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“No, McLaggen, I have zero interest in accompanying you to your family’s home over the holiday. I don’t want to meet your family, nor do I want to gaze at your likely horrific home and grounds, and, most of all, I do not want to spend any more time than is absolutely necessary with you!” Hermione shrieked, about to burst with anger at Cormac’s ridiculous request.
“Oh, but darling, don’t be silly,” he smirked back at her slimily, flicking an oily strand of hair across his face in an apparent attempt at appearing enticing. “I know you’re anything but. And once you visit us, you’ll understand. My parents are set on you, after all, so it’s just a matter of time before we are to be wed.”
Hermione could not dignify these dreadful thoughts with anything but a grimace and a glare full of disgust. She whirled around to exit the Great Hall, but McLaggen reached an arm out, yanking her hand and stopping her from moving away.
There was nothing left to do but scream, and scream she did. At the top of her lungs, she let forth a stream of curse words and hexes that did not seem to fully land, but did enough to let her wrestle free of McLaggen’s filthy grasp.
“You stupid witch!” he spat. “This isn’t the end of this, I assure you. You will do as I say, whether you like it or not!”
Hermione dashed out of the Great Hall, dodging students who had apparently arrived to spectate the scene. Rage flashing across her face, she marched to her dormitory and slammed the door shut, taking deep, calming breaths.
After a few minutes, she began to feel better — at least, she was able to turn her fiery fury into ice-cold rage. A calculated glint in her eye, she began plotting. McLaggen had crossed her one too many times, and she was determined to exact her revenge.
Her thoughts were interrupted by a knock at her door.
“Hermione, are you all right?” Luna asked as she floated into Hermione’s bedroom for her customary nightly check-in. She had taken to the habit when Hermione began locking herself in room whenever she was not in class at the beginning of Eighth Year. “The ordeal with McLaggen only seems to be getting worse; I can tell by all the Nargles in your hair.”
“He dared to touch me today,” Hermione grated out, her voice full of loathing, though she was visibly attempting to compose herself. “But I hexed him a bit and got away, so I suppose no harm was truly done.”
Luna frowned. “But there was harm done, because it was unacceptable for him to touch you without your permission. Oh, and there was much more after that. Didn’t you hear about what happened after?”
“What happened after? What do you mean?” Hermione was quick to ask.
“Well, I only got there after you’d left, but something rather unexpected happened.”
Luna was slow to begin her account of the tale, but soon set the scene for a scene Hermione would indeed have never anticipated.
Hermione had just left, while McLaggen was still ranting and raving, making his way to the centre of the Great Hall. His voice kept getting louder and louder, his words getting nastier and nastier.
A few Hufflepuffs had hesitantly called out at him to stop his tirade, and he responded by doubling down on his insults of Hermione.
After this, no one seemed to dare to stand up for her, not even anyone from the Gryffindor table, the people she had thought were some of her closest friends — not even Ron Weasley. Luna had not seen it firsthand, but rumour had it that he had even cracked a smile at some of McLaggen’s lewd comments.
That is, no one stood up for Hermione until Draco Malfoy swept in.
At this point, Luna interrupted herself to say she would do her best to recount what exactly Malfoy said. She cleared her throat and deepened her voice to get in character.
“McLaggen, who do you think you are? With all this big talk, surely you can’t be the same pathetic little boy who stole my potion and paraded in front of Snape with your supposed newfound success in potion-making last month?
“You couldn’t be the foul creature who cites “dating” as his favourite hobby, I’m sure.
“And surely you can’t be the same who would dare to lay his filthy paws on a woman who so clearly did not wish to be touched!”
Luna added that Malfoy’s voice was a quiet thunder of rage at this point, commanding the entire hall with his scathing tone.
Hermione was at a loss for words. Malfoy? Defending her, of all people? And in public, no less?
“Are you quite sure it was Malfoy?” she asked. “Perhaps since you didn’t have a clear view of who was really speaking.”
Luna nodded her head vigorously and, with a gentle pat of Hermione’s shoulders, departed the room, leaving Hermione’s mind to churn over how she should thank Malfoy. She had to do it somehow, no? Clearly no one else had had the guts to confront McLaggen, so she was grateful that Malfoy had intervened, despite their awkward history.
She still found herself questioning where she stood with Malfoy. Even though he had apologised at the beginning of Eighth Year for his role in Voldemort’s regime, and she had told him she did not blame him and that he should not feel guilty, he seemed to go out of his way to avoid her, even as they had been selected for a special Honours Seminar for Distinguished Pupils that met weekly. She would have thought it made sense for them to work together, as she had always respected his intellect, but surmised that he did not share the same regard for her, hence never partnering with her for projects or discussions.
Nonetheless, she would have to muster up her Gryffindor courage and speak with him one way or another. She huffed a sigh, committed to doing the honourable thing and thanking him for his kindness.
Hermione stood outside of the Slytherin Common Room. She paced back and forth, debating whether to follow through with her plan. But before she could agonise further, Malfoy materialised in front of her.
“Malfoy! Er, thanks for what you did with McLaggen. I wasn’t there to see it but it was very much appreciated,” Hermione rushed out, eyes trained on her boots, too nervous to look up at him. “Well, anyway … er, we’re staging a bit of a revenge, a few of my friends and I, and, seeing as you did an expert job taking him on earlier, I wanted to extend you an invitation to join us — if you’d like to, that is.”
Hermione had not, in fact, set this appointment with her friends yet, but something about the view of Malfoy in front of her forced this spontaneous announcement out before she could stop herself. Draco’s lips — which she had perhaps been staring at a little too long — slowly, agonisingly formed into an evil grin as he purred his response. “Oh, Granger. I’d like nothing more.”
Hermione blushed, and she was not quite sure why.
“It’s a good job you asked me, too,” he continued. “I have certain resources at my disposal that I would be all too happy to employ.”
“Oh! Well, perfect!” she managed to squeak out. “I hope I’ll see you later then — for planning, I mean. Gryffindor Common Room, tomorrow at half nine.”
With that, she scurried out of the classroom, horrified at her lack of composure. Probably because she hated McLaggen so much, she tried to reassure herself…
Hermione’s meeting was looking rather sparse. She’d had to throw something together after telling Malfoy she had an event planned, but so far, it was just her and Ginny, Hogwarts’ esteemed chaos queen. She was about ready to begin the session, unable to silence the part of her mind that kept wondering where Malfoy was, when he swept into the room, several of his associates in tow: the smirking pair of Blaise Zabini and Theo Nott, as well as an elegant, frosty Pansy Parkinson.
To her credit, Parkinson extended her hand to shake Hermione’s, with a quick, businesslike “Delighted to be here” thrown in.
Hermione cleared her throat gently. She had to get started immediately, or she feared she would freeze at the way Malfoy was staring at her intently. What did he mean by it?
“Good evening everyone, and thank you all for being here. This meeting concerns the discussion of our frustrations with, and eventual revenge on, the pathetic excuse for a wizard known as Cormac McLaggen,” she intoned, confidence building as she continued. “Shall we go around the room and share ideas?”
Ginny bounced up and down in her excitement. “I say let’s scare him! He may be a Gryffindor, but I’m sure we can frighten him one way or another.”
Zabini and Nott glanced at each other conspiratorially at length before Zabini finally spoke up. “Rumour has it that McLaggen collects up chewing gum after girls spit it out. Keeps it under his bed, a little box for each of them.”
Nott was cackling. “I can’t say I want to see that sight, but do with this information what you will, Granger. I have no doubt you’ll make the most of it.”
She appreciated the sentiment, but truly had no idea how she could incorporate this piece of knowledge into her scheme.
Malfoy cleared his throat.
“What I said about McLaggen stealing my potion was true — and very irritating — but I think I can use it to my advantage,” he said in his rich, deep voice, his eyes glittering with mischief. “I can ask Snape to have us personally test the next potion we are learning. I’ll brew something horrific, and he’ll be none the wiser when he switches his potion with mine. Then, Snape will have no choice but to humiliate him, and we can be sure that he will not disappoint us.”
The room erupted into cheers and whoops at the genius of this plan — mainly coming from Nott, Zabini, and Ginny, while Luna and Parkinson opted for more delicate applause. Hermione had to agree — it was simple, to be sure, but it had great potential.
“I can’t believe I was only thinking of going as far as Babbling Beverage,” Luna said dreamily, interrupting Hermione’s reflections. “The Slytherins have quite commendably diabolical schemes. However, I’ve also recently discovered the magic of Sticking Serum. You’ve mentioned before that McLaggen stands behind you most disturbingly, so what if we leave him rooted to the spot?”
Nott looked at Luna, wide-eyed in admiration. It seemed slightly suspicious how he was smiling at Luna, but Hermione did not have time to devote to further investigations.
“That all sounds very promising,” Hermione said. “I’ll write up an outline and share further details with you all as soon as I can. For now, I think that’s all we need, so you are free to go.”
For the first, mildest portion of their plan, Parkinson offered to have a fake ‘girls’ chat’ with Hermione — in a public place, of course — to lure McLaggen into a puddle of Sticking Serum. They parked themselves right outside of the library, as they knew McLaggen would expect to find Hermione there. Parkinson stood firmly to her side, subtly blocking the space around Hermione where the Sticking Serum had not been applied, thus forcing McLaggen to step directly into it if he dared to approach.
Never failing to live up to his disgusting and dishonourable reputation, McLaggen appeared behind them within five minutes. The girls had taken care to face away from so that McLaggen would stand for a prolonged period of time, waiting for Hermione to acknowledge his presence. He must’ve thought he was sneaky, but, without fail, Hermione perceived that he was behind her.
Sure enough, he waited, and waited, and waited. Hermione could feel him leering, but she knew she had to give the serum ample chance to work. When she finally turned around to face him, he began hurling insults and jeers, while simultaneously attempting to convince her that they were soulmates, but Hermione just laughed.
She and Parkinson twirled away with a flourish, nodding at each other in satisfaction. They knew that McLaggen would be completely trapped, even for just a bit until he figured out what was going on.
As they turned the corner of the hallway, they heard his whiny voice begin to shriek and curse. They each smiled, Hermione’s a satisfied smirk, and Parkinson’s the grin of an evil mastermind.
Come to think of it, they made quite a good team, Hermione thought to herself. She honestly hoped that their alliance would last beyond the completion of their grand scheme. But now, it was time to turn her efforts to the next phase.
“Darling Hermsy,” McLaggen’s sleazy voice oozed out. He leaned over her, inching ever closer with his trademark sinister smirk that reminded Hermione of a three week old jack-o’-lantern.
“Somebody had the audacity to try to keep us apart with that Sticking Serum! To think I was parted from you for over an hour, unable to track your whereabouts or observe your goings-on … an utter travesty for which I sincerely apologise,” he waxed on. “I know your poor little heart must have suffered most immensely.”
Hermione had no words. What a presumptuous, disgusting creep! It was all she could do to keep herself from hexing him senseless — and then hexing him some more — but she just nodded silently, which McLaggen clearly took as an enthusiastic concordance.
“I’m so glad you’ve come around,” he said, his voice more smarmy than ever before. “As a reward for being such a good girl, I’ll let you in on a little secret: I’m going to make an announcement to the whole school that you’re mine, and to warn that no one should dare cross me on this matter or interfere with our relationship again.”
Hermione wished she could slap the smile off of his face, but she knew she had to keep up appearances for just a few moments longer. Her little gang had already been planning, but a perfectly embarrassing opportunity could not have presented itself at a better time.
“Oh, and when do you plan on that?” she asked, fighting to keep her tone neutral.
“As soon as I possibly can!” McLaggen said, all condescending assurance.
The absolute nerve of this man never failed to shock Hermione, but she knew she had to capitalise on the moment. She took a deep breath. Making sure to draw attention to what she was doing, she began to fiddle with a small vial, passing it back and forth between her hands.
McLaggen took the bait. “What’s that?”
“Oh! It's just some Babbling Beverage mixed with Veritaserum, you know … picked some up recently, but haven’t tried it yet,” she rushed out, accidentally stumbling over her words.
But it did not matter. McLaggen’s ego extended further than Hermione would have ever predicted.
“Give me some!” he said, beginning to chuckle. ”I’m sure I’m too strong for it to work on me.”
Hermione’s eyes were wide with surprise, but she wordlessly handed him the vial, only too happy to follow his orders — just this once. He snatched it from her and downed the entire contents of the vial in one sip.
“Ah, that quenched my thirst most satisfyingly,” he said, then leered as a thought came to his rudimentary mind. “Well … at least my thirst of one type…”
He left the foul words to hang in the air between them, proud of his joke. “With such excellent service from my witch, I feel quite prepared to make my announcement now.”
He cast the most powerful Sonorus she’d ever witnessed — she honestly hadn’t thought him capable of it.
His voice began to boom, presumably carrying across the entire Hogwarts castle and beyond.
“To my dearest hippopotami, I must share this crucial message with you: Potato in the snow! Wouldn’t you like one? Well you can’t have one, because I’m the only good potato in here and you can’t have me!” he began to yell. He looked taken aback at what had come out of his mouth, but took a breath and started again. Hermione held back a laugh, and nodded at him solemnly.
“I love my mum, and staring straight at the sun, and licking girls’ used chewing gum,” he chanted. "Just think! If I could just get one sickle, I’d be ever so tickled that I’d turn pink and take a drink … a drink … OH!” he shouted, concluding his bewildering speech. The word “drink” seemed to have inadvertently reminded him that he had, indeed, consumed the Babbling Beverage, and was most certainly not immune to its effects.
“Oi, McLaggen, what the bloody hell is all this?” a passing Hufflepuff said. McLaggen made no response, instead clamping his hands over his mouth and sprinting for the door to exit the castle.
Hermione had thought the show was over, but just as she was walking toward the Great Hall, McLaggen’s voice, still under the Sonorus, barrelled toward her once again.
“I’m ever so poetic, yet ever so pathetic, and I have no chance at winning my Hermsy!” McLaggen was now crooning mournfully. “She'd scorn me, they warned me, but who are they to tell McLaggen the Magnificent who he can have and who he can’t? For I am the Marvelous McLaggen, the Commendable Cormac, and nobody can get in my way."
Someone must have gotten to McLaggen, because the sound suddenly ceased — for which Hermione was grateful. She’d had enough of his depraved rantings, though she supposed it was her fault for giving him the potion.
The moment they’d all been waiting for had arrived: everyone was gathered for Advanced Potions, where Snape had been kind enough to assign them Amortentia for a bit of lighter assignment as the rest of the term’s work piled up. The only catch was that each student’s potion had to be utterly perfect, or he would tear them apart in front of everybody.
It was finally McLaggen’s turn.
Snape flicked back his sleeves, measured but merciless.
“And what, pray tell, does your Amortentia smell like?” he asked with a characteristic drawl.
“Like my dear future wife, Hermione Granger,” McLaggen shot back with an air of condescension that Snape would even ask such a question.
McLaggen leaned over to take a massive whiff, really committed to absorbing the scent from deepest dregs of the vial. Only, whatever he seemed to smell was clearly not pleasant at all, at least as evidenced by his flailing stumble backward and desperate, uncontrollable coughs.
“…Yes, McLaggen?” Snape cut in after a moment. “I believe I can speak for the entire class when I say we eagerly await your response.”
“It smells like,” he started, utterly bewildered, “Crap, piss, and … smoke?”
“How fascinating,” Snape said, no trace of expression on his face.
Draco raised his hand, and Snape nodded permission for him to speak.
“Isn’t it said that if a person does not have a true love, their Amortentia will smell of the place best suited to them, rather than the person?”
“Very good, Malfoy,” Snape said, his eyebrows raising the slightest bit, the only giveaway of his mirth among his otherwise carefully schooled features. “Granted, it is an unproven theory, but that is the general consensus at present.”
The whole class cackled. Neville Longbottom, of all people, was heard whispering “So he’s going to end up in a burning hellhole full of excrement? Fitting, I daresay.”
Cormac collapsed into screeching wails and dashed out of the room, hands covering his head in horror, all while he hopelessly hacked his lungs out from the foul odour he’d been assaulted with.
Malfoy looked over at Hermione and met her gaze, which was already fixed on him. She nodded with satisfaction at their collaboration. He sent a wink right back at her.
Out of the corner of Hermione’s eye, she saw Ginny and Zabini fist bump each other enthusiastically. It seemed they’d also invented a complex secret handshake already, which struck Hermione as odd, but her mind was too occupied with Malfoy’s wink.
After their classes had concluded for the day, the crew decided to meet to debrief after their colossal success and plan for the next day’s activities. Only, it seemed everyone but Draco and Ginny had deserted in favour of some alternative event.
“The others are having a party in the Slytherin Common Room,” Ginny explained as Hermione set her bag down. “And seeing as I’m missing it, this had better be worth it.”
Hermione smiled weakly. This small, intimate meeting was decidedly not what she intended, but she couldn’t very well cancel it now that Malfoy and Ginny were already there. She looked over at Malfoy to gauge his reaction to the whole situation. If he looked like he was bored out of his mind — which she was sure was the case — perhaps she would just call it off.
Malfoy was staring at Hermione, seemingly transfixed. Hermione stared right back, confused by the deliciously electric spark between them. She thought she could even see a twinkle in his eye, and certainly saw one in his perfectly pearly teeth as his lips pulled up into a slow smile.
Ginny heaved a dramatically long sigh.
“Hermione, I know you hate when people spoil the plot before you’ve figured it out on your own, but, just this once, I’m going to have to do it anyway: I think he’s in love with you and your evermore devious mind,” Ginny said. “And here’s another spoiler: you’d bloody well better do something about it or you’ll have me to deal with."
That shook Draco out of his reverie ever so slightly.
“Merlin, Weasley, what’s your problem?” he exclaimed. “Let a bloke have his own moment to confess his feelings when he’s ready! It’s confusing enough as it is.”
Ginny just about jumped up and down at having tricked the confession out of Malfoy.
“SEE?!” she cheered, clapping her hands together ecstatically. “I will thoroughly relish this opportunity to tell the one and only Hermione Granger that I told you so.”
In the midst of all this, it was Hermione’s turn to be rooted to the spot. She looked down at her boots, then darted a glance at Malfoy, whose face was tinged pink with the realisation of what he’d just said. She found this a touch too endearing and promptly turned her gaze back to the floor, certain that her face was also burning with embarrassment.
“Guess I’ll give you two a moment … alone,” Ginny said, wiggling her eyebrows with a satisfied smirk. “Don’t go too crazy in my absence!”
She sashayed out of the room making similarly provocative comments as she went.
“What the bloody hell was that?” they said in unison, making eye contact at long last. To Hermione’s surprise, in the middle of all the chaos, it felt like peace; it felt like calm; it felt like home.
“I heard that!” Ginny’s voice called from the hall, interrupting the moment. “You’re all synchronised already — it’s meant to be!”
“Oi, shut up, Weasley,” Malfoy muttered halfheartedly. He’d flopped on the sofa and was covering his face with his hands.
Hermione, meanwhile, was facing the wall, readying herself to bang her head against it until … well, until she came up with a better plan. She did not think she could handle the awkwardness of the situation, let alone the view of Malfoy behind her, decked out in his Quidditch kit, hair mussed and cheeks flushed pink. And perhaps worse yet, she knew she was in way too deep if the soaring sense of pure elation at simply seeing his stupid face was any indication.
“Have you idiots kissed yet?” Ginny interjected, spoiling the mood once more with her gleeful cackles. “I sure hope so! Draco rushed here after his Quidditch practice, and he’s looking irresistible, I must admit.”
“Ginevra Molly Gertrude Weasley!” Hermione gritted out, including the secret second middle name Ginny had confided in her. “You are to leave us alone this moment, and for Merlin’s sake, shut up!”
Ginny cackled again, leaving Hermione to wonder just how many times a witch could cackle without being considered utterly deranged. Whatever the mark was, Ginny seemed to meet the criteria. To her credit, she was silent for a moment out of respect for Hermione, but she could not hold herself back.
“Hermione, there was absolutely no need to use my full name. But what I just heard is that you and Malfoy are an ‘us,’ and I think that’s pretty damn cute.”
How was it that Ginny could always twist things into her own favour?
“All right, enough with this,” Malfoy said, finally addressing Hermione directly. “Granger, you’re a bloody genius, and that was definitely the best thing I’ve ever seen in my life.”
“My scheming … or the sight of McLaggen after all our pranks?” Hermione quipped. “I certainly hope it wasn’t the latter.”
“No,” he sighed, “I didn’t mean McLaggen. I was thinking of you — I’m always thinking of you, can’t get you out of my mind.”
“Like … in a creepy Cormac way, or?” Hermione trailed off.
“No, of course not, Granger! And stop distracting me with your attempt at smart jokes,” he said. “We need to talk.”
So it was really happening, Hermione panicked. She’d been dreading the inevitable moment where Malfoy finally realised she had feelings for him and told her he had not, did not, and would never reciprocate. He was probably burdened by thoughts of avoiding her and letting her down gently, and so clearly wanted to banish any of her presence from his mind. Merlin, was she pathetic.
Thus, she decided the best course of action would be to behave as off-puttingly as she could, because she was too afraid of where the conversation would go.
“Well, clearly you don’t think me that smart, seeing as you always take every possible measure to avoid me during classes and Seminar,” she shot out. Her cheeks immediately flamed at what she’d just said, but she was determined to continue on.
“And — and, you … won’t even look at me or return my greetings, no matter how friendly I try to be!” she all but cried. “Don’t you know how hard I worked to help you and the other Slytherins get reintegrated into the Hogwarts student body? Don’t you know that I think you’re - I don’t know, great doesn’t even begin to cover it!"
In her awkward desperation, she threw herself onto the couch, forgetting that Malfoy was already seated on it.
“Granger! Will you stop yapping for one moment and listen?” he said, turning to her. She could not bear to look at him.
“As I was saying,” he began, “I know all that you’ve done for me, but I didn’t know why. I assumed it was just because of your silly Gryffindor sensibilities and odd desire to help absolutely everyone you can. But I always secretly hoped you did it, even in some tiny part, because it was me, as I’d somehow gone and started fancying you."
“…Oh,” she said, rather quietly, covering her face with her hands, feeling her blush spread across her face.
"I never dared to believe there was any chance you’d reciprocate, because as I said, for Merlin’s sake, it was me, but that didn’t mean I didn’t hope, didn’t pathetically try to concoct excuses to talk to you, even just to be in your presence. And when that failed, I tried to avoid you at all costs because it hurt how much I liked you. So, I regret to inform you, Granger, that you’ve misread something for once, and have colossally failed to understand the situation. All along, it’s been me hopelessly, obviously pining after you, and you being too dense to pick up on it."
“I see … well, I hardly know what to say now,” she admitted, inwardly impressed at his nerve to work in some insults to his confession.
"I’ve been doing the exact same silly things, so much that I’m sure all of Hogwarts knows how I feel about you, so, you see, I think you’re rather dense, too,” she finally responded. She wouldn’t have imagined that she and any boy would reveal their feelings to each other via snarking comments, but she and Draco were not just any girl and any boy, and it was perfect for then. She could not — did not want to — hold back her smile.
It was Draco’s turn to be speechless.
In the silence between them, Hermione took a moment to collect herself, running through a mental catalogue of potential next steps. She felt altogether stuck, in a way she never had before with any question, problem, or exam. So, she looked at Draco shyly. She could tell she was not the only one who wanted to take things slow, still a delicate and recovering soul after the past few years’ chaos and destruction.
“Do you think I could … well, would it be all right if … I, you know …” try as she might, she couldn’t get the words out. She was making eye contact with Draco now, which seemed to be taking up all of her Gryffindor courage. But they exchanged a look that said everything it needed to, and Hermione leaned into him, settling her head in the crook of his neck, just as he reached his arm and draped it over her shoulder.
Warmth and comfort washed over Hermione, but she craned her neck up at Draco nonetheless to make sure she hadn’t crossed a boundary. He was nodding at her gently, smiling a soft, warm, radiant smile, and Hermione sent one right back at him.
They sat there in silence together, absorbing the magic of the moment, melting into each other, basking in the mutual realisation that they’d finally found their perfectly adorable, intelligent, snarky match. They’d said all they needed to for now, and they could quietly revel in the present.
Just then, Ginny shot through the room at a speed reminiscent of her skills as a Chaser. Her eyes eyebrows were sky-high and her eyes bulged, somehow with an air of triumph, perhaps surprised that all her heavy-handed encouragement had finally resulted in the pair doing something about their crushes. On any other day, she would’ve maximised the opportunity to gloat, but she had something very, very important to say.
“McLaggen’s dropped out of Hogwarts! He said he’d had enough of everyone hating him for ‘no reason’ so he’s just up and left! We won!”
Draco and Hermione looked at Ginny for a moment, then their eyes snapped to each other. McLaggen was gone. Just like that, he had dropped out of Hogwarts. Hermione’s problems with him would be gone, and she would be free to relax and recover in peace. Her relief at hearing this news was indescribable, and Draco looked overjoyed, as well, on her behalf.
To her eternal credit, Ginny and left the room moments later.
At the start of the summer term — her last ever at Hogwarts — Hermione breathed a huge sigh of relief as she stepped toward the Hogwarts Express. Gone were the days she had to constantly watch her surroundings lest McLaggen pop up out of the woodwork to harass her like the foul, loathsome, evil little cockroach he was. Not only was he gone, hopefully for good, but Hermione had also gained a kind, dashing boyfriend out of the whole ordeal.
“After you, my dear,” Draco said as they boarded the train. ‘My dear’ and ‘darling’ sounded so different, so beautiful coming from the lips of the love of her life.
Hand-in-hand with him, she marvelled at their unlikely path to each other. Just imagine, the idea that sleazy old Cormac McLaggen could be (distantly) credited with the best part of their lives — the love that they shared. Though they’d only been together for a few months, they’d both fallen hard, and each liked to claim that they’d fancied the other for longer.
In other words, they were disgustingly, obnoxiously, perfectly, and sweetly in love.
They’d even thanked McLaggen when they happened upon him in Diagon Alley over the holiday break. He’d grunted, fumed, and even stomped his feet, perfectly in character. Draco and Hermione both broke out in cackles at this immaturity — also true to character — and proceeded with their date.
~~~