’d be pilloried and flayed alive,” he said, a scowl forming on his face. “But Saint Potter and his disciples can do no wrong.”
“It would be best if you stayed away from Harry,” Hermione suggested, pocketing her wand. Draco adjusted his robes, brushing out the creases.
“Oh really? Thanks for that,” he replied sarcastically and checked his pocket for his wand. He saw the hurt on her face and took her hand and said softly, “Look, I’m sorry. I wish you didn’t hang out with them. They don’t appreciate you.” And he pressed his lips to her forehead.
Hermione glanced up at the remaining slugs on the luggage rack. “And I wish you didn’t hang out with those two.” She turned her gaze to him, held both his hands and squeezed firmly. “Seriously Draco. Leave it behind and join us,” she implored.
“What about Potty and the Weasel?” he asked unkindly, “They’re not going to want me around.”
“They’ll accept you if you stop hounding them. Ron’s as pure-blood as you are. So is Neville. It’s nothing to do with blood, you know that. It’s just an excuse for oppression.”
For a moment, it appeared he was considering her proposal. He brought her hands up to his mouth and kissed them gently.
“You should go. Your parents will be waiting for you,” he said, “I can unjinx those two.” He nodded up towards the luggage rack. But Hermione didn’t let go of Draco’s hands. A sudden feeling a dread came over her, that this might be the last time they would see each other. Now that Lucius was in Azkaban, Draco had lost the protection of his father. She rose up on her toes and kissed him firmly. A little too enthusiastic, Draco took a step backwards and unexpectedly sat down on the compartment seat his foot had bumped up against. Without thinking, Hermione straddled his lap and resumed the passionate kiss. Now they had arrived at the end of the year, with the prospect of weeks apart Hermione didn’t want to let him go. His arms wrapped around her and pulled her higher onto his lap.
Finally their kiss broke when Hermione knew they couldn’t let it go any further. Panting softly, with their foreheads still pressed together, she murmured, “Promise you’ll write to me.”
“Every day,” he whispered and gave her one last chaste kiss, before she reluctantly stood up to leave. Their fingertips fell away from each other. Hermione picked up the end of her trunk and left the train compartment. She couldn’t bear to say goodbye to him.
The platform was crowded and Hermione spotted her parents talking to Mr and Mrs Weasley. Even after five years of knowing about the wizarding world, her dad still looked a little awkward and out of place when talking to witches and wizard, no matter how kind they were. She hurried over to greet them with tight hugs, while Mr Weasley greeted Ron and Harry. Incapable of resisting, Hermione looked back over to the hidden barrier in the hope of seeing Draco and saw him exiting with Crabbe and Goyle. Their eyes met and they stared at each other until Draco’s mother came into view, taking his attention away. Narcissa Malfoy hugged her son, there was a very visible look of relief on her face.
“Who was that boy?” Hermione’s mother asked as they walked to the car park. Her father was walking behind them with the trolley laden with Hermione’s trunk and Crookshanks’s cage on top. The cat was meowing, clearly not happy to be cooped up in such a confined space.
“Harry?’ Hermione asked uncertainly. “You know Harry.”
“Nooo, not Harry.”
“Ron?” she offered instead.
“Not Ron. That blond boy I saw you staring at,” Mrs Granger said and smiled, “He was a bit cute. Very well dressed. Is there something…?”
Hermione’s face went pink and she tried to hide her embarrassment. If her mother had noticed her attraction to Draco after only five minutes, was it possible that the rest of the school knew?
“No, nothing,” Hermione squeaked and silently thanked Merlin that her mother didn’t seem to remember the pale boy and his father who had confronted them all those years ago, during the Gilderoy Lockhart book signing at Flourish and Blotts, who had disparaged the blood traitor Weasleys for keeping company with lowly Muggles.