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There are many things in this life that leave Greg feeling confused, like why bacon dipped in chocolate is delicious, not disgusting; why Harry Potter, who has all the money in the world these days, doesn’t get his eyes fixed, or why Flitwick seems to think he will ever be able to do a decent Lightening Charm when he’s been mucking them up for almost seven years now.
If he is certain of one thing, though, it is that Hermione Granger is the most beautiful girl he has ever seen. And he remembers the Veelas—how can he forget when Vince asks him the same question at least once a week: “Do you remember the Veelas, Greg?” Greg invariably says he does, and Vince sighs happily in that way he does when he’s picturing things. Greg wonders what that sixth-year girl Cara-May would say about Vince’s obsession with the Veelas. Probably not much—he doesn’t think she and Vince do much talking anyway. When he comes in at night, he usually wants to talk about her tits, and Greg has to put down his Quidditch Today and make interested noises. He sometimes thinks that if he heard anyone talking about Hermione’s tits, he would shoot a Stinging Hex right up their arse. He’s good at Stinging Hexes.
He doesn’t want people to talk about her that way because she’s different. She’s... a lady. She isn’t like the girls in Slytherin, all hard and shiny and always saying the opposite of what they really mean. She is kind and so clever and she smells like flowers, not like hair potions and that sticky stuff they put all over their faces. She is beautiful and brilliant and Greg loves her so much that the sound of her laughter from across the Great Hall can put him off his entire breakfast.
Her voice is soft, except for when it isn’t because she seems like she might burst from knowing something. The way she talks to people is like nothing Greg has ever experienced. She is friends with everyone, and he thinks he could be her friend—it wouldn’t be enough, but he would take it in a second. She could make everything alright; after all, she had been the last nail in the coffin of those ‘purebloods are better’ beliefs his father and grandfather had tried to stuff into him. They don’t make sense, and they never can, because Hermione Granger is a Muggleborn and she is perfect.
Things have been different this past year, now that everything horrible is finally over and things are quiet, just as he likes them, and she smiles at him when they have to work together in lessons. She’s so patient, even in Potions, where he is easily the most useless person ever to stir a cauldron—except maybe for Longbottom, who has had the good sense not to take it for NEWTs—and he’s even worse when she’s standing at the desk with him and watching, biting her lip when he makes a mistake and quietly putting it right without ever getting cross. She does get cross sometimes, though; he’s seen her. She shouts at Ron Weasley quite often, though he never seems to mind all that much.
He looks at the three of them as they gather around the wild Kneazle they have been raising since the beginning of term, talking softly to each other. He watches Weasley, who likes her, too, and Harry Potter, who Greg thinks is her very best friend. He envies both of them, but he’s pretty sure Potter doesn’t like Hermione like that, and that’s good, because even though he doesn’t really have a chance to be with her, if Harry Potter liked her like that, there would definitely be no chance. As it is, he can hope.
“Rowww!” says his Kneazle, and Greg watches carefully as Draco drops a tiny bit of a yellow potion into her open mouth. Greg smiles and strokes her gently along her back. She’s a good girl, little Jean, and she has grown so well under their care that she is now almost the biggest in the class, even though she had been a scrawny, sickly runt at eight weeks old. Hagrid had found the litter abandoned in the forest and had decided that they would make an interesting project for his seventh-years. The Kneazles are energetic and clever and unpredictable, and Greg adores them. Their group is doing well and for once it’s because of him. Vince never pays attention in Hagrid’s lessons, and Draco is as good as useless because he’s always so nervous of the animals. Greg is in charge and he is enjoying it.
“Don’t forget ter weigh ’em before yeh go,” Hagrid calls, giving Greg an approving nod as he passes.
Greg picks up Jeannie and looks across the grass at Potter, who is putting on gauntlets and frowning while Hermione casts the weighing charm and Weasley stands there with a notebook and a quill. He is quite good looking, Potter, even with the glasses. Greg wonders who he likes, or even loves. If he was Harry Potter, he could have any girl—not that he wants any girl, only her. Potter places the Kneazle in the cradle of Hermione’s weighing spell and then turns, eyes seeking out something just over Greg’s shoulder. He sees Potter’s face relax, then flush slightly, and he turns around to see Draco and Vince, arguing about who is going to cast the charm and who is going to write down the results.
Greg sighs and casts it himself, shifting Jeannie to his hip and frowning in concentration as the scale fades into being. It’s a little bit rough and a bit of a weird colour but it works just fine. When he takes Vince’s notepad from his hand and scribbles down the numbers, his expression is one of shock. Greg ignores it, because people are always surprised when he can do things. They all think he’s stupid, even Draco, who is now watching Hermione, Potter and Weasley with an odd look in his eyes. Greg isn’t sure what look it is, but it’s not a look he’s used to seeing on Draco. And he’s not stupid. Okay, he’s not the best student and he’s usually the last to get a joke, but he sees things, he notices things. And he got an ‘O’ in his Care of Magical Creatures OWL, and an ‘E’ in Muggle Studies, too, but no one ever asked, probably because they thought he’d fucked up the lot of them.
He’s fucked up a lot of things, true, and he thinks about them often. As they give their Kneazles back to Hagrid and walk back to the castle, he thinks about the names he and Draco and Vince used to call Muggleborns—used to call Hermione—and he burns with shame. They haven’t done that for a long time, but he still wishes he could tell her he’s sorry. She might forgive him, too—she’s like that. Maybe she already has, though he doesn’t think he deserves it. She called him Greg once. Just once, but it’s enough to keep him going even on the most horrible sorts of days.
At dinner that night, he sits at the table for a long time, slowly eating his way through three plates of macaroni cheese and thinking about Jeannie and dessert and Quidditch practice and Harry Potter’s love life. Beside him, Draco is moodily poking through his dinner with his chin propped up on one hand. Greg watches him out of the corner of his eye, concerned for his friend. Draco usually loves anything with cheese, but tonight he just doesn’t seem interested.
“You alright?” he asks, quietly so as not to embarrass Draco.
Draco glances at him and nods a bit too quickly. “Yeah, of course.”
“Aren’t you hungry?”
Draco looks down at his plate as though he’s surprised to see it there. He screws up his nose. “It tastes funny tonight, don’t you think?”
Greg eats another mouthful of pasta and shrugs. “Tastes fine to me.”
“Well, maybe I’m just not in the mood,” Draco snaps, and then he’s pushing his plate away with a vicious glance at the Gryffindor table and walking out of the Great Hall.
Greg blinks. Slowly, he turns to look at the Gryffindor table. The first thing he notices is that Hermione is drinking a cup of tea, sipping daintily, and her hands are so pretty. The second thing he notices is that, next to her, Harry Potter is being hugged tightly from behind by Ginny Weasley. Grinning, she kisses the top of his head over and over again, gives him one last squeeze and then squashes herself onto the bench between Potter and Weasley and pours herself a glass of pumpkin juice.
“Harry, you are such a star. Neville is going to have the best birthday ever.”
Potter ducks his head and flushes. “All I did was write a letter, Gin.”
“Yeah, but a letter from you means that I can stop pretending I don’t know where Nev’s copy of Flesh-Eating Trees of the World is and give it back to him, signed by the author. He’ll have a fit,” Ginny says excitedly, kissing Potter on the cheek. “That’s a pretty great letter.”
Greg frowns. He wonders if she’s with Potter or Longbottom. Or both. Or neither. Most of all, he wonders why any of it matters to Draco.
Maybe Draco likes Ginny Weasley. Maybe he’s jealous. Maybe.
Greg chews thoughtfully on a bit of burned cheese and continues to watch them.
“You’re such a lovely girlfriend,” says a girl with long, dark curly hair.
Ginny smiles. “I wish I could’ve done more but I’m absolutely broke. I think he’ll like it, though.”
“I think he’d like it better if you stopped kissing Harry,” Weasley himself says, grinning around a mouthful of bread.
“Don’t be cruel, Ron, that’s the most action he’s had all year,” Finnigan laughs, and Ginny flings herself dramatically against Potter’s side for a moment and then sits up, giggling and shaking her head.
“Sad but true,” Potter says, lifting his glass in a mock toast.
Over at the Slytherin table, Greg’s eyebrows shoot up.
“No progress on the mystery man, then?” Thomas asks, sounding like he’s trying to whisper, even though Greg can hear him easily all the way across the hall.
Potter has a mystery man? Or he wants one? Intrigued, Greg puts his fork down and listens intently, taking just a moment to adjust his stored-up knowledge of Potter.
“Speak up, Dean, there are some people at the top of the Astronomy Tower who can’t quite hear you,” Hermione says softly, looking into her teacup with a smile flickering around her lips.
Greg sighs.
Thomas just pulls a face at her and carries on staring at Potter.
“No,” Potter says at last, sounding fed up. “But I haven’t really... I’m still... oh, god, I’m useless.”
“You still haven’t done anything?” Thomas says, and Greg can tell that he’s puzzled.
It sort of makes sense that he would be—Dean Thomas has had more girlfriends than Greg has had hot dinners. Well, probably not, but the point is, someone like Thomas, who is all tall and always knows what to say, is never going to understand why someone who is not him would ever have trouble talking to a person they liked. And in spite of everything else he knows to be true, Greg thinks that Potter is a bit shy. He’s shy with pretty boys instead of pretty girls, but it probably doesn’t make much of a difference. Greg hasn’t tried asking a girl out since second year, and she had laughed in his face so he hadn’t really wanted to try it again, much less attempt anything like kissing. Yet.
The others are teasing Potter now and he doesn’t seem upset but Greg feels sorry for him. He’s pretty sure Potter has kissed a girl. Maybe he just didn’t like it.
“You’re going to have to Gryffindor up, mate,” says Weasley.
Potter grins. “Oh, that’s good coming from you,” he says with a pointed look, and Weasley blushes.
Hermione looks between them with a little line creasing her forehead. “Leave Harry alone. Some things can’t be rushed,” she says and pours herself another cup of tea.
Greg watches her for so long that by the time he looks back to the others, he has completely lost track of the conversation. Longbottom has joined them and is telling a story about his grandmother getting very angry. Greg shudders and gets up to leave. He has met Longbottom’s grandma, and he had nightmares about her for days afterwards.
When he gets back to the common room, he finds it almost empty. It’s a nice day and everyone has probably gone to sit by the lake. There’s just Draco, sitting very stiffly in a chair next to the biggest window and scowling at the dark water. Greg stands uncertainly in the middle of the room for a moment, wondering whether or not he should leave Draco to it. He looks cross, and that might mean that he wants to be left alone. Trouble is, it could also mean that he wants someone to talk to. When an eel swims past the window and Draco starts grinding his teeth, Greg braces himself and says:
“Are you upset about Ginny Weasley?”
It comes out a bit loud and Draco jumps before he turns around, eyes wide.
“Excuse me?”
“At dinner,” Greg says, looking away from Draco and playing with his shirt cuffs. “I thought maybe you were upset because of her and Potter. She’s not with Potter, though... I don’t think she is.”
“She’s not?”
“No. I think she’s with Longbottom, though... so... sorry,” Greg finishes awkwardly, wishing he had never said a word.
Draco gets up slowly and walks towards him. “She’s not with Potter?”
“Er, no... I don’t think so. I heard...”
“You heard what? Talk to me, Greg, this is important!” Draco insists, and it really looks like it is, but Greg is confused.
“Potter wrote a letter for her so she could get a book signed for Longbottom... ’cause it’s his birthday... and she’s his girlfriend, one of the other girls said so, and—”
“But she’s not with Potter?” Draco interrupts, catching hold of Greg’s wrists.
Greg shakes his head. “No, she’s with Longbottom,” he says again. “And Potter’s got the hots for some ‘mystery man’, so... did you even know Potter liked boys? I didn’t, but...” Greg stops, noticing how huge Draco’s eyes suddenly seem, and the way he doesn’t seem to be breathing properly. “Do you like Potter?” he asks suddenly.
Draco stops breathing completely for a moment and his fingers wrap so tightly around Greg’s wrists that it hurts. They stare at each other for a long time.
“Yes,” Draco says so quietly that Greg almost doesn’t hear it.
“Do you really?” Greg asks, surprised and not all that surprised at the same time.
“Horribly. Ridiculously,” Draco whispers, and there’s something in his eyes that Greg recognises. He sees it in the mirror every morning and he knows exactly what it feels like, too.
“Sorry,” Greg says. He tries to pull a sympathetic face but he thinks it comes out as more of a confused snarl.
Draco sighs and lets go of him. “It’s fine. At least he’s not with the Weasley girl, that’s... better, somehow.”
Greg nods, understanding. “Potter’s after a mystery man—maybe it’s you,” he says brightly.
Draco scowls again and folds his arms. “Very funny, Greg. I’m going to bed. Not a word of this to anyone, do you understand?”
Greg just nods again and Draco stomps off in the direction of their dormitory. Frowning, Greg watches the dark shapes in the water for a long time. He hadn’t been joking.
Draco has pulled the curtains around his bed when Greg finally heads to their room, so he flops onto his mattress and pulls Caring for your Kneazle from under his pillow. He thinks he has done a pretty good job of spelling the cover to look like a porno magazine but he still hides it when Vince comes in and spends a good half an hour talking about how Cara-May is going to dye her hair silver to look more like a Veela. He supposes that’s that question answered, anyway. Girls are strange.
The next day, Draco barely speaks to him at all, but Greg is okay with that. He doesn’t seem to be speaking to anyone, really, and Greg knows better than to start asking questions again. Instead he watches Draco and Potter, and now that he knows what he knows, he can’t believe he had never noticed how much they look at each other. It’s all the time, little secret looks and long, sad looks across the Great Hall or the Charms classroom or the corridors outside lessons. They look at each other like he looks at Hermione, but the difference is, when Draco looks away, Potter looks back. Hermione doesn’t look back. Not like that. He knows when she is looking at him, he can feel it all over, and it doesn’t happen very often at all.
But then, Hermione is too good for him and he knows it. Potter and Draco... when he thinks about it, they just make sense. They’ve always paid a lot more attention to each other than to anyone else, and it has to be better to turn all those feelings into something other than fighting all the time. Not that they fight any more; they just stare.
By the end of the week, Greg has spent so much time watching and wondering and thinking that his head is starting to hurt with it. His new issue of Quidditch Today is still sitting untouched on his bedside table and he has walked away from the dinner table without dessert twice because he has been too caught up in whatever Draco and the Gryffindors are doing. It’s just not right. He has to stop; he has to take a step back and start minding his own business like he usually does. Apart from anything else, he’s starving.
Care of Magical Creatures is the last lesson of the week, and it’s a warm day, so all the little groups sit out on the grass with their Kneazles, some taking measurements, some feeding, and others, like Potter and Weasley, just rolling around in the grass and play-fighting with their Kneazles. Greg, with the sort-of assistance of Draco and Vince, is teaching Jeannie to sit, leap, and roll over on command.
“Good girl,” he says, smiling and throwing a bit of liver for her to catch in her sharp teeth.
Behind him, Draco lets out a soft sigh. Greg says nothing and just keeps looking at Jeannie. He hates that he desperately wants to look up and see what the matter is. He tries to focus on the training and the hope that if he can tame her properly, Hagrid will let him keep her at the end of the project.
“Let’s have a go, then,” Vince says, and Greg is so surprised that he steps back without thinking and lets his friend take over. “She’s pretty clever, isn’t she?” he laughs as Jeannie turns in circles at his command, and Greg feels a smile that he doesn’t show as he remembers that Vince is pretty alright when he isn’t going on about Veelas and tits.
“Do you think he’s looking at me or at us?” Draco says quietly while Vince is distracted.
Greg looks at him and then at Potter, who seems to be trying to hold onto a squirming Kneazle and poke little looks at Draco at the same time. He sighs.
“He’s looking at you. He’s always looking at you.”
Draco makes a disbelieving sound and rests his chin on his knees, scowling.
Greg shuffles closer to him on the grass and prepares to lower his voice. As he opens his mouth to speak, his eyes catch Hermione’s across the lawn. She smiles and his words come out all croaky and weird as his stomach flips over and makes him feel slightly sick.
“You have to do something about this Potter thing.”
“Oh, fucking hell,” Draco whispers.
“Sorry,” Greg says, and he can’t take his eyes off Hermione. Her smile is changing and her eyebrows are arching as though she’s amused. “Sorry,” he repeats, mouthing the words pointlessly in her direction.
“Thanks,” she mouths back, or at least that’s what it looks like.
“Alright then, that’s it fer today,” Hagrid calls, and Greg shakes himself.
“Got to go!” Vince says, thrusting Jeannie into Greg’s arms and taking off across the grass. Greg wonders for a moment if today’s the day that Cara-May is dyeing her hair.
He gets up with his armful of Kneazle and prods Draco with his foot until he gets up, too. He looks like he wants to kill someone, but when Greg looks a little it closer, what he actually looks is scared. Terrified, in fact. He strokes Jeannie and tries to think of some words of comfort, but every word is suddenly flying out of his head because Hermione is standing in front of him and smiling. Beside her is Potter, looking very uncomfortable, and Greg just about notices Weasley striding across the grass with their Kneazle in his arms.
“Hello, Draco, Greg,” she says, and his heart soars.
“Can we help you, Granger?” Draco says crossly. Potter just looks at him.
“I think you can. I just need to speak to Greg for a minute. In the meantime, why don’t you two have a chat about how you’re both clearly mad about each other and what you might like to do about that before your friends completely lose the plot?” Hermione smiles at Draco and Potter and then, to Greg’s delight, she takes his arm and pulls him away until they are standing a good twenty feet from them.
Greg isn’t sure whether to be terrified or thrilled or intrigued but he only manages a glance or two for Draco and Potter before his full attention belongs to Hermione. He looks at her and clutches Jeannie with his heart pounding.
“She’s lovely,” she says, reaching out to stroke Jeannie and accidentally grazing Greg’s arm with her fingers. He shivers.
“Her name’s Jean... Jeannie,” he says, mouth suddenly dry.
“That’s my grandmother’s name,” she says, smiling, and Greg files the expression away in his mental bank of Hermione Granger smiles. “I was outvoted when we named ours... the boys wanted to call him ‘Godric’.” She wrinkles her nose. “It’s a bit of a big name for a tiny little Kneazle.”
Greg nods, just wanting her to keep talking. “Vince wanted to call ours ‘Delacour’,” he says eventually. “You know, after that French girl who was part Veela. He’s a bit... you know... Veelas...” he trails off, face reddening as he realises he’s talking complete rubbish and she’s just standing there and looking at him so kindly that he thinks he might break into pieces.
And then she laughs. “I can imagine. Fleur Delacour is married to Ron’s brother, you know.”
“Oh,” Greg says stupidly. He wonders if Vince knows that. “Is he your boyfriend?” he asks without really meaning to, and he wishes he could just spell his mouth shut.
Hermione flushes slightly, and he knows. He supposes he has known for a while, but it still feels like a punch to the gut.
“Not quite,” she says, nearly in a whisper, and for a second she turns to seek him out and her hair swings around her shoulders, showering Greg with her warm scent. “I think he’s working up to it,” she says, and when her eyes catch Greg’s again, she suddenly looks horrified.
“It’s not... I’m not... just pretend I didn’t ask that,” he says, willing her to agree.
She bites her lip, eyes bright. “I’m sorry. That was really insensitive. I didn’t realise,” she says, ruffling Jeannie’s head as though she doesn’t know what to do with her hands.
Greg just holds the wriggling creature tighter and forces a smile, hoping it’s not as pathetic as it feels. “Well, I hope he does ask you out. If that’s what you want,” he says, tilting his chin upwards.
Hermione gives him a small smile. “We’ll see,” she says softly. She takes a deep breath. “I really did want to talk to you, you know. It wasn’t only an excuse to get those two idiots to have a conversation.”
Greg looks over at Potter and Draco. He had almost forgotten all about them. To his astonishment, they are having a conversation. It looks a bit awkward, as though neither of them is sure where to look now that they can’t just stare in secret any more, but they are talking. Potter is laughing and rubbing the back of his neck with his hand, and Draco is smiling in the way he only does when he’s really pleased about something.
“What about idiots?” he says distractedly and Hermione laughs again, easily pulling back his attention.
“I said that I wanted to talk to you. It wasn’t just an excuse. That said, thank you for giving me an excuse to stop all the staring.”
“It wasn’t on purpose,” Greg says, ducking his head to avoid Jeannie’s flicking tail.
“I know, but it was fantastic. And you’re so brilliant with animals,” she says.
“Rowwww!” says Jeannie, opening her mouth wide.
Greg looks at the ground, feeling his face heat. “I like them, that’s why.”
“I just... this is going to sound awful, but I wondered if anyone had actually ever told you that. I’ve heard some of the other Slytherins calling you... well, saying that you aren’t very clever, and yet you’re completely carrying Crabbe and Malfoy in this class,” Hermione says, and her voice is that I-have-something-to-say-and-you’re-going-to-hear-it one that Greg has only heard her use with her friends.
Maybe she wants to be friends. He’ll take it.
“Thanks,” he says, resting his chin on the top of Jeannie’s furry head and wishing he had all the words like Thomas or all the class like Draco or even all the charm like Potter. It’s not going to happen, though, and Hermione is talking to him anyway. She doesn’t have to be standing there and smiling kindly at him; Weasley is waiting now, hovering somewhere out of the corner of his eye, probably wondering what the hell has happened to his friends in his absence.
“Yes,” Hermione whispers, and Greg is confused, but then he turns to look where she is looking, and sees that Potter and Draco are walking together back to the castle. They are perfectly in step and Draco has his hand just resting on Potter’s arm. Greg lets out a long, restless breath.
“Hermione?”
She turns again to look at Weasley, who looks about as confused as Greg feels most of the time. Hermione waves at him and indicates that she’ll be over in a moment, and Greg hopes very hard that Weasley knows how lucky he is.
“I have to go,” she says, and she sounds genuinely sorry.
Greg nods. Jeannie makes an odd sort of growling purr as Hermione scratches behind her ears.
“Thanks,” he says again.
She smiles. “I’ll see you on Monday morning. We still have to finish our Perspicacity Potion.”
She turns and runs across the grass to Weasley, who immediately launches into a series of questions.
Greg sighs and turns away. Jeannie is a warm, comforting weight in his arms as he trudges through the grass to Hagrid and hands her over. He is alone as he walks back to the castle, thinking about Weasley and Hermione and Potter and Draco and Vince and his strange girlfriend. Both Vince and Draco are missing from the dinner table and, unsurprisingly, so is Potter. He catches Hermione’s eye as she lifts a forkful of potato salad to her mouth and she grins. She flicks her eyes to the empty place where Potter usually sits and then over to Draco’s spot at the Slytherin table, and he can’t help it; he grins, too.
He loves her. And tonight in the dorm is going to be interesting. Whatever Draco has been up to, it’s going to be a change from Veelas and tits.