Chapter Text
Hermione had a date for the Yule ball. Ron didn’t believe it. Harry didn’t believe it. But she did. The problem was, it wasn’t the date she wanted.
No of course Viktor was a joy to be around, sweet and pleasant. Sure he couldn’t pronounce her name right and was mostly interested in quidditch talk but that didn’t make him a bad date. It was just that the boy she desperately wanted to ask her didn’t.
Not Ron, Merlin no. He was like her brother. She’d occasionally seen his longing looks and silently prayed it never turned into what she feared. No her affections lay with the boy she couldn’t have.
It had started before she’d even come to Hogwarts ironically, in Diagon Alley. She’d not brought her parents and had come alone. In her childish heart she worried that they’d embarrass her with their muggleness. She’d been a bit lost, unable to find Ollivanders and had run smack dab into a boys chest.
“Ow watch it you—“ the shrill voice cut off, and she looked up to find a blonde haired boy blinking curiously at her. They were both sprawled across the floor, her books and quills littering the stones while he was empty handed.
“I’m so sorry,” she gushed, immediately scrambling to her knees and beginning to clear up her stuff. “I was lost and I’ve never been here before and—“
“Merlin it’s alright, just stop talking for a second,” he said, his face coming into her eye view. He was kneeling, he was helping to collect her books.
She wiped at her eyes, grateful to find no tears. It had been a stressful day and she wasn’t keen to see it get even worse. When both children were back on their feet the boy stuck his hand out, face in what appeared to be his signature smirk.
“I’m Malfoy, Draco Malfoy.”
She straightened her shoulders, reaching her hand out to clasp his and nearly jumping from the rush of warmth that shot through her. His hand was cold and yet heat bloomed between their palms.
“Hermione Granger.”
His brows furrowed like he was trying to puzzle something out, but he shook his head and put his smirk back on.
“Ollivanders you said? I’m going there myself, would you like a guide?”
She nodded her head aggressively. “God yes, I’m so terribly lost.”
He started down a path, still clasping her hand in his. “Not to worry I’ve been here a million times, you’ll find no one better!”
She giggled, letting him drag her down the street. “My hero.”
He turned his head back to smile at her and it was a real smile. Not a smirk or a sneer. A real genuine smile that must’ve sent lightening careening through her body. She knew she’d spend the rest of their time together chasing the high his smile gave her.
Of course Draco then found out she was muggleborn and she was sorted into Gryffindor and yada yada yada. In the end he spent all of their first year ignoring her until the last week of school.
“Hermione?”
Her head snapped up, the voice familiar and yet foreign. It was the same tone he’d used the first day he met her, therefore familiar. But it was completely foreign to her from how he’d been talking to her since school had started.
“Oh I’m Hermione now?” she snapped, wincing when Madam Pince shushed her. She lowered her voice and continued. “That’s funny I thought I was Potter’s mudblood, Granger, maybe something crueler you don’t dare say in the company of others.”
He wore a sheepish expression, not nearly sheepish enough for all the mean words he’d put her through. He glanced around the library, still scared to be seen with a mudblood no doubt. When he deduced that it was largely empty he sat beside her, barely a few centimetres between them.
It was all together too close for Hermione and yet not nearly close enough.
“I am so sorry, really I am. My parents are as pureblood as they come, no one is of equal standing unless there’s never been a muggle in their family.”
She wrinkled her nose, moving to scoot away from him but he grabbed her wrist. That rush of heat shot through her, warm and bright. She hadn’t realized how much she’d missed it until she had it back.
“And I thought that was what I ought to be too but you—“ he shook his head. “You changed that. From that first day some part of me knew you were new to our world but I didn’t care, I thought you were brilliant. And all I’ve been able to think about recently is how can purebloods be the best there is when Hermione Granger is better than I’ll ever be.”
“So?” she whispered, unable to move unable to breathe. “Is that it then? Why talk to me now?”
“I heard about what happened, in the third floor corridor,” he admitted. “Someone mentioned that Hermione had been involved and I couldn’t—I still don’t—understand the worry that I felt. I mean I haven’t talked to you all year.”
“You’ve insulted me plenty,” she grumbled, glancing away from him to scan the room.
“I’m sorry. I want to be better, I don’t understand what’s wrong with my former beliefs but I know they’re wrong and I want to learn.”
She finally met his eyes, regretting it immediately. Because how could she stay mad when they were big and grey and pleading, begging her for something she didn’t understand.
“And what do you want from me Malfoy?”
“Your forgiveness, your friendship, anything you’ll give me Hermione. I know I don’t deserve it but—“
She flung her arms around him, her wild mess of hair surely cutting off his breath. “You have it,” she mumbled into his shoulder. “All of it. I missed you.”
His grip around her was stronger than she expected, and she swore she heard him sniffle. “I missed you too.”
It had all developed from there. Late night meetings, secret smiles across the great hall, silent exchanges during class, fist bumps under the table when they’d get paired for a project. And with every interaction her feelings grew. They were a tree she nurtured lovingly, from a seed to the tall oak it was now.
Only it was now clear her feelings weren’t reciprocated. Draco hadn’t cared at all when she’d told him Viktor had asked. His only reaction was a smile and poke in the ribs to focus on their ancient runes homework.
And she’d tried not to react when he’d told her he had asked Pansy, but she was almost positive her bleeding heart had been escaping her chest. It certainly hadn’t helped that she’d shoved her stuff into her bag with a pathetic excuse that she wasn’t feeling well. And that she’d since not spoken to him in a week.
It wasn’t that she was angry with him. It was more that she knew the minute she was with him everything would come out. She didn’t want that.
Not that it mattered anyway. Maybe it would be better to get it over with and pour her heart out. Rejection would hurt less than hopeless pining. Probably.