dramione oneshot
It had been over three years now of bickering. Name-calling, for the first year. Vicious academic competition for the second. The third, mostly ignoring each other, except for one notable punch to the nose.
By fourth year, Draco was obsessed. All he could think about was that stupid girl, who had somehow bested him in every possible way that mattered. She did better in all of their classes, no matter how much time he spent studying. She had better friends–better as in they seemed happier, the Weasel with his bright red hair and lanky figure, Potter with his stupid scar. Everyone loved Potter for defeating Voldemort when he was a kid, once and for all. Draco heard that he lived with his godfather and his boyfriend, and Granger and Weasley visited for holidays. She was always laughing in the hallways, always giddy when she got an answer right. Her hair was still bushy, but in a wild, carefree way. Her smile haunted him.
It wasn’t that Draco wasn’t happy. His parents loved him, even if they were overbearing and forced him into extra tutoring. They used to spoil him rotten, and still insisted on buying the highest quality items when he (rarely) requested something. His friends were nice. Crabbe and Goyle had been moved to Durmstrang when they struggled in classes, so he befriended Theo Nott and Blaise Zabini. They were charismatic and funny, but Draco felt like no matter how happy he presented, he would never experience the joy that Granger radiated.
It made it all the more frustrating that she barely paid any attention to him anymore. True, last year they barely even looked at each other. Draco was still being a prat (though he struggled to admit that to anyone else). Ideals of blood purity had mostly faded, but Draco’s father had been insistent that, somehow, it still mattered. Third year, his parents fought ruthlessly about it for months on end. Draco’s mother had moved past those beliefs. She wanted to “mingle” with other muggleborns, and Lucius was insistent that the Malfoys should only associate with the other members of the Sacred 28, even if half-bloods made up the majority of family members now. Third year, while Granger was somehow managing to take every bloody class Hogwarts offered, Draco was constantly drowning in owls from both his parents. It made him particularly vicious, something buried deep in the pile of regrets.
Over the summer holidays, before fourth year, when he and his mother traveled to France to see extended family, Narcissa had insisted that he join him on an excursion to a muggle art museum. Draco read in the paper pamphlet that it was one of the largest in the world. None of the portraits moved, to his initial dissatisfaction, but there was something in them that was much more captivating. Many of the pieces lacked a distinct subject, and yet the ambiguity caught him, emotionally stalling him. The brushstrokes were wild, visceral, bewitching. He found himself trapped in the visible paths of creativity, of a muggle’s unique style.
He saw her, then. She was faced away from him, standing with a tall man and a woman with dark hair tied neatly in a bun. She had clearly inherited the curls from her father, though his were cropped short, but other than that, she could have been a living photograph of her mother at fourteen. The three of them laughed, talking vivaciously as the man pointed out some detail of the work they were in front of. Draco was unable to look away, staring at the curve of her nose and line of her cheekbone as she turned to whisper something–a teasing comment, perhaps–to her mother.
“Coming, Draco?” Narcissa had asked. He tore his gaze away from her to see his mother watching with a soft look. They had made their way back outside. Narcissa wanted to sit for a moment, to watch the passerby in the Tuileries gardens.
They sat in comfortable silence for a moment. Draco watched the pigeons hop around a statue, looking for crumbs of food from tourists.
“It’s incredible, isn’t it?” Narcissa had broken the silence.
Draco nodded. The art had been remarkable, but more than that, he saw families and livelihoods and people in muggles. He hadn’t before.
“You must remember this, Draco. When your father tells you that muggles are worth less than us, that they’re unintelligent or foolish. They’re people, just like us. They have whole worlds that we’re not part of, same as we do.”
“Why do you argue with him so much? Why lately?” Draco has asked. The arguing had finally died down, but the Manor had been filled with heavy silence for the weeks before they left.
Narcissa looked at him with a strange expression and took his hand. “Do you remember that I had sisters?”
“Aunt Bellatrix and Aunt Andromeda.”
“You’ve never met either. Bellatrix is in Azkaban, obviously, but Andy…” Narcissa trailed off, and Draco had been worried she wouldn’t continue. After a moment, though, she said, “My family cut Andy off when she married a muggleborn. She sent me a letter last fall. Her daughter just finished auror training.”
“Her… daughter?” Draco wasn’t aware he had a cousin. If she had just finished training, that made her a good deal older than him–maybe eight years?
“Nymphadora. I would like you two to meet, if you’d like.” Narcissa tilted her face to the sun. The gardens were full of people, all wandering and talking and soaking up the summer heat. “I missed my sister. I was wrong to listen to my mother and cut her off. I met Ted–her husband–and he is such a kind man. I can’t imagine how I ever thought he was… ruining the bloodline.”
Draco had been confused, but at seeing the joy his mother felt, he too let go of the last prejudices he had. It was long past time.
Now, a few months later, sitting in the Great Hall was torture. Granger was gorgeous–easily more beautiful than that day at the Louvre. She had twisted her curls up, but a few still fell around her face as she scribbled on a piece of parchment. She was no doubt writing the potions essay that had been assigned that day. The girls next to her (the Weasley girl, and the pretty Gryffindor Patil) were busy ogling the Durmstrang boys huddled around Krum, but Granger paid them no mind. He couldn’t help but watch as she wrote furiously, tucking a lock of hair the rich color of mahogany behind an ear.
“Earth to Draco,” Theo said, waving his hand in front of Draco’s face.
He snapped to attention. “What?”
“Who were you looking at?” Theo asked, following his gaze. “Patil? Or Granger?”
“No one.” Draco ignored the flush in his cheeks.
Theo raised an eyebrow, but Blaise elbowed him and he let it go. The conversation turned to the first Triwizard task, where Krum would be competing against Delacour and Diggory. It was humbling to see the whole school rally around a Hufflepuff, but a small part of Draco thought that Cedric might be one of the best wizards in Hogwarts. Most reasonable, at least. Besides, it was better than supporting a Gryffindor.
A few days later, Draco, Theo, and Blaise made their way into Defense Against the Dark Arts. They had finally moved past nocturnal creatures, much to Professor Lupin’s relief. He was definitely the most capable professor they had had, and Draco was happy that he returned to Hogwarts after news got out about his lycanthropy. It was a bonus that the students got to watch him bicker with Snape constantly. Lupin and Sirius Black were legends in Wizarding Britain. Both had been part of the Order of the Phoenix with Dumbledore and Potter’s parents and a few others. After Voldemort’s killing curse on Potter rebounded, Lupin and Black spent years hunting down horcruxes on Dumbledore’s suggestions and raising their godson. The last horcrux had been destroyed shortly before Harry–and Draco– were Hogwarts-aged. Black visited Hogwarts occasionally, and those fights with Snape were even more explosive.
As they rounded the corner, Granger appeared at the end of the hallway, walking the opposite direction. Her presence caused an immediate reaction in Draco–he couldn’t explain it, but he always knew she was in a room from the way his chest tightened and his tongue lost the ability to form words. He straightened up. Theo and Blaise quieted, and he could feel their eyes on him as he watched her approach.
Granger raised her chin defiantly, and Draco knew she planned on ignoring him. Still, he couldn’t stop himself from greeting her with a nod and, “Granger.”
Her expression faltered for just a moment, and he knew he surprised her. She recovered quickly. “Malfoy.”
They passed, and the narrow was just narrow enough that if he had reached out, he could have brushed her shoulder. He couldn’t breathe until she turned the corner behind him.
“What was that?” Blaise spoke first, shouldering him.
“Draco’s got a crush,” Theo said in a sing-song voice, throwing an arm around Draco’s shoulders.
He shoved them both off, his cheeks heating. “Fuck off,” he mumbled.
His friends cackled, and the jokes didn’t die down until after Lupin took points from Slytherin from all three for not paying attention. Draco sent a stinging hex at Theo’s groin, anyway.
After that, Draco’s interactions with Granger warmed slightly. Instead of outright ignoring each other, they continued to greet each other in the halls with only their surnames. Hearing her voice, hearing her say his name, was the best part of his day–he began changing his routes to class, trying to pass her more just for the chance of seeing her again. He spent more and more time in the library–to study, yes, but also to catch glimpses of her. She spent every evening at the same table, her books and parchment spread around her like a dragon’s hoard. Draco tried not to look at her, and he never ogled, but he couldn’t deny that spending hours just a bookshelf away from her was intoxicating. He wanted to know her–to know her thoughts, to listen to her opinions on the latest giant war in History of Magic, to learn every reason she frowned or creased her brow while reading.
Draco began reading the books she replaced, trying to guess at which parts she found particularly intriguing. Blaise and Theo teased him relentlessly, and half of their housemates had picked up on his interest–he refused to admit that it was a crush. He raised his hand in class just to pick silly little arguments with whatever she had just said. He didn’t really care, she was usually right. He just wanted her to turn to him, to straighten her spine and get the fire in her eye that only appeared when he caught her attention. His grades shot up thanks to his extra work.
One sunny day at the start of October, when the leaves were turning shades of orange and red, she smiled at him in the hall, and he could’ve sworn the corridor turned gold.
Maybe a week later, Draco was studying for a Charms test when a stack of books dropped down on his table with a slam. He jumped, not having realized that anyone had approached.
Standing above the books, with a small smile that showed off a slight dimple, was Granger. “May I join you?”
He nodded, unable to find the words. She shoved the books to the side, taking the seat across from him and pulling out her own Charms work. “What do you think about the severing charm? I tried it a few weeks ago, and found it simple at the time, but I’m struggling to make lacerations longer than a few inches…”
Most of their class was struggling to make a cut an inch across, but Draco suppressed his smile, placing his quill down to listen to her.
Their friendship–if you could call it that–developed slowly. They argued and squabbled and debated every day, about any subject they talked about. She critiqued his pessimism. He thought she was idealistic to the point of impracticality. Their quarrels followed into classes and corridors, resulting in eye-rolls from classmates and professors. On one particularly memorable occasion, they had a full row in Charms class, both yelling with red faces until Flitwick finally cast a Sonorus on himself to give them both detention.
Draco had never met someone quite so infuriating and yet also so addicting. They fought every day, and yet everyday, Granger or Draco would sit at the other’s table. They would smile at each other, and for a moment, Draco would be happier than he ever thought possible. On the rare occasion when he resisted the urge to tease her, they worked well together. He thought about her constantly–not just their arguments, but also just the way her curls fell over her shoulder, and how she bit her lip when she was solving a particularly difficult problem, and that she frequently carried around sugar quills for when she had a lot of reading to do. His crush was growing, as his friends reminded him constantly.
During the first Triwizard task, Blaise and Theo had regrettably chosen seats right behind Granger and her friends. Potter seemed indifferent and even friendly to them, but the Weasel sulked, shooting Draco glares. He couldn’t explain why, but his hostility boosted Draco’s ego, just slightly. There had to be a reason Weasley disliked him, and Draco was likely to believe the rumors that he was interested in Granger, which meant that he viewed Draco as competition.
And if Draco was competition, then Draco had a chance.
Regardless, it was impossible to focus on Weasley for more than a moment with Granger in the seat in front of him. Her perfume–or maybe just her soap?--was an airy floral scent that felt like a drug in Draco’s veins, a pepper-up potion that was both drowning him and waking him up from years of sleep. He barely watched Cedric steal the egg from the dragon, his focus stolen entirely by Granger.
As the months went on, Draco and Granger bickered less. They still argued, of course, but they were more likely to be explosive fights. It was rarer, too. Impending exams loomed over their time in the library, and they focused on their studies rather than silly disagreements. Soon, it was the end of November.
Granger was stressed, Draco could tell. She avoided the Great Hall more and more. A few times, Draco would wander to the library at odd hours to find her toiling away. One of these times, he heard her talking in a low voice before he turned the corner in the shelves that would lead to Granger’s favorite table.
He paused. He supposed Granger could be talking to other men for a variety of reasons. Many of her housemates turned to her for help with their schoolwork. Still, the gruff, distinctively male voice caused a rise of jealousy in his chest. He had no claim on her, he knew that–but yet. A rising hatred for this man, whoever he was, choked him. It was all he could do to turn around and head back the way he came.
In the Slytherin dungeons, Draco simply spelled the curtains around his bed to stay closed, wallowing in his own self-pity. It was ridiculous to assume that just because they spent time discussing anything and everything they thought of that Granger actually enjoyed spending time with him. It was ridiculous of him to assume he had a chance just because Weasley–who treated Granger like she was already bound to him–was jealous of him.
Someone pounded on one of the posts of his canopy. “Draco, open up!” Theo yelled.
Draco, who was rather dramatically draped across his bedspread, rolled his eyes and flipped over to his back. With a flick of his wand, the curtains opened and the pounding ceased.
“Quit being a baby and just ask her to the Yule Ball.” Theo flopped down on the end of the mattress. Blaise sat down next to him.
“Ask who?” Draco muttered petulantly. Theo reached for a pillow to smack him with. “Ow, Theo!”
“Hermione, obviously,” Blaise answered anyway.
Draco rolled her eyes. “There’s no way she’d say yes. And then I’d never be able to look at her again without feeling humiliated.”
“I think she likes you.”
“Everyone knows you two are pretty much shagging,” Theo chimed in.
“We are not doing anything even remotely resembling shagging.”
“Please, we see how hot and bothered you get when she yells at you.”
Draco hurled the pillow at Theo’s head. Blaise reached over and caught it before it landed. “Draco, you should really just get it over with. Unless you want someone else asking her.”
“I think someone else has,” he groaned.
“Who?” Theo sat up, interested.
“I don’t know. She was talking to someone in the library.”
“You didn’t see who?”
“I left,” Draco admitted. He covered his face with both hands, staring at the ceiling through the gaps in his fingers. “I don’t know. I feel ridiculous.”
“You are ridiculous,” Theo agreed. “But only because you can’t man up and just ask her out.”
“I agree,” Blaise said with a nod, his hair–in fresh twists, redone by Daphne Greengrass–brushing his cheekbones.
Draco rolled his eyes, even though they probably wouldn’t see it. “I’ll ask her soon.”
“Soon” turned out to be the next day. He couldn’t help it, he was nervous. He shoved the special edition of Hogwarts: A History he had ordered for her Christmas gift (if he would have ever been brave enough to give it to her) in his bag that morning. They both had free periods before lunch, and after his first class, Draco was a wreck. He kept running his hands through his hair, ruining the style he had carefully crafted that morning, and he repeatedly wiped his sweaty palms on his robes as he made his way through the columns of books.
Granger was sitting at their–her–usual table. Sun streamed through the narrow window beside her, lighting her up until her bronzed skin seemed to glow of its own accord. Draco’s breath caught in his throat.
She smiled at him as he approached, and he tried to smile back as he sat down. He was sure it looked pained instead. He opened his bag and stared at the book inside, pulling it onto his lap under the table.
Draco took a deep breath. “Granger.”
She looked up at him with another ready smile. “Yes?”
He stared at her for a moment before finally asking hurriedly, “Will you go to the Yule Ball with me?”
It was like the clouds rapidly descended upon the sun–her face fell, her smile fading. “Oh. I’m so sorry, but someone already asked me,” she said apologetically.
Those words began looping in his brain, over and over–someone already asked her. His blood roared in his ears. He heard himself mumble some apology, or perhaps just an acknowledgement. He shoved the book back into his bag.
Did she look disappointed because she was hoping he would ask her sooner? Or–more likely–because she didn’t want him feeling any attraction to her? Could it be that Blaise and Theo were wrong, that she wasn’t interested in him whatsoever?
“Its just that–well, we fight quite often. I didn’t think you were interested. Or maybe that we just–wouldn’t be good together, I guess? I honestly didn’t think you’d ever ask me. I didn’t think you thought we were compatible, and maybe we’re not,” Granger rambled. Draco felt like something was slowly cracking in his ribcage as “Someone already asked her” was replaced as his mantra by “not compatible.”
“Not… compatible.” Draco repeated.
Granger flushed. “Yes, well… I didn’t think you were the kind of boy… man… to enjoy my general–” she waved an arm to encompass herself, “--chaos.”
He ignored the slight indignation at being called a boy. Draco pushed up from the table, gripping the strap of his bag. He struggled to find words, any words. His brain had seemed to slow, and all he knew was that he needed to get away from her. “My… apologies.” He forced out the words before turning on his heel and striding down the row of shelves. As soon as he rounded the last shelf, he sped his pace to a near run. Madam Pince gave him a glare as he flew past her, but he ignored her.
He finally slowed when he reached the dungeons. He was supposed to have class that afternoon, but he didn’t think he could handle Blaise and Theo giving him pitying looks while Snape nitpicked Granger through an hour of potion-brewing. At least, not with his current emotional distress. Instead of going to the common room like he had planned, he found himself turning away, his feet leading him outside of his own accord.
In a normal year, the quidditch season would be wrapping up by now. A thin layer of snow coated the pitch, sparkling in the sunshine. Draco hadn’t been flying in–how long had it been? He’d been preoccupied with Granger.
He dropped off his school bag in the locker room and grabbed his broom. The morning air was crisp and cool. It stung his cheeks as he kicked off and soared up over the Forbidden Forest. When the castle was as small as the models in Christmas window displays, he relaxed, taking a long, deep breath that froze his lungs.
What did it matter if Granger wasn’t interested? He was sure this crush would disappear soon, anyway. Besides, maybe she was right. They had to be too different.
With that, Draco resolved to suppress any lingering feelings for Granger. He spent the remaining hours of his free period and lunch practicing his dives and rolls until his face was flushed and his fingers were numb around the broomstick.
That day in Potions, Draco didn’t pick any fights with Granger. He even ignored her when she made pointed accusations. Blaise and Theo immediately knew what happened, he could tell by their shared looks. Thankfully, he apparently didn’t look miserable enough to be pitied.
He didn’t sit next to her in the library that night. Instead, he chose a table a few rows away, hidden behind a few shelves and out of view from hers. He worked steadily until he heard her get up to leave, and then made his way to dinner, where he steadily avoided looking at her. He cracked jokes with Blaise and Theo, made Pansy Parkinson and Daphne Greengrass laugh, and kept his head high when they all left for the common room.
The next few weeks proceeded in the same manner. Draco would greet her in the hallways with a nod but dodged her attempts at conversation. He never raised his hand in their shared classes. He even regularly changed his spot in the library so she wouldn’t join him.
Draco was quite proud of how well he was avoiding his feelings. He did, however, repeatedly fail at quashing errant thoughts of how much he missed her. Occasionally, during a particularly boring lecture from Binns or another professor, he would imagine how they would discuss it–what would inevitably trigger another debate. He could almost picture her riled up and shouting at him for cutting her off or calling her a particularly self-important advocate for ridiculous causes. Not that he actually thought that, of course. He just thought she was adorable when she was defending her honor.
Then, of course, he would remember that he was supposed to be not thinking she was adorable, so he would shove aside any residual daydreams and fond thoughts of Granger.
His efforts came to a head when, at a tiny, rickety desk in the very back of the section on NEWT preparations, Granger came marching up to him.
She slammed–actually slammed–a book on the desk. Draco half expected the wood to splinter under the force. “Why have you been avoiding me?” Granger demanded.
Draco tried not to look at her. Her curls were tied into a short braid that hung over her shoulder, and Draco had a brief image of undoing it, running his fingers through the strands. She was gorgeous, and it made it impossible to pay attention. “Avoiding you?”
“Don’t play stupid, it doesn’t suit you.”
“Perhaps I didn’t think you’d want to converse with someone so incompatible with you,” Draco snapped.
“Maybe your antagonistic tendencies provided me an opportunity to sharpen my wit.”
“Shame you can’t use wit in a conversation with Weasley. It’d fly right over his carrot-top.”
Draco was pretending to be focused on his Charms work, but he could almost feel Granger roll her eyes. “Is this because I’m going to the ball with someone else?”
He ignored the rising frustration and embarrassment in his throat and drawled, “Why on earth would I care, Granger?”
“You tell me, you’re the one that’s been sulking.”
“I don’t sulk.” He had, in fact, been sulking, but he was doing his best to hide that from her.
“You’re a ridiculous little ferret,” Granger stated firmly.
Draco’s mouth dropped open. “A ferret? That’s insulting.”
She raised her chin. “Seems fitting to me.”
He stood then, looking down on her. Trying to keep his tone even and bored, he said, “You know what seems fitting to me? I think Weasley is the perfect fit for you. Safe, boring, reliable. Tell me, how often do you two talk? About anything?”
Granger turned pink. “We talk, and anyways–”
“Do you actually talk, or do you talk and he pretends his eyes aren’t glazing over?”
“Ron listens to me–”
“He listens like a dog,” Draco muttered. It was cruel, but Granger was being cruel too. Rejecting him was one thing, but holding it over his head was another.
“Anyways, Ron didn’t ask me to the ball.”
This stunned Draco momentarily. “He… didn’t?”
“No.” Granger bit her lip, turning from pink to magenta. “Krum did.”
“Viktor Krum?”
“Yes. He comes and talks to me, here.” She waved a hand in the general direction of her table.
“You… you like Krum?” Draco asked dazedly. There was nothing he could do to compete with a celebrity quidditch player. He may have had a chance against Weasley, but against Krum?
“Well–not really, honestly, it’s quite difficult to talk to him sometimes. But regardless, he asked me, and I said yes because he’s a friend.”
“Would you have said yes to me?” He regretted the question as soon as it left his lips. He turned away from her, grabbing his schoolwork to shove it haphazardly in his bag. “Nevermind, don’t answer that.”
“Maybe,” she whispered.
He fumbled with the last textbook, but forced it in his bag regardless. “Good to know I maybe make the cut for the great Hermione Granger.”
The clasp was stuck–too many items crammed in. He yanked out a book. The copy of Hogwarts: A History still had shiny, foiled letters on the cover. Before he thought about it, he shoved it into her hands. “Since I’m clearly wrong for you, leave. Me. Alone,” he seethed. He tugged the bag closed and strode down the shelves, away from her. Away from the book he bought for her with, he belatedly realized, a silly note he had written tucked in the front cover.
Whatever, he thought. It didn’t matter anymore anyways. Hopefully, his distraction would now avoid him the way he did her, and he could focus on midterms.
Draco was wrong. Granger had apparently taken his words as a challenge to track him down as often as possible. He skirted around her in the Great Hall, ducking around corners when he saw her coming, even retreating to the Slytherin common room when she was particularly determined to talk to him. She even sat next to him in class, forcing him to spend a double block in stony silence. In Charms, too–normally his favorite class.
It was ridiculous. She had no reason to care about whether or not he talked to her. She should actually be happy that he wasn’t.
By the end of the term, Draco was irritated. Blaise and Theo teased him relentlessly, but Draco ignored them. Dodging Granger around the castle was exhausting. After his final day of classes before the Yule Ball and the holidays, Draco had gone out to the quidditch pitch to fly, only to find a locking muggle wire with a series of spinning numbers tying his broom firmly to his locker. He considered charming it, but unlocking spells didn’t work, and he didn’t want to risk spelling his broom with any sort of slicing hex. Though, Granger probably blocked those too.
Annoyed, Draco headed back up to the castle. The Great Hall was full of chatter, excited talk about the upcoming ball. Draco would rather be coughing up slugs than discussing it.
When he dropped his book bag on the floor and slumped down, Theo just laughed. “I see you found your broom.”
Draco snapped his head up. He narrowed his eyes at his friend. “How did you know about the lock?”
Theo shrugged cheerfully. “I helped Hermione spell it, of course.”
“You did what?!”
“I’m hoping you talk to her soon. This has all been unbearably tense for us, you know.”
“Tense for you?” Draco straightened, his annoyance turning to anger. “How is it tense for you, Theo? She rejected me, told me she isn’t interested in the man she rejected me for, and then, to top it off, said that she doesn’t even know if she’s interested in me anyway. If that wasn’t enough, she’s been following me around the castle like a goddamn ghoul!”
His voice, thankfully, didn’t rise much in volume, but Draco was still breathing hard when he finished like he had been shouting. Abruptly, he pushed up from the table, slinging his bag over his shoulder.
“Draco–” Blaise started.
Draco ignored him, ignoring the eyes from the nearby students as he stalked out of the Great Hall.
His anger faded quickly, though. He knew Theo and Granger were friends, though he couldn’t quite remember how that came to be. Draco couldn’t blame Theo for wanting him and Granger to get along. However, he would have to think of a particularly humiliating retribution for his broom.
Theo and Blaise returned to the common room shortly after he did. Blaise gave him a napkin of mince pies as they sat in the armchairs facing him.
Theo leaned forward, elbows on his knees. “I’m sorry, Draco. I shouldn’t have helped Hermione lock up your broom. And you’re right, it was wrong of her to treat you that way.”
Draco eyed him over a pastry. “I’m going to get you back for this,” he muttered. A twinge of embarrassment over his outburst settled in the pit of his stomach, and he shifted uncomfortably. “It’s all ridiculous.”
Blaise inspected the edge of a fingernail. “If you don’t mind me asking, why are you avoiding her? I thought you’d be happy to have her attention.”
“I don’t know,” he sighed. “It was humiliating. Repeatedly. And maybe she was right, maybe we’re not compatible. If she says I’m not the kind of person she wants, who am I to argue?”
He set down the remaining pies, his appetite gone. “I certainly can’t blame her, not with everything I’ve done to her.”
For a long moment, the only sound was the crackling of the flames in the hearth, tinged blue and green like driftwood fires. Draco watched them. Sometimes, late at night, he wished for warmer colors, bright oranges and reds and golds. But that was silly.
“I think the most important people are the ones we become better for,” Theo said quietly. His gaze was also on the fire. His face was solemn, but he gave a small smile when he saw Draco looking. “Not to say that we don’t like you now, Draco, but maybe changing for her wouldn’t be the worst thing.”
Theo’s words still rang in Draco’s ears that weekend, the night of the Yule Ball. He couldn’t help feeling slightly disgruntled. Hadn’t he changed? He wasn’t the same person he was a year ago, or even six months ago. Couldn’t Theo see that? How much more would he have to do?
He fussed with the white bow tie around his neck, tying and retying it. It was definitely time to head to the Great Hall, but Theo was still frantically gelling his curls smooth. Blaise, Draco, Daphne and her younger sister, and Pansy waited in the common room, occasionally shouting at Theo to hurry up. Draco didn’t know Astoria very well–Theo said that she had a crush on him before it became so blatantly obvious that his attention was taken. Now, feeling awkward around her, Draco settled for pacing and fixing the permanently-crooked tie.
His tailored vest tightened around his waist, but thankfully the sleeves of his dress shirt were loose. They were all startlingly white. Narcissa would have killed him if he had stained it before the ball. Or at the ball, even. She had it mailed to him with a sly note about a curly-haired date, which he had burned halfway through reading it. His black robes were draped over the arm of the chair that Blaise currently lounged on.
Theo finally came sauntering out of the dormitories. His hair didn’t look any different than it had fifteen minutes ago, but Draco kept that to himself. Theo offered his arm to Astoria. “Shall we?”
She took it, a slight smile on her face. Astoria had a propriety that most Slytherin girls aimed for. Daphne, however, did not–she haphazardly tossed her purse at Blaise and strode out of the common room without waiting for him to even stand.
Pansy stood from the sofa, smoothing her gown flat and waiting for Draco to grab his robes. Her dark hair was twisted into a smooth updo, and her pale pink gown was fluffy and sparkly, something he couldn’t ever imagine Pansy picking. She had confided earlier that her mother made some snide comment about the dress in the store, so obviously it was the only one she wanted. She and her mother, needless to say, had a complicated relationship. Still, the dress was beautiful on her. Pansy was beautiful. If she wasn’t desperately in love with Daphne, and if Draco could ever successfully quash his feelings for Granger, they would have made a striking couple.
He offered her his arm, and they followed their friends into the corridor and up the stairs. The crowd around the doors chatted excitedly. Draco felt frayed at the edges, like a sweater coming unraveled. He scanned the crowd, telling himself that he wasn’t looking for her. Still, a wave of disappointment washed over him at the sight of Potter and Weasley standing with the Patil twins, no Granger in sight. Theo caught him looking and gave him an exaggerated wink, which Draco ignored. He spotted Krum, as well, standing in a huddle of massive Durmstrang boys more akin to trolls than teenagers.
Professor McGonagall rounded the corner, ushering the crowd away from the doors and bringing Fleur, Cedric, and Krum to the front with their respective dates. Cho Chang was hurrying down the steps to join Cedric, and as Draco watched distantly, a shimmer of blue caught his eye.
Hermione–Granger–hovered at the landing, her gaze searching the crowd. Draco’s breath caught in his throat, his chest tightening painfully. Her periwinkle dress shimmered and flowed with every step she took, layers of tulle floating around her even as she clutched them. Her beautiful curls had been smoothed and straightened, twisted into some ridiculously complicated up-do rivalling Pansy’s. She bit her lip as she made her way down the stairs. She looked more like she was floating than walking.
For a brief, torturous moment, their eyes met. Draco couldn’t tear his away, couldn’t breathe. She smiled at him, and he could have stayed rooted in that spot, trying desperately to adjust a cufflink without looking, enraptured by her for the rest of time. He wouldn’t have a choice.
But then, like a sign from a muggle deity, McGonagall called her name. She looked away, and Draco followed. Krum was glowing with pride as he stared at her. Weasley stared too, already tomato-red as his gaze swiveled between her and Krum.
A gentle touch at his shoulder brought Draco back to himself. Pansy watched him with gentle, pitying eyes. “Ready?”
He nodded, fastening the link and holding out his arm for her. She gave him a small smile and took it. They followed the crowd into the Great Hall.
The night passed in a blurred crawl. Every moment watching Granger dance with Krum tore at Draco, but his friends kept him distracted, laughing and joking and somehow enjoying himself. The food and drink were plentiful and, thanks to Blaise’s flask, delightfully strong. He didn’t let himself get drunk, though. His mother would kill him if she saw any headlines about him in the Prophet.
After a few hours, Draco was exhausted, Pansy was dancing with Daphne, and Blaise and Theo were half-asleep. Most of the crowd had simmered down, though many were still dancing. Draco watched out of the corner of his eye as Granger made her way through the tables where Potter and Weasley sat moping. She shone with happiness as she reached them. As Draco watched, though, Weasley extinguished that radiance. He said something to her, obviously scathing, and Granger’s face filled with hurt as she snapped something back and turned away.
Draco watched her leaving, caught up by the urge to run after her. Maybe it was the alcohol–but no, he hadn’t drank in hours, and he had barely any to begin with–but wasn’t Theo right? Wasn’t she worth changing for? He already had. Every time he picked up another book simply because she read it, she was making him a better person. If they weren’t compatible, wasn’t it worth trying to become so, if it meant that he got even minutes more time with her every day?
And he didn’t want minutes. For months now, he wanted her, for more than just hours at the library. He wanted to spend years getting to know every thought and quirk she had. He wanted to coax that laugh, that smile, the dimple in her left cheek from her every day, as often as possible. Draco was sick of watching her with other men and feeling like he wasn’t enough for her. He wanted to spend his whole life being better than he thought he could be.
The thought hit him like a brick to the face. Draco wanted a life with Granger–getting to know her parents, returning to a shared home every day, telling her he loved her whenever he wanted. Everything a life with the swotty, fiery woman would entail, even if it meant his bookshelves would never be properly organized again.
He didn’t spare a look at his friends before bolting upright. He strode out of the Great Hall, trying to maintain his composure until the doors swung shut behind him and he could break into a run. His heart was so full of buoyant hope that he felt like he was flying as he took the stairs two at a time. A few groups of girls sitting on the main stairway tittered as he passed, and a few fifth year boys whooped, but Draco ignored them all. Instead, he wound his way up the castle.
He caught up to her around the fifth floor. No one else lingered so far from the ball. Granger sat with her arms wrapped around her knees, her head down. Her shoes had been kicked off on the stair below her. Her dress was less magical up close, the layers revealed to be normal tulle and silk, but her straightened hair was still just as bizarre.
Draco was sure she had heard him approach, panting, but she didn’t look up until he sat next to her shoes, placing them neatly together.
“Come to rub it in, Malfoy?” Granger’s voice was scathing, but her expression lacked the same heat. “You were right. Ron’s an ass, Krum’s impossible to hold a conversation with, and I’ve ended up alone again.”
Even with her eyes reddened and her makeup smudged, she was beautiful.
“Hermione.” Was this the first time he said her name? To her, definitely. It tasted sweet and melodious in his mouth.
She shot him a halfhearted glare and sat back against the wall, stretching her legs out the length of the stair. “What?”
Draco hesitated. How could he say this? How does one spill every thought and feeling in their overflowing heart to someone who might not–probably doesn’t–feel the same?
She looked so lonely. So defeated. It broke his heart more than when she said they wouldn’t work. “You don’t have to be alone.”
“I don’t–I don’t even know what I need. It’s ridiculous to think…” Hermione trailed off. She scrubbed the back of her hand over her cheek. “How can I ask anyone to even consider it? I know my flaws.”
“You have plenty.”
She shoved at his shoulder. Draco almost laughed, caught off-guard by the casual touch. She smiled at him, though, and the hope he had leaving the Great Hall returned like a pepper-up potion, flooding his veins with anticipation. “You forget to eat. You spend too much time in the library. You knit too many hats for the house elves. You hate quidditch, which is frankly unacceptable. You’re a know-it-all, and bossy, and obsessed with the strangest music I’ve ever heard.”
She shoved him again, a little harder. “Way to cheer me up.”
He grinned–he couldn’t help it. She was smiling at him, a light in her eyes that was softer than the kind she got when she yelled at him. He took that as encouragement. “Hermione, you said that you didn’t think I was the kind of man to enjoy your chaos. And I think you were right.”
Hesitancy in her face now, matching the sick anxiety in his chest. This was the important part. “But… forget the man I am. What kind of man do you need?”
The words came out soft, quiet. Something shifted in Hermione’s eyes, but Draco plowed on. “If you need me to remind you to eat when you’ve buried yourself in books, I will. If you need me to drag you outside to get sunshine, I will. I’ll learn how to knit socks for your bloody society. If you need me to quit quidditch, I will. I’ll do anything because I can’t stand losing you.”
More tears began to trickle down Hermione’s cheeks, but Draco was in too deep to stop now. He took a risk and reached for her hand, and she grasped him tightly. “I’ll love you for the rest of my life, until the end of the line, if you’ll let me.”
Hermione leaned forward, reaching to hold both his hands. Her voice was steady, despite the crying, as she said, “I don’t need anything else. I just need you.”
Relief flooded Draco’s veins. He blinked hard as his eyes filled with tears, too. “Really?”
Hermione laughed. “I’m sorry for chasing you around the school.”
Draco disentangled his hand to reach for her, pulling her onto his lap so he could finally hold her. “I’m sorry for hiding.”
“I’m sorry for locking up your broom.”
“That was evil, Granger,” Draco muttered. Her hair smelled like her normal floral scent and something chemical and unfamiliar. She wrapped her arms around his neck and dropped her forehead to his.
“Thank you for the book,” she breathed.
Draco had never been so close to someone. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d been given an actual hug. Having Hermione in his arms–after so many months of wondering what it would feel like–muddled his brain. “What?”
“For Hogwarts: A History. It’s my favorite.”
“I… know.” Draco had momentarily forgotten about the book that he had bought for her and then shoved away weeks ago. Damn, he would have to get her a Christmas present.
Hermione laughed, a light, breathy sound. “I love you. I should have known before that, but when I read your note, it all clicked.”
The note. Draco swore under his breath, eliciting a snort from Hermione. He admitted, “I forgot about that.”
“I loved it. I love you. I love you,” she repeated.
She could probably hear–feel Draco’s heart through his dress shirt, beating the speed of a snitch’s wings. When their lips finally met, it stopped completely.
Hermione,
I’ve tried to write this at least a dozen times. Several pieces of parchment and a few quills have been ruined in your honor.
I care for you, quite deeply. I saw you over the summer at the Louvre, and even then I think I knew you would change my life. Even years ago, actually. I’m sorry a thousand times over for how I treated you. I’ll spend the rest of my life trying to make up for it. Hopefully, this book is a start.
