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The only thing Hermione loved more than exam prep, were the exams themselves. She was elated, getting up early without dread, spending all day studying whether in the library or the eight years' common room, before ultimately closing the books in favour of spending time with her friends, old and new. She’d gone through a rough patch with Zabini at first, but she’d warmed up to him, and once he explained he was just trying to look out for Draco, she understood. He’d gone on a long tirade about how he felt guilty for all the years he didn’t see what Draco was going through, and especially now that Theo had gone off to Canada, Zabini felt more responsible for Draco than ever. It was at that moment she knew she and Blaise Zabini were on the same side of the metaphorical trenches, and had since made an effort to see things from his perspective more often. Sometimes it just meant letting Blaise see the smaller acts of care and affection between her and Draco – brushing his hair out of his eyes when he kept absently blowing at it while reading, sneaking notes into his schoolbooks, to remind him to eat or drink, reminding him of where and when they’d agreed to meet. Before the exam prep began. She would sometimes write an abstract of her favourite poems or books for him to read and find out more about since he had finished reading all her books already.
Pansy had been an entirely different can of worms. In fact, Hermione still wasn’t sure how they’d become friends – one day Pansy asked her if she could try something new with Hermione’s curls for a feast, and since then they’d built a friendship based on mutual respect and a healthy dose of ‘don’t ask, don’t tell’ when it came to trauma. They’d spend many nights just sitting in the same bed, reading and practising charms. Hermione knew almost nothing of Pansy’s life or interests, but she knew she favoured wide wand motions, to tight spells, and that she would run her finger over the edge of the pages when she read. Pansy had been a lot more trusting of her and Draco’s, frankly bizarre, relationship. The two barely ever displayed affection in front of an audience - they barely displayed much physical affection at all. Pansy had said she was a bit disappointed that they seemed so tame, but she didn’t push. Hermione suspected Pansy knew Draco better than most and knew what was holding them back. But she would occasionally just groan and leave the room, usually saying something like get a room, or just shag already. Hermione had tried to explain to her that it wasn’t like that between her and Draco, but all she said was yet, and Hermione didn’t want to argue. She hoped Pansy would wish it into existence.
Hermione walked out of the Arithmancy exam, elated by what she’d accomplished and barely suppressing the desire to skip a step as she exited the room. But when she saw Malfoy leaning on the wall opposite the room, she gave in and actually skipped over to him.
“Hi,” she said, running her hands over the front of his robes, smoothing them down, so they lay flat on his chest, rather than stick up like he hadn’t looked in the mirror all day. Unlikely, considering he once spent 15 minutes looking at his reflection in the glass doors of her bookcase. Malfoy took the quill she had tucked behind her ear and twirled it between his fingers, a lazy smile on his lips.
“I take it the exam went well.” He said as he led the way towards the library. Last-minute, she grabbed him by the arm and led him towards the courtyard. “Where are we going?” he asked, looking tired but amused, as she struggled to drag him along.
“I just finished an exam, and your next one isn’t until Monday. I want to celebrate at the lake.” He chuckled but caught up with her, so she didn’t have to drag him along.
“Alright, lead the way. I’ll follow you willingly.”
“Promise?” She asked mockingly.
“To the ends of the earth.” He whispered, and in retrospect, it was the first sign something was amiss. Unfortunately, Hermione was too elated to notice anything. Thinking back on it, she should have known, should have taken action beforehand. But she didn’t. To some extent, she was angry at him – he had promised her he would tell her if he felt off.
Draco asked her well-disguised questions about her exam, looking eagerly at her, awaiting her explanations. And she told him about all the questions and what she wrote as he nodded and smiled. Hermione laid on her stomach, resting her chin on her folded hands, as he laid on his back, staring at the sky and she marvelled at how translucent his lashes appeared in the setting sun, and how light the grey of his eyes actually was. After she told him all about the exam, she settled quietly on the grass, content, toying with the hem of his robes, as he closed his eyes and basked in the last rays of the sun. They stayed silent until the sun had gone down, and until Hermione’s teeth had started to chatter in the still chilly spring evening. So she pulled Draco up, and they walked all the way to their common room in comfortable silence, sometime between the lake and the main building, Draco wound his pinkie around Hermione’s as they walked.
“Granger,” Hermione looked up to see Zabini leaning on the breakfast table, out of breath. It was the last day of exams, so she was doing some last-minute reading on Herbology.
“Zabini,” she said as a response, placing a hand on the Herbology books to keep them open. “What brings you here this early morning?”
“Draco.” He said, and Hermione’s blood ran cold.
“Is he okay?” She asked before clearing her throat. “Has something happened?”
“I…” Zabini leaned further on the table, and Hermione gestured to the bench. He sat, or rather fell, on the bench. “He’s been off all night. I didn’t think much of it, but he’s been out of it all morning as well, really out of it.”
“Maybe he’s just tired. You know how he gets when he’s tired.” She said, sensing the hope in her voice, which quickly died when she met Zabini's eyes. There was fear in the way he looked at her, and Hermione barely paid attention to the way she shoved all her carefully taken notes in her bag and rushed out of the dining hall. All she could think of was how scared she was the first time he hadn’t shown up for group therapy.
Hermione sat outside the horrible looking building for almost an hour, before she decided to go in. But she didn’t make it far, in fact, she didn’t make it to the room. Something about her last conversation with Malfoy stood out in her mind – he had sounded off, distant, and while Hermione didn’t suspect he’d harm himself intentionally, she was aware how easy it would be to do so unintentionally. They met after his therapy session two days later, and he took her to lunch in a surprisingly common-looking wizarding restaurant. They had soup, with crispy bread, but he remained quiet the whole time until she’d finally had enough and asked him what was wrong.
“Nothing.” He said, shrugging. “Everything’s normal.”
“Normal is different from good.” She said, signing her name to pay for the bill despite Malfoy reaching for the pad the waiter brought. “Come on, let’s take you home.”
“You really don’t have to.” He said but followed her out of the restaurant. She wracked her brain to remember his London address and came close judging by Malfoy’s growing reluctance.
“I can’t remember the exact number, so you have to help me a little,” she said, looking him straight in the eyes and seeing almost nothing there.
“14,” he said, pointing to a townhouse a few metres away.
“Hm, close enough,” said Hermione and headed to the house, stopping only to let him pass her at the doorway to remove the locking charms before she walked in. The house was massive - all modern, open-plan living spaces and expensive furnishings. But it was cluttered. If she was nit-picking, it was actually dirty. As if he hadn’t put anything away in days. “Spacious.” She said, looking around.
“You don’t have to do this, Granger. Just go home. We can do this another time.”
“When else would I have the pleasure of seeing how one of the richest bachelors in wizarding Britain lives?” She asked, dropping her coat and toeing off her flats.
“We can do this next…” he closed his eyes and exhaled sharply, “next week, after group therapy.” She stood still in the middle of his living room, which alone was twice the size of her apartment, just looking at him. His clothes were fashionable and well matched, but slightly wrinkled, his posture was hunched over, and for maybe the 10th time today he ran his fingers through his hair.
“What day of the week is it?” She asked him, observing the way he sagged against the wall.
“What is this? One of those medical dramas you showed me? I don’t have a concussion – I know my name, what year it is, and even the name of the American president.” His tone was sharp, and his eyes were almost cruel in his anger, but she didn’t back down.
“Then you can tell me what day of the week it is.” She waited, hoping to see the stronger type of anger, which he kept in reserve for questions he hated, but all she saw was how his face went blank, and he seemed to give up a fight Hermione hadn’t even noticed he was fighting. He just shrugged.
“Does it matter?” He asked, eyes closed. And it all started making sense to her. They had set the date weeks prior – he said his therapist had suggested celebrating small milestones, and so Hermione had suggested today, as it was exactly 30 days since the first group therapy they had together. But he had looked confused when he saw her upon exiting his therapist’s building. She had written it off as a particularly gruelling session, but it obviously wasn’t that.
“Malfoy, are you in a dissociative state?” He didn’t respond, and Hermione approached him, pulling at his jacket until it was off his shoulders, and she made an effort to pull it entirely off him. He had to help her when his hands got caught in the sleeves. “Come on, let’s take you upstairs.”
“Why?”
“I’m guessing that’s where your bedroom is?”
“Are you trying to seduce me, Granger?”
“If you had been more than half living right now, maybe.” She said, in a desperate attempt to make him laugh. To make him show any emotion. He didn’t. He allowed her to tug him up the stairs and into his bedroom. Thankfully, the room was left open, so she could see the unmade bed and the clothes strung about. With a flick of her wand, she transfigured his clothes into a set of chequered pyjamas and made him get in his bed.
“Why?” We asked, but she didn’t answer.
Hermione waited, as his eyes drifted closed as if he were conditioned to fall asleep when his head hit the pillow before she got around to picking clothes off his bedroom floor. In 15 minutes, she was done with his bedroom and had moved downstairs, casting cleaning spells one after another to make the ground floor look presentable. When an hour later she filled a glass of water from the bathroom and carried it upstairs, she saw Malfoy sitting up in bed, staring at the edge of the mattress.
“Malfoy?” He looked at her, blinking a few times, before tilting his head.
“Interesting, you’ve never been here before.”
“No, but this is what happens when you let me come with you to your place.” He made a non-committal hum before slowly blinking.
“I usually have this dream about your apartment.”
“What dream?” She asked, placing the cup on the nightstand furthest away from him.
“The usual. You, taking care of me."
“Why do you think this is a dream?”
“I’d never willingly show you just what brand of fucked up I am.” He looked around again and shrugged. “I think I may have dissociated too much, maybe you’re a very lifelike hallucination, or this room is, or both.” His voice was quiet and empty-sounding like he was talking to himself.
“You’re not hallucinating.” Hermione tried to sound as firm as she could, trying to get him to snap out of it.
“You always say that. But you’re also always just beyond my reach, so you can never prove it. I’m tired of having the same conversation every time.” Hermione’s strong common sense told her to just tell him to go back to sleep, but the resigned look in his eyes snapped something in her. She could deal with sad Malfoy, happy Malfoy, and even mad, snappy Malfoy. But this empty version was something she couldn’t stomach.
“I’m very real, thank you very much.” She said, walking around the bed to the window and pulling the blinds up to let some sun in. He squinted his eyes but didn’t react otherwise.
“I shouldn’t be in bed. It’s messing up my plans.” He muttered but didn’t move. He just resumed laying back against the headboard, watching her with a blank expression that unnerved her. “You’re nicer to me, am I that desperate for approval and affection?”
“I’m always nice to you,” she said, leaning on the windowsill, “except for that time after the first group therapy, but that was… under mitigating circumstances.” He didn’t respond. Just watched her. “You should drink some water – you barely ate your soup, and I don’t think you’ve been keeping up your hydration.” She said, trying to sound clinical and unaffected, when in fact she felt fear seeping into her stomach. It wasn’t the type of fear that left her a shaking mess, but the type she felt so often during the war, the same fear that sharpened her focus and made her feel capable of anything. “I’ll see to dinner.” She said, walking out of the room, leaving the door ajar.
She silently cast a spell on his door to alert her if he decided to wander around the house and went to the bottom floor to rummage through his kitchen. What she discovered was very scarce – it looked like he had eaten most of the food that had been prepared for him, but no new food had arrived yet. She began sifting through the cupboards and drawers, looking for something that… she didn’t really know what she was looking for. Something that looked like it would belong in a wizarding manor? Something with the Malfoy crest on it? She was sure his food was being prepared and delivered by house-elves, so there must be something that delivers messages to them, right? But there was nothing out of place – no scraps of parchment, no quills, not even a pad for grocery lists. His cupboards were empty, and he had several mismatched plates of different sizes and colours, including a very intriguing child’s plate, with a green dragon on it, probably left behind by the previous owners. Hermione made a mental note to mock him relentlessly that he’d kept it. He also had one oven sheet and an old pot without a lid. She’d make do with that. She cast another alerting charm on the front door and put on her shoes and jacket – she remembered passing a Sainsbury on the way - she’d just buy what she needed from there.
She walked fast and with purpose as she piled on food in the cart. This was the weirdest looking shop she’d been in. It was full of wizards and witches, poorly disguising themselves as muggles. She knew this part of London was largely populated by wizards, but how had no one noticed if everyone was as bad at blending in as this lot were? She grabbed a cutlery set, only having seen the matching baby spoon with a dragon on it, and headed to the till, where a muggle woman in her 50s talked to Hermione, as she scanned her groceries.
“Oh, dear, doing the shop alone?” She asked, and Hermione nodded with a smile. She ran her finger over her wand, to make sure it wasn’t trying to alert her of movement in the house. “Are you sure you can carry all this alone? Is your boyfriend not with you?”
“I’m stronger than I look,” she assured the woman, who looked at the several different medications Hermione had picked up, since Malfoy didn’t even have aspirin in his house.
“Oh, is he not feeling well? That’s terrible.” The woman finished packing her groceries, and Hermione didn’t bother correcting her. He wasn’t feeling well, but the woman didn’t need to hear that the 'he' wasn’t Hermione’s boyfriend. Also, Hermione found the notion comfortable. She paid and took the two large bags off the counter, giving the woman another small smile when she said, “Hope he feels better soon.”
Back in Malfoy’s house, Hermione put everything away, washed the cutlery and the pot, leaving them to dry, before heading up again. She poked her head through the gap in the door, but Malfoy was just staring out the window, still in bed. She pushed the door open and walked in, standing near the doorway. He slowly turned to look at her, before turning back towards the window.
“This is getting bad.” He said, still quiet and subdued.
“What is?” She asked, noting he hadn’t drunk the water.
“This hallucination. They’ve never lasted this long.”
“Has it occurred to you that maybe I’m not a hallucination?”
“What does it matter?” He looked at his hand and flexed his fingers, before rubbing his thumb over his index finger. “I might as well not exist. If I actually ever existed.”
“What are you talking about. If I’m a hallucination, then something must have conjured me up, ergo you exist.” She paused for a moment, before crossing her arms. “And I’m not a hallucination. Stop doing that with your hand, it’s unnerving.”
“It’s tingly.”
“Tingly? Faded sensations and muffled noises?” He nodded absently, still looking at his hand. “Dull colours and blurry objects? You don’t notice taste or smell?” He nodded again. “You are having a dissociative episode.”
“I know.” He said quietly.
“How long?” He shrugged.
“A while. They start slow, and then I’m lost. With time it will subside.”
“What gets you out of them?”
“I don’t know. And it doesn’t matter. This is one of the nice ones, I don’t mind this one.”
“What food textures do you like?” She said, determined to not pay attention to his reluctance to help her get him better.
“That’s an odd question. I like… crispy things. Things that go crunch.” He whispered the last word, and Hermione nodded.
“Alright, crunch.” She said and walked out, leaving him to stare at his hand. She preheated the oven and cast a spell on the vegetables to slice themselves into paper-thin slices. She then proceeded to stare at the oven for a few minutes before turning it off. She didn’t have the patience for that. Instead, she used magic to make the vegetables evenly baked until they were curling up, and the edges had gone slightly brown. She took a piece of sweet potato and bit into it, satisfied at the loud crunch sound it made. After cooling them so they don’t get soggy and piling them on the largest plate he had. She grabbed the crisps, along with the crackers and brought them upstairs. “Here you go, crunch to your heart’s content.” His eyes landed on her as she put the food on the bed next to him, and she saw his pupils contract as he tried to focus his eyes fully. She reached for a piece of vegetable and bit on it without breaking eye contact.
“Now, I really hope this is a weird fever dream because if it’s not, things are not going well for me.” He said, putting a carrot in his mouth and crunching on it. She’d forgotten to put salt on them, but she doubted he’d notice in his state. Or he wouldn’t care. Either way, as long as he ate, it was all good.
For about half an hour the only sound in the room was their crunching until all the vegetables were gone, and he’d made significant progress with the crackers. She was way too pleased with herself when he made the effort to look for the glass of water she’d brought him earlier and reached for it. Hermione picked up the plate but left the packaged food. She took it to the kitchen, grabbing the packet of sour gummies she bought partially because she liked the taste, and partially because The Doctor had suggested it, in one of her attempts to discover which of her tried-and-tested methods could work for Hermione as a grounding mechanism. It didn’t help her, but maybe the intense sour taste would help Malfoy. When she went back up, he was fully seated in bed, his back against the headboard. She tossed the candy on the bed and opened the window to let some of the warm summer air in. It had started to rain, so there was a refreshing smell in the air. She closed her eyes and inhaled, allowing herself to imagine she was 12 again, just back at Hogwarts, before the worst of it, before the war.
“Granger?” His voice was strangled, almost scared. She turned around to see Malfoy’s pinched expression as he stared at his hands again.
“I’m here,” she said, crossing the room but just stood awkwardly next to the bed. “How do you feel?”
“Cold, but sweaty.” He said, flinging the covers off him. “Like I’m falling. Like I’ve been falling for so long I had gotten used to it, but I just realised I must be close to hitting the ground and now I’m…”
“Scared.” She whispered. He nodded, and she could see him blink rapidly, trying to focus. His hands gripped the sheets and clothes, his nails scratched over the bare skin on his neck and wrists.
“Nothing feels tangible. Like I’m disappearing into nothing.” She grabbed his hand off his neck and spread her palm against his before twinning her fingers through his, squeezing hard.
“Then hold on tight.” He did, squeezing back with equal force, but Hermione could still see him struggling. In a moment of weakness (or maybe incredible bravery, she would never be quite sure), she climbed on the bed and straddled Malfoy, letting all her weight rest on his thighs and pulling him into a hug. She felt his free arm wrap tight around her, and she pulled his head into her shoulder. “I’m here. I’m real. And so are you.”
Hermione wasn’t sure how long they stayed like this, but the fingers of the hand he was holding were going numb, so she brought it up from the bed to rest on her thigh, trying to flex them slightly. She slowly disentangled their fingers and he immediately wrapped his now free arm around her waist, pulling her even closer to him. She ran her fingers through his hair, scratching lightly at his scalp like she used to do with Crookshanks. It seemed appropriate – both he and Malfoy were spoiled and carried themselves with a bewildering amount of pride. Malfoy’s arms twitched around her the first time she did it, and she took it as a god sign, doing it again and again at irregular intervals until she felt his hold on her shift. When he was no longer desperately clinging to her and his hands released the fistfuls of her t-shirt, he had been holding, she turned her head to press her cheek to his temple. She expected him to release her, but he didn’t, just shifted his hold on her, pulling her further up his thighs and letting both arms slide around her waist, holding her firmly to him.
“You’re warm and heavy.” He whispered, his breath tickling her neck. She tried not to gasp or squirm, but her heart rate picked up.
“A word of advice,” she said, hoping she didn’t sound as breathless as she felt, “don’t tell women they’re heavy. Especially if they’re straddling you.” His next exhale tickled her neck again, and she couldn’t help but move. He just pulled her even further towards him. “Malfoy,” she said, not sure if she wanted to tell him to stop or… she pushed the thought out of her mind.
“I know, rule 3.” He said, but still pulled her closer when she squirmed again. “I’m not even sure I can take advantage of this situation. I meant it in a good way – you’re tangible. Why do you feel more tangible than anything else?”
“Because I’m alive – every movement I make is a surprise to your senses, drawing you back to reality. Just focus on that.” He hummed, and the sound reverberated from his chest into Hermione’s.
“He’s in our dorm,” said Zabini when they reached the common room, “he’s just be staring at his hands all morning and I can’t get him to listen to me. He can’t miss his exam, Granger, it’s part of his parole.”
“I’m aware of that, thank you.” She said, heading for her room first. She threw her book bag on her bed, startling Lavender who was attempting to style her hair. Hermione grabbed a pack of crackers and a pack of sour candy, as Zabini lingered in the hallway. She almost ran into him as she exited the room. He pointed her to his and Malfoy’s dorm, and she knocked twice before opening the door even when he didn’t respond. “Hi,” she said, when Draco looked up at her, his gaze empty and unfocused.
“Hi,” he said back, looking at his hand again, “I think I’ve slipped up.” He said, and Hermione sighed.
“For how long?” She asked, leaving the food on his nightstand. He’d gotten better at keeping track, but it was always hard for him to really remember how long it's been since he last felt alright. He shrugged, closing his eyes. “What is the last clear day you remember? My exam on Thursday, do you remember what we did after?”
“I remember you were there. The lake?” He said, his face scrunched up in a concentration.
“Why didn’t you say anything? You know it’s easier to take care of it early on.”
“You had exams.”
“So do you. And arguably, yours are slightly more important than mine. I don't have parole depending on them.” She said and pushed at his shoulders until he was lying down. As always, the moment his head hit the pillow, he was asleep.
“How’d you do that? I’ve been trying to get him to sleep for so long.”
“You just have to make him lie down; he falls asleep pretty easily when he gets like this.” She pulled a blanket over him and turned to Zabini. “I’m going to McGonagall, to explain this to her. I’ll be back as soon as possible.”
“What do I do?” He asked, and Hermione squeezed his shoulder reassuringly.
“Just stay around, make sure he knows he’s not alone – he slips further if there isn’t anyone to distract him. Just make him talk about something.” She rushed out and headed straight for McGonagall’s office, hoping the headmistress won’t be too busy. Luckily, she wasn’t.
“Miss Granger, to what do I owe this unexpected visit?” Asked McGonagall, her back to the door, as Hermione burst in. She turned around, several books in her hands before her expression shifted to reflect Hermione’s worry. “I’m guessing whatever it is, it’s not good.” McGonagall gestured to one of the chairs in front of her desk, and Hermione sat there obediently. To her surprise, McGonagall sat next to her, not behind her desk.
“It’s about the N.E.W.T Herbology exam today. Hopefully, only about it and not any of the previous. I know part of Malfoy’s parole is his attendance, but he’s not doing well, mentally. Otherwise, his attendance is perfect, and I am willing to testify and sign on anything to that point, but, Professor, he’s not in any state to be tak–”
“Hermione,” interrupted her McGonagall, placing a warm hand over Hermione’s cold one, “I am in contact with Mr Malfoy’s healers, and he is still obliged to come to me with updates every night. I know he’s not been doing well, and I have already taken precautions.”
“Oh, I… I didn’t know.”
“I would have assumed he told you.”
“He’s a little absent right now,” said Hermione quietly, looking at the tips of her shoes.
“Now, I know you too have had some difficulties this year, and as you know, the N.E.W.T. exams, as serious and important as they are, have a make-up session over the summer.” Said McGonagall releasing Hermione’s hand and standing up. “I have already rescheduled Mr Malfoy’s attendance of the exam to that session. And, as it will not reflect on the grade, he, or any other student achieves, it will not affect his parole, especially given the circumstances. And if any other student were to experience difficulties, especially with the strain of so many responsibilities,” said McGonagall taking a parchment and dipping her quill in ink, as casually as one could, “it would not be a problem for me to re-direct their attendance as well.” McGonagall looked up at Hermione and quirked one brow up. Hermione took less than a second to process everything.
“That’s very generous, Professor, thank you.” She said, standing up.
“It really isn’t, Miss Granger,” said McGonagall and gave her a warm smile. “I consider it my greatest responsibility to make sure this school produces witches and wizards capable of making good choices for themselves. I just wished some of my colleagues had taken that same approach rather than place the weight of the world on their shoulders.” McGonagall signed the parchment and handed it to Hermione. “There are more important things than grades and exams, Miss Granger. I’m glad you are prioritising them.” With another warm smile she waved Hermione off, and the girl rushed back to the common room.
“Granger!” Exclaimed Zabini, who was pacing the length of the common room, Draco was sitting on the couch, a pinched expression on his face. “What did McGonagall say?” Hermione smiled at him and nodded.
“You have an exam to go to later today, Zabini,” she said patting him on the shoulder. “You should get some fresh air and collect your thoughts. We’ll be fine.”
“Don’t you have that same exam?” He asked.
“Rescheduled it. And it won’t affect his parole.” Zabini exhaled and nodded.
“I tried to keep him occupied, but when I said you rushed to see McGonagall, he flipped a little. Do you need help? He didn’t sleep more than ten minutes and has been antsy since I…”
“No need. Go, make sure you’re as prepared as possible.” She said and walked over to Draco. “Hey there,” she said standing close to him.
“Am I in trouble?” He asked, his voice strangled. “Did I screw up everything?”
“No, everything is going to be alright.” She said, brushing his blonde-white fringe out of his eyes, “How are you feeling?”
“I’m falling.” He said. She silently extended her hand to him and pulled him up when he took it in his.
“Come on,” she coaxed him as she pulled him to her room. It was empty, and she knew for a fact it would remain empty for a while. Lavender will spend the whole day with Ron at the pitch, thus, her previous primping session and Pansy would be studying with Ginny, as the two had come to be closer than anyone expected. Probably because both were equally stubborn and didn’t give a rat’s arse about people's opinions, but it just manifested in different ways. “You did say once that you wanted to get in my bed. Now’s your chance.” She said as she carefully unclasped the drapes from the posters.
“I… no… you’ve said…” He blinked fast, and Hermione could see his eyes drift in and out of focus, so she climbed on the bed first and he followed. She sat with her back against the headboard and pulled him in a hug, allowing herself to really steep in his warmth. He wrapped his arms around her, and she let him pull her across his chest, so she was lying across his torso, resting her weight on him.
“I’m here. I’m real. And so are you.” She whispered and reached one hand to cradle the back of his head. She listed to his breathing grow deeper and heavier until she felt his arms relax around her slightly, still keeping her close. She shifted and his arms tightened. “This is a very uncomfortable position,” she said, but he didn’t move for a few minutes.
“You’re welcome to crawl in my lap again.” He said, but with a sigh, released her.
“I have a better idea,” she cupped his cheek and ran her thumb over his cheekbone and the purple shadows under his eyes. She shifted so she was lying on her back and pulled him down to lie next to her before guiding his head towards her shoulder. He burrowed his face between the pillow and her neck as if hiding from the world, his arms pulling her to him. His breath was warm on her neck and shoulder, and his stubble tickled her in a way she didn’t allow herself to examine too closely. She made sure she also pushed away the image of how close his lips were to her neck. Hermione turned to her side and started stroking his head, scratching at his scalp every once in a while, as he kept burrowing further, drawing closer and closer to her. “You should sleep,” she whispered. He didn’t argue.
Draco woke with a start, sitting up and almost falling off the bed in the process. Hermione looked up from her book, startled. She’d fallen asleep soon after him, feeling warm and safe in his arms, even as he clung to her like she was his lifeline, but had woken up feeling too warm a while after. He was out cold, so she quickly changed, after managing to extract herself from his arms. she also pulled the drapes around her bed and crawled in again with a book and a muggle booklight. He seemed to calm for a second when he saw her, but then a whole new panic took hold of him.
“My exam! Your exam!” He exclaimed, and Hermione barely grabbed a hold of him, before he jumped out of the bed.
“It’s taken care of,” she said, squeezing his arm, “McGonagall rescheduled it for the summer session.”
“But my parole–”
“Draco,” she interrupted him, pulling at his shoulders until he reluctantly lied down again. “Calm down before you overexert yourself. It’s all taken care of. McGonagall made sure that it won’t affect you negatively.” She smiled at him, and he closed his eyes, his body relaxing marginally.
“How?”
“I have amazing negotiating skills,” she said, and he huffed a laugh, “Alright, she also really cares about her students. If she had been headmistress all along, things would not have gotten as bad.”
“If she had been headmistress all along Voldemort would have never made it as far as the Forbidden forest our first year.” He mumbled, turning around to look at her. “You took care of it? Really?”
“Yes, we’ll take it over the summer, together.” She said and lowered herself to lay next to him, face to face. “How are you feeling?”
“Like someone has squeezed the inside of my brain dry. I’m missing chunks of time, but I guess it wasn’t as bad as it could have been.” He closed his eyes and turned on his stomach to bury his head in her pillow. That familiar squeeze under her ribs appeared again at the sight, and she had to reign herself in so she wouldn’t do something they weren’t supposed to be doing. So instead, she picked up her book and began reading aloud, as she had done on many evenings he had warned her he was slipping. “Granger?”
“Malfoy?” She said, lowering her book to look at him.
“I… I don’t want you to think I’m asking this just to cop a feel, but can I lay on your chest while you read?” She chuckled and stretched one arm to allow him to snuggle closer, turning slightly sideways, so she could use his shoulder to rest her book.
“Besides the obvious, what else do you get from this?” She asked, grateful he couldn’t see the violent shade of red her cheeks had most certainly become.
“Aside from being a warm place to rest my head, I can hear your heart. It reminds me that you’re real.” One of his arms stretched to rest across her stomach, his hand finding purchase along her ribs, thumb dangerously close to the wire of her bra and her breath hitched. “Feeling you react to my touch is just an added bonus.” He said as his thumb brushed back and forth.
“Do I affect you?” She asked, running one hand through his hair, and he craned his neck so his skull fit better in her palm.
“Immensely,” he whispered, “but rule 3 is still in effect. Plus, my therapist is saying I’m making good progress working through my trauma, so I might bring up the topic again at our next in-person session. If this ordeal doesn’t set me back.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” She asked, and he sighed, pulling her closer and trapping one of her legs between his.
“You rely on me when you’re at your most vulnerable. And I knew you were under a lot of stress, so I didn’t want you to worry how vulnerable you would be if I wasn’t in the right mindset.” Hermione absently dragged her nails down the nape of his neck and felt him shiver, his shoulders rolling at the sensation.
“You know you are a crutch, not the cure, right?” She asked, regretting her wording immediately. “I mean, the amount of trust I place in you is so I can retreat and regroup. But I’d survive even if you weren’t there, I’d push through, and yes, it might be hard, and yes, I much prefer it when you’re there to hold my hand, but I’d survive.” She laid the book down and cupped his cheek. “The same applies to you – I am a crutch, a fast track. Holding on to me helps bring you back faster, but you’d make it through, even if I weren’t here.”
“Maybe I don’t want to.” He whispered, and Hermione chuckled.
“Neither do I, but there is a difference between choosing an easy out and living in fear that you’d be lost without it.” She gently kissed the top of his head and he purred against her sternum. “As much as your ego doesn’t need more inflating, I like letting you take control, but I also like taking care of you, and I hope one day we’d get to do this without it being tied to…”
“Our horrible PTSD?”
“Something like that.”
“We will.” He said, and she could feel his fingers twitching on her ribs. “I’m tired and hungry.”
“The crackers and the sour gummies are in your room.” She said, and he sighed dramatically.
“Well, that settles it. Go to sleep or read, I’m tired and my limbs still feel mostly detached.”
Hermione watched him twitch, with his head in her lap, his fingers dancing against her thigh as he slept, and she didn’t try to fight the urge that rose in her. She reached for his hand, smoothing his fingers with her own. He sighed in his sleep, and the twitching subsided, so she kept at it, slowly and gently playing with his fingers, until she dozed off herself. She woke up early in the morning, to find Draco laying on his back, facing away from her. Her hand was still interlocked with his, resting on his stomach, rising and falling with his steady breaths. His head turned to look at her, his grey eyes weary.
“Are you going to bolt?” He asked quietly. “I don’t think I’m dissociating anymore, so you shouldn’t feel obliged to stay.” She squeezed his hand and shifted closer, resting her cheek on his shoulder.
“How long until you have to go to therapy?” She asked, trying to guess the time by the amount of sunlight coming through the window.
“I usually go there about an hour earlier and have a coffee at a café nearby. So not for about four more hours.” He said in a non-comitial tone.
“Then I’d like to join you at the café if you don’t mind.” Hermione was sure he nudged her hair with his nose but didn’t say anything, just clutched her other hand around his elbow. “How are you feeling?”
“Good, because I’m back. Bad, because I might have come up too quickly. It usually takes me several days of slow progress. Now everything is too intense.” She relaxed her hold about to pull away, but he held her fingers tightly. “Not you, you feel exceptionally nice. In fact, I would do this all over again if I can have you pressed against me. I feel like I’m catching up on a week’s worth of neglected emotions.”
“Those are awful.” Agreed Hermione.
“Please don’t take anything I say the next 24 hours too seriously, or I might die of embarrassment.”
“What, so I don’t feel ‘exceptionally nice’ anymore?” She asked, teasingly. He huffed a laugh, and she saw his neck go pink.
“Don’t let this get to your head, Golden Girl, your ego needs no further stroking.” He said, running his thumb over hers, where their hands lay on his stomach. “I do worry, however, about what that might mean in the future.”
“My ego?”
“No, this,” he tugged at her fingers, “it might cause more problems, even with our rules in place. This comes too close to blurring the lines.”
“Would it come too close if it were Theo or Pansy?” He didn’t answer, and she didn’t look up. “I know.” She said, hoping he caught her meaning. Hermione couldn’t say it, not without jeopardising everything. “I’m not that bad at reading people, and I know.”
“Don’t, Granger.” He said in warning, catching up to her meaning.
“Listen to me,” she said and felt him turn his head to stare at the ceiling. “The reason we established those rules was to avoid unhealthy attachment.”
“I think we’re way past that.” He mumbled, and Hermione agreed – this was more than she had bargained for, but the thought of abandoning it, whatever it was, made her stomach clench. “If you’re about to say that stepping back could cause more harm than good, I agree, but my therapist might not.”
“You’ve talked to your therapist about it?” He remained silent, and she lifted her head to look at him. His eyes were red-rimmed and his hair was a mess. “We can table this discussion for later. You need some more rest.” She tried to extract her hand, but he gripped it tighter, turning to face her. “You’ll have to let my hand go at some point. If nothing else, you’ll need to shower before leaving the house.”
“Not yet.” He said, trying to pull her back to him.
“I promise you’ll be fine.” She smoothed the hair out of his eyes. “You need a haircut.” She said before finally managing to get up. “What do you usually have for breakfast?” He mumbled something but was already half asleep, so Hermione quietly headed to the bathroom.
“Hermione? Are you alive?” Asked Ron, looking worried, tucking his hands in his pockets. His knock had startled her awake, and she had barely managed to disentangle herself from Draco in her half-asleep state.
“Yes,” said Hermione, looking around the hallway, confused. “Why wouldn’t I be?”
“Neville said you weren’t at the Herbology exam.” Ron looked just as confused as she felt as he peaked into her room. She stepped out and closed the door behind her.
“Yes, I rescheduled it.” She said with a shrug.
“You,” he said, eyes wide, “rescheduled an exam. Willingly. Without your life being in immediate danger?” He was mocking her, and she loved how things between them had become easy again – Lavender’s jealousy had subsided, and Ron had come to accept whatever was going on between her and Draco. She had her best friend back and was more than happy for the way both of their lives were shaping up so far, a few minor setbacks aside.
“As baffling as it may be, Ron, I can prioritise my tasks in order of importance. If you recall, I skipped a whole year in favour of running around the UK with you and Harry. And even now, that we’re back in school, there are several things higher on my list than the Herbology N.E.W.T. exam.” Hermione smiled at Ron, as his eyes scanned her again, in faux suspicion. “I’ll just take the exam on the make-up session, it’s not a big deal.”
“Who are you, and what have you done with Hermione Granger?” Asked Ron, a smile tugging on his lips, too.
“I believe you were the one who told me I needed to sort out my priorities.” Giggled Hermione, and pulled him into a hug, which Ron returned eagerly. “It took me a while, but I finally managed.”
“So,” said Ron when he released her, “is Malfoy okay?” It was Hermione’s turn to narrow her eyes at him suspiciously but nodded.
“He’ll be alright. We all will.” She pushed at Ron’s shoulder playfully, “Now go, have fun at the party I’m not supposed to know about.”
“Will you join?” Hermione looked back at the door and smiled at Ron.
“Perhaps later. Give Harry my congratulations on making the Auror program.” She squeezed Ron’s upper arm, “And I’m sure whatever you decide it will be the right choice.”
“How do you know I even have a choice to make?” he asked, crossing his arms. Hermione scoffed and rolled her eyes.
“Please, Ronald, I’ve known you for years. If you think I won’t notice you skirting around a subject just because you’re unsure of what to do, then you are sorely mistaken. I know you got the same offer as Harry.”
“Do you think I should take it? Harry will need a partner.”
“He does, and you already are a tried and tested duo. But he’ll understand if you want to lead your own life. Out of the Chosen one’s shadow. You already helped save the world once. Maybe it’s time you chose the smaller battles and left the big ones to Harry.”
“And do what?”
“I don’t know, Ron, this is your future.”
“What will you do?” Hermione shrugged.
“I think I’ll take a break. A little distance from everything will sharpen my focus. I hear France is beautiful all year round, maybe Italy. And I’ve always wanted to travel.” She shrugged, and Ron chuckled.
“Alright, just make sure we get the wedding invites.” Ron leaned to peck her cheek and left before she could respond to his comment. Hermione stood outside her room a few moments longer, before shaking her head and retreating, closing the door as silently as she could.
“What was that about?” Asked Draco, his eyes barely open.
“Nothing,” she whispered, running her hand through his blonde locks, smoothing them back a little, “Go back to sleep.” She said gently, pushing Malfoy’s bare shoulder back down. “You really need a haircut.”
“Then you wouldn’t have a reason to brush my hair out of my face like this.”
“I promise I’ll still scratch your head, even if you cut your hair.” She chuckled. “If you promise this self-punishing streak of yours comes to an end.” He settled back, hands behind his head.
“I have no idea what you’re on about.”
“Remember that night months ago, when I told you I’m not that bad at reading people? I’ve come to know you quite well as of late, and I know why you didn’t come to me, or Pansy, or Blaise. This is your way of punishing yourself.” He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Don’t play the offended brat, I’m right, and you know it. This is not the first time you’ve done this.” He sat up and looked at her through blonde lashes.
“What is this? An intervention?” He spat out. Hermione knew what he was trying to do – he still thought he could act tough and angry, so he’d scare her off. She would wait him out, she always did, so she just sat on the bed and waited. He was like a scared cat – he would hiss and swipe, but you either had to wait for him to calm down or persist. So, she reached for his shoulder and waited until she felt him relax under her touch. She wasn’t sure when his shirt had come off, but she was not complaining.
“And to think all those years, all it would have taken to calm you down was a scratch behind the ears.” She whispered and playfully tugged on his ear. “You have to start trusting that I won’t bail or betray you. You have to start trusting us.”
“It’s not that I don’t want to.” He said quietly and tilted his head to angle it better against her fingers. “It’s a reflex.”
“A reflex I’m asking you to work on. I get side-tracked easily, and sometimes, against my better judgement, I get hyper focussed on mundane tasks.” She said, trying to catch his eyes. “And I know you are spoiled and enjoy receiving attention, so I need you to feel comfortable…” she paused and shook her head, “No I need you to feel obliged to tell me if you think I’m overlooking you, or if you start feeling absent again.” He nodded and sighed. “You feel like you don’t deserve to receive attention unless things are really bad, but here’s the counter-argument.” She waited for him to look at her before she continued.
“What?”
“I actually like paying attention to you, even if I sometimes get distracted, but not like this. Running to McGonagall ready to beg her to help, and seeing you like that is not…”
“I’m sorry.”
“That’s not why I’m telling you this. I want you to use it to your advantage, of sorts. If you worry about disturbing me on a day-to-day basis, know it’s nothing compared to what you put me through on a night like this.”
“Isn’t this counter-productive? Against the rules.”
“Not if it prevents something worse. When I asked The Doctor if we should work on my emotional eating, she said that it was the only thing keeping me from developing a more serious eating disorder. Sometimes we have to pick the lesser evil until we can solve the issue.”
“I didn’t know.”
“I’m getting better – and as I’m getting better at managing my control issues, I’m getting a chance to work on my relationship with food, but until I know I’m in the clear I take the lesser evil.”
“Alright, I’ll try and be more communicative.” He grumbled, and Hermione chuckled. “We’ll work on that.”
“And in the meantime, try not to hiss when I ask you if you’re alright about 10 times a day.”
“Deal.” He extended his hand to seal the deal. Hermione hesitated just a moment, before pulling his face closer to hers and kissing the edge of his mouth. “Don’t test my limits, witch. They’re very askew right now.” Hermione chuckled as he drew her in for a hug.
Hermione smiled reassuringly at McGonagall, as the headmistress collected her exam scroll, and Hermione packed her supplies.
“Professor?” Asked Hermione carefully.
“Yes, Miss Granger?”
“Why did you volunteer to be here? This is hardly your most important task of the day.”
“For one, my students are always the most important aspect of my day, and helping them, as well as being part of my official duties, is my greatest joy.” McGonagall finished casting the locking charms on the scroll and straightened her posture. “But, because you are officially not a student anymore, I will admit that there was a personal and rather juvenile reason behind it. I suppose my students are rubbing off on me.”
“And that is?”
“Oh, Miss Granger,” said McGonagall and gave her a warm smile. “Teenagers, even those who have seen as much as you are quite ill adept at hiding their emotions.” McGonagall’s eyes lifted from Hermione to the open doors. “Have you decided what you’re going to do after you graduate?”
“The French Institute for Further Magical Studies have a great programme – I get to choose the subjects I want to study for academic merit, rather than for a specific qualification.” Said Hermione, standing up.
“It is a good institution,” agreed McGonagall, “and a great stepping stone for both you and Mr Malfoy.” Hermione looked down to hide her blush. “It’s also an inordinate foundation for a future teaching position, should that be something you are interested in, down the line.”
“I did consider that.” Admitted Hermione. “Thank you, Professor.”
“I wish you all the best,” said McGonagall, waving Hermione off. The young witch walked out amongst the few other students who had to retake the exam and saw Draco leaning on one of the columns. He was discussing something with Dean, who had fallen off his broom two days before the start of exams and had to take them all during summer. Draco saw her walk out and smiled at her.
“Hi,” she said when she reached the two boys. “How was the exam?” She asked looking from Draco to Dean and back.
“Oh, Merlin, I’m just glad it’s over!” Exclaimed Dean, “I think I messed up several points, but hopefully nothing too important.”
“Dean was just telling me that he only took the Herbology exam on a dare. Apparently, someone on the Gryffindor Quidditch team bet him he couldn’t take as many N.E.W.T.s as you.” Said Draco nodding at Hermione.
“Oh, man, had I known, I would have helped you with some of them at least.” She chuckled, and Dean laughed, clapping Draco on the shoulder.
“Enough exam talk – I spoke to the captains of the Quidditch teams, and some players are coming for one last tournament.” Dean looked over at Hermione and winked, “McGonagall approved it. But we’re a few players short, including a Seeker for Slytherin.” Said Dean raising a brow, “That is if you’re not scared that you might lose, Malfoy.”
“Oh, don’t worry, I won't back down from a challenge.” Said Draco with a smirk, and Dean smiled at them.
“Alright, the game starts in one hour. It’ll be shorter than normal, so we can get them done with today and tomorrow. See you there.”
“Bye, Dean.” Said Hermione as Dean skipped excitedly down towards where Seamus was waiting for him.
“You seemed to take your time,” said Draco, drawing Hermione’s attention back to him.
“I talked to McGonagall for a while.”
“Anything interesting?”
“I think she offered me a teaching position, should I decide I want one.”
“Interesting she made me the same offer.” He smiled at her, and Hermione all but threw herself at him, drawing his face to hers and kissing him fiercely. He tasted of coffee and sugar-quills and faintly of ink.
“You should stop biting your quills,” said Hermione pulling away slightly, before he cupped his palm at the nape of her neck and angled her head up.
“Don’t pretend you don’t enjoy it. It’s a habit I picked up from you.” He kissed her slowly, less frantic than her kiss, but he would constantly nip at her lower lip. When he finally pulled away her lips felt red and swollen. “That is rule 3 thrown in the lake.”
“Feed it to the squid, for all I care.” Said Hermione. Draco chuckled and rested his forehead against hers. “Should have done that a long time ago.”
“Prolonging only made it better,” he said huskily and drew a line with the tip of his nose from her temple to her neck, where he placed a chaste kiss, making Hermione’s breath hitch, “I’ll teach you that, in time. But now I have a quidditch game to win.” He said, pulling away and pulling Hermione to him, wrapping one arm around her waist.
“Am I prettier than the Slytherin witch?” She asked, sneaking her arm around his waist, under the school robes. He blinked in confusion at her, and she giggled. “About a year ago, you told me there was a portrait of a Slytherin witch that was so pretty you all fancied her. Am I prettier than her?”
“You want to see her for yourself?” He asked, instead of answering.
“Yes, but I also want you to answer me.” She responded, letting him steer her towards the dungeons. He just winked at her and ignored her pleas and protests all the way there. He led her through the enchanted wall to the Slytherin common room and Hermione stopped to marvel at it for a moment. “This is gorgeous and warmer than I expected.”
“It should be, Slytherin is the house of legacies, plenty of money has gone from our parents’ vaults directly into decorating the Slytherin spaces.”
“Of course, they have.” Muttered Hermione, and Draco led her to the wall opposite the French windows providing a magnificent view into the depths of the lake. There, on the wall, was a portrait of a young witch with long blonde hair, and a dazzling emerald dress, who was painting, with her back to them.
“Lady Nimue?” Asked Draco, polite and charming as he could be. The witch turned around and Hermione’s throat caught at the sight of her beauty. “She’s more than half veela,” whispered Draco, face buried in Hermione’s hair, “don’t look for too long, it’s dangerous.” He looked over at the witch, who had cleaned her hands and removed her apron, revealing more of her gorgeous dress.
“Ah, young Draco,” said the witch in a soft and loving voice. Hermione tensed, and Draco wound his arms around her, pressing her to his chest. Her eyes drifted from Draco to Hermione and Nimue tilted her head, curiously.
“You bring a witch.” She said, walking even closer to her frame.
“I promised you a long time ago I would bring you the witch I think is worthy of me. I am afraid there was an unforeseeable hitch in my plan – I might not be worthy of her.” The witch in the portrait smiled warmly and nodded.
“That is most certain,” she said, and Hermione scowled, “but I see she doesn’t think so.” Laughed Nimue, a pure sound, like bells ringing in the summer breeze. “You, Malfoys, have always been men of your word, and I see you haven’t strayed from the rule. She is as gorgeous as she’s powerful. Oh, yes, Miss Granger, your fame precedes you, even amongst the portraits here.” Draco’s hands spread over Hermione’s ribs and she relaxed further into his embrace.
“So, you approve?” He asked, a childish eagerness in his voice.
“Yes, I think you can live up to her expectations. They’re surely high, but you are a capable wizard.” Said Nimue and picked up her brush again.
“Thank you, Lady Nimue.” Said Draco as the witch returned to her painting, and Draco pulled Hermione out of earshot towards the large windows.
“Approve?” Asked Hermione, still a little unsure of what she was feeling.
“She was concerned when I told her I don’t think there is a witch worthy of me in all the world. She told me it was the other way around – that I should be worthy of the witch, and I proceeded to scoff. Granted, I was only 13, so I didn’t know much.” He said as they watched the fish and merpeople swim about. His chest was still flush against her back. “She told me to bring her the witch I thought was worthy of my loyalty and she’d tell me if I’m worthy of hers. And I promised I would.”
“How many girls have you brought in front of her?”
“Only you. For a Slytherin, loyalty ranks higher than almost everything – I have found many people attractive, and I’ve even loved a few of them, but I have never thought any of them deserve my full trust, loyalty, and respect.”
“This is uncharacteristically cheesy of you,” whispered Hermione, feeling something melt inside of her, and she could only hope it wasn’t a vital organ.
“And if you say anything to anyone, I will deny it with my dying breath.” He chuckled behind her and kissed her cheek. “Let’s go, we don’t want to be late for the game.” He pulled her away, and Hermione couldn’t help looking back at Lady Nimue.
“So, I’m not prettier.” She said as they exited the common room.
“I did all this,” he gestured around, “all the theatricality, and the monologue. Lady Nimue, a veela of great renown and strength, called you gorgeous and powerful, and this is what you take away?”
“She’s a veela! My original question was if I was prettier!” Exclaimed Hermione through a strangled chuckle. Draco stopped and drew her inside the circle of his arms again.
“I told you not to look at her for too long, veela have the terrible gift of sowing doubt in women’s minds.” He sighed, “I think everything that makes you you, makes you more beautiful than her. But I don’t love you for your looks, though they don’t exactly deduce points,” he pinched her side and she jumped, ultimately moving closer to him.
“You love me?”
“Yes, you daft bint, isn’t that obvious?” He asked in an exasperated tone of voice, looking up at the ceiling. Hermione chuckled.
“It is obvious, but I liked hearing it. Almost as much as I like your exasperated face.” She rose to the tips of her toes and placed a kiss at the point of his chin. “I love you too, by the way.”
“Good.” He kissed the tip of her nose and began leading her towards the ground floor. “Can I do the trick where I fly to you on the stands and kiss you?” He asked as they made their way through the empty corridors towards the Quidditch fields.
“Only if you catch the snitch.” She said, and he smiled.
“Very Slytherin of you.”
“I do have to live up to the Lady of the Lake’s standards.” Draco chuckled.
“I feel like a happy teenager.” He said and swung their joined hands in the air.
“You are a happy teenager,” she smiled. “A happy teenager in a relationship.”
“I feel like, despite everything, I’ve been pining for you for a year. And now I have you, and we leave for France in two weeks.”
“First we have a weekend at the Weasley’s.” She reminded him, and he groaned.
“You know what, maybe this isn’t worth it.” He teased with a smile, still swinging their hands. “And we have that dinner with my mother.” They had reached the pitch, and Hermione let go of his hand.
“You’re right, maybe this isn’t worth it.” She turned to him, and he tried to school his expression. “Too much pressure and what-not.” He nodded.
“So, tonight at the Three Broomsticks?” He asked seriously, and she leaned to place a kiss on his cheek. “Yes, I think this might make it up for staying at the Weasley’s.”
“You’ll need to try a little harder to make up for dinner with your mother,” she said.
“I’ll work on it.” Hermione leaned up to kiss him on the mouth.
“For good luck.” She said, and he narrowed his eyes at her.
“Who will you be cheering for? Me or the Gryffindors?” He asked as she was walking to where Pansy was lounging near the stairs for the stands.
“My book!” She yelled, lifting a hand and wiggling her fingers both to dismiss him and say hello to Pansy. Draco shook his head and headed for the changing rooms, smiling so wide his cheeks looked like they should be in pain.