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The last few years had taught Draco to prepare for and expect the worst. But as soon as he stepped onto the Hogwarts Express, it was clear his most pessimistic daydreams had failed him.
His compartment—which he would share with the study partner assigned to him for his eighth year—was already occupied.
“You’ve got to be joking.” Granger looked as mad as a wet kneazle, contemptuous glare freezing him in the doorway. “Harry and Ron had the right idea, not coming back.”
As irritating as she was, and as much as it plucked at his nerves to be the focus of her disgust, Draco couldn’t take his eyes off of her.
He’d last seen her testifying at his trial, all voluminous robes and tightly-wound bun attempting to restrain her curls. Before that, she’d been smudged with dirt and exhausted at the culmination of the battle.
She’d changed over the summer. He couldn’t quite put his finger on how; it wasn’t strictly physical, although she was carrying herself differently than he remembered. Maybe she was finally able to breathe, without wondering what might have happened to her if the war had gone the other way. Merlin knew if Draco had thought about it, it couldn’t have been far from her mind.
Whatever it was, she looked jaded. Like she had no fucks left to give.
Draco could relate, not that he had any intention of commiserating with her. After this train ride, he planned to spend as little time with her—or anyone else—as possible.
He managed to enter the compartment and seat himself opposite Granger, close to the window. “It’s not like this was my idea.”
“I don’t even know why you’re here,” she said, leveling him with a cool gaze. “I’ll speak to the headmistress. This can’t have been what she had in mind.”
Draco let his mind wander during the journey, feeling foolish. He should have expected to find her in this compartment. McGonagall’s letter had explained eighth year students would be paired with someone from a different house: they would be neighbors, take the same lessons, even plan an event together at some point in the year.
Interhouse unity. Moving forward. Setting an example.
Who else would he have been paired with?
Perhaps their partnership was a punishment for him and she was collateral damage. Whatever the reason, with her jaw set and her eyes fixed on the changing landscape outside the window, he had no intention of engaging her in conversation.
“I suppose being a Malfoy supersedes any normal pureblood etiquette surrounding apologies, then,” she said abruptly, halfway into the silent trip.
Draco looked up from his book. Granger’s legs were crossed, her arms folded over her chest. He’d done his best to ignore the quiet seething aimed in his direction.
“I sent you a note,” he said flatly.
“Oh, yes." Eyes narrowed, she pulled a worn card he recognized from the bag next to her on the bench. "‘Thank you for your testimony. For what it’s worth, I’m sorry. I don’t know what else to say.’ That was enough to”—she gestured with the note, which she'd quoted without opening—“undo everything? Make it right?”
“Merlin, Granger. What could I possibly say to make it right?” Bolstered by her silence and flustered to have something that had been very difficult to write quite literally waved in his face, he couldn’t leave it at that. “I am sorry. For how I treated you and...for what happened at my house. But you never did know when to quit to keep yourself safe. I’d been warning you since the World Cup. And things weren’t exactly a picnic for me, either.”
She snorted, shoving the note back in her bag. “Oh, well I’m sure it was very unpleasant for us to disturb your houseguests and your plans to eradicate muggleborns. Don’t hold your breath waiting for my perfunctory apology note.”
Even before he knew they’d be working together, Draco had planned to take whatever she wanted to throw at him this year. Over the dragging summer of uncomfortable reflection, he'd resolved to be her outlet. It wasn’t altruistic; it seemed like a tiny potential means of absolving his guilt. But in person, her casual dismissal of the hellscape his family home had become burned under his skin. She'd always needled him like no one else.
“You have no fucking idea about my houseguests.”
“Don’t I?” She shoved one sleeve of her jumper up, revealing the work of his aunt. It was the first good look he’d had at it; in the actual moment, he hadn’t been able to take his eyes off of her face.
It was enough to douse the fire in his veins. Draco was silent for the remainder of the journey.
The opening feast was an opportunity for Draco to regroup and find his bearings.
There were more eighth year students than he expected, with some notable exceptions. Pansy, Blaise, and Goyle had declined to return, along with Potter and Weasley. There were some assorted Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs as well, but upon reflection, Draco realized no one had ever captured his attention the way the Gryffindors had.
Houses weren’t supposed to matter. The eighth-year students had their own wing, co-mingled and—in theory—free of house association. With any luck, he’d be permitted to keep to himself after a conversation with the headmistress. At the very least, he’d swap partners. After the deeply uncomfortable trip to school, he’d take his chances with anyone else.
As soon as he saw her leave the head table, Draco followed McGonagall to her office. “Do you have a moment, Headmistress?”
“Certainly, Mr. Malfoy.”
The conversation was brief and to the point. They’d been matched for several reasons, and she had full faith in their ability to work together. They were near-equals as far as lessons were concerned. Yes, she realized they shared an unpleasant history, and if it was truly untenable, he could come back after one month to revisit the matter.
“You and Ms. Granger have more in common than you realize. There is some symbolic unity in this assignment, yes,” she said, offering him an open tin of biscuits. “But the two of you have been through more than nearly everyone else who returned. You might be able to relate to each other.”
Draco found her kindness suspicious. “This isn’t...you didn’t pair us so people will leave me alone, did you?”
Her eyes hardened as she drew herself taller in her chair, but her ire didn’t feel aimed at him. "Absolutely not. No one should feel in danger at Hogwarts, and no further heroics shall be expected of its students. The walls have eyes, but do see me immediately if you experience any problems. Good evening, Mr. Malfoy."
She was kinder than Snape, but no less firm in her dismissal.
He took a direct path through the corridors, visions of the battle filtering through his mind. At least the dormitories would be new and free from lingering memories.
When he arrived at the eighth-year living quarters, he bypassed the shared space. He didn’t bother looking for his name. His neighbor was waiting at the end of the hall.
Granger pushed away from the door. “Finally,” she said. “She wouldn’t listen to you either, I take it?”
Draco had no idea when Granger even had time to speak with McGonagall, but was wary of engaging in conversation. He stared in confusion at one door that had each of their names next to it.
“I had to wait for you. We have to activate the password together. Put your hand on the door.”
Draco obeyed, hoping his face betrayed little as his brain tried to process. McGonagall had gone all-in on this partnership business; he hadn’t expected “neighbors” to mean roommates.
She pushed the door open, levitating her trunk behind her.
“A month,” she continued. “Because it might be just what I need and she wouldn’t want me making any hasty decisions.” She dropped her trunk unceremoniously and pulled her robe off, dropping it over the back of the sofa in the small shared space. Her skirt was shorter and her shirt tighter than he remembered. Either that, or she’d changed in other ways over the summer.
With her hands on her hips, cheeks hot with color, she looked like a force to be reckoned with.
“What I need is for you to not be late for Arithmancy in the morning. I’m here for one reason, and you’ll not cause problems for me. Go on, choose your room. I don’t want to hear you complaining about being stuck with the least luxurious accommodations.”
He’d had enough of Granger to last the year already, so he declined to respond, choosing instead to enter the closest bedroom and shut the door. The tension of the day sapped his energy. He left his clothes on the floor, and it was all he could do to make it under the covers before he fell asleep.
The next morning Draco slept through breakfast, waking rested enough to explore. Their shared space was cozy: a sofa in front of a small fireplace, a study table with two chairs, and a small kitchen area.
The other bedroom door was closed, but a small bathroom was open and already steamy, smelling of apples and vanilla. He stayed under the spray as long as possible and refused to indulge his morning erection’s interest in his favorite scents.
On his way to Arithmancy, he noted a neutrally-toned common room, with another fireplace and oversized, comfortable-looking furniture.
Theo had returned as well. Despite not being close, Draco would have given his vault to be able to sit with him instead of Granger. She perched on the chair next to him in each lesson, taking copious notes. Her uncharacteristic silence and unraised hand distracted Draco more than he cared to admit.
At the end of the day, she slid a parchment across the table, study times outlined in the evenings. “This is when I plan to study. I’d like to avoid the library whenever possible and work in our room.”
Draco glanced at it. What else did he have to do? “That’s fine.”
She shouldered her bag and made her exit.
It seemed odd that Granger wouldn’t want to spend her time in the library, given that it always seemed like her second home.
She spent the first few weeks presumably behind her closed door, but there were signs of her around: a stack of books on their counter, a half-drunk teacup on the table, a burgundy throw over the back of the sofa. During scheduled study time—which he often skipped—and class, she spoke to him as little as possible, and always in clipped, cool tones.
He rarely saw her at meals, and she was always gone when he woke up. Draco was grateful to avoid unnecessary unpleasantness, but he considered switching to evening showers to escape her scent.
On the second Friday of the term, Draco unwound with Theo and a bottle of Ogden’s until Longbottom turned in for the night.
He reluctantly returned to his room, startling at the sight of Granger stretched out on their sofa. A book was open across her chest and one limp hand dangled above the rug. The fire, usually extinguished when he came in, was crackling low.
Draco had avoided eye contact or any acknowledgment of Granger whenever possible, given her general snappishness. He wasn’t sure how to not respond in kind yet, even if he didn’t feel it. But in the safety of this moment he could look without worrying about her reaction.
Even in the flicker of shadows, the dark circles under her eyes were evident. She was still a bit thin. Draco wasn’t sure if she wasn’t eating much or if she was still recovering from the effects of the prior year. With her face in repose, he could objectively acknowledge that she was pleasant to look at.
Whisky impaired his judgment, or he’d have gone straight into his bedroom. Instead, he decided no one deserved to wake up uncomfortable, not even Granger. He levitated her arm to rest beside her on the sofa and spelled the burgundy throw to settle over her.
He fell into a deep sleep, exhausted and still a bit inebriated.
When he startled in the middle of the night, it took Draco a moment to realize he was awake, because the screams he heard were the same ones that haunted his nightmares.
He found her thrashing on the sofa, but hesitated for a moment. She’d likely hex him, but he didn’t have it in him to cast a silencing charm and walk away.
“Granger,” he said, raising his voice. “Granger! Wake up.”
He placed a tentative palm on her arm, taking several steps back when she jerked awake. Her eyes flew open, accusatory and wary.
“You’re having a nightmare.”
Swallowing hard, her breathing evened and her chest stopped heaving as she regained her bearings. Her fingers found the blanket covering her. “Did you do this?”
Draco held his palms up. “I didn’t touch you, Granger. I swear. I levitated it in place.”
Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.
“Look,” he said, suddenly irritated. He’d tiptoed around her as much as possible, but he'd just done something nice. He’d be damned if he was going to let her treat him like a monster for the rest of the year. “I didn’t ask you to fall asleep out here. I certainly didn’t ask to be woken up because you can’t get yourself to bed, or take Dreamless Sleep, or cast a silencing charm like the rest of us. And pardon me for covering you up so you wouldn’t freeze. I assure you it’s not some mastermind plot, but it’s clear the idea of me doing you a simple courtesy doesn’t fit within your notion of who I am.”
Something unfamiliar flickered across her face, but her chin jutted out. “I only know what you've shown me in the past. This”—she gestured at the blanket covering her—“doesn’t exactly jibe with the Malfoy I know.”
“You only want to know the past,” he corrected, already retreating into his room. Honestly, he couldn’t blame her. “You won’t give me a chance to move forward.”
There was a cup of tea under a stasis charm on the counter when Draco woke up.
He almost left for breakfast without going near it, but it piqued his curiosity.
There was no note, and no Granger around to yell if it wasn’t meant for him. But the second cup already in the sink made him pretty certain it was a peace offering. He could feel the begrudging tone rolling off of the gesture, but it was practically affectionate given her treatment of him thus far.
Willing to play nice if it eased the tension in his living situation, Draco folded the burgundy throw over the back of the couch. He was particular about the way he brewed his tea, so he didn’t drink it, but he spelled both cups clean and into the cabinet.
Thus began a hesitant exchange of gestures that could have been called kindnesses, if they'd spoken enough to discuss them.
Granger, having taken up most of the shelf space in the shower, started making room for Draco’s items. He noticed in the haze of an apple-vanilla fog one morning when he’d been too tired to shower the night before.
He duplicated a copy of his notes the morning she overslept, passing them to her without a word when she arrived out of breath and dropped onto the stool next to him.
Her tea-making and his tidying, never in front of one another, became part of their daily routine.
The back-and-forth reached a critical point in the third week of the term when Draco noticed her Arithmancy text left open on their table. He spotted her when he entered the Great Hall for breakfast, placing it next to her bowl as he walked by.
“That seems to be going better,” Theo said, brows raised in interest as he buttered toast. “Not pulling her pigtails any longer?”
“More like she’s stopped jabbing her wand under my chin for a minute.” Draco refused to allow his eyes to wander, staring at his plate with intense focus.
But when he took his seat in Arithmancy, Granger caught his attention. She pulled her book from her bag with the slightest upturn of her lips and a nod in his direction.
He nodded back, brain muddled at the sight of the first smile she’d given him in...years? But even through the shock, there was no ignoring the effect her lips had when Draco observed them shaped in tentative kindness rather than pursed with hate. A telltale flush would creep up his face if he allowed himself to consider it further, so he busied himself with staring blankly at the pages of his own book.
Now was not the time to examine his feelings, but unexpected warmth bloomed in his chest at the thought of being the reason Hermione Granger smiled.
While their living arrangement continued to be little more than a quiet truce, Draco grew bold enough to take notice of her. The more he looked, the more he appreciated the fractured beauty of this matured Granger.
She’d always been fit—at least, since fourth year. No matter how he’d picked at her hair. It was her demeanor that had changed, and Draco found himself drawn to her sharpened edges.
The days of her eager enthusiasm in class were gone. She never raised her hand anymore, but her work was as flawless as ever. Her past happiness had never been directed at Draco, to be certain, but he’d witnessed her exuberance. He knew the potential of her personality. And he thought he understood what subdued it.
Her light felt as dim as his own. Draco felt an unspoken kinship with her as everyone around them seemed to have thrown themselves head-first into a fresh start at school.
She continued to avoid the library, but he’d figured out why. Being the only third of the Golden Trio to return meant she was the sole target of adulation and curiosity. It couldn’t be more obvious that she wanted none of it.
In her effort to hide, Draco caught glimpses of her in the quiet spaces he sought out himself.
“Fancy meeting you here.”
It was the last Friday in September, and she’d found him with his back settled against the base of a giant tree at his favorite waterside spot. Autumn leaves shaded the ground, and he was invisible from all but the far side of the lake. “Can I join you?”
He gestured at the expanse of grass. It was the most she’d voluntarily spoken to him all year. “Be my guest.”
She conjured a blanket and stretched out near him, staring at the dimming sky. She seemed more relaxed than usual.
Breeze rustling in leaves was the only sound until Draco finally allowed his curiosity to voice itself. “You seem to want company as much as I do. Yet here we are.”
“It’s just a bit fucked, isn’t it?” Granger defying expectations felt normal now, so his face remained impassive. “It’s hard to heal in a place that holds so many traumatic memories.”
He didn’t know what to say to that, but she didn’t seem to expect a response.
“Neville gets it, a bit. But he’s in love with Hannah, so he’s got more pressing things on his mind.” She sat up, a ghost of a smile flickering over her face. “Do you feel open-minded enough to try something Muggle?”
Draco found that he was, and that Granger still had ways to shock him. He wasn’t too concerned when she produced a joint and demonstrated how to light and smoke it, but when she indicated it was illegal in some places, Draco gaped at her.
“Not everywhere,” she chuckled. “Neville can grow anything, though, and some Mind Healers think it helps with anxiety and sleeping problems. It helps me relax. So," she said, cocking a brow at him and offering the joint in his direction. "No pressure. Unless you only say no because of my muggleborn saliva. If that's the case, then fuck you, Malfoy."
He laughed out loud at that. Genuine, unrestrained laughter that seemed to be contagious.
Huddled together with Granger over something mildly illicit, letting her teach him something Muggle—it felt like he was telling her more than he had words for. It was difficult not to stare at the shape of her mouth in the twilight, but he slept better that night than he had in months.
And when the one-month mark passed and McGonagall checked in with him, Draco decided that the status quo was not worth disrupting. It appeared Granger agreed, but they didn't discuss it. He only knew because she didn’t move out.
The tenuous thread of understanding that stretched between them strengthened. He couldn’t keep his eyes off of her and was perceptive enough to notice her watching him back.
Their lakeside evening was the first of many, and the direction of their conversations grew more personal.
“I thought it would be different,” she said, sliding a blade of grass between her fingertips. “I thought we’d win and that would be that. But when it was over, I still got death threats.”
They were seated shoulder to shoulder against the base of his tree. Draco swallowed, feeling the uncomfortable shift toward the sins of his past. She didn’t seem bothered by his proximity.
“It didn’t change the minds of his supporters—at least not all of them. It didn’t bring back Fred, or Professor Lupin or Tonks, or anyone who died. There’s no do-over. I’m back here, feeling full of resentment about everyone and everything I lost. And I'm...off-kilter. For the first time since I learned I had magic.”
There was nothing he could say, but he sensed she only expected him to listen. He leaned his head back against the tree. If he waited long enough, her train of thought would carry them elsewhere.
“I have a tattoo, you know. Do you want to see it?”
Of course he wanted to see it. He nodded, and she leaned forward, lifting her hair off of her neck and tugging down on the back of her jumper. “Can you see it?”
Draco tilted his head, examining the small triangle between her shoulders. “The Hallows?”
“Harry and Ron have them, too.” She leaned back against the tree trunk, wrapping her arms around her knees. “I want one here,” she said, rotating the forearm she’d used to make a point on the train weeks earlier. “But it’s a big decision. I want to give myself time to think about it.”
Draco made a fist, flexing the muscles of his own scarred forearm. “That’s a good idea.”
“Covering it up, or giving it consideration?”
“Both.”
Sometimes the topic veered in directions he’d never have expected Granger to allow.
They stretched out on their stomachs on one of the blankets she was so good at conjuring, propped up on their elbows, when she asked, “Who was your first? If you weren’t too busy, that is.”
He side-eyed her, but her teasing was just that. The animosity had drained from her tone at some point during the past weeks and hadn’t reappeared. Apparently treating her like a human being was all it took to make that happen.
Draco kept his voice light, despite his lingering self-loathing and regret. “Pansy.”
“Of course.”
“Like yours wasn’t Weasley.”
She raised her brows at him, accepting the joint. "If you must know," she said, sounding so much like the swotty Granger he'd always known, ready to set him straight. "It was Harry. While we were...away."
He stared at her, incredulous. Potter and Granger?
"And then Ron, after the battle. But that wasn't meant to last," she continued, looser. More contemplative. Granger sucked in a deep drag, holding her breath for a moment. She blew the smoke out gently, watching it drift away into nothing. Then she passed it back to him, one corner of her mouth curving upward. "And then Charlie, later this summer. More fun, but also not meant to last."
Draco tried to process, staring at her for a moment with what must have been a very stupid look on his face. She held a shushing finger to her lips, which curled in a cheeky grin, then rolled onto her back with a laugh.
She was pleased to surprise him. Tickled to defy his expectations. But more shocking than the two bombshells was the notion that she trusted him with them.
Fuck.
They spent a fair amount of autumn outside, occasionally smoking together. She restricted that to the weekends, but they’d taken the edge off and shared enough secrets to be more comfortable with each other than Draco ever expected.
By the time Neville and Theo’s Halloween party rolled around, he even let her talk him into going. “I’m not dressing up, Granger.”
“You don’t have to,” she said. “Watch.”
She tugged him into the common room with her, and when Neville asked where their costumes were, she twined her fingers with Draco’s and lifted their joined hands. “We’re Lucius Malfoy’s worst nightmare.”
Theo laughed so hard his eyes watered.
Draco laughed, too. He wasn’t bothered; they’d talked a little about his feelings toward his father. But her cheeky “costume” was more on the nose than she realized. He liked the feel of her hand in his to a degree that his father definitely would have lost sleep over.
As the weather grew colder and Granger refused to partake inside the castle, he found himself in an awkward state of friendship that was somehow both painfully new and overly intimate. They’d advanced to a state of familiarity they likely would not have reached without relaxed inhibitions.
He reluctantly accepted that he liked being around Granger in any state, but wondered sometimes if that had been the only way she could force herself to tolerate his presence.
By the time he let her drag him to Justin and Millie’s biscuit-decorating Yule party and found himself icing a gingerbread girl with riotous curls, Draco realized he had a problem.
Christmas was awful. Draco thought nothing could have been worse than having the Dark Lord present for holiday festivities, but with his father in Azkaban and his mother a shell of herself, it was a far cry from the pleasant memories of his childhood.
The house-elves took half-hearted orders from his mother to make repairs and decorate as she wandered the halls, but the sentience of the manor itself seemed offended to have been so mistreated. Draco supposed it said something that even an ancient pureblood mansion couldn’t get on board with what had gone down there.
He returned from break early, making excuses to his mother that he needed to stay caught up on his studies. Truthfully, he missed his room, the castle, and—though he was trying hard to ignore it—his roommate. He knew she was planning to spend a little time at the Burrow, but she’d indicated that she’d be at Hogwarts for most of the break.
Draco blamed the rawness of nerves after such a dismal visit home for the way he flung himself on the sofa and shared about his Christmas.
He thought he’d feel better by asking about her holiday. Draco meant to clear away his embarrassing openness by changing the subject.
Instead, learning about Granger’s parents prompted guilt in multitudes. For his role in the war, for the absence of her parents, for complaining about his family dynamics without ever having asked about hers.
But a small part of him relished that she shared something closely-held. He tamped down an ill-advised urge to hug her, but his traitorous fingers channeled the momentum into tugging on a curl instead. Facing each other on the sofa, the hair-touching somehow felt more intimate than a hug.
“I’m sorry about your parents, Granger.”
“You’re the only person here who knows, besides Minerva. Keep it that way, or I’ll hex your pretty face.”
Draco’s mind was a mess, full of jumbled-up thoughts about trust and compliments and being on a first-name basis with the headmistress. He felt this excused the words that spilled from his mouth. “My face is pretty, huh?”
“You know you’re attractive, Malfoy,” she said. “More so with the attitude adjustment.”
Interesting. Before, he'd have agreed with her (and then likely insulted her). But these days it felt like the brand on his forearm swallowed up anything appealing about him. He didn't understand how anyone could see past it, let alone Granger.
While his muddled brain ruminated, his body heard that the girl he’d been watching and opening up to, the one he spent so much time near, found him both tolerable and attractive. He didn’t realize he’d leaned into her until the stomach-dropping moment she pressed a gentle palm to his chest.
She bit her lip, shaking her head slowly. “We can’t. I can’t.”
He’d never seen the look on her face aimed at him. Reluctance? Regret? All Draco knew was that it didn’t have a hint of pity, no matter how much he expected or looked for it.
He swallowed the lump in his throat, dragging his eyes away from her face to stare into the fire as he collected himself. In his silence, she continued.
“It’s not—you’re the only person here who’s lost as much as I have. I relate to you and I hate the way you treated me and I hate how fit you are—don’t look at me like that, you know you are—and I’m confused that you’re so different now. Like you could just flip a switch.”
She took a deep breath. “I can’t stop thinking about you. And I know this isn't you,” she said, tapping her fingers across his forearm. “But I’m not sure you know I'm not this,” she said, pointing at her own. “At least, know it enough for there to be anything real between us.”
His stomach twisted further as he realized what she meant, but she kept going. Sober and nervous, Granger released a floodgate of words.
“Things like that don’t change overnight. They’re complicated. I’m not going to be your muggleborn exception,” she said with a wry smile, “and I wouldn’t be okay keeping things hidden. Anyone who wants to be with me...I need to know for sure they’re not ashamed of me. And that I’m not a diversion until they do what’s expected of them.”
She finally stopped, and he knew he needed to say something.
“Granger—I don’t. You know I don’t.” But the words stuck in his throat.
“Take some time. When you can articulate it, let me know.” She squeezed his forearm, then slipped into her bedroom, closing the door behind her.
Draco spent an inordinate amount of time reflecting on the whole interaction, even though he cringed every time he relived the moment she pushed him away. What exactly did she want him to articulate? He thought he’d been remorseful and repentant.
Every time he considered bringing it up, he talked himself out of it. The idea of admitting shame was too mortifying. Was he ashamed? Draco couldn’t put a name to his feelings. There were so many things he regretted, although protecting his family wasn’t one.
He felt a bit hurt that she didn’t know how he felt. And yet the vulnerability required to start that conversation prevented him from spelling it out.
She was everywhere and all he could see. Friendly to him, but all their conversations were surface-level and exceedingly polite. Draco felt her waiting for something he didn’t know how to say. The longer he said nothing, that tenuous thread they’d woven between them pulled tighter until he was afraid it would snap.
He leaned into studying and spending time with Theo, or by himself. Before he knew it, January had passed and he needed to plan a Valentine’s Day party with his study partner.
He wished it was warm enough to be outside. Granger even declined his suggestion to go into Hogsmeade and plan over a butterbeer because it was “a working meeting.” They sat together in their room over tea instead.
There wasn’t much to plan. Every set of partners had followed the same routine...a laid back gathering in the common room with seasonally-appropriate decor, banned refreshments, and party games that appeared universal across Muggle-wizarding worlds.
They were the least celebratory of all the partners, so it was laughable that they had such a sentimental holiday in the first place. Granger was in the middle of trying to decide if they could get away without any sort of valentine card activity when Draco couldn’t take it anymore.
“You hated me when we came back. Why’d you even speak at my trial if you thought I still believed those things?”
What he said was not quite an admission; he was working up to that. But Granger looked unsuprised, as though she’d expected this might come up.
“I was never scared of you," she began, choosing her words with care. "I saw your face while she tortured me. But I hated that you could believe the same things, even if you wouldn’t have done this to me yourself." She took a deep breath. "You were so cruel to me. I never heard you talk to other muggleborns like that.”
Draco had been taught so many ridiculous things when he was younger. Multiple waltzes, proper flatware usage for a seven-course meal, that marriage was a business arrangement rather than a love match. Why hadn’t anyone taught him to admit when he was wrong?
This deep in the conversation, he decided to just go for it.
“I—was wrong. But by the time I had the mark, my motivation was only protecting my family, not their beliefs. I have a lot left to learn, but I know you’re not that.” His eyes flickered at her forearm, and she didn’t miss his meaning. “You’re exceptional, Granger, but not an exception. You challenged everything I was taught. I know you said things don’t change overnight, but I disagree. I’ve lived things in the last year that changed my beliefs in an instant.”
“Where do you see yourself in five years?” It seemed like an odd question, a bit off-topic. But Granger looked prepared to ask it.
“I don’t know,” he said, deciding to be honest. It felt like not enough, somehow. “I mean, I didn’t even think I’d be here. I didn’t think about what my life would be like. It’s not like I ever had much say in it.”
“And your family obligations, as the heir?”
“There aren’t many obligations left, with my father in prison. But I haven’t really thought about it.”
It was the truth, but something in the moment shifted. He’d said something wrong.
Her face closed off and her tone took on a feigned cheerfulness as she suggested they had enough for a decent party without bringing cards into it.
Draco spent some time in the Slytherin common room that night, playing chess with Theo and a few younger boys. It felt odd to be there, but Theo had promised Pansy they’d check in on her little brother.
A fifth-year student passing through asked Draco how life was living with a mudblood, and it reminded him how much had changed.
“Don’t call her that.” Theo stilled, and Draco captured his knight without looking up. “Or anyone else. Trust me, it’s not worth what it costs to follow someone else’s fucked-up ideology.”
“Who says I don’t believe it myself?” The fifth-year sneered. “You’ve gone soft, Malfoy. Mudblood cunt’s gone to your head.”
“Call her that again.” He lifted his eyes this time. Was it Avery’s nephew? Rosier’s? He couldn’t place him. “Then Nott can be my witness for McGonagall.”
“You’re on probation. They’ll send you up with your father if you even think about using an Unforgivable.”
“Oh, I can torture you without my wand,” Draco said conversationally. “I'll just do it with my bare hands.”
His casual threat scattered their company, and Theo cocked a brow at him once they were alone.
“Shut the fuck up. It’s your move.”
“This protective side of you is adorable,” Theo grinned. “You’re just a soft stuffed dragon now, aren’t you?”
“He shouldn’t be talking about anyone like that.” But Draco did feel protective, whether she wanted him or not. “Stop with that look on your face. Don’t make it into something it isn't."
“Did she say it can’t be anything?”
“Conversation’s over, Theodore. Fucking make your move or I’m done.”
“Okay. All I’m saying is...you never looked at anyone like that when they said anything about Pansy.”
To be fair, Draco hadn’t cared much about anyone other than himself and his family in the past. He didn’t think he’d let anyone talk about Pansy either, these days. But Granger being on a very short list of people he cared enough about to defend was a powerful realization.
Draco’s real moment of clarity came the day before the party, when he left the greenhouse later than everyone else and saw Granger deep in conversation with Theo. They were huddled under an arch in the courtyard. Theo's back was turned, but Granger shot a glance in Draco's direction.
It was unseasonably sunny and he’d ditched his robes after overheating in the greenhouse, but that didn’t stop a chill of dread from settling.
Hermione wasn’t his. But she got him more than anyone in the school.
For the first time, Draco considered the possibility of losing her to a boyfriend. He thought about her stretched out on a conjured blanket next to someone else in their spot by the lake, and his stomach twisted in preemptive envy.
He took in Theo’s casual confidence, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his robes as he leaned against a column. Realistically, he didn’t think Theo would go after Granger. Not if he suspected Draco had feelings for her. It was more likely that he was spilling Draco’s deepest secrets in some form of misguided meddling instead.
It was a toss-up which would be worse.
The last time Draco felt this caught off guard was the Yule Ball. He could admit that was the first time he’d felt attracted to Granger. She was the most intriguing person there, and he wondered what he might have done if there had been no history or expectations.
How many more opportunities would he let pass him by? He’d taken for granted their friendship and who she’d become to him.
Later, when she breezed into their room and asked him if he’d like a cup of tea, he got up from the sofa to help. He steeled himself to deliver the question he’d planned, hoping it wouldn’t sound stupid to ask her if she wanted to go to the party with him.
But before he worked up enough nerve, she added the perfect splash of milk to his cup and asked, “So, are you bringing anyone to the party?”
A flash of irritation shot through him. He tried to tell himself it was because she ruined his practiced invitation, but thoughts of her intimate conversation with Theo were there as well. Bitterness seeped into his voice. “Oh, I thought I’d pick at random from all the girls I’ve been chatting up this year.”
She slid his cup across the counter in his direction, narrowing her eyes.
“No, I haven’t asked anyone to our laid-back common room party, Granger.” He ignored the fact that he’d been about to ask her. That she even thought he might bring someone else left him second-guessing, and his resolve slipped. “What about you? Is there a secret love in your life?”
She took a small sip of her tea. “No. I won’t settle for secret love. If someone I like decides I fit into his life, I won’t keep quiet about wanting him.”
He digested that statement while she held his gaze.
“But I’m not going to put my life on hold while he figures it out.”
He stared at her, stupidly, until she took her tea and disappeared behind her bedroom door.
The next morning, Draco woke up with a fresh perspective and new resolve.
She’d been talking about him; he was sure of it. He was certain they were on the same page. He’d tossed and turned the night before, reflecting on her questions. Now he had thoughtful answers, and he wanted her to hear them.
The only problem was Granger was impossible to find all day. She'd spelled the decorations up in the common room, but no one had seen her, and he was starting to worry she might not even show up. Draco made sure the refreshments were ready before deciding to check for her by the lake.
She wasn’t there, and he was beyond frustrated with himself. He should have asked her, or at least said something. Why did he make everything hard? Why was it so hard to tell her that he gets it, he understands, he chooses her?
Lost in thought by the water, he didn’t even notice how much time had passed until dinner was over. He hurried back to the castle and up to the common room.
Someone had rearranged the furniture in a circle. Glittering hearts floated near the ceiling and Celestina Warbeck filled the air. Granger was in a squashy armchair in front of the fireplace, a vision in a snug red jumper.
Draco leaned hard on the back of the sofa, catching his breath. “Granger, can I talk to you outside for a minute?”
“I’m in the middle of a very important game of Truth or Dare. I’m half of the party planning committee,” she said, tipping back her butterbeer with an arched brow and a smile. “I can’t just disappear.”
Stubborn, infuriating witch.
Draco rounded the sofa and planted himself next to Millie. “Fine. Truth.”
“It’s not your turn, Malfoy,” said Neville, earnest and oblivious. “It’s—”
“Shut the fuck up, Longbottom,” Theo said. “Read the room.”
Draco gave Theo a grateful glance, then focused on Granger.
“Ask me, Granger. Where I see myself in five years.”
She set down her bottle, licking her lips, and stared him straight in the eyes. For the first time all year, he saw some fire in hers. A spark of possibility. The heat ignited in his chest.
“Where do you see yourself in five years?”
“Doing whatever I want.” He laid the emphasis heavy and held her gaze. “With whoever I want, no matter what anyone else expects of me.”
She stood then, a slow smile curving on her lips as she pulled him to his feet. “The party planning committee needs to confer on something. Carry on.”
Her fingers linked with his, and she dragged him down the hallway, catcalls following them.
She had his back against their door as soon as they were through it, pressed close into his space. They’d always been sitting anytime they were this close, and now the height difference was very apparent.
She stared up at him, fingers clutching his shirt, the intoxicating scent of her hair enveloping him. “That was a good answer, Draco.”
He split the difference with her, meeting her halfway, hands cupping her cheeks as he kissed her soft mouth. It was more satisfying than the finest Valentine’s sweet he’d ever received, far better than trite sentiments in a card. She held him close until he forced himself to pull back.
“When I look at you this year, I see myself. Everything is awful except for you.” He ducked his head to meet her mouth again, a lingering slide of parted lips followed by a soft peck. Draco dropped one hand to stroke over her forearm. “And I’m so fucking sorry, Granger. You're not this. You never were, no one is—” His voice broke and she quieted him with a kiss.
“I know,” she said, smiling against his lips. “You sent me a note.”