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“I quit.”
Everyone looked at each other, heavily confused. Everyone except the two of them; looking anywhere but at each other.
“It’s just a game,” someone laughed. Hermione shifted in her spot on the floor, her blood burning her cheeks at his distinct tone in the words. “None of it is serious.”
“Which is precisely why I should be able to stop playing. As I will.”
She risked a glance at Malfoy. He was sprawled more than anyone else in the circle, long legs extended in front of him as he practically laid back on his hands. She gave it up before she could see his expression. She couldn’t bear the truth it would hold.
Catch and chase, cat and mouse. All damn year. Months of bickering and fighting, but then smiles, or opening doors, or getting her books off high shelves. She didn’t know what to make of it.
I quit .
Hermione should’ve known that a childish party game would’ve answered it for her. That was how ridiculous her life had become. Months of sleepless nights and distracted thinking. It all came down to a charmed butter beer bottle and velocity. And then Malfoy choosing to quit the entire game rather than just kiss her.
Silence had slightly fallen, and then Theo chuckled. Because she hung out with all of them now.
“You’re such a ferret, Malfoy. Go on, bug off if you’re not going to play then.”
He did not respond to that. And he did not leave until two passes later, when Pansy kissed Neville and she really, really should’ve known.
Hermione’s stomach slowly sank when she realized she wanted to leave too. That looking around the circle, she had no interest, and suddenly the game was no longer fun. And anyways. Her stomach had started to really feel uneasy. She tapped out to head to bed and no one questioned it.
The long, quiet trek from Slytherin to Griffyndor was not one she wanted to make with these kinds of thoughts roaring in her mind. No matter how much she tried to avoid them, memories of all the moments that left her with questions came back forcefully answered. And the more she walked, and the more she was lost in her thoughts, the more it scared her how sad she was becoming. How sick it was making her, that it was all n—
“Granger.”
His voice echoed through the corridor. Shit. The last thing she needed was a fresh , live reminder of him. But he stopped walking and she turned around.
He looked very much less put together than he did when he had left. His hair a mess and combed through, eyes drooping, lips raw and loose and pink. His top buttons were undone.
“Are you drunk?” Hermione couldn’t decide if that would be better for her situation or not.
He shook his head solemnly, and as he walked to her, she knew he was telling the truth. Furthermore with the absence of alcohol in his breath when he was close enough. Too close.
“You’re alone.”
“Appears so. I left early.”
He looked past her from over her head, as if someone might have followed. Something about the light from her looking up at him made Malfoy look handsome. She looked down.
“You alright?”
She crossed her arms. Her throat burned. “Just tired.” He was looking at her and she couldn’t handle it. Since when were these feelings this intense? “I didn’t want to play that game anymore.”
That makes two of us, she expected him to say.
“Granger,” he said instead. And damn her sniff as she instinctively looked up at him. “I don’t quit on things.”
Everything pressed her to walk away. She knew she couldn’t. “You could’ve just kissed me, Malfoy. I promise I'm not that bad at a peck for a game of spin the bottle. You wouldn’t have turned into a toad or anything.”
She wanted to say she was mad because she was embarrassed. Embarrassed that he refused to do that infront of their friends.
“Granger.”
She couldn’t look at him any more. She looked at the floor and distantly imagined kicking him right there. In another world, she wasn’t sad, but mad enough at him to do that.
“It's getting late, and I don’t feel well. See you tomorrow.”
Her footsteps were stopped by him grabbing her arm.
“Wait. I retract my forfeit.”
What on earth did that mean? “Malfoy, please. Let me just go.”
“Granger.” He tugged her slightly, and she allowed herself to reface him. “You're right. I couldn’t stomach kissing you.”
There it was—
“Not like that.”
She looked at him, fully, for the first time. And she found him pleading. “Malfoy.”
“Please, Hermione.” he stepped into her space. And suddenly she could picture him pacing, and chewing his lips like when he did when he thought hard, and how he always said when he got nervous he ran hot, even though she never believed him. “Can I retract my forfeit?”
And then something in the way she looked at him made him place a hand on her cheek. And then words were no longer needed; they met in the middle, and unknown relief and emotion melted into Hermione's lips as she tasted his, and then they melted into each other deeper. I quit , she thought, sending the message through her brain that threatened over drive. The feeling of him against her, finally , disintegrated all other thoughts. I quit.