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Professor Snape has been teaching them the Patronus Charm for two weeks. Most of her fellow Dumbledore’s Army students have been pretending to struggle with the spell. Not Harry, though, of course. His stag careens impressively around the classroom until Snape tells him to stop posturing or it’ll turn into a peacock.
And while everyone else is busy casting spells, Hermione has been busy watching Draco Malfoy.
He’d attempted the spell a few times, screwing up his face and muttering the incantation as though he knew it would fail. And today, on a uncomfortably warm afternoon, he hasn’t tried at all. Just lingered in the back of the classroom as though he can avoid being noticed.
She doesn’t know why she’s staring at him. She doesn’t care.
It’s just that he looks sort of broken when he doesn’t think anyone’s watching him. And today it’s worse than usual – bad enough that his eyes are red-rimmed and swollen, and when Snape is distracted and Ron and Harry are goofing off in another corner and Draco rushes from the classroom, Hermione can’t help herself from chasing after him.
She just wants to know why. That's all. She's just curious.
Draco flees to the boy’s bathroom and Hermione follows right behind. Pushes the door back open before it can swing fully closed.
He whirls around with his wand upraised. “What, Granger?” His voice is thick as he narrows his eyes. “This isn’t the girl’s bathroom, so fuck off.”
Saying something pithy like make me will only make him hex her. Hermione swallows and holds up her empty hands placatingly. “You looked upset.”
“I do not,” Draco mutters. He swipes at his eyes with his forearm as though he’s proving his point. “And it’s none of your business, anyway.”
“Maybe,” Hermione counters, “but no one else followed you.”
Draco looks stricken and his wand lowers as he rubs at his forearm. Hermione notices the movement – notices the cuff of Draco’s jumper despite the heat – and knows.
Her stomach churns with nerves and fear and certainty. She wants to be wrong, but Hermione knows that if she reaches forward and rolls up Draco’s sleeve, she’ll see the proof of what he did that summer.
His fingers freeze as he looks at her. Draco blinks, once, twice, three times, as though he doesn’t want to see what he’s seeing. As though he wants to rewind time the ten seconds it would take to erase this memory for the both of them.
“Is that-“ Hermione’s voice catches and she clears her throat. “Is that why you don’t have a happy memory?”
He shakes his head as he drops his hand away. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He steps back, closer to the windows. As though he’s going to dive through one just to escape her. “I’ve got loads.”
“Yeah?” Hermione steps closer and Draco steps back. As though he wants to keep the distance between them. “I don’t think you do.”
He meets her gaze for a second and then turns, abruptly, and dashes to the window. Scrabbles at the latches to open it, his chest heaving.
“Alohomora,” Hermione calls softly, raising her wand to the window.
It pops open and Draco shoves his head through, gasping in the fresh air. His shoulders are shaking as he leans on the windowsill.
Hermione creeps closer, dropping her wand to her side. She feels as though she’s intruding, as though she’s about to cross some boundary that can never be uncrossed after she’s stepped over it. But it doesn't stop her feet from moving.
“What would make you happy?” She asks as she steps beside Draco and tries not to look at his tear-streaked face. “Right now.”
“Shoving you off the Astronomy Tower,” Draco mutters, but his voice is choked with tears as he scrubs at his cheeks with a hand. “Why?”
“The secret to a good Patronus Charm is a happy memory.” Hermione looks down at the sprawling castle grounds, the distant gloom of the forests. “If you don’t have one, then why not make one?”
“What, right now? With you?” Draco looks at her, incredulous. There are pink splotches on his cheeks as he stares until Hermione shifts under the scrutiny. “There’s no way, Granger.”
With a shrug, Hermione casts Alohomora on the window she’s in front of. And then – giving herself a second to enjoy Draco’s shocked face – clambers through it until she’s outside on the window ledge.
“What – Granger – you’ll die-“
“I won’t.” Hermione rolls her eyes as she casts a Levitation Charm on her shoes – just to be on the safe side. “Are you coming?”
“What-“ Draco says, his mouth gaping at her like a fish. And then he shakes his head and climbs through the window until he’s standing beside her.
It’s windy, their robes and hair flying as Hermione leads them around the exterior ledges. “Charm your shoes, Malfoy,” she calls over her shoulder as she gauges the best place to drop from.
“You’re mad,” he says, but there’s a trace of awe in his voice.
“I’m not.” She waits for him to charm his shoes before she grabs at his sleeve. “Trust me.”
He shakes his head at her even as Hermione tugs him off the window ledge and they glide – almost like ice-skating – down through the air until they’ve landed on a soft patch of grass. It’s warm under the afternoon sun as Hermione squints up at the castle, feeling giddy and dizzy and a little like throwing up.
“Astronomy Tower aside,” she says as she turns to Draco and releases his sleeve, “what would make you happy? Right now?”
He’s squinting at her in the sunlight as though he’s never seen her before. “I don’t know,” he says slowly.
Hermione chews at her bottom lip as she considers. Hogsmeade is too risky – and they’ll get caught – but where else-
Inspiration strikes and Hermione grabs at Draco’s sleeve again. “Come on,” she says as she drags him around to the castle doors.
She leads him to the Room of Requirement – watches his expression flicker as he looks between her and the closed door. Something fun, she thinks as she paces back and forth. Something that would bring him joy. While he’s still capable of feeling it.
“What are you doing?” Draco asks as he glances around. “We’ll get caught skipping class-“
Hermione pushes the door open and gestures for him to follow. The room is dark – and when Draco shuts the door behind them both it’s pitch-black.
“Lovely broom closet you’ve got here, Granger,” Draco mutters as he pulls out his wand. “Lu-“
The ceiling sparkles with stars. Thousands of them, spilling and dripping down the walls, swirling with the faint pastels of distant universes and imagined worlds. Hermione takes a step forward and tilts her head back until her neck hurts. A shooting star flickers overhead, burning out in a dramatic flash of light.
“Oh,” she breathes as she takes another step. “It’s beautiful.”
She can sense Draco moving beside her, see the sheen of his silver hair as he steps further than her into the room. His head is thrown back as he looks up, his pale throat bobbing. “What?” He whispers under his breath as galaxies swirl around them. “I thought-“ He swallows and cuts himself off.
“Look.” Hermione points and sees Draco turn to follow the line of her finger. “It’s you.”
The constellation shifts under their scrutiny. The stars wobble and then curl into a dragon – lithe and silver and gleaming – that detaches, sinuous, from the ceiling and swirls towards them like mist. Hermione holds her breath at the sparkling beauty of it – the glittering stars embedded in its ghostly skin – sees the way Draco’s arm darts out in front of her as the dragon opens its massive jaws.
But the dragon just roars – silently – and passes overhead. They turn to watch, and when they turn back – Draco’s cheeks pink in the kaleidoscope light of the rainbow-hued galaxies above them – the stars are twinkling in the ceiling as though nothing happened at all.
“So fierce,” Hermione teases, stepping beside Draco until their shoulders are almost brushing. “But you’re all bark and no bite.”
“Don’t ruin it, Granger,” Draco mutters as he tips his head back.
She watches the play of light across his features – the way his hair sheens with pinks and blues and greens in the multicoloured light. Her fingers twitch beside her – brush against his – and Hermione holds her breath as neither of them move to pull their hands away. She tilts her face back to the stars as the backs of their hands – their knuckles – their fingers – shift like the stars above them both until somehow, they’ve caught each other’s pinky fingers and twined them together.
Under all the stars Hermione feels unexpectedly small. And beside Draco – poor Death Eater Draco – she feels unexpectedly gentle. She lets out a soft breath, not wanting to break whatever spell the room is casting on the two of them, not wanting the moment to end.
But even the allure of infinite space loses its appeal after twenty or so minutes. The two of them rub at their necks with their flinched-away fingers.
“Thanks, Granger,” Draco murmurs as he winces, rolling his head from side to side. “I never knew something like this existed.”
“Me either,” Hermione murmurs, and her heart thuds against her ribs.
In the next Defence Against the Dark Arts class, Draco manages to summon an ethereal and shapeless Patronus. His gaze catches on Hermione as he smiles, and she swears she can see the stars reflecting in his eyes as she smiles – tentatively – back at him.