Water

Title: Water
Chapter Seventeen
Genres: Angst
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Sexual references, Strong language
Feedback: Please tell me exactly what you think in the review section! I'm hard- I can take it!
Summary: "...You’re the one who needs help! You’re the one who makes my skin crawl whenever we stand in the same room! You’re fucked up Malfoy. And your father couldn’t even teach you anything other than how to fuck up everyone else with you-” Her wand went flying.


Chapter 17.


Ron sounded like Harry’s father. Like some anal-type parent that all teenagers hate. Like his own mother, pretty much- not that this was something he explicitly admitted to himself. (Because he was nothing like a woman.) But, according to Ron at least, it needed to be said.

“I’m not going to pretend that I didn’t notice you come in past midnight last night.”

Ron watched as Harry fastened the last button of his shirt.

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“Okay. Well I’m not going to ask why you got in so late, either.”

Ron’s eyebrows furrowed slightly as Harry turned around to search in the drawer for his tie.

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“I said I’m not going to ask why.”

“Fine.”

“Fine.”

“Okay then.”

“Well don’t you want to know why?”

“Excuse me?” Harry was scratching his head in confusion, clearly pondering over the whereabouts of his tie rather than Ron’s serious tone. Which annoyed him. Just like Harry’s nonchalant oh-but-I-always-come-in-around-midnight manner.

“Why I’m not going to ask,” he growled, low enough so as not to turn too many heads in their dorm.

“Look, Ron,” sighed Harry, turning back to him with his tie in his hand, “If you’ve got something to say, just say it. It’s too early in the morning for this.”

“Okay,” frowned Ron, “I have got something to say. But I’m not going to say it. What I will do is ask for a favour. A favour to all of us. It involves having to make an effort.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“Let’s- just-” Ron hesitated slightly, “-try and make today as normal as possible.”

Harry’s eyebrow remained in position. “What?”

“Let’s just try and forget about it all. Just for one day.” Ron felt urged on by Harry’s bemused expression. “If you can’t think of a good enough reason to, then I think for the sake of our sanity pretty much covers it. I don’t care if none of it goes away. I don’t care if it’s all back again by tomorrow morning. But I need this, Harry. And- Merlin- if I need this, then you and Hermione sure as hell do too.”

“Ron-”

“I know Malfoy will constantly be around the corner. He always is. But I don’t think it’s beyond us all to just- to just force it out of our heads for twelve hours.”

“You want us to act like nothing has happened?”

“Yeah. Like we were before Hermione ever became Head girl.”

Harry looked down briefly. He seemed to pause for a second before looking back up again.

“I thought you were pissed off with her.”

“I am,” sighed Ron, “I really am.” He swallowed. His throat was dry. “But I still want this.”

Harry thought for all of what must have been three seconds. “I think it’s all a little unrealistic,” mumbled Harry, seemingly losing interest again and turning to close his drawer.

“No, Harry-”

“Yes, Ron,” he growled, slamming it a little too hard. A couple of boys turned around to look at them.

“Well at least I’m trying,” scowled Ron.

“Trying? You’ve practically been ignoring her.”

“Well- I tried when it was the right time to try. It didn’t get me anywhere. It didn’t get her anywhere.”

“And?”

“And. Nothing.”

“What are you even talking about?”

“I’m sick of this. Of our lives revolving around this. It’s stupid. It’s unhealthy. And it’s just- it’s not right. Can’t we just try to move on? Can’t we just fucking- kick ourselves up the backsides and get the hell on with everything?”

“If it was that easy-”

“Why isn’t it though?”

“I don’t-” Harry stopped. Sighed. “I don’t know, Ron. I’m sorry. But I don’t.”

Ron mirrored the pause. Looked down and didn’t speak for a short while. Harry didn’t know. He didn’t know, and Ron wasn’t surprised. Why would he know? He didn’t even know what he was searching for. Neither of them did. Ron’s heart twisted ever so slightly.

“We can’t save her, Harry.”

That made Harry wince. Ron noticed. That, and all the colour draining from his face.

“I’m not trying to save her.”

“Yes you are. We both are. But it’s up to her.” Ron shook his head. “It’s up to her, mate.”

“It’s not like- it’s not as if she- I just-”

“We don’t know what’s going on with her anymore.”

Harry nodded, his eyes looking somewhere to the right of Ron’s shoulder. And then he raised his head as if someone had poked him. Hard. “But we don’t give up on her, Ron,” he frowned, tone quite suddenly firm.

“I’m not suggesting that,” he said, “I think- that maybe my idea might even help. Be another way to approach the situation.”

“I get it. I do. But it just isn’t practical. How do we act normal? This is normal now. And we can’t change the way she acts. And Mal-”

“Yeah.”

“I’m sorry, Ron, but I just-”

“Yes.”

Fucking yes, alright?

I just want this to be over. That’s all.

Ron cut the conversation short and walked away.



*



“I’m going to arrange a meeting with the prefects,” mumbled Hermione, smoothing out a small crease in the bottom of her shirt.

She was blushing. Draco noticed she’d been blushing since the moment she had got up. Evidently since the moment reality and memory had hit her around the head in one magnificent blow. That unrelenting truth.

“Good idea.”

She nodded briskly.

“I’ll see you down at breakfast.”

“Granger-”

She stopped, poised by the door, her back to him.

“Do you- do you have to rush off like this?”

It was a second, and then she turned back. Hesitantly. “Breakfast,” she murmured. “Got to be there. Both of us.”

“Fuck it.”

“Malfoy…”

“Whatever, Granger.”

“Just- let’s keep our distance today. Let’s try and fix a few things.”

“Keep up appearances, right?”

“Something like that.”

Draco felt that stereotypical sinking sensation in his empty stomach. That, and a stranger feeling. A warmer feeling. Not altogether comforting just- the recognition that Hermione hadn’t lost it. Hadn’t completely lost the determination to go on. To keep trying.

She was still Hermione Granger. Not even Draco could take that away from her.

“But this evening-” Draco bit his lip. Let it go again. “You- erm- we-” He stopped.

What? How could he possibly finish that sentence?

We are going to continue with this huge mental fuck up, right? How about around eight o’ clock? After dinner. Does that work for you?

Draco shook his head. At himself.

“What?” she asked, frowning in confusion. Her voice was quiet. Her cheeks were still preciously pink.

Draco knew. He knew they weren’t there. They weren’t in the position to plan. To arrange dates. Dates, for fucks sake. As if this were some normal relationship. As if this were a relationship at all.

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?”

“Yeah.”

She shrugged. “I’ll see you down at breakfast then.”

He nodded.

She continued to look at him.

He- continued to nod, apparently.

And then she turned around and reached for the door handle.

“I don’t want you to go.”

Short, sweet.

She paused again, still facing the door. “I have to.”

“Why? Why the fuck-”

Hermione spun around so quickly it startled him to silence. “Why? Why? How long have you got, Malfoy?” She sighed, looking up at the ceiling. “We have got to start proving to the professors that we can handle this job, or-”

“This isn’t about the sodding professors, Granger.”

“Excuse me?”

“This is about him. Him and Weasley.”

“If you’re referring to Harry-”

“Potter? No, no- I meant Longbottom-”

“Don’t be smart with me, Malfoy, you’re not -”

“I’m just bored of you constantly walking off and-”

“Do you really expect me to-”

“You don’t need to rush off like-”

“Oh please.”

“Can you just-”

“I don’t want to hear it, Malfoy.”

“Damn it, Granger. Will you stop interrupting me?”

“Like you’re not interrupting me?” she glared, cheeks fiercely red.

Draco gritted his teeth. She could be so- she was just so-

“You can’t pretend everything’s alright, Granger. They already know something’s going on. And it won’t go back to normal. They won’t change until you answer their questions. Even if they wait years until they ask. Nothing will go back to the way it was.”

Hermione frowned. “Stop it,” she snapped, “Stop talking like you know anything about us.”

“I’m not. I know sod all about Potter and Weasley. Apart from the obvious,” he snarled, “But I know you.”

“No you don’t!”

“Yes I do.”

“No you don’t!”

“Yes I-”

“Malfoy!”

“Alright, calm down.”

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”

“There is no way you’ll be able to hold the truth from them. Not for much longer.”

“Shut up, Malfoy.”

“But I’m right.”

“No you’re not.”

“Yes I am.”

“No you’re-” Hermione closed her mouth. “I don’t have to listen to this.”

“No. No you don’t. And that’s why you’re just going to walk out that door like fuck all has happened again. You couldn’t be more predictable if you tried, Granger.”

“Predictable? Me?” she exclaimed, “And you’re full of surprises I suppose? You think I can’t see it coming a mile off? Every bloody time?”

“See what?”

“You! And- and- you!”

“Me?”

“Fine. Maybe you’re not so predictable, Malfoy. You’re worse. You’re dangerous. You’re dangerous because- god knows the next time you’re going to lose it! I fall asleep next to you at night praying that I won’t wake up to find you’ve switched sides again! Remembered I’m a mudblood! I’m that filthy mudblood you hate! It could happen. Harry’s right. He’s always right.”

“Well then fuck off back to him then!”

“I will!”

“Fine!”

The door slammed shut.

And it all felt so quick, it was as if he had woken up to find she wasn’t there at all.

Draco was left there, sitting up in bed, covers around his waist, torso bare. Breathing heavily through his rage. All he wanted- all he wanted was to have just laid there a little while longer. With her. Just for a while. They didn’t even have to touch each other, not if she didn’t want them to. She didn’t even have to be thinking about him. But he just wanted her there. Beside him. Because when she was that close, he always thought he could feel her cool breath against his lips, even if it was only his own. Wishing was so powerful he forgot that’s all it was sometimes. But just turning his head slightly to see her- that was enough to make all the disappointment go away.

All that disappointment in his life.

So when she said she wanted to fix things, what had she meant? That- this was the last time? That after this, it was time to turn back, clean up the mess, realise those glaringly obvious realities that had their names written all over them? Only separately. Apart. Nowhere near each other.

The fucking morning after the night before. He hated it. He hated it so much. It changed her, always. As if the darkness of the night shrouded their dirty little secret. And in the morning, that left. It left and the light just stared at them accusingly. Every minute until it started to fade again.

But would she come back? Would she be here tonight?

Or was that her easy way of saying- enough is enough?

Draco knew. He knew it well. Recognised those vicious little whispers and their scathing remarks inside his head. He shouldn’t fucking want her to come back tonight. It shouldn’t even be a consideration. He should take the opportunity she was presenting him with, try and fix a few things himself. Fix them.

Only there wasn’t any way to fix them. Not a single way. There was too much broken.

But that shouldn’t change anything. It shouldn’t stop him from acting like he could, at least. Like he could fix them. Could handle it. Wouldn’t whither and die simply because he didn’t get to see her. Or hear her breathing. Or whatever. She wasn’t his fucking life source. Sometimes she made him hate to be alive.

Just- sometimes- Draco swallowed.

Sometimes, she was the only reason he still was.




*




“I was thinking, Hermione-”

She was startled. Startled that he was talking to her without any sort of edge to his voice. Edge of resentment. Edge of sarcasm. Edge of disappointment. She couldn’t find one. It was rather-

“-we should do something today. After lessons.”

“Ron…” mumbled Harry.

“Just the three of us,” he continued, ignoring the interruption.

“Ron-”

“What, Harry?” he frowned, chewing on a piece of bread.

Hermione had to cover a little smile. A smile that warmed her slightly because- because no matter how hard things got- she could always find comfort in that affectionate annoyance she felt towards Ron for the things he did.

“Stop eating with your mouth open, Ron,” she said, “I wish there was just one meal we ate together where we didn’t have a full-blown view.”

Ron raised an eyebrow.

And what? Hermione was so pleased that he was being nice to her- she just wanted to- do something back. Do something normal back. Even if it was too soon, or out of place, or something. She was just so glad.

“I think we’re all a little busy,” continued Harry, “Right, Hermione?”

“I’m- I’m going to arrange a prefect meeting after lessons finish but-” She threw a quick glance in the direction of the Slytherin table. “-I think that would be nice. After that. I think it would be- a good idea.”

Ron smiled, clearly pleased with himself. “A good idea?” he replied, pointedly looking at Harry, “Great.”

Harry rolled his eyes in return. “Fine,” he shrugged, shoving a fork full of eggs into his mouth.

Hermione looked between the boys for a second, but let whatever that was about go. Just let it go. Because it was extremely important to be able to do that sometimes.

Malfoy was wrong.

They could survive this.


*


“I know it’s been a while since we’ve called an official meeting but-”

“Granger, a word?”

Hermione stopped mid-sentence, mouth still open. More so from shock due to anything else. Shock that he was being so damn rude.

“Not at the moment, Malfoy.”

Draco turned to the prefects. “I’m sorry for the interruption. I would have been here sooner were it not for the Head Girl neglecting to tell me when and where the meeting was taking place.”

“Actually, I did tell you,” smiled Hermione, the kind of smile that was extremely sarcastic, but dusted over with an urge to make sure the prefects didn’t read too much into his comments, “Maybe you didn’t get the message?”

“What message?”

“The one where I turned to you and said we were having a meeting in the Arithmacy classroom at four thirty.”

“Oh, you mean the time you bumped into me, went red, and mumbled a load of incoherent garbage under your breath?”

A couple of the students sniggered. Hermione shot them a look.

“Never mind,” she said, determined not to rise to the bait, “You’re here now. Just pay attention next time and I’m sure we won’t have the same problem.”

She noticed his upper lip curl slightly.

For goodness sake.

“As I was saying,” she continued, “This is an opportunity-”

“An opportunity to review things,” said Draco, cutting in through her words with an air of defiance. He had moved across to the other side of her, standing slightly in front and peering at the students scattered across the various desks. “Johnson,” he scowled, “Arse on the chair, not the desk.”

A Gryffindor fought the urge to frown back, shuffled off a desk and lazily plonked himself down in the chair behind him.

Hermione scowled at Draco. “Thank you, Malfoy,” she said, then turning back to the students, “I’m aware that things have been moving smoothly, and I’m extremely-”

“We’re both extremely impressed with your ability to perform your duties without trouble,” interrupted Draco, chin raised as he addressed the group, “Personally, I put it down to the rigid rota formation we put in place at the beginning of the year. I trust there have been no problems?”

A few students shook their heads.

The rigid rota formation that they put in place? How was it that he knew exactly which buttons to press. And hard.

“Good,” nodded Hermione, swallowing the irritation, “That’s-”

“Very good. Yes.”

It was a battle. He was declaring it. She couldn’t believe he had the cheek. This was the last place he should decide to revert back to a five-year old.

Hermione cleared her throat. “We want to schedule regular meetings every other week-”

“Or rather every week,” he shrugged, “Better safe than sorry, yes?”

A Slytherin nodded earnestly. Hermione looked up at the ceiling.

“I think every other week will be quite enough,” she frowned, “Everyone one of us has things to do. This way, there will be no excuses for missing the meetings.”

Draco raised an eyebrow. “If you say so, Granger. Of course,” he drawled, “If anyone has a problem, you can always come and see me in the mean time.”

He winked at a Ravenclaw.

A female one. A stupid one. With stupid pigtails. Who blushed. And it made Hermione sick because- if Draco ever winked at her? She’d probably drown in red cheeks, albeit slap him first.

Hermione had to bite down hard on her lip. She couldn’t believe it. All there was inside her head was utter disbelief. Why? Why was he doing this? And now? He knew how important it was. To her. To both of them.

Hermione was angry. It showed in the reddening of her cheeks, in the narrowing of her eyes. But she wouldn’t voice it. She wouldn’t tremble. She wouldn’t give that smug bastard the satisfaction.

Suddenly, it felt like three months ago. It felt as if he was still the beastly arrogant Slytherin that mumbled mudblood underneath his breath whenever she walked past. And she was angry that he dared stage this disguised tantrum in front of the prefects.

Because surely that’s all it was? Some stupid tantrum from Draco sodding Malfoy, never happy when he doesn’t get his own way.

And, not surprisingly, he was still talking.

“…take it very seriously. We have the power to retract prefect positions from you at any time. As of yet we haven’t had to take such measures. So, if you all continue with the hard work and keep the professors happy, there won’t be any problems.”

Hermione took her opportunity. “Are there any-”

“You’re dismissed,” barked Draco.

What- just- what-

She couldn’t quite believe it.

“Actually before you go,” frowned Hermione, glancing at Draco and raising her voice above the chatter, “I thought I’d ask if there are any questions.”

“I’m sure if anyone had any questions, Granger, they would have asked them by now,” sighed Draco, scraping a bit of dirt out from underneath his fingernail.

Hermione ignored him, on the surface at least.

The prefects looked at one another for a few brief moments of complete silence.

She looked up at the ceiling, again. “Fine,” she breathed, “You’re dismissed.”

They began filing out of the classroom, a few of them glancing between the Head Girl and Boy with intrigued looks that thoroughly irritated Hermione.

Draco walked past her.

“Malfoy,” she growled.

“What?” he asked, turning slightly. The word was short and sharp. He was angry too.

He was angry too? You have got to be-

Hermione growled slightly.

Hermione watched the last few students leave the classroom, before storming towards the door and shutting it with a little too much force.

“What the hell was that?” she spat, trembling freely now as she spun back around and jabbed her finger at the group of now empty desks.

“What the hell was what, Granger?” he hissed, “The meeting? I am Head Boy, you know. I’m not going to be fucking sorry for showing a bit of control for once.”

“What are you talking about?”

He laughed. “Come on,” he snarled, eyes narrowing, “You’re loving this. You’re fucking loving being able to call the shots.”

“Are you joking?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Hermione felt her expression turn. She hissed out a silencing charm, waving her wand briefly before she took a deep, sharp breath inwards. Draco almost retreated slightly. “You know I honestly can’t be bothered to ask what in Merlin’s name you’re mouthing on about, but I will not tolerate you making it that obvious in front of the other students!” Her arms were moving in motions she wasn’t quite keeping up with. “How dare you interrupt me like that! Over and over again!”

“How dare I?”

“It’s your problem-” she huffed, ignoring his comment indignantly, “-your problem if you didn’t hear me tell you the arrangements for this afternoon-”

“I heard you, Granger.”

“-but you cannot make your hatred for me so god damn obvious in front of prefects! People talk, Malfoy! They talk!”

“My hatred for you?” he exclaimed, “You’re an idiot.”

“Only when you make me look like one, Malfoy!”

“What did you expect me to do?” he growled, jumping on the last word of her sentence immediately, “Let you control that side of things as well? You expected me to take a backseat with the prefects as well?”

“What?”

“You don’t get it do you?” he replied, hands shaking slightly with frustration, “This- this thing that we have- you’re the one in control! You get to decide what happens! You know that! You know that!”

“You think I’m in control?!” laughed Hermione.

“You’re always in control, Granger.”

She opened her mouth, chest rising and falling frantically as she struggled to form a coherent reply.

But she couldn’t. She couldn’t because she didn’t know what to say. How to explain it. The lack of control. The utter lack of it was so overwhelming that if she dare venture upon it, she felt sick to the stomach. Something so empty, so helpless- she wasn’t designed for it. This wasn’t her place. It wasn’t somewhere where she was meant to be.

This lack of control.

“Come on, Granger,” breathed Draco, “You must have something to say to that.”

Hermione stared at him.

“Oh please,” he sneered, “As if you can’t muster a comeback somewhere inside that pretty little head of yours. You can’t let me get away with it, making you look that bad in front of everyone, surely?”

“You’re a bastard, Malfoy.”

“Original, Granger.”

“What is it you want from this?” she asked, throwing up her hands in despair, “You certainly can’t want a real relationship. I mean- for Merlin’s sake, Malfoy- how would that ever work?”

Draco’s jaw moved slightly.

“I’m just saying,” she continued, “This- situation-”

“This situation?” laughed Draco, “We’re just a fucking situation are we?”

“What do you want me to say?!”

“I don’t know, Granger!” he growled, hands up on his head momentarily, “I don’t know!”

“Well neither do I!” she replied, “Why else do you think I just- just- let you do the things you do to me, and then hate myself so much the next morning?”

“You hate yourself?”

“Yes!”

“Well then join the fucking club, Granger!”

She rolled her eyes, turned back slightly before facing him once again. “Fine. Then if it’s destroying us this much-”

“How many times are we going to do this?”

“I just think we should- just…”

“What? Ignore it? How many times have we tried to do that as well?” Draco looked to the side of her briefly, took a deep breath, and then looked back. “If there was a way out, we would have taken it by now.”

“There’s always a way out, Malfoy.”

“Then why are you still here?”

Hermione stared at him. Speechless.

She didn’t know. She didn’t honestly know. But she would let go of her last thread of hope before she admitted she was trapped.

“Look,” he sighed, “We’ve both had to overcome issues to be in this-”

“Don’t.” She shook her head at him. “Don’t compare us.”

“What?”

“Your issues were about blood, Malfoy. Your issues were about status. Overcoming the idea that I’m- a-” She shook her head again, laughed slightly. “A mudblood. Your stupid fucking issues are worlds apart from mine.”

Draco swallowed. “And?”

“And! Just- and!”

“What?”

“And!”

“Oh right,” he sneered, sarcastically.

“It makes the difference, Malfoy,” she breathed, “Your beliefs. They’re just so- so backwards. So innate. I don’t understand how they’ve changed.” She hesitated. “In fact- I don’t believe that they’ve changed at all. You haven’t overcome anything.”

Draco’s expression was split between anger and confusion. “If I still- thought of you like that…” He paused. “I wouldn’t… I don’t… You’re being thoroughly stupid, Granger.”

“You’re telling me honestly? Honestly? You don’t think of me as a mudblood anymore?”

Draco let out a breath, loudly.

Hermione frowned. “Don’t exhale at me, Malfoy.”

“I’ll exhale at who I want, Granger.”

“Just tell me.”

“For fuck’s sake-”

“Answer the question!”

“Look, what has this got to do with anything?”

“What?!” glared Hermione, “It’s got everything to do with anything!”

“How?”

“Are you kidding?!”

Draco’s cheeks flushed red. “You can’t expect me to change instantly, Granger! I’m the son of a fucking Deatheater, don’t forget! Dead or alive! Face the fucking facts, for Merlin’s sake!”

“You think I don’t know that?!”

“What does it matter what I think of your heritage? Of your blood? It’s just blood, remember? That’s what you told me. It’s just blood! I- I want you despite it.”

“You want me despite it?”

“Yes.”

Hermione shook her head.

“What? What’s so wrong with that?”

“What’s so wrong with that, Malfoy, is there shouldn’t have to be a despite.”

Draco frowned.

Hermione looked at the ground. “You shouldn’t have to want me despite my blood. You shouldn’t have to think of it like that.” She took a deep breath. “It’s not enough, Malfoy.”

“I don’t under-”

“It shouldn’t even be a consideration anymore!” she exclaimed, snapping up her head, “Not even a thought!”

“I can’t help it! I can’t help it if I still see you like that! But it doesn’t change what I feel for you! You just can’t expect me to drop a lifetime of lessons in a space of a few months!”

“I don’t! I don’t expect it.”

“Well then would you mind telling me what the fuck is going on?”

“I don’t expect you to ever change!” She looked back down again. “That’s why. That’s just- it.”

Draco was silent for a short while. And then he clenched his fists. She could see his knuckles whitening from where she stood.

“This isn’t just about me,” he growled, “This isn’t just about how I’ve been brought up. The- the things my father has taught me.” His expression tightened somewhat. “It’s about him. It’s about him as well, Granger. So don’t try and put it all on my end.”

“Oh, and Harry doesn’t have a single reason for hating you like he does?”

“We both have our reasons. But if he was really your friend, he would leave you alone,” breathed Draco, “He would leave us both alone, Hermione.”

“Just- don’t! Don’t call me that!”

He opened his mouth in protest.

“Shut up!” Hermione cut in, “Shut- up! It’s because Harry is a good friend that he’s not leaving me alone, Malfoy! He’s worried. Can’t you see why?”

“And he doesn’t have any ulterior motives what so fucking ever, right?!”

“Oh no- no. We are not going back to this-”

“Why can’t you accept the idea that that Golden Balls might just want to get into those precious little knickers of yours?!”

“How dare you!”

“He cares about you, Granger,” continued Draco, “I won’t deny either of you that. But there’s something more. And I wish I didn’t give a fuck. I wish it didn’t even register. But I’ve always seen it. Always.”

Hermione shook her head. She knew. She knew she didn’t have to listen to this, she just wished she’d put that knowledge into practice more often. She grabbed her bag off the chair beside her and walked briskly towards the door. Not an eye on Draco. Not on anywhere but that door.

Something grabbed her elbow. She tried to shake it off.

It didn’t move.

“Don’t,” Draco murmured.

She turned back slightly, put a hand on his wrist and pulled him off. “Don’t what?” she frowned, angrily. Worn out to the core.

“Don’t go again,” he answered, “Not like this.” He had stepped around her, standing in front of the door.

“Get out of my way, Malfoy.”

“No.”

“Get-”

He grabbed her forearms, room spinning. She was up against the door.

“No,” he said again, his dizzying proximity looming in front of her, mere inches from her skin, grazed by his heated breath.

She struggled. Because she always struggles. Always puts up a fight. Always tries to resume some sort of control.

“Malfoy, we’re in a classroom! What do you think you’re-”

“No one will come in,” he rasped, fingers pressed tightly around her wrists.

His eyes were looking into hers. They were dark. She knew that darkness too well. His lips were trembling. His whole body was trembling.

He moved in closer, and then she could feel him. Rock hard against her thigh.

She didn’t gasp. Didn’t swallow like she normally did. She just closed her eyes.

“W-would you mind telling me why you think now is a right time for this? Why you’re- like- that…”

“If you’re around me, Granger,” he breathed in response, “If you’re anywhere near me, I’m like this. I’m always fucking like this. You’ve fucking- fucking taken me to pieces…”

And when she opened her eyes, his tongue was tracing a trail up her jaw towards her ear. Her breath hitched as she heard his breathing, so loud and dangerous, flooding to her head like a drug.

“I wish you wouldn’t do this,” she struggled.

“You wish you wouldn’t let me do this.”

“You don’t give me a choice.”

“Don’t you always have a choice…?”

He pressed into her once again, and as he did, the room seemed to sway slightly.

“Get off me, Malfoy,” she mumbled, determined to conceal any kind of effect he was having upon her. Or at least show him that she wanted to hide it. Show him that even if there was an effect, she wouldn’t embrace it. She refused to accept it.

“I want to do something for you, Granger,” he whispered, voice strained.

She shook her head.

“I want to make you feel.”

Hermione licked her lips. She hated it. Abhorred it. She wanted to tear out his rotten tongue mere seconds ago, and now her heart was beating in a rhythm that only made her want to collapse into him.

“Wh-what?” she stammered. And then she felt a hand travel up the side of her thigh, the light touch of fabric as her skirt began to rise. Draco’s breathing was heavier in her ear. It sent shivers down her body, heat flooding between her legs.

“Malfoy…”

“It’s an empty classroom, Granger,” he breathed, “And it’s against the rules. Don’t tell me you don’t want this.”

Her eyes fluttered shut momentarily. “I hate you, Malfoy.”

He laughed softly.

“No,” she mumbled, “I mean I do. I really do.”

“I know.”

“I hate you.”

His other hand fell down to travel up the back of her other thigh, lifting her skirt further.

“Say it back…” whispered Hermione, breathlessly, head against the door.

“No.”

“Say it back!” Her voice raised, her head lifted.

“Hermione-”

“Granger!” she exclaimed, suddenly pushing her palms against his chest, suddenly completely torn away from the hypnosis of his body. Suddenly, just angry. “You call me Granger! Not Hermione! You don’t deserve to call me Hermione! You aren’t like the others!” Her breathing was uncontrollably fast. “Now say it!”

“Why are you-”

“You hate me!” she shouted, pushing harder, shoving her hands into his torso with all the desperate force she could muster. Draco fell back slightly.

“For fuck’s sake-”

“Just say it! Say it so we can just- just get this over with!”

“Say what?” he frowned, walking towards her again, “Granger? You want me to call you Granger? Fine! Fine, I don’t care. We’re passed names. It doesn’t matter to me anymore-”

“Tell me that you hate me!”

“What?” Draco’s face fell slightly. “Why should I?”

“Malfoy!”

“What’s wrong with you?” He reached out to her.

“What’s wrong with you?!” she snapped back, hitting away his hand.

“You’re what’s wrong with me, Granger! You! Fucking- fucking everything about you!” And then he grabbed her arms again, too fast for her to retaliate with any effective strength.

“No!”

He brought her body away from the door, turned her around, walking her backwards into the desks behind. “Why do you keep doing this, Granger?” he asked, pushing her into the side of one, moving his mouth towards her, moist, heated, frantic lips on the edge of hers. So close to her mouth. So close to letting her taste that bitter, sardonic fear and lust and whatever the fuck else he did to her. Countless things. “Why do you keep doing this?” he murmured against her skin.

He released one of her wrists, brought a hand to cup the back of her head as he pulled her into a violent kiss, breath halted, teeth biting down, tongues desperate- so fucking desperate- and pressing into each other hard enough to almost lose balance.

When Draco eventually pulled away, Hermione gasped for breath, went to push him again, angry tears threatening to fall onto her cheeks.

He grabbed back her wrist. “You kiss back, Granger,” he hissed, voice shaking slightly as he held her struggling body, “You always have.”

And then his mouth was back against her neck. She could feel the words tickle her skin in a tantalisingly torturous way that made her pulse race. His voice was quietly soft, but his tone was heated. “I get why you need to- pretend sometimes,” he continued, tongue wetting her skin between words, “We both- need to.” His mouth moved back up to her jaw again. “But you can’t always pretend. You can’t always keep it going- not for that long.”

“What?” she breathed heavily, twisting a wrist out of his grip to grab the back of his head, tangle her hand in his hair as she tilted her head backwards, “Like you can’t pretend you’ve changed?” She held his lips against her skin. “You can’t pretend you don’t see the same mudblood as you always saw?”

“Stop hiding behind that.” Draco bit her. Not very hard. But hard enough.

“I wouldn’t have to if you hadn’t have created it,” she winced, moaning immediately afterwards.

It made him growl.

He kissed her again, and this time there weren’t any teeth, or pain, or small traces of blood. Just tongues entangled, entwined, tracing each other’s mouths in heated despair.

Draco pulled back. “Let me do something for you, Granger.”

“W-why do you keep saying that?”

“Get on the desk.”

“Malfoy-”

“Get- on- the desk, Granger.”

“You can’t tell me what to-”

His arms were suddenly underneath her, suddenly shoving her precariously onto the edge of the desk, the tip of her feet barely touching the ground. Draco had hitched up her skirt in the process. It had ridden up all the way to her hips, and in a small self-conscious moment, Hermione moved to tug it down.

“Leave it.”

She could only frown at him, words failing her as his hands travelled up either thigh, mouth moving towards her once again as he latched back onto the skin of her neck.

“You taste- so good,” he breathed. All over her. “I need more.” His tongue dipped lower. “I need more of you, Granger…”

His hands left her bare thighs and began unbuttoning her shirt clumsily.

He buried his mouth in between her breasts, tongue wetting the fabric of her bra.

“Malfoy…” she breathed, a name she’d said too often in the past months, “Why are we…”

He licked up to her shoulder. “I don’t know.” And then so fast Hermione momentarily lost her breath, Draco fell to his knees.

“Open your legs.”

“Malfoy-”

“Shut up,” he growled, making sure her skirt was pushed up as high as it would go. His voice was coarse, lost somewhere in something she knew they both shouldn’t be involved in. “Fuck, Granger…” he murmured, kissing her thighs, slowly, pushing his head between them. “Fuck…”

Hermione’s head fell back.

“Don’t close your eyes,” he mumbled.

“I’m not-”

“Watch me.”

“I…don’t…”

She hadn’t realised that she was relenting to Draco’s movements, moving her thighs apart to accommodate him, one of his hands gripping onto her leg so hard it was hurting her.

The sensation of the wet heat of his mouth against her knickers sent such a severe shudder through her body she almost fell backwards. His fingers hooked around the edge of them, pulling them down. She lifted slightly to make it easier.

To make it easier. Oh god.

“Good girl, Granger,” he rasped.

“Fuck…you…”

He pushed her legs wider, one hooked over his shoulder and-

She couldn’t believe it. Couldn’t accept it. And she would go with it. She would go with it, Draco Malfoy’s tongue melting into her, until she woke up. Woke up.

It didn’t stop. He didn’t stop. His mouth working on her, her body reacting in shameful ways, moving with him, pushing into him. Feeling every wet movement of his tongue with absolute despair. A hand grabbed his head, her body falling back, arching against the cool surface of the desk.

“Back up, Granger,” breathed Draco, hot against her.

She murmured something. A sound.

“Sit up,” he growled, “Look at me.”

She couldn’t believe she obeyed him. She couldn’t believe she was there, struggling to pull herself up, keep her eyes open and focussed on Draco’s head as he found a rhythm so unbearably wonderful she felt that not even if someone walked in would she want him to stop.

Not even…

His tongue began working faster. All the blood in her body seeming to rush to those places he touched, tasted, sucked. She was shaking fiercely, trembling so hard Draco had to grip her hips to stop her from bucking into him.

Her lip was caught between her teeth, and she couldn’t know at that moment just how hard she was biting it, moaning with each flick of his tongue, each murmur against her heated flesh.

Hermione could feel something, feel herself nearing an indescribable sensation that no other person had ever given her. Made her feel. Fierce and desperate and so unbelievably lost in the motions of his mouth. So almost there.

“Ma-Malfoy…”

“Hermione…”

“Fuck…fuck…”

And she couldn’t sit up any longer, a burst of ecstasy rippling through her body as she cried out, collapsed onto her back, arching, twisting, head rubbing against the desk. And his name, choked in her throat. Draco.

Draco.



*



Harry raised an eyebrow. “Twenty minutes late?”

“Very unlike you, Hermione,” added Ron.

“I think you can both be quiet, actually,” she mumbled, cheeks flustered, “If I had a galleon for every time either of your were late somewhere-”

“Fair point,” nodded Harry.

Ron shrugged.

“So, what are we doing?” she asked, tucking her hair behind her ear. And then un-tucking it. And then tucking it back again.

Harry was extremely tempted to tell her to leave it alone.

“Well we were going to go down to the Tree, but-”

“No.” Hermione shook her head firmly.

“Like your protests mean anything anymore,” sighed Ron, “Anyway, as I saying- we were going to go down, but apparently it’s too cold.”

“Far too cold.”

“You’re just scared about breaking the rules.”

“Oh am I, Ron? And I suppose I should feel stupid about that, should I? What with being Head Girl and all?”

Harry held up a hand to stop whatever was about to come out of Ron’s open mouth in response. “We sort of thought we may as well just stay here in the common room.”

Hermione’s expression changed. Harry couldn’t be certain, but she almost looked disappointed. “Oh,” she replied, “Okay.”

“Is that alright?”

“I just- thought it was going to be us three. Just us three.”

Harry smiled. He was pleased that she cared, so very pleased he almost couldn’t hide it. Because he honestly thought she was doing this for the sake of it. Just to prove something in that Hermione Granger sort of way. But no. She really wanted it. Perhaps Harry knew that all along, but assurance never hurt anyone.

Ron looked a little annoyed. “Well I was all up for the Tree, actually. It was Harry that said it was too cold,” he mumbled, shooting him a mock look of resentment.

Harry laughed at him. “Go there on your own if you love it that much, Ron. I’m sure you’d be doing everyone a favour.”

“You’re the one that’s practically married to it, mate.”

“Shut up, Ron,” scowled Hermione, ever protective whenever Ron made a comment about Harry’s attachment to the place. Harry would be grateful were it not for the fact that it just made a big deal out of something he was happy to pass off as teasing.

It’s what guys did. Banter, and all that.

Harry broke the rather comical angry stares between Hermione and Ron. “I can think of a nice warm place where it can be just us,” he said, clearing his throat, “How about the library?”

Hermione frowned. Obviously. It was more than a little often that Harry could see Ron’s point about her- and this he would never say it to her face- ridiculously anal attitude about pretty much every god damn thing.

“The library?” she repeated, “A place for quiet study? Study with no talking?”

“I’ll bring some chocolate frogs,” grinned Ron.

“What?” Hermione looked somewhat outraged. “The- why are you-” She tutted loudly. “There are rules!”

“Oh come on-”

“You certainly cannot eat in the library, Ronald!”

“The place is big enough for us to find somewhere Pince isn’t likely to wander over to,” said Harry.

Ron was counting the chocolate frogs from his pocket.

“Ron!”

He stuck out his tongue.

“You can’t eat-”

“Says who?”

“What do you mean says who?!”

“Says who?”

Harry sighed. “For everyone’s sake, Ron, just leave the damn chocolate behind.”

“I don’t-”

“I thought this was you’re idea,” continued Harry, “Us spending time together? I’d rather not have to be the go between the whole night.”

Ron mumbled something under his breath.

When they eventually left the common room, the walk to the library was filled with the odd comments about lonely chocolate and the importance of rules. A mixture of irritated voices talking over one another and huffing and puffing through the making-one’s-point silences.

Harry wasn’t listening. He couldn’t. He was busy engaging in the seemingly never ending struggle with the information Pansy had sobbed out to him the previous night.

No. He hadn’t told her that morning. He hadn’t been able to say the words. And he didn’t understand why. He couldn’t think of a better opportunity for Hermione to see just exactly who Draco Malfoy really was. Who he will always be. Something Harry had needed, waited for, for months now. Just wanting that familiar hatred in Hermione’s eyes to return whenever she looked at Malfoy. And it wasn’t something that had completely gone- Harry could still feel the resentment- but it wasn’t enough. Something wasn’t enough in all of it. Something had changed.

Now Harry was apprehensive. He was so sure of himself the night before, so utterly convinced he would pull her aside after breakfast and explain everything Pansy had told him.

But something had stopped him. And it had been Ron. That morning.

”We can’t save her, Harry.”

The feeling in his stomach when Ron had said those words was so powerful it hadn’t left. It was still there, right then as they walked to the library. He had realised, at that moment, that he didn’t really believe it. He didn’t believe what Pansy had told him. He had only wanted to tell Hermione because he hoped it would save her from whatever else was going on between her and Malfoy. He hoped it would get her back.

Save them all. Save himself.

But then- what Ron had said. The way in which he had said it. This wasn’t the kind of thing he could save her from. It wasn’t magic. It wasn’t war. It was something else. Harry still didn’t know exactly what. He wouldn’t let himself think about it for too long- even if the ideas swam around his head every minute of the day. Whatever it was, he couldn’t help it, or he would have done so by now, one hundred times over.

It would have gone back to normal by now. Surely?

And so what was the point? What was the point in fuelling Pansy’s angry revenge? Her lies. Harry wanted to believe them. And he almost did. But he wasn’t sure enough to see Hermione’s face as he told her. As he destroyed whatever good Hermione thought she had found in Malfoy.

Not to get him wrong, of course. Because Harry was determined to change what Hermione thought. He was adamant that the good she saw in the boy wasn’t real. It was a fabrication, either by her mind or Malfoy’s. But lies wouldn’t help him. They never helped him.

Harry hadn’t abandoned the things Pansy had told him. He wouldn’t forget them for as long as he had to look at Malfoy in the corridors as he slimed his way past. Harry didn’t believe Pansy, but he also saw the small traces of truth in her words. Just something. Something that he couldn’t let go of.

He wouldn’t tell Hermione because he was so uncertain. Because he so almost didn’t believe. But he knew something could happen to change that. Something could happen to make him believe, either by absolute reason or sheer want. A want to believe them even more than he already did.

He couldn’t understand his own reasoning. He couldn’t work out what he thought. But that was the closest he came to an explanation. A rationalisation. The reason he was keeping quiet.

For now, at least.


*



Draco’s eyes were closed, his lips wet as he continually swept his tongue across them.

Every second. Every second he kept reliving the past hour with her. The expression on her heated face, the sounds escaping her mouth, the taste of her as he gave her the one thing he had yet to give.

When Hermione’s breathing had eventually levelled out, she was back on her feet, no effort to adjust her clothing as she grabbed the back of Draco’s neck and pulled him into a searing kiss.

She could taste herself. He knew she could taste herself. Draco couldn’t even begin to bear how unbelievably hard he was.

When she pulled away, her eyes narrowed.

“Don’t tell me what to do again, Malfoy.”

Draco was breathless. He couldn’t speak. Hermione’s hands moved down to the throbbing bulge in his trousers. The second the heat from her hand reached his cock he groaned. Loud and involuntary, head hanging down, almost touching her shoulder. She was undoing the button of his trousers.

Gritting his teeth, Draco rushed to still her hands.

She looked up at him, confused.

“Granger…” he breathed, ragged and dangerous in his throat, “It’s what I want to do for you.”

She frowned. Didn’t understand. He hated that she didn’t understand. It meant he had to form words at that moment. With her so close.

“I want to show you,” he rasped, “That it’s not just about- not just about me wanting to get off. It’s not just about-” He cleared his throat. “-being inside you.”

“Malfoy-”

“I don’t want you to think it.” He looked down. He didn’t know if he understood himself either. “Just let me do this for you.”

“You don’t need to.”

“I do, Granger. If not to prove it to you, to- prove it to myself.” He held onto her hands. “I want you to know I care more about you- more about you-”

He couldn’t finish. He just couldn’t. No matter how hard he wished it.

Draco had wanted her to know he cared more about her than he did himself. He didn’t say it because he couldn’t believe it was true. Even in his head, when he said it to himself, it sounded like a lie. Because he was a Malfoy. And there is nothing outside a Malfoy.

Especially not her.

It was always pureblood. It had be.

He had wanked off twice since he had got to his room. And he was hard again. He hated it. But he hated it even more that he had yet to here her come back to her room. It was obvious where she was. Who she was with.

”Then I should go.”

“Probably a good idea.”

“Okay, well… Malfoy- you really don’t-”

“Shut up, Granger. Let me do this.”

She frowned. “Fine. Just- fine.”

Draco lay in his bed hoping that the only thing she could think about at that moment was his tongue. His head between her legs.

Or that’s what Draco wished he was hoping. Instead of- hoping for the rest. The other stuff. The so very unlike-a-Malfoy stuff.

He turned his face into the pillow and pressed into it, hard. He pressed into it until his head rang from the lack of air. Because Draco was angry. He was angry because it wasn’t true. It wasn’t true that he hoped she was thinking about his tongue.

He hoped she was thinking about him. Just him. And both of them being together. Just being somewhere together, alone. And it could be in silence, it could be without dark touches and dangerous tongues, it could just be. Just be. Exist. He was only truly living when it existed.

And he hoped more than anything that he was all she thought about.

Because she was all he thought about. Constantly. Every minute of the day. She was there with every intake of breath and blink of eye, and it had almost stopped driving him crazy. He was almost numb to it. Accepting. Wouldn’t want to be without.

Where did that leave him? What did that mean?

That word?

His mother had spoken of love before. She had talked about her love for his father. For Lucius. Draco couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t understand how it could be so horrific. It destroyed them both, their love for his father. And so- he came to the love is nothing but pain conclusion early. And it wasn’t hard. It wasn’t a struggle. Love had played such an empty, detrimental part in his life it was almost terrifying. It made it easier to let it go.

The only thing he could label as love was his relationship with his mother. Perhaps. That came closest at least, Draco thought. It must do. Because that’s what you see- mothers and children and all the undying love in the world. Those saying goodbye to each other on the platform every September. That’s what Draco could have, if he let himself. If he let his mother show it, instead of watching her tragic tears with an expressionless face as he got on the train and left her all alone again. Alone and without.

Draco wanted to be like his father, wanted to be his father, worship the ground, kiss every step- but it wasn’t love. Even if he thought it was, it can’t have been. They may have been related, but all in all, they were two separate people. Two different existences. And they didn’t have to love each other. So they didn’t. Because Lucius can’t have loved Draco. So Draco can’t have loved him back. Neither deserved the love.

And Lucius never explicitly said it, but Draco knew what his father thought of it all. Of romance. That there was this thing about it. It didn’t exist. Empty promises of love and eternity are as hollow as a breath. Wish, want, wonder away, don’t forget you are only here to play games. It’s the way. The Malfoy way.

Fucking bastard. He lied. Because this feeling tearing away at Draco’s heart was too real to not exist. It was a sickness. But truth all the same. He’d tasted vomit in the past weeks more than air because of it.

Draco knew there was a line. A line between infatuation and love. He didn’t know where he stood on it, but the power of it was overwhelming. The position he was in was inescapable. But there was something in it, something he was getting from it.

Draco was making up his own mind about love. And to him- it hurt and hurt until he thought his heart couldn’t possibly be more than a clump of splintered muscle- but it existed. The feeling existed.

That word.

Draco closed his eyes.

Tonight’s patrol started at nine and finished at eleven. It wasn’t together, but Draco still needed to see her. Hermione. They needed to cross paths. He needed to say things. He needed to tell her.

And at that moment Draco knew he was a fool. Because somewhere inside himself, he hoped it might change things.


*


“You know…” Harry trailed off. Adjusted his glasses.

“You know…?” asked Hermione, her voice quieter than his in an effort to continue to prove her point about talking in the library.

“You know we want you to be happy,” mumbled Harry, not looking her in the eye.

Hermione’s heart skipped a beat. “Of- of course,” she laughed a little, “Why wouldn’t you?”

Ron cut in. “He’s talking about Malfoy,” he mumbled.

“Ron,” frowned Harry.

“What?”

Hermione inhaled. “What do you mean?”

“I just mean- we want you to be happy,” he said again, “That’s all we want. Above anything. It’s what matters the most, you know? Like for all of us. The happiness comes first, cos- well- we need it. We need you to be.”

“Harry-”

“And I know things have changed, but-”

“Mate,” sighed Ron, “We said we wouldn’t bring it up.”

He shrugged. “Sorry.”

Ron looked down for a short while. He seemed to regret his interjection. “Nah,” he replied, looking up at them both, “Fair point I guess, mate. Was a bit stupid to think it could go without being said. And- you’re right. Harry’s right.”

“I don’t- I mean…” Hermione frowned in confusion. “Thank you.”

At that moment, the three of them fell silent as Pansy Parkinson came into view. As soon as she caught Hermione’s eye, she looked away.

Ron started under his breath. “Fucking little-”

“Don’t, Ron,” mumbled Hermione, “Don’t spoil it. Let’s just ignore her.”

“She’s an absolute-”

“Harry, please.”

Pansy pondered by the bookshelf opposite their table for a few short moments, before grabbing a red covered book and disappearing further off into the library, a few pointed glances shot at Harry before she left.

“Slag.”

“Ron.”

“Whatever.”

Hermione took a deep breath, attempting to conceal the slight tremble in her hands. “Maybe you were right, Ron, let’s not talk about any of it.”

“I wasn’t going to talk about Pansy,” muttered Harry.

“I know, but it’s part of the general reason you’re saying it all.”

“We want you to know, Hermione,” continued Harry, a concerned scowl across his face, “We want to make sure you know. We’re scared that you don’t feel as close to us anymore.” He looked at Ron for some sort of agreement.

“I guess,” mumbled Ron.

“You know, Ron.”

“Fine. I know.”

Hermione smiled. “You’re my best friends. Of course I- I feel the same. I always have.”

“And you can talk to us.”

Talk to them.

Hermione’s heart sunk slightly. Was that what it came back to? Was that what it would always come back to? They wanted to know. Needed to know. Needed to talk. She didn’t want Malfoy to be right. There had to be some normalcy without the constant search for answers.

She cleared her throat quietly. “I know that.”

“Do you?”

“Yes.”

“We won’t go off on one, Hermione.” Harry took her hand across the table. “You believe me, right?”

She nodded.

She didn’t.

They would.

Harry let out a breath, and nodded back. “Okay,” he smiled slightly, “Okay, that’s good.”

Ron joined the nod. “Yeah,” he said, “It’s good.”

There was a small silence. Hermione wished she could feel their warmth. She wished she could answer their cries for her to trust them, to confide in them, to be happy.

“You wanna go back to the common room now?” asked Harry, “Library shuts in fifteen minutes.”

“I have to patrol in just over an hour,” she replied, reaching for her bag, “I think I’ll just stay behind until it closes and read a few passages from my textbook.” There was a lump in her throat that told her she needed to be alone.

“What time does patrol end?” asked Ron, getting up.

“Eleven.”

“We’ll probably see you down at breakfast tomorrow then,” said Harry, pushing his chair into the table.

Hermione nodded and smiled. “And thank you,” she added in a loud whisper, “Thank you for tonight. It was nice to spend time together, don’t you think?”

“Need to do it more often,” agreed Harry.

She watched them disappear slowly behind the numerous passages lined with books.

Her boys.

They want her to be happy.

It hurt to hear him say that to her, hear him say something so selfless and caring. The words warmed her, but the thoughts that followed chilled her to the bone. Because it was obvious. What made her happy would tear them apart.

And wait.

How did she even know that what she thinks would make her happy would actually make her happy? Why did she even think that at all? All it had brought was pain and loneliness and a drenching feeling of despair that was becoming so familiar she was close to embracing it. Tired of denying it.

She could never be happy with Malfoy. No. Thinking about it- no. They were in two separate worlds. They were two minds so faraway from one another she was surprised they could even communicate. Or come close to communicating, since she barely ever understood him. And didn’t that just prove it? The distance. The incompatibility. The oh god this is so wrong this is so wrong part that screamed and screamed and screamed in her face until she was stone cold with it. Overflowing. It was wrong. Wrong.

Wrong wrong wrong wrong-

“-wrong.”

“Granger?”

Hermione jolted.

“Are you okay?”

She fumbled around with her book. “Yes I’m okay,” she laughed, nervously, “Why wouldn’t I be okay?”

“You were just-”

“No I wasn’t.”

“Excuse me?”

“What?”

“Granger-”

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

He cleared his throat, left a small silence in which she was able to catch her breath. Slightly. The temptation to hold the textbook up and over her face was rather overwhelming.

“I’m just checking that you haven’t forgotten about patrol.”

“Of course I haven’t.”

“Nine o’ clock.”

“I know.”

“Good,” nodded Draco, “And we’ll meet halfway near the Astronomy Tower like we usually do?”

“We’ve never done that before.”

“But we’re supposed to.”

“I know we’re supposed to. We’re told we’re supposed to. But you never bother to turn up.”

“That was before.”

“Before?”

There was another silence, Draco’s jaw moving inside his mouth in the ways that always made her feel slightly anxious. Even more anxious.

“Is that all?” asked Hermione, resisting another temptation to bite her nails- something she had certainly never considered in the past. It was rather unnerving.

“Just that- we could talk. Halfway. Or afterwards. You know, whatever.”

“Talk?”

“Not like the usual talk.”

“Right.”

“I have something to tell you.”

“Can’t you tell me now?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Because.”

“Tell me now.”

“No, Granger.”

“So that’s it? You came into the library to tell me that?”

Draco raised an eyebrow.

“Don’t flatter yourself, Granger,” he smirked, “I’m hear to pick up a book.”

Damn it.

“R-right. Okay. Yes.”

“So I’ll see you at some point?”

Hermione continued to fidget with the pages of her book. “Probably,” she mumbled.

It was strange. It felt strange- stranger than usual. And she hated herself for being so desperately intrigued by what he had to say to her.

“Oh and Granger?”

“Yes?”

“You’re book’s upside down.”

Oh god.

Hermione coughed a little. “So it is,” she muttered, “Yes.” And then laughed a very forced laugh. “Upside down. Yes…”

“I’ll see you later.”

“Bye.”

She waited for him to walk around the corner before burying her head in her hands, bringing it down to her desk and banging it against it.

It was bound to be awkward. It was bound to be. He had his head grinding between her thighs a few hours ago.

Hermione felt the throbbing, the heat caressing her face again. She felt nervous in a different way. An intense feeling of anticipation that was causing her breath to tremble.

Because Draco wanted to talk. Talk. And not in the usual way. For some reason she could sense that he meant it.



*



Hermione was disgusted at the lack of attention she was paying to the job at hand. She felt so distracted she found herself in a darkened corridor before she had the chance to light her wand in preparation. It shook her a little, that foreboding darkness all around her, and it even took her a couple of seconds to get her bearings.

It was a quarter to ten.

“Lumos.”

She eventually worked out she was near the Astronomy Tower, shaking herself slightly to regain some sort of consciousness. Control.

It took a short while for Hermione’s eyes to adjust to the darkness around her. Her wand was there more for comfort rather than light itself, and it was necessary for that reason alone. Highly necessary in an ancient castle with countless existences roaming the grounds.

The sound of breathing behind her caused her to spin around.

She yelped in surprise at the tall darkened figure in front of her, dropping her wand to the ground.

The light went out.

“Hermione?”

“Oh god,” she breathed, “Harry.”

He bent down to pick up her wand for her, but didn’t give it back instantly, despite her outstretched hand.

“Sorry,” he mumbled, “I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“What are you doing here?” she asked. She could make him out fairly easily despite the lack of light.

“We need to talk.”

“I’m supposed to be patrolling.”

“Well- we still need to talk.”

“Can’t this wait-”

“No.”

He sounded strange. He sounded almost- anxious. Afraid of something. Hermione sensed it coming off him in waves.

She took a step towards him.

“Harry?” she said, voice quiet, “Are you alright?”

“Yes.” His voice was flattened somewhat.

“What do you want to talk about?” she asked, “You’ll have to make it quick, I’m afraid.”

He cleared his throat, nervously.

“I- erm- I want to talk about us.”

“Us?” Hermione frowned.

Her heart was beating hard inside her chest. She didn’t know if it was the darkness, or the remains of the fright he had given her. Or just Harry himself. The way he was standing, staring at her, blinking profusely behind his glasses.

There was something wrong.

“Remember I said that I was scared you didn’t feel close to us anymore?”

“Yes…”

“Well-” He kept looking down, looking back up and over her shoulder.

“Harry, what is it? What’s wrong?”

“I meant me. I was scared you weren’t as close to me.” His voice still sounded dry. His breath was shaking.

“Well,” she frowned, “I promise, Harry. I know I can come to you. I’ve always known it.”

“I wanted to say it a while ago.”

“You’ve got nothing to worry about.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

“Alright…” She held out her hand again. “Can I have my wand back now?”

His hands were shaking.

“Can I just- tell you something.”

She nodded.

“Hermione?”

“Yes. Yes you can.”

“Don’t get freaked out.”

“Harry, stop it,” she replied, “You’re getting me freaked out by doing this.”

“I know now isn’t the right time but I wouldn’t be able to sleep otherwise.” He hesitated. “I’ve… been feeling more.”

“More?”

“More for you,” he continued, “Do you understand what I mean by that?”

He stepped towards her.

That couldn’t be right. He couldn’t mean that.

No, she can’t have understood.

“Harry, come on,” she laughed, “What’s this about? Malfoy’s going to come past here soon and- I just don’t want you guys crossing paths tonight, okay? It’s too much to-”

“Why aren’t you listening to me?”

“I am. I am, it’s just-”

“I think about you all the time.”

“Harry-”

He sounded irritated. “This is difficult for me,” he mumbled, “You get that, right?”

“Can we talk about this tomorrow-”

“I want to talk about it now,” he said, “I’ve come all the way up here. I need to show you.”

“Show me what?”

Harry grabbed her wrist.

“Harry!” she laughed, nervously, “What are you-”

He tugged her body forward, crashing into his as he pressed his lips firmly against her. Hermione could barely contain her struggling scream.

“Get- off!” she shouted, attempting to twist out of his grip as he dropped her wand and grabbed her other arm. “What the hell is wrong with you?!”

His voice shook. “Hermione-”

“Get off me!”

He stumbled forward, their bodies thudding against the wall behind. Her head smashed back, the contact splitting through her brain.

“Ow! Stop!” she yelped. “What are you doing?!”

“Showing you.”

“Showing… What…?”

“I’m showing you.”

Hermione’s blood ran cold.




*



Draco had reached the Astronomy Tower far too soon. He knew. In all truth, he had gone straight there, missing out the many corridors in which he usually patrolled.

Tonight it didn’t matter to him. He told himself that it would, that he wouldn’t forget about his duties and ruin the last chances he had at making a real something of his time at Hogwarts- but not tonight. There was too much in his head. Too many rehearsals swimming around, shot down in his head over and over again. The possibility that she won’t want to hear it. That he’ll lose her altogether.

The anticipation that it could change everything. And the fear that it could change nothing at all.

But it was something he had to do. Words that he had to say to her. So he had reached the stairs leading up to the Tower far too early. And now he was left to sit there and wait. Wait for her to come and find him there- with all these things to say, and no coherent way of saying them. A long time. It was a long time that he sat on the bottom step and chewed his bottom lip.

It was almost ten o’ clock when Draco heard voices from one of the nearby corridors- voices that he couldn’t quite work out- he was irritated. It was almost time for her to meet him. The halfway point of patrol. This wasn’t about finding people out at night, this was about being the only two to find. This was about the plan. The one involving words.

He was so tempted to leave those voices, hoping beyond belief that when Hermione came she wouldn’t hear them- wouldn’t escape and leave it all unsaid. It couldn’t be left unsaid. Not tonight, not after he had worked so hard to find it inside himself.

Then the murmur of sound got louder. And Draco knew Hermione would hear them if she came.

Somebody cried out.

Somebody.

Draco shot up.




*




Ron stared up at the ceiling of the common room, chewing on a chocolate frog.

“What time is it?” he mumbled through a mouthful.

“Just gone ten, I think.”

“Thought it was later than that. I’m tired.”

“Me too.”

Ron swallowed the chocolate.

“I feel sorry for her you know,” he mumbled, rolling up the wrapper in his hand, “Having to patrol this late. It’s tough, isn’t it? Being Head Girl. It must be.”

“Probably more than we know.”

Ron sat up and looked across the room at Harry.

“Do you think she believed you earlier?” he asked, “About always being there for her? About being able to trust us and all that?”

“I hope so,” shrugged Harry, “But- I guess I don’t know. It was hard to tell.” He sighed. “I just hope she’s okay.”

“Yeah, me too.”

They sat there for a while, Ron staring into the dull glow of the fireplace before them.

Ron was still uncomfortable with the idea of Hermione being Head Girl. He was still uncomfortable with the idea of Harry suddenly changing approaches like he had. He still hated everything about the situation that he had hated before. But tonight he seemed numb. A little distant. Staring into the dull glow of the fire, that was all he could see. The fire. No thoughts- no anxieties running wildly through his head. He knew it wouldn’t last, but while it did, it was a good feeling.

Ron yawned.

“You wanna go to bed?” he asked Harry, stretching out on the sofa.

Harry nodded. “Sounds like a plan.”

Ron hoped he would have a dreamless night, tonight.



*