Boys Night, Girls Night

13.


“Malfoy, I’ll be fine. I’m a grown witch with magic that kicks your spoiled ass at any given moment. I’ll be back in half an hour.” Hermione snapped. She grabbed folder busting at the seams and ran around her desk looking for her bag.

Draco crossed his arms and refused to budge. “You shouldn’t go alone. You’re still a big target. Everything doesn’t just turn around overnight. I know this; my family was on that side. There are still some followers out there-”

“Quiet for the love of everything that is holy! It’s down the street not a five minute walk from the ministry. I doubt there is someone lurking behind the bushes on the off chance I'd walk down there at just this precise minute. I’ll be back in half an hour, then we can head to the pub. Be ready when I get back.” She marched past him, nose in the air, reminding him of the Granger he knew at Hogwarts.

He knew it was fruitless to follow. She would probably curse him. Sometimes she was sooo infuriating! He sat in a chair in her office and waited.

And waited.

And waited.


Thirty-five minutes later Draco was running down the street looking for her. Half way down the block he saw her coming out of the bakery. Relieved and somewhat irritated- he raised his hand to wave and get her attention.

As he did so, two burly arms came out of no where and grabbed her. He saw her bag drop. The people nearby continued their shopping, completely unaware. There was only one way this was possible.

Magic was being used.

His legs took off into a dead sprint. His breath was ragged as he pushed himself as fast as he could go, his lungs working furiously. He turned into the alley ready to raise all hell- but she was gone…

Draco woke up sweating and breathing hard. That nightmare was familiar and new all at the same time. It was familiar because everything had actually happened. Right after the war Granger had wanted to run down to the bakery to fix something. He knew he shouldn’t have let her go alone, but she was so bloody stubborn.

Everything was spot on. Except when he ran into the alley he had found three death eaters advancing on a lone solitary figure with a ripped shirt and bruised cheek, not the nothing he had just experienced.

In retrospect, Draco knew he had never felt that angry as he did in that moment. It was red rage. The clearest and purest rage he had ever felt washed through him in that moment. Nor had he felt anything like it since. Sure it was close the other night with Hannah, er, Hermione. But a lot of that was directed at him.

He wasn't a fool. He knew Granger could take care of herself without any help from him. She had proved that on several occasions. But she was so small it gave her the allusion of being defenseless…

The nightmare didn’t leave his mind. That feeling of running into the alley and her having disappeared... What if he hadn’t gone after her? What if he had been too late? Those thoughts had run around his head for weeks afterwards, just like they were now. What was the point in saving her all those years ago to push her away now?

This past week or so was beyond baffling. Every time he cracked a joke, he looked to see her laugh. Every girl he picked up he could picture Hermione rolling her eyes.

When did he start depending on her so much? When exactly did he start needing her? He had never needed anyone, and it was terrifying that it should change now, especially without his notice.

Evolving might be a better word. He wasn't this close to anyone before, maybe except Pansy. When she rode off into the sunset with Blaise, it lessened.
Is that when he started relying on Granger?

Did it matter when it happened? Just the fact that it did and he was laying here in bed being a complete idiot when he could go knock on her door...

He was halfway across the room before his legs locked, pride rearing its ugly head. She didn’t want anything to do with him; she made that pretty damn clear.

He then threw himself down into his bed, not unlike a petulant child, hitting his head in the process. Perhaps it knocked some sense into him. It was his ass of a self who told her to leave him the hell alone in the first place.

The bump, in this case, made him to relive those thoughts of her disappearing again. It was enough to have him get up, again, get past his pride and make his way to her door.

Just one little knock wouldn’t hurt.