occlumency.

   She thought about his words, aware that the people around them, not even including their immediate friends and family, would look at their relationship differently. They were supposed to be opposites, they would only be dating to make each other look good– but Hermione knew it was beyond that. She understood that what Draco was saying wasn’t true, their bonding over the few months had been on feelings and change, not because the other was trying to shed light on themselves and be in good graces of the Wizarding World. “That is how it’s going to look – but what matters is the opinions we have about ourselves and the opinions of our loved ones. If we just explain and gradually introduce them to what we have, maybe they’ll understand. It’s what I want to do.” She bit her lip, looking away and thinking once again about Harry and Ron. 

   Her two best friends were going to be the hardest conquest if they did decide to be together – Hermione couldn’t think of anyone else who could hate Draco as much as Harry and Ron. There would be fights, she had no doubt about that, but not one point did Hermione think that either would disown her or disassociate themselves from her because she decided to pursue a Malfoy. They were past those stages in their lives where the ‘silent treatment’ and avoiding were ways to solve problems, at least she saw it that way. Hermione believed Harry and Ron were far more mature than when they were younger, of course, but that didn’t change their feelings towards Draco. She only hoped they would want the best for her and allow her to be with someone she liked, but even then that was a far-fetched idea. It would be difficult to convince them.

   Hermione looked back over at Draco as he claimed he wanted to be with her, a small smile forming on her lips, her heart beating heavily against her chest. It came out unexpectedly, but she was glad it did, and her worrying ebbed away just the slightest. “I don’t want to hide forever, either – I want to tell people when we are ready.” She explained, biting down on her bottom lip once again, thinking back to Harry and Ron, this time Ginny and the Weasleys, her parents as well. Some would understand, maybe others would be less accepting but would deal with it, but she knew a storm was heading her way with most of them, especially her father. They were loving and kind parents, but he would have something to say about Draco, seeing as Hermione always complained about him when home for the summer and holidays. They would just have to accept it – if they loved Hermione enough, they should love her enough to be happy for her. “If it is what I want, and with enough explaining, I’m sure they will be okay with it eventually. I’m willing to fight for it.”

  Draco honestly doubted that anyone was going to care that this was what Hermione wanted - that Hermione wanted to be with him - in the beginning. All they would see was what Draco had described to her, maybe except for the few people that actually knew them well. But those people saw what the public at large didn’t know: their shared history, another reason why them being together wasn’t supposed to work and didn’t make any sense. The key word in explaining what was going on between them had to be gradually, because announcing that they were dating right off wasn’t going to work. His approach was to tell everyone how happy she made him and that she tried to understand him and made him see things differently at first, enough to make them understand she liked him for who he was and accepted who he had been. Once they got that he would tell them who she was, but no earlier.   “One more thing,” he said. He started to fidget with her fingers, that previously rested with his, again and stared down at the table for a couple of seconds to gather your thoughts. “I like you. You know that. But that doesn’t mean I like any of your friends and I’m not going to play nice.” Ginny he could deal with, something that would probably surprise many people. But Ginny could deal with him too, which was just as surprising. But then there were the Chosen Idiot and his redheaded comrade and Draco simply couldn’t go with that. “If they’re going to try, I will too. But if they won’t neither will I. What I’m saying is that I’m not going to pretend to be someone I’m not just to get along with your friends.” He wasn’t being petty, he was being realistic. He still loathed Potter with every fibre of his being for what he did in their sixth year and Ronald Weasley was what Draco imagined what the mind of the general population would be like and it was something he would much rather never have to deal with again. They were Hermione’s friends, though, and it was up to her to make them understand. because he wouldn’t be making any of an effort to play the role of the scared Death Eater boy that changed 180 degrees once he realized how wrong he was - because that was a stupid fairytale that people made up to rationalize why Draco hadn’t been sentenced to Azkaban.

   Her eyes trailed down from his face to their fingers as he spoke, taking everything in. There were moments when she didn’t want to associate herself with Draco, and that was because of the way her mind worked as well. The over analysing; thinking about the way Harry and Ron would react when she outed the relationship to them, how other people would feel, how she would feel, the exile from her relationships– but that never really lasted long enough to actually make her want to cut ties from Draco. She was reminded of their night on the lake, flying and close together, and he seemed happy, and she was happy. He wanted to do it again. That’s the Draco she wanted her friends to know, the one that was gentle enough to persuade her onto a broom. But then again there was a whole other side of Draco, the one that was raised to despise people like her, to disassociate themselves with ‘dirty blood.’ Her bully, the first to call her mudblood, the one they always pointed fingers at whenever something bad happened at Hogwarts (unrightfully so). It was contradicting and hypocritical to long for someone who you fought against– but she didn’t fight Draco, he wasn’t the start or cause for the war. He was an annoyance for most of her life but he was ‘innocent.’ And he wasn’t the same person as he was before the war. 

   Hermione’s eyes trailed back up to meet his gaze, her lips pursed as she tried to think logically, trying to listen to reason rather than her feelings, but it was too hard to disassociate herself from overwhelming emotions. She needed to stop defending Draco. Could she deal with him? Could she disassociate herself, set aside their differences that have lasted for years, and learn to love Draco? Or was everything just an impulsive act – intimacy being the cause of her cloudy thoughts and her actions? 

   “It is difficult– it’s as if I’m torn between two when I try to make sense of everything. But, this is what I was willing to sacrifice my life for– so that pureblood, muggleborn, whichever title you fall under, are able to set aside these differences and move on from prejudices and traditional views.” She brushed her thumb over his fingers again, “There is risk coming out, people can’t change overnight, but I think it’s a risk I’m willing to try for. I shouldn’t, but I want to. If I don’t, I feel like a hypocrite, making my decisions based off of the past rather than the present and how we both have changed.” As he reached out to tuck some of her hair behind her ear, Hermione smiled momentarily, caught off guard and once again reminded why she was making such an effort to defend their actions. She liked him, it was so obvious; his simple touch tickling her ear distracted her rather easily. He distracted her in general, in a good way.

   “If you are willing, I am willing, and I will take that time for adjustments.” It surprised her how much he was opening up, from the mention of his mind to his pendulum. Hermione took it as a good sign and the right step towards being more personal with one another, even if it was difficult for Draco. “I’m willing to be patient with the way your mind works, with your upbringing, the risks and everything else in between.” Cautiously, she laced her fingers with his, watching for his reaction, “Are you willing to do the same for me?”

      Shoving her things to the side, the book resting on her bag now as she cleared space around them, Hermione smiled as Draco settled into the seat. She agreed, this was one of the tables she normally sought out whenever she wanted quiet and isolation within the library, and it was perfect for this meeting– or rather, the continuation of their date.  She knew it wasn’t going to be like the piano room, the thought of their evening fluttering nervous butterflies in the pit of her stomach. Hermione enjoyed her time far too much but knew they agreed on reading and talking in the library. Besides, it was too public of a place to just grab his face and kiss him, and even so, she was still shy about the whole ordeal to even initiate a kiss. “No, nothing interesting, just trying to make small-talk,” She admitted, leaning over the table so that her chin rested above her knuckles, propping herself up. 

   Her mind raced with different ways she could bring up the topic of conversation, wanting rather badly to just discuss their kiss since it had been tugging at her thoughts since they left the privacy of the chorus room. It took a great deal to not be distracted by it for the rest of their time apart, trying to act normal around Harry and Ron but she couldn’t get the touch of his fingers and his lips out of her mind, it drove her insane, even pulling her away from conversations during dinner. Her silent prayers must have been heard by someone since Draco brought up the conversation without warning, but she listened intently as if every word was dire. And, he was right. This was Draco she was pursing, he was supposed to be a bad influence– the enemy, her bully, someone her friends despised and the wizarding world still targeted. And yet, she couldn’t bring herself to just let it go– every moment they spent together brought on another reason why she kept finding him attractive, why they were so similar, how they ‘fit’ together. It was mad, it wasn’t supposed to be right, but it felt right. It felt right when they were alone and ignoring the world. 

   Her eyes lingered on the dark mark once he exposed his skin, memories of the manor and the war flooding back, but it didn’t change anything, and she did not flinch at the sight of the scar. Hermione looked away and back up at Draco, straightening herself up as she pulled away from the table and moved a bit closer. “You’re just listing our friends, houses and blood status as if that truly defines who we are. There’s more than just me being ‘Harry’s muggle-born best friend’ and you an ‘evil’ pure-blood Death Eater. I thought we were beyond that point, who cares what other people think? It’s weird, it feels wrong, but it also feels right.” She reached out and took his hand, the one with the Dark Mark, her thumb lightly tracing across his fingers. “I like you, Draco. You bring up things that I’ve just been worrying about– our blood status, history, our friends and family– but what about what we want? I don’t know if this will work, but I do know that I would like to try.” It was strange voicing her apprehension aloud to him, and even more strange thinking she’d be the one against it all, but she was defending their actions. It felt sinful running around in the shadows with someone who was ‘supposed’ to be evil, but she knew he wasn’t, and knew there was so much more to the both of them than what other people associated. 

  Draco knew from the moment that he started talking that Hermione would have something to say in disagreement to what he said. It was logical, for starters, because someone that had kissed him back and that seemed to enjoy being around him wasn’t going to agree that he wasn’t good for them or that he shouldn’t be with them. But it was also because it was Hermione, who had her ways with seeing situations differently than he did, sometimes surprisingly so. She always explained to him why she saw something differently so it made sense to him too. He was used to there only being one right and one wrong in a situation and she was helping him see grey too. This conversation was proving no exception so far.  She could be right, but she was also wrong. “This is not about what other people think,“ he said. “This is about what I think about myself. And while you could argue that what I think about myself is coloured by what other people think of me, that’s beside the point. I know what I did during the war. I know how the inside of my head works, or rather, the way it malfunctions.“ This was already getting way too personal for his liking. Of course there wasn’t much more personal than learning the precise outline of another person’s lips with yours, but Draco was no stranger to what people liked to call ‘casual intimacy.‘ He didn’t attach meaning to every kiss or touch. Talking about things like this, however, was too personal too soon. He toyed with Hermione’s fingers in return and shook his head a little. “I know this isn’t supposed to work out. You and I are supposed to hate each other. But despite of our differences we’re not. And you’re saying you want to try. What I guess I’m asking is if this is something you can deal with. You’re a mudbl-” Old habits died hard, but he caught himself, “Sorry, a muggleborn that’s with a former Death Eater. And I imagine that’s every bit as difficult as it sounds. Especially because you need to calculate in the risk of this coming out.”

   The same excuse was used just like the many times before, and with hesitant responses and rolled eyes, Hermione had managed to slip from the grips of her two best friends. Sometimes she regretted lying to them, but now that things were starting to strangely settle into place (and it wasn’t just her mind playing weird romanticised tricks) she really did not care, or rather, did not care to spend the last couple of hours of the day with them when she could be spending it with Draco. So, she would continue to lie if that meant she could sneak off. 

   She met his gaze from across the tables, standing up once her plate was empty and the boys were convinced, and with a nod towards the door, Hermione began to make her way out of the Great Hall. She did not want to seem like she was waiting for Draco so instead of lingering, she just continued forwards towards the Library. This was her common route, Hermione was always associated with the library, and as passersby greeted her she knew no one would raise any suspicion. She walked through the doors and made her way deep into the shelves, trying to find a hidden table shadowed by all the books, and once she found a spot she claimed the space with her bag and sat in one of the chairs, pretending to be occupied with school notes as she waited for Draco. 

   She was nervous again, but a smile still tugged at her lips, the memory of their shared kiss from earlier persistent in her mind. The Arithmancy book peeked out from her bag, the gold lettering shining as a reminder of their evening, and pulling it free from its confinement, Hermione turned to the first page in hopes of passing time with a distraction, and to also keep her thoughts at bay from overanalysing the whole situation. It wasn’t until moments later that she felt the chair beside her move from beneath the table did her concentration break from the pages towards the figure sliding into the seat. “I hope I wasn’t too hidden, I tried to find one of the good tables secluded away from everyone else.” Hermione spoke, marking her page as she closed the book he got her before she greeted, “Hi, how was dinner?”

  The idea of sneaking off to the library after dinner to read books in his company sounded pleasant, maybe she would start on the Arithmancy book. Hermione waited a moment, making it seem like she was thinking to not come off as too eager if she replied right away. She would have to make up another excuse to Harry and Ron, they were already confused as to why she left so abruptly during the Hogsmeade trip– but she could always use her Head Girl excuse, just like the last time during the Halloween Feast. What would they think about her and Draco if they really knew what was going on? Hermione shook that thought from her mind, not wanting to dwell on it too long. She would deal with it when the time came if it came. “That sounds wonderful, let’s do that tonight,” She smiled, a loose hand tapping at her book, “I can start reading the gift you got me and I’ll let you know if there is anything in there that I don’t know yet.”

  As he began to explain a date aloud and took Hermione’s hand, her smile flattened but not in a way where she was mad, but rather completely full of nerves. Draco leaned in and he didn’t stop, like the time before, and Hermione watched as he got closer before her eyes fluttered shut and she felt his lips brush against hers. She wondered if he could tell how nervous she was, her little fingers curling around his hand, her lips moving in to close whatever hesitant space they had between them. She tried not to smile into the kiss, but she could not help how giddy she felt, that they were finally kissing. That she could finally openly admit – to herself – that she liked Draco in that way.

  Her fingers continued to trace across the letterings of the book as it sat above the parchment, the gold pressing of the letters flickering with the light filtering through the windows. Hermione was completely taken aback by his kind gesture of buying her a gift– the fact that he had noticed her admiring the book and put it down was enough to erupt nervous butterflies. Draco was taking note of the small things she was doing and that thought brought on a bashful smirk. “Well, thank you for taking the initiative and stepping in. You saved my personal library from being deprived of a very good book.” She teased right back, laughing as she did. Hermione was eager to read the book, but she knew it would go very well with all her other ones back at her flat.

  Hermione’s head shot up at the mention of Quidditch and their teams, a look of worry on her face before she realised he was joking. “Please, no, if I hear one more thing about Chudley Cannons and quaffle-whatever, I might just go mad,” She pleaded, a small pout on her lip as she thought about the last hour or so she spent with Harry and Ron in the sporting shop. As he mentioned actually enjoying his time, once again, Hermione could not hold back the giant smile that slipped across her features, her whole face lighting up. This was such a strange feeling, she could barely comprehend how they bonded so well these past couple months than they had in the 7 or 8 years they went to Hogwarts. Again, her cheeks flared, something she was getting annoyed she could not control, and the longer Hermione looked at Draco, the more she thought about their night in the piano room when he leaned in. Maybe he really did want to kiss her then, but what stopped him?

  There was silence between them as she watched Draco lean back against the bench, her fingers nervously fiddling with a loose thread on her sweater. She had been so timid the days leading up to their Hogsmeade weekend, and now that it was practically over, she was piecing together how everything made perfect sense. Draco was right– they did share the same interests and he did challenge her. He was probably the only other person just as smart in their grade, and they always competed when it came to achieving better scores, especially in potions. Spending their time as Head Boy and Girl just finally brought them close enough to realise their similar qualities. At his question, her head tilted, taken aback by the bluntness. Were they on a date? Dates were normally two people enjoying their company and time together, most likely taking place somewhere they both had common interests in. Dates normally took place when two people liked each other. Did she like Draco in that way? Hermione didn’t really need to ask herself, the way she reacted when he didn’t kiss her the other night was enough to explain to herself how she really felt about him. “Yes,” She said just as serious, just as blunt, “I do consider this a date. I enjoyed my time, you enjoyed yours– I really don’t want it to end… You did get me a gift.” The last part was said with humour, the blush creeping onto her cheeks once more as she smiled. “Do you agree? Do you think we’re on a date?”

  All afternoon Hermione was too occupied with the anticipation of her rendezvous with Draco to really pay attention to anything Ron and Harry had to say. They drifted aimlessly through little shops, the boys discussing Quidditch after stepping out of Spintwitches Sporting Needs and paving their way towards the Three Broomsticks. At this point, Hermione held back, excusing herself from the group and telling the boys she was going to meet a friend. They questioned her; this was something out of the ordinary, they never really did anything without the other and this realisation made the boys feel almost lost without her guidance. Hastily waving, she began to walk away as they dipped into the inn, Hermione heading towards Tomes and Scrolls. Her scarlet scarf wrapped tightly around her neck, shielding her from the cold air, and as she pulled strands of her hair away from her face, she was greeted by a grinning Draco waiting for her patiently outside the shop.

  Lazily, she spent the next hour or so exploring through all the books, picking up a few to examine or give her review on them, and even spotting an Arithmancy book she contemplated on buying. It felt very natural being with Draco in the bookshop, discussing their favourites and comparing inks and quills. Eventually, they drifted off towards Dominic’s where her eyes caught sight of the new piano in the shop. She held a few packets of sheet music in her hands, watching as the shop assistant talked about the piano before asking if she’d like to play. Opening her mouth to decline, Draco answered before she could, and she shot him a glance as a smile slowly pressed against her lips. She did want to play, the keys were calling her– they were probably smooth and perfectly tuned, nothing like the chorus piano. Setting aside her shopping, she sat on the bench and lifted the board, thinking around for a tune before she settled on For the Lost Ones, a muggle song, playing a couple bars before she stopped and situated the fallboard back on the keys. As Hermione looked up from her post on the bench, she smiled back at Draco who seemed to be enjoying her playing far more than she anticipated. “You were right, I did want to,” She let out with an airy laugh, taking her shopping back into her hands and heading over to pay for them.

  They were flowing through a curious rhythm of enjoying the other’s company, walking back towards the castle in a comfortable silence, shopping bags ruffling against their legs and only the sound of the crunching ground beneath them breaking the silence. The castle loomed closer than normal, and once inside Hermione did not want to end their – date? – meeting just yet, so when Draco suggested sneaking off to the piano room she quickly agreed.

  Her legs swayed lightly on the bench as they sat away from the piano, fingers rustling through the new parchments of sheet music she had bought, organising them on her lap as they chatted lightly. The rest of her bags rested around the floor, scattered (there weren’t that many), but when he began to speak her attention turned to him and the parchment slipped off her lap to the empty space beside her. “You got me something?” Hermione questioned, reaching out to take the book into her grasp as her fingers traced over the wrapping. “I don’t know what to say, thank you,” She hadn’t even opened the gift yet and was already thanking him, shocked that he bought her something from the shops. How did she not notice, they were together the whole time?

  Slipping her fingers through the binding, Hermione tore off the wrapping and smiled when she saw the cover of the book. It was the Arithmancy book she had placed down earlier in Tomes and Scrolls, how he had noticed was beyond her, but she was extremely thankful for the gesture. “This is so kind of you, Draco. Really, thank you. I enjoyed our time today, far more than I would think, which seems to be a constant pattern between us. It was refreshing doing something different than talking about Quidditch and drinking butterbeer.” She referenced, fingers daintily brushing across the cover of her new Arithmancy text, a huge smile on her face. He had gotten her a gift, they had spent hours together on a day off, and now they were sneaking off in their little hideaway. This had to be a date. The idea made Hermione’s cheeks blush lightly, distracting herself by quickly flipping through the pages before setting it down beside her on top of the sheet music. “Did you have a good time?”

  Hermione heard Draco’s footsteps follow behind her and she turned to lead the way down the hall. She was silent, fingers fiddling with one another as she tried to push the memory of his own fingers on hers out of her thoughts, and instead shoved them into her robe pockets. The last few minutes in the piano room were out of place, and she couldn’t figure out what had caused him to lean in and why she wanted him to lean closer. Was there more there than just comfort and friendship? Did Hermione really mean what she wanted back on the bench– or maybe it was just the candlelight and the mood that persuaded her thoughts? He agreed to walk her back to the portrait, so he meant his suggestion, and the noise of their footsteps echoed around them as torches flickered on as they walked by. Yet, Hermione still kept silent, occasionally glancing over at him. Draco was hard to read, which wasn’t surprising, she expected that from him. Back in the room she thought he had slipped for a moment and Hermione got a view into his thoughts, but obviously, that didn’t last long. It made the whole walk back to the common room a little more awkward now that she thought about it.

  The portrait of the Fat Lady winked an eye open at them, groaning in frustration as she tried to protest, questioning their late hour adventure. Hermione ignored her, turning to look at Draco as she tried to formulate some sort of sentence, something to sum everything up and just get things over with. She was so ready to head back to her dorm and hide behind the curtains of her four-post bed, and after everything, sleep would not come easy once again. Maybe she would write, that always kept her mind occupied until she tired herself out.

  Hermione’s mouth opened and closed a few times until it snapped shut as Draco began to speak, taken aback by his offer. He was asking her to a Hogsmeade weekend to look at books and music. Draco was asking her to publicly go out with him someplace where they could not even use their Head Boy and Girl excuses as a reason to explain why they were always together. “I don’t want to say no,” She began, the embarrassment from earlier ebbing away. This had to mean more, and it had to explain why he leaned in earlier. A small smile peered out from her lips and Hermione tried to hide it by pushing some hair behind her ear, hoping her hands covered her face quickly enough. “I would like that a lot, I’ll make the time for you. We can meet outside of Tomes and Scrolls.” She smiled again, this time not trying to hide it as Hermione turned towards the portrait. “Good night, Draco,” She bid him goodbye, telling the Fat Lady the password as she swung open on her hinges, protesting once again, and Hermione climbed through the portrait hole.

  The grin that slipped across his face was so unfamiliar to Hermione, but it fit him perfectly, and it amused her that she was the cause for that smile. Her. Draco Malfoy was smiling because of Hermione – that made her grin just as brightly. When he questioned if she’d like to fly again, Hermione felt like a child, giddy and excited as if he asked to play pretend, a flutter of nerves bursting in her stomach. “Yes,” It left her lips before she could even think about her answer before she even had time to worry about being in the air again, or consider the number of rules they would be breaking. “I’d love to, I think it would be a great way to pass time, and I’m curious now to see everything from the perspective of the broom, even if I am scared of heights.” She wanted to make it seem like she was excited about flying, but really she was excited to have more of an excuse to spend time with him.

  That excitement did not last long, and as they continued to look at each other, frozen in their paths, Hermione wondered if she was overthinking an action that wasn’t intended in the way she perceived it. Why would Draco want to kiss her, out of everyone? They were only friends, and she was muggle-born, it would not make sense why he would find her attractive in any way. He had spent his whole life reassuring her that her blood was bad, and despite being (or what she assumed) a changed man after the war, she knew those thoughts were still prevalent in his mind. They only spent time together because of their Head Duties, and maybe a bit more because they did find comfort in one another, but that was where the line was drawn, and his actions reassured her thoughts.

  He pulled away so abruptly she wanted to close her eyes and just disappear. Hermione felt silly, embarrassment consuming her as she avoided looking at him, breathing still ragged as her heart ached. It was dumb to think that he was going to kiss her, of course – why would he? His tone was different, not like the way he was speaking before, and he was just as cold and emotionless as always, his regular settings. Draco was trying to leave, emphasising he didn’t want to be there any longer, and his excuse to walk her back to the common room just felt like it was thrown out there as a meaningless suggestion. She wanted to say no, to just sit in the piano room longer – possibly cry, out of foolishness from her own thoughts rather than his actions. He didn’t know what she was thinking, so he couldn’t possibly know she would have hurt just the slightest from his rejection. But then again, she didn’t understand why his rejection offended her.

  Closing the fallboard of the piano, and swinging her legs over the bench, Hermione got up and stood in front of Draco, keeping her distance. “I’ll head back too, you can walk me if you’d like, but I’m perfectly capable of finding the portrait myself,” It was a bit snippy, and she didn’t mean it at all, in fact, she wanted him to walk with her anyway. “It will make more sense if we’re caught together rather than alone, we can use the patrolling excuse against Filch,” Hermione tried to recover, trying to indicate she wanted him to join her. With that said, she slowly turned and walked towards the doorway of the chorus room, looking back over her shoulder to see if he was following her.

  Apparently going flying together would be welcome as something that occurred more often. Draco didn’t have time to be amazed by the fact that Hermione wanted it to be due to what happened afterwards, but he was. When he entertained the idea at Halloween he was certain she was going to turn it down and now here they were, going to do it more often instead. He may have changed (or so people said; Draco rather thought it was nonsense) but so did she. They seemed to fit together somehow now, whereas before everything about them only pushed them apart. It was something Draco felt unable to wrap his mind around, which was why he pulled away before he could do something he may later regret.   What hadn’t occurred to him - empathy wasn’t his strongest point - was that Hermione may have her ideas and feelings about the situation too. He didn’t think that she wanted him to lean in further and kiss her, but according to the way she was looking at him he may be wrong about that. Now that put a different spin on things. She seemed hurt, something that he didn’t think he could achieve any more: she should have a very thick skin in regards of how he could hurt her, seeing how many times he had done it in the past. It didn’t sit well with him. What also didn’t sit well with him was that he didn’t have the guts to do it while at least part of him had wanted to kiss her, just that it seemed that at least part of her had wanted him to do it too.   “I’ll walk you back,” was all he said before turning to follow her. He wasn’t going to have any feelings about the way she spoke to him earlier. It was true enough: she didn’t need him to walk her to the portrait. Their two common rooms were the most far away from each other from all four common rooms (and Draco didn’t think that was an accident) and it would take him another ten minutes just to get back to the dungeons, even more if he had to avoid Filch. It had been an excuse, just like her further words sounded like one, and he wasn’t stupid enough not to take it. It meant she may want him around after all even if he was giving off some serious mixed signals, indicating he simply didn’t know.   The walk to the Gryffindor common room was a quiet one. Draco moved his hands to the pockets of his sweatpants as they walked. Sometimes he looked aside to Hermione but most of the time he glanced in front of himself. He didn’t understand himself. He wasn’t shy or anything and he was never afraid to go after whoever he wanted if it was clear enough that this person wanted him too. Blood status shouldn’t bother him, seeing that he was a blood traitor these days. He sided with Granger, in the end. There was nothing difficult about it, in the end: they were on the same side, they were Head Boy and Head Girl and they were getting along. They decided to move on from the past, so that was what he ought to do. He could have his difficulties with it in his own time for now.   When they arrived at the Gryffindor portrait, which seemed offended that they had woken her at this hour, Draco watched as Hermione seemed to think of what to say. He beat her to it.  “You are perfectly capable of finding the portrait yourself, but I walked with you anyway,” he said. “I guess I’ve been building up some courage on the way here.” And no, this time around he wasn’t going to attempt to kiss her (not that he’d be opposed to it, though). “It’s a Hogsmeade weekend in a couple of weeks. And you probably already have plans with your friends, but I was wondering if you’d want to spent an hour or so of that time with me. We could do things we like, like browse Tomes and Scrolls, check out instruments and sheet music at Dominic Maestro’s Music Shop and head back to the castle after. You can say no.” He would have invited her for a butterbeer (so disgusting) after but he was banned from the Three Broomsticks after having madam Rosmerta under the influence of the Imperius Curse for the entirety of his sixth year and he wasn’t going to push it.

  The longer they spoke, the more Hermione could feel the panic of her nightmares dissolving and a comforting sense of safety and reassurance washing over. It was as if her own advice was coming true– the longer they discussed the easier it would be. Not that she was suddenly cured of all her fears and memories, but that it was easier just speaking them aloud to Draco. He understood, and it wasn’t like the countless interviews she had to give in monotone efforts, or the forced conversations between her, Harry and Ron, or the pitied glances people would give her whenever they remembered all the trouble her and her friends went through. It was genuine, she felt secure, Draco was different and he was someone she wouldn’t expect to share her deepest feelings with, but that’s what made it easier.

  She would be lying if she never had thought about what-ifs when it came to the war. There was always dread that followed her consciousness, the curiosity of wanting to know what would have happened if things had played out differently. If the three of them never took certain precautions during their run, if they were never captured at the Manor – maybe Dobby would still be alive, but maybe Luna would have had a different outcome – not letting Ron wear the locket too long; changing any moment of the past would change her current future. It all played a part in the outcome of her being in the piano room at that very moment, and Hermione realised she did not want anything to change if it meant this moment could be real.

  When Draco brought up the lake, she felt her cheeks brighten the slightest, violently aware that her hand was still in his. They had not spoken about that night at Halloween since that night, and she always wondered if it was a forbidden topic between the two – one of those moments they threw aside and pretend never happened. She never wanted to pretend it wasn’t real; like Draco, it was a new memory she recalled on often to smooth away her terrors, or a memory she just fondly reflected on just because. It was hard to get the recollection of being so close to him out of her mind, enjoying herself far more than she could while doing something she was completely terrified of. The idea of him lounging around on his broom during a summer’s day, having decided she would be there with him, in the grass as her feet soaked in the waters. How could that not become a new memory for Hermione? A better memory than some she treasured.

  “I like the lake, that’s a new memory for me too. I never thought I would have been as comfortable as I was on the broom. A stepping stone in the right direction, I guess,” Hermione confessed, a grin tugging at the corner of her mouth as she looked at Draco, eyes scanning his face and taking everything in from the way the candles and moonlight reflected in his eyes and danced on his hair. This was a new memory, too.

  A small, airy laugh escaped as he explained the type of decorating questions his mother would ask, and she really couldn’t imagine Draco being too concerned about anything regarding that section of the Manor. The music rested and they were left in silence, Hermione imagining Draco holding up different swatches of greys and whites as his mother questioned which would be best. “Maybe just give her a few suggestions so she can leave you alone –” She began but was cut off once Draco leaned in. Her breathing hitched yet Hermione did not move, frozen as his hand slipped out of hers, feeling a sense of abandonment from the lack of his touch. His eyes were wide, she could tell, and maybe hers were as well, but Hermione couldn’t concentrate on anything but his hot breath and the rapid beating of her heart. “Yes, common rooms,” She mumbled, stumbling over her words but not moving, not wanting to move. Did he lean in to kiss her? Was he going to kiss her? Should she kiss him? Did she want to kiss him? Yes. Maybe? Her fingers twitched, cheeks stained rose as she tried to avoid licking her lower lip but couldn’t help herself as her eyes watched Draco. She wanted to reach out and take his hand again, wanted to lean in like he had and close the space between them, but she didn’t– she was fixed as if his shocked expression was keeping her there. 

  An actual genuine grin, not one that he grinned all too often, one he definitely did not grin during any night, appeared on his face when he saw her first reaction to the words he spoke about their flight over the lake during Halloween. Her cheeks brightened lightly, perfectly visible in the dim light of the candles that surrounded them, and he liked that he could draw a reaction from her like that. Apparently it meant something to her, too. He should have known that. She didn’t like flying - except that night, she seemed to have learned to love it as much as he did. She must have seen the reasons why people loved it, at least. “Do you want to do it again sometime?” he asked. “There are still plenty of places here you ought to have seem from a broom. The point of view is different. And since we both don’t sleep as much as we like to tell other people anyway, we may as well.” It would, of course, be breaking a bunch of rules. The Hermione Granger he knew before the war would have shrieked in horror before threatening to tell professor McGonagall. This was not that Hermione Granger, though, because he wouldn’t have been sitting here like that if it was.   His mother and her ever-annoying need to redecorate the manor could be the bane of Draco’s existence some days, but he couldn’t say he didn’t get it. It would be less easy to remember what happened there during the war when the place didn’t look the same. And it kept her occupied. Choosing colours and carpets wasn’t important to either one of them (and not for his father either, who always gave an opinion when asked but who also always looked like he had no idea what he was talking about) but giving Narcissa what she seemed to keep occupied was. It was the same reason why Draco let her sort through the books he had in the bookcase in the living room space in his room to see if there was anything she didn’t think he should be reading (he had to stop her from taking every book about Dark Arts away from him: the damage was done now anyway) and sort through his clothes to see if there was anything he shouldn’t be wearing any more (plenty, as it turned out). ‘Whatever makes you sleep at night’ was a mantra Draco lived by these days. How well it was working out was anyone’s guess seeing that he clearly wasn’t sleeping well.

  It wasn’t something that he was worried about right in that moment, because he did something, something he didn’t understand. Or rather he almost did it but had the good sense to stop himself before he did it: he almost kissed her. It was late at night, so his Occlumency barriers weren’t fully functional, and they were talking about things it seemed that neither one of them had been able to talk about so openly before, and they were alone sitting in front of a piano surrounded by candlelight. Clearly the situation had gotten to him and tricked him into thinking he was sitting in front of someone he should kiss, someone that wanted Draco to kiss them as much as Draco wanted to. He wasn’t moving away and neither was she, but that couldn’t be because either one of them wanted the other to lean in further. That made no sense. Sure they had gotten along lately, but she was Hermione Granger, a mudblood and most likely the reason that he lost the war because everyone knew Potter and Weasley were unable to find the Great Hall on their own in the morning without her, never mind win from the Dark Lord. If his father had been here or if his grandfather had still been alive they would have been ashamed of him. He couldn’t be seen with a mudblood apart from out of necessity, never mind spent his time late at night with her - and yes, kiss her. He couldn’t do it, even if he wanted to.   So he pulled away abruptly as he looked away from her, disturbing whatever had been between them since he first walked in there. He moved out of Hermione’s personal space and got up from the piano stool, making sure to create some more distance between them by taking a few steps towards the exit. “I’m going to head back to my common room now,” he announced. The soft undertone in his voice had disappeared and had been replaced with his normal matter-of-fact tone that didn’t involve any emotions whatsoever. “Unless you want me to talk you to your common room first?” He only asked because that was the right thing to do, of course, and had nothing to do with possibly spending more time with her (of course not).

  Hermione was engulfed in her memories, face turned away to keep Draco from seeing the panic swimming in her eyes, the way she kept biting her lip. Why would he bring up the Manor, out of everything else to talk, the one thing she always pushed away into the back of her mind, yet the one thing that always came back to haunt her, anyway? She had to take her own advice for once, recalling what she had told him during Halloween about Ginny. Keeping things hidden would only result in an eruption of feelings and emotions, and maybe that’s what she had been doing without realising. Maybe it was a good thing he brought it up– which it was, she was just vulnerable, the nightmares making her sensitive at that moment. His touch abrupted her thoughts, it was a bizarre feeling allowing him to take her hand in his, fidgeting with her fingers, but it was calming in a sense and Hermione finally found the courage to turn to look at him. The pulsing of her lip, swollen and red from biting, distracted her for the few seconds he touched her fingers before stopping. In return, she curled her fingers delicately around his own, not entirely holding his hand but also not just letting them rest or slip out of his grip. The gesture was grounding, Hermione found herself piling up her thoughts into coherent ideas instead of flashbacks of memories, and she felt if she let go her mind would probably fall.

  “We can’t dwell on the what ifs,” She whispered, trying to avoid his gaze but her eyes just would not look away from him. “You were there, Rodolphus wasn’t, you didn’t identify Harry,” She repeated after him, almost for reassured for both herself and Draco, “if it happened any other way, anything different, who knows what the outcome of the war could have been. If I would be here right now, or you, if Harry would be–” She stopped, voice cracking and finally pulling her eyes away from him. She looked back down at the piano, her right hand tracing over the keys once again before she played a few notes to keep her mind calm, or rather herself.

  Her head nodded lightly in agreement with him, thinking about the castle and The Burrow and 12 Grimmauld, how some were rebuilt and others weren’t, yet they still carried the memories of what happened. Regardless of how many times Harry changed the wallpaper or McGonagall redesigned some aspects of the castle, it all was the same, the air heavy as if reminding everyone who walked through that there was once death and torture. It was morbid to think, and she tried to push all those thoughts away again, remembering the opportunity they were given to complete their N.E.W.T.s and how she still found comfort in the library and her work. How the tree by the lake brought back more memories with her, Harry and Ron than of the war, and how the piano room was all new to her and reminded her of Draco. “We make new places and new memories to make up for the old ones,” Like him, she looked around the room as well, “Like the piano– I never came in here before, except for this year. Doesn’t feel like I’m at Hogwarts, and it doesn’t remind me of the past. It reminds me of sitting here, with you, playing. I’m calm and reassured, and I know I’m safe.” She thought of Harry again, how he kept changing his Godfather’s childhood home to make up for the thoughts of Sirius, and to rid of the abusive stories about The Blacks. “Changing the appearance doesn’t change the memories, but at least it’s an illusion, and it helps a little bit more.” Hermione looked back at Draco, her fingers gingerly squeezing his as she tried to smile a little. “Your mother has good intentions, we will never forget, but it’s a way to cope.”

  The moment that Hermioned turned back to look at him after what he was certain had been he avoiding his eyes, Draco couldn’t look away if he tried. For some odd reason it was easier talking to her while she was actually looking at him, maybe because it made him realize that it was her and not some stranger that needed the truth from him for the trials or either one of his parents that kept insisting that bottling it all up wasn’t healthy. He was tempted to keep fidgeting with her fingers, that rested with his, but he knew it was nervous energy and he didn’t want her to think that he was nervous about this. He wasn’t. He just couldn’t sit still, especially not while talking about this, and that was the reason why his left hand was still wandering over the keys of the piano, even as they spoke.   Hermione was right. They couldn’t dwell on the what ifs. It was a too dangerous path to go down and he knew it - had known it for a while now, had learned how bad that could get. Despite of that his mind kept plaguing him with it anyway, going so far as to feature it in his nightmares. What if the war was won? He got to experience that at least once every couple of nights. “Exactly,” he said softly when she didn’t finish her sentence and looked away instead. Draco didn’t look away from her. “It only took one wrong step or one wrong word for everything to go wrong - or right.” He still wasn’t able to make his mind up about whether losing the war was a good or a bad thing. He didn’t know how things would have gone if they had won the war, after all. There was just one version of events and that was exactly how things went to end them up in this piano room right now. That’s what he should focus on.   Of course Hermione Granger would somehow manage to make something positive out of the dark, dark both of the night and of their memories. It was something that Draco often scoffed at and rolled his eyes at, but now he only thought it fit her. Making new memories. It wasn’t untrue. But that was easier to say for her than for him. She got to move on because she won the war. He lost the war and was looked upon by everyone as though he was personally responsible for killing their loved ones. He could think of one thing, though. “Or the lake,” he said. “How we flew over the lake with my broom on the night of Halloween.” Was he even allowed to mention that in conversation or was it one of those things they shouldn’t speak of ever again? The lake now reminded him of only that evening, though, and that was exactly what she meant. He thought redecorating was hardly a good way to cope if he kept running into Bella’s portrait at unexpected places, but he didn’t say that aloud. “I know,” he said softly. “What’s that saying? The road to hell is paved with good intentions? Feels true.”   “On the other hand, I suppose there are less healthy coping mechanisms so I should be happy it’s only the redecorating,” he added as an afterthought. She was looking at him again and he was looking back still and they were sitting very close to each other, so Draco tried to keep talking to distract himself. “Even if it does drive me insane. She talks and asks about it too, as though I care about the different shades of white or grey the walls can be or whether or not we should have a carpet on the stairs.” He was talking about one thing, and something that didn’t matter at that, but he was completely focused on another: the young woman sitting in front of him. He still couldn’t look away. His left hand, the one playing the piano, stilled and he leaned in closer to her (as though he was going to kiss her) before catching himself. His eyes widened a little, his muscles tensed and he let her hand go, but he didn’t pull back. “We should probably get back to our common rooms.” He didn’t make any effort to do any such thing, though.

  Draco’s presence was calming, especially since he was sitting so close and she felt very protected inside the little piano room. It was a place where she felt those thoughts and memories couldn’t get to her, or really impact her as if they would when she would lay down to sleep at night or head to the Great Hall for meals. The moon’s glow and the faint candlelights brought a sense of insurance, and with Draco’s company added, it really helped. Hermione smiled as he pointed out she wasn’t alone, or rather they weren’t alone with their thoughts because they were together now. If only her younger self could see how changed the future would be– how she was enjoying being around Draco far more than anyone else since returning to Hogwarts, and how she relied on their Head Boy and Girl duties as a distraction from the reality. That, plus the homework and studying she did for N.E.W.T.s.

  Leaning over, Hermione lightly bumped her shoulder against Draco’s arm, her smile still prominent, not sure what brought her to be so touchy with him, but glad she wasn’t alone like he had mentioned. “I’m glad you’re here,” She told him, looking back down at the keys.

  As he began to play, her fingers faded away the last few keys of her song to allow him to finish his own melody. She caught sight of him looking at her from the corner and lifted her gaze from his fingers to meet his eyes. Hermione’s smile flattened as he began to apologise and bring up the incident at the manor, a memory she always tried to forget but one that haunted her dreams the most. She always saw Bellatrix’s glowing eyes and constantly felt the sharpness of the dagger pressing into her skin– her neck and arm always aching whenever she woke from nightmares about her. His outburst was random, but the only reason why they were both awake was that of their fear of the dark. A memory like the manor one was fresh and came with that fear, so it only made sense why he brought it up. “Always, every day. I can never forget it.” She began, almost as if confessing to something she held back from everyone. Hermione could still remember that day as if it were recent, could still remember the feeling of the carpet beneath her, the wooden floor, the press of Bella’s body, how she thought she was going to die, the pain– and how Draco didn’t identify Harry. She looked away from him and back at the keys, unsure how to continue on without offending him. It was his house, it was his aunt that almost killed her. “It haunts me, every day. One of the scariest points when we were on the run,” She tried to keep it simple, her lower lip trembling as a finger traced over a key lightly, feeling the cold ivory beneath. 

  It was strange to think that out of all people either one of them could seek comfort by - they both had their friends, so Draco should be with Pansy, Daphne or Theo whereas Hermione should be with Harry, Ron or Ginny - they decided to sit with each other in the piano room far away from where anyone could have found them. Every year ago since first meeting each other putting them in a room together could only end up in disaster and wands drawn and now here they were, sitting at the piano and feeling better and safer just for being there. The movement of her shoulder to his arm almost made him flinch (it would have if she wasn’t sitting so close) and he concluded he ought to get used to her touching him. After that broom ride together at Halloween it seemed like they were constantly ignoring the boundaries that were supposed to be set between them and neither one of them seemed to mind that. “I’m glad you are,” he replied without a second’s thought. Being with her was better than being alone. And being with her was admittedly better than being with any number of other people too.   Bringing up the Malfoy manor incident over Easter should drive home that they were on separate sides of the war and should hate each other for any number of reasons, but somehow it didn’t. It almost felt good to be able to talk about it with someone who he didn’t have to explain to what happened. He nodded a little on Hermione’s words. He couldn’t forget it either. There were a few moments during the war that he thought would be stuck in his mind forever. Reaching out with his right hand - the hand he wasn’t playing the piano with - he took her left hand into his and fidgeted with her fingers for a couple of seconds before stilling. “My mind keeps going to these what ifs in regards of that moment,” he said eventually. “What if I hadn’t been there? What if Rodolphus had been there? What if I decided to identify Harry anyway?” If he hadn’t been there the war would have been over. If Rodolphus had been there Hermione would have been hurt less, because Rodolphus was someone that would have pointed out she was no use to them dead and the way Bella was going she might kill her. And if decided to identify Harry anyway the war would have been over, too. “But I was. And Rodolphus wasn’t. And I didn’t,” he finished the thought. “So it doesn’t make sense. It happened as it did.”   Looking aside to her, he studied her for a couple of seconds before speaking again. “I can never forget it either. We don’t live in that part of the manor any more, you know. And my mother is decorating the place as we speak.” That was strange to him, because changing the wallpaper and the furniture of the manor wasn’t going to change the memories of what happened there. He played a couple of notes with his left hand while he stared into the distance as though he was deep in thought. He wasn’t really. “It honestly feels insane. We’ve moved into another part of the manor because people have been tortured and killed where we used to live. If everyone needed to change everything that reminds people of the war we’ve got no places to go left.” With that he glanced around the room they were sitting in, indicating that he meant the castle too. It wasn’t just the final battle for him either. The castle may have been rebuilt but at nights like these it felt painfully the same. 

   Hermione was slightly relieved when Draco reassured her that he wasn’t going to tell anyone about her late adventure, not that she thought he would. She was just taken by surprise and her initial reaction was to come up with an excuse to explain her actions, which was how she always got out of things in the past. However, like most of the time recently, she wasn’t such a stickler for the rules and found herself bending the law and abusing her power– telling Filch she was “patrolling” the halls, for example, to get herself out of bed and away from her nightmares. Draco seemed to be taking her unexpected visit to the piano room lightly, not at all shocked or the least bit confused, and she wondered if he always knew he would bump into her eventually. “Caught me red-handed.” Her voice was playful and Hermione even lifted her hands up in a sign of defeat, as if handing herself over.

  As he crossed the room, Hermione assumed he was coming straight to the bench and last minute scooted over enough so that Draco could sit beside her. The sound of notes filled the room as her eyes watched his fingers dance along the keys, and for a moment she relaxed once again, traces of her nightmare slipping away. He looked as if he had just rolled out of bed– messy hair, sweatpants and a jumper. It seemed that whatever he wore he could pull off handsomely, and despite the look of disheveledness, Hermione thought Draco could head out for the night and still look appropriate for something casual. Her thoughts were snipped away when he began to speak, and what seemed to be him ‘opening up’ only lasted for a few seconds. “You’re afraid of what lingers in the dark– when you’re alone and left with your own thoughts… That’s what I’m afraid of. That’s why I’m here. “ She bit her lip, looking away from him as her eyes trailed back down to his fingers and lifted her own hands to the keys. “Let’s play the piano a bit more.”

  His comment on the dark brought back her dreams, the nightmares that had awoken her, the screams that belonged to her parents that she knew weren’t real, the lingering bodies all over the Great Hall and students eating above their lifeless gazes– she let her fingers trail across the ivory once again, a light melody playing as Hermione concentrated on her music rather than her darkness.

  In the contrary to Hermione Draco had always broken rules, much to the annoyance of his parents and every professor that ever caught him do it. Those times were rare, because if he broke a rule he always wanted to make sure he got away with it. “Yes, I did,” he said dryly. “Now I’ll go and find someone who actually cares that you broke the rules and make sure you’ll be given detention for it.” That he didn’t care, actually understood why she was here, and that he would do no such thing was obvious enough. He almost felt like some exceptions had to be made about the curfew rule: nothing was the same as before the war and that included some of the students’ abilities to sleep a night through. He sat down beside her instead, smiling a little to himself when he saw that she made space for him on the piano stool, and waited on her reply to the words he spoke before.   He wasn’t surprised to hear that she was suffering from the same issue as him that Draco liked to call ‘being afraid of the dark.’ It was easier to call it that than to get into what it really was, which was the effect of the memories of the war. It was as if something was looming in the shadows waiting for an unguarded moment. The only thing that was looming wasn’t in the shadows, though. It was in his head and he was completely aware of it, sometimes even accepted it and let it in because that was easier. “We’re not left alone with our thoughts now, though,” he pointed out matter of fact. “We’re both here.” He wasn’t sure what made him think that was something he could say. It implied that being with Hermione helped. It shouldn’t be helping seeing their history during the war, but somehow it was. Maybe it reminded him that everything could be different. Maybe it was just her company.   Draco watched her play for a couple of seconds before raising his right hand as well and played a few notes of a completely different melody right through the one that she was playing. Looking aside at Hermione, he suddenly couldn’t keep quiet any longer. The late time or day, or rather night, made sure his Occlumency barriers were not as functional as they were during the day and made his filter lessen. “I’m sorry,” he started, “I know you just wanted to play the piano and you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to, but do you ever think back to when you were brought to Malfoy manor at Easter?” He did regularly because it had been such a turning point for him - and for the war, too.

  It was one of those nights, rare in its entirety but still common during the late hours. The castle was quiet, nothing but the faint snoring of the paintings whispering through the halls. Passing the tall windows of Hogwarts, the moon bore brightly onto the stone-covered floor; everything still, as if time was frozen. Beyond a hallway commonly neglected by the students, a door was slightly ajar, delicate sounds of a piano echoing as the notes seeped through the cracks of the entryway and poured into the corridor. Hermione sat at the piano, fingers lacing through the keys as she played in Professor Flitwick’s chorus room. She was a little rusty, but the images of sheet music she had memorised when younger flooded back to her the longer she played. It was probably her third song, she was at it for some time, having discovered the room wandering around the halls, claiming to be on ‘Head Girl’ watch when Filch approached her. In reality, she couldn’t sleep and wanted a distraction, the horrors of the war and the longing for her parents immensely affecting her dreams. The shock of her nightmares had worn off, but she was still frightened to try and lay down again.

  As her fingers struck the last key, Hermione let her hands rest on her lap, wrists aching from not having played in so long. Her eyes trailed over the ivory, a curtain of hair around her face before she heard the sound of a throat clearing coming from the entrance of the room. The noise shocked her, and for a moment she felt her fingers twitch towards her wand as her head turned to look at Draco before she relaxed at his sight. “You startled me,” Quavering, she let her voice trail, shifting her body to turn towards him from her seat. “I was patrolling the corridors on Head Girl duties, I’ve only been in here for a few,” Hermione tried to explain yet unsure why she needed to justify her actions for Draco. It didn’t matter whether she was allowed to be there or not, but it was way past patrolling hours, even for Head Girl. “Or maybe I lost track of time playing– I don’t know.”

  It was one of those nights where Draco got to bed early and exhausted because he didn’t sleep well on his best night and he never had those at Hogwarts. What this meant was that Draco woke up from a nightmare just past midnight and was instantly wide awake. In his dormitory both Blaise and Theo were asleep, a sight Draco was used to. It was with a sigh that he reached out to pull on a T-shirt and a sweatshirt over it on the sweatpants he wore to bed before slipping out of bed. He intended to stay in the common room until he felt sleepy enough to try to sleep again, but the images in his mind were, as ever at night, haunting him and he couldn’t sit still. An image of Rodolphus plummeting to his death from his broom during a battle. An image of Molly Weasley killing Bellatrix. An image of his father standing in front of the wand of the Dark Lord, begging for one more chance please, to please leave his family alone at least. And an image of his mother, otherwise so calm and put-together, trembling and crying while she pretended that she was fine. His mind could come up with worse, Draco knew, and most nights he couldn’t sleep, eat or even breathe around it. He had to, so he went to one of the few places where he knew he would find peace and solace and where no one would disturb him.   The thought of that was short-lived, because when he approached the choir practice room where the piano stood he heard that someone was already there. That was odd. All the times he went to play there at night no one else was there. It was only due to knowing that was the case that Draco approached and pushed the door open softly. What sight he was met with didn’t surprise him, since Hermione was one of the few other students he knew that knew about his room. She was done playing not long after he approached, and he cleared his throat to let her know that she was there to let him know he was there before he walked in and closed the door behind him. “My intention was not to startle you,” he explained softly, knowing that she would hear him anyway. He shook his head a little when Hermione seemed to come up with an excuse for her being here. “I’m not a teacher you need to reassure you got distracted, or some random student you need to tell that you weren’t breaking the rules,” he reminded her, the words surprisingly gentle. “You weren’t patrolling, it’s past twelve. And it’s fine that you weren’t. You can be here past curfew. I’m not going to tell anyone.”   With that, Draco crossed the room towards the piano and sat down on the stool beside her (they shared a broom together; the piano stool was more space, at least) before reaching out for the piano and playing a few notes at random, staring at his hands blankly. His clothes, the state of his hair and the way his eyes looked probably betrayed he had been asleep before, whereas he wasn’t sure if that was the case with her. “The night makes things seem very different,” he spoke eventually. “I think now that the Dark Lord is dead and surely so, my Boggart would be the dark. Not that I’m afraid of darkness, obviously.” No, he was saying that he was afraid of what the dark brought with it: sleep and nightmares, reminders of his every last insecurity and failure. “Maybe it’s still the Dark Lord,” he added as an afterthought. “I don’t know and I’d rather not know.” He looked aside to Hermione then and let his gaze linger over her. “Are you okay? Do you want to talk about it, or do you want to sit in silence and maybe play the piano?”