A Real Edge

Hermione followed Harry and Ron out of their Charms exam. It had been awful; especially to take right after a morning of Ancient Runes, but at least she’d studied for the obliviating question. “What did you two answer for number seven,” Hermione asked in distress. “I mean, it could have been an emphasis on the second syllable, but I really think it might have-”

“Hermione!” Ron interrupted loudly as they walked down the hall. “Don’t you have your Arithmancy exam to study for,” he hinted hopefully. “Last exam of Hogwarts, you know!”

“Yes, yes, Draco and I are going to study for that later. Of course, I’ll want to study a little before I meet him, just to get an edge, but Harry,” she turned to Harry. The mention of her studying with Draco had only gotten the slightest eyebrow raises out of her two close friends. “What do you think? Was it the second syllable or-”

“Oh, look Hermione,” Harry said quickly, “there’s Blaise,” he pointed at the dark-haired Slytherin standing several feet away. “Maybe he’d like to relive the horror of exams. Why don’t you go and see?”

Hermione saw Blaise motion for her to come over and so turned to her friends, “all right, I get the picture,” she smiled, “and you’re free for now, but when I get back I want to hear all about how you two did.”

“Ya, don’t count on it,” Ron said obligingly as she turned to join Blaise.

“What is it?” Hermione asked Blaise.

“Come on,” Blaise said, steering her alongside him and out of the Entrance Hall. “I want you to hear something,” he said as they walked across the grounds.

“What?” Hermione insisted, following him to a place behind the jutting stone wall of the castle.

“Just stay here, okay?” Blaise took her by the shoulders and planted her firmly in the shadow of the massive slab of stone. “You’ll see soon enough,” he assured her. “Just stay.”

Hermione raised a skeptic eyebrow but decided to humor him. “Alright,” she agreed slowly.

“Right!” Blaise grinned, mischievous pleasure lighting his eyes. “Be back in a minute,” he said, and took off.

Hermione watched him go from her hiding place. He really was acting strangely. She tapped her foot and watched a thestral rise out of the Forbidden Forest and swoop down again to crush its prey. Hermione had witnessed the deaths of the only two Hogwarts students to be murdered because of the war against Voldemort: Crabbe and Goyle. Their deaths had been stupid, really. A big mistake that had involved them stumbling into the final battle dressed head to foot in Death Eater robes-the first time they’d ever worn them, just for fun-and they’d been blasted away by Mad Eye Moody, who hadn’t paused for thought.

Draco had dealt with their loss amazingly well, Hermione thought. She knew how she would have reacted if it had been her friends to die. Well, maybe she shouldn’t judge by the same standards. It was Crabbe and Goyle, after all. They’d probably only ever gotten as close to Draco as they had to their breakfast-an adoring sort of involvement, but not very substantial or long-lasting.

Anyway, Draco had to miss his bodyguards, even if they hadn’t been particularly smart. Now, all he had left was Pansy, whom he would still occasionally allow to laugh riotously at his jokes, Blaise, who had shown just as much loyalty to Draco as he had to Hermione, maybe even less, and…and, well. Well, “me,” Hermione said forcefully. She had tried very hard to be a friend to Draco even if he was the most infuriating, prejudiced, nasty person she knew.

Hermione snorted at her own thoughts. None of those personality defects had really made it hard for her to be around Draco. No, what made it difficult was the stormy color of his eyes when he got angry with her, the way his shockingly pale hair fell across his forehead, and the way he didn’t seem to know or care that she had these thoughts about him.

“Honestly, I am so pathetic,” Hermione said out loud. She glanced at the late-afternoon sky, hoping Blaise would get back soon. She stamped her foot impatiently. She really did want to get some studying in before she met Draco.

Then she heard it. She crouched low, making sure she was hidden behind the protrusion of rock. Draco’s drawling voice came from a ways down, complaining loudly and drawing closer, “and why did we have to go outside?” he asked. “I wanted to get in some studying before Hermione came, to, you know, get an edge.”

“Neither of you need to study any more. You’re both top of the class in Arithmancy,” Blaise answered. He stopped about twenty feet from where Hermione sat on her heels, within hearing distance, but far enough not to blow her cover. “But I wanted to bring you out here because I thought we should speak privately.”

“About what?” Draco asked. Hermione sat up a bit and could make out the back of Draco’s white-blond head.

Blaise sat down in the grass. “About what you said last night and about what you said this morning, about calling it off,” Blaise said almost angrily.

Draco had settled down next to Blaise but jumped up again in reaction to Blaise’s choice of conversation. “What about it?”

“I still think you should do it,” Blaise said vehemently.

“Listen, Zabini,” Draco started hotly. “You’ve seen her when she’s around me. She despises me. It could never happen.” He turned and was facing Blaise now, giving Hermione a clear view of his face.

“You really should just get some balls and tell her,” Blaise argued.

“What? Tell Hermione how I feel about her?” Draco asked furiously, almost laughing in frustration. Hermione’s heart flew up to her throat. She had never even heard him call her anything but Mudblood and Granger. “She’d laugh in my face,” he said derisively.

“Oh, come on,” Blaise started in annoyance.

“No, you’re right,” Draco said impatiently. “She wouldn’t laugh in my face, not Hermione. She’d look up at me with those big brown eyes and say ‘I’m sorry, Draco. I never knew.’ Then,” Draco continued, his voice rising and his face a mask of anguish, “she’d avoid me for the last week of school, and keep avoiding me for the next ten years. We’ll probably all come back to Hogwarts for some reunion and she’ll be there, beautiful and successful, and married to Harry fucking Potter, or even worse, you, you sodding bastard.”

Hermione was rooted to the spot, her fingers gripping the stone wall until her knuckles turned white. This isn’t a joke was all her overwhelmed mind could muster. Blaise spoke up again. “You know Hermione and I aren’t like that,” he said exasperatedly.

“And you know what?” Draco seemed on the verge of shouting. “I don’t buy that. I mean, how can you tell me that you don’t think of her that way? You’re around her all the time! As often as her prissy Gryffindor friends. How can anyone spend that much time with Hermione and not want to…” he groaned and collapsed next to Blaise, “make love to her ceaselessly, play with her gorgeous chestnut hair, taste those sweet, pink lips…argh…” Draco ended in an odd choking noise. All Hermione could see was his tense shoulders and his fists tangled in his hair.

Hermione felt her heart making that same choking noise.

Blaise leaned back and twisted his head around to look at Hermione, a knowing smirk lifting one corner of his mouth. “Ah,” Blaise said, still eyeing Hermione, “Merlin’s beard,” he said, almost theatrically. “Look over there, Malfoy; I think someone is watching us. Anyway, I’ve got that Healing exam to study for.” Blaise got up, gave Hermione one last grin and swaggered back into the castle.

Draco’s arms fell to his sides, his shoulders tensed even more. Hermione got to her feet, pushing off of the wall. Her knees trembled slightly as a warm burst of summer air lifted the hair away from her face.

“Oh, God,” he said hoarsely. “It’s you, isn’t it? That rat bastard…” Draco didn’t turn around, didn’t seem to want to, and Hermione took several steps closer.

“I…yes, it’s me,” Hermione stammered. Her legs felt like sacks of potatoes, but she was stiffly moving them forward.

“Well, good,” Draco said angrily, finally turning around and standing up. “Just great. So what are you going to do? Laugh or be sympathetic?”

“I…well, I could do either, if you wanted,” Hermione said.

“What?” Draco asked suspiciously, taking just one step toward her and studying her closely.

“I…” Hermione looked around wildly, at the strong, slender body hidden in the folds of his robes, his naturally elegant, weathered hands, his hair, his eyes. “I love you.”

“What?” he asked, more suspiciously than before.

“It…it’s true,” Hermione said. She couldn’t keep herself from stuttering, not when he was staring at her so strangely.

Draco’s brow unclouded. The harsh, frowning line of his mouth softened. He blinked slowly. “I love you too.”

If anyone else, except maybe Blaise, had been watching the scene, they would have thought Draco was joking, playing some cruel trick, but Hermione knew it was the truth. She knew it by the way he had whispered it like a prayer, and kept watching her so intently, willing her to accept it.

He leaned forward. Suddenly, they were dizzyingly, heart-stoppingly close. Hermione’s vision clouded with white; white hair, light-grey eyes, pale skin. He was looking so closely at her, so unguardedly. He was like a child seeing life for the first time. No one had ever looked so pure.

Hermione felt his hands brush past her shoulders and then fit perfectly against her skin, cupping her face. She closed her eyes gratefully, happy just to feel his breath softly teasing her lips. She’d never felt that close to anyone in her life. Faint tingles started from her toes and worked their way up, making her feel pleasantly intoxicated.

And then his lips met hers. Hermione felt the gentle, sweet, chaste brush of skin across skin. He pulled away, a few inches from her face, still watching, leaving his hands in place. “This is so real,” she whispered. Hermione had never, ever expected or imagined him to be tender or slow.

He kissed her, again and again.