Claiming Hermione

Draco retreated to his room, thankful that the halls were empty since everyone was at dinner. He climbed wearily into his bed, fully clothed, and pressed his face against the cool pillow. He let the heaviness in his chest carry him quickly into a deep and dreamless sleep.

**************************************************

A somber tone infused the Great Hall at dinner that evening and Hermione was glad for it. Even Ron and Harry seemed a bit lost in their thoughts. Hermione followed suit. She wasn’t surprised to not see Malfoy and she mentally noted that he’d probably not eaten all day. Moreover, she noted that she’d noticed this and had just thought about it. A little crease of concern appeared between her brows. She was emotionally exhausted and in turn, physically tired as well. She told Ron, Harry and Ginny that she was going to turn in early and finish her reading in her bed. They simply nodded and bid her good night.

**************************************************

When Draco finally emerged from the sleep of the damned it was still dark out. A tray sat on his desk filled with food and kept warm with a heating charm. He was suddenly aware of how enormously starving he was and he thanked whatever deity had remembered him. He brought the tray to his bed and sat back against the headboard to devour last night’s dinner. He couldn’t think anymore about his mother, or his father. Instead his mind drifted to Hermione Granger.

Gods! How could he have let her see him like that? He should have cast a disillusionment charm at least. He felt humiliated and confused. He was astounded that she’d stayed with him for those hours. The fucking bleeding heart! The last thing he wanted was pity from her. She should have left him there. Instead, she’d pulled him to her and allowed him to let go. Everything he’d ever been taught told him to threaten her into silence, but he didn’t really think she’d tell anyone and he was too worn out right now to put up any effort. Sipping his pumpkin juice, he closed his eyes and re-experienced her in his mind.

He had been too upset to notice before, but now he remembered the feel of her hand softly drawing circles on his back and her fingers on his face and in his hair. He heard her shooshing sounds every so often, but he couldn’t remember her saying much else. He had a vague idea of a scent that had surrounded him, but he couldn’t pin point it. His nose was, after all, a never-ending snot factory. Then he remembered the handkerchief and his hand flew to his pants pocket. Setting down his juice, his long fingers pulled it out the wad of cloth. It was crusty and filthy. He grabbed his wand and cast a “scourgify” on it, then set down his wand to examine it more closely.

It was a fine white linen edged in delicate, intricate yellow crocheted lace. A small grouping of yellow and tangerine flowers was embroidered in one corner surrounding a spring green “H”. Draco ran his thumb over the green threads and thought with surprise how utterly feminine the cloth was. It didn’t seem fitting for the bossy, bookish, know-it-all Granger he knew. He decided instantly that he was not going to give it back. He leaned over the bed and put the cloth in the drawer of his nightstand. Leaning back again, the words he’d said to her came to his mind.

He meant it - he wasn’t about to start being nice to her, and from her reply she seemed to already know that. Maybe she had no desire to be nice to him either. But she had been nice to him. When he really, really needed it. There was no way to out think it. Hermione Granger had done something really generous for him and he at least owed her a thank you before he went back to hating her. Besides that, they did have to work together and maintaining the appearance of civility was expected.

Pulling out fresh parchment and sitting at the desk, Draco contemplated how to word the note.

“Dear Granger, …” Dear? Um, no.
“Hermione, …” Gah!
“Granger, that was a really nice thing you did …” No. Just no.
“What the fuck? …” Sigh.

By the fifth try he’d chosen his words. He wrote them out carefully and rolled up the note quickly, sealing it with silver wax and the dragon stamp his mother had bought him after beating Ravenclaw in Quidditch last year, and he left it on the desk while he went to bathe.

The bathroom had to be just about the best thing about being Head Boy. Each house had a private room for when a student from that house held the position. In the case of Slytherin, the room was in the dungeon, but it was accessible from a corridor around the corner from the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room. It opened into a small, but fairly opulent (by Hogwart’s standards) sitting room with a soft leather couch flanked by a squashy leather chair on either side. A deep, low wooden table sat in front of a large marble fireplace. There was also a small desk, comfortable desk chair, and a bookcase at the back of the room. Off the sitting room was the entrances to the Slytherin Common Room, the bathroom and his bedroom. There was also an entrance to the bathroom from the bedroom. Ah, the bathroom. It was done in a creamy white marble and brushed silver with elegant lines and an almost Art Deco styling. The warm color of the marble and a hundred candles lined up on a high ledge kept it from being austere. If the bathroom was fantastic, the crown jewel was the sunken bath large enough to fit ten people. A waterfall cascaded from high on the far wall serving as a shower, and all he had to do to scent the water, add oil, bubbles, or even have a milk bath was tap his wand on edge and name the addition. To make the whole thing even better, he discovered that no matter what he tried, he never smelled like it afterwards. That could come in handy.

The evening before had drained Draco and he was left barely able to say “eucalyptus” before sinking into the steamy water. It felt like his insides were sleeping. His mind, his body, everything was on hiatus. Asleep. Numb. Quiet. It was as though he were walking in a deep vat of honey, struggling to move his limbs and his thoughts through the thick liquid. He closed his eyes and sank below the surface, welcoming the watery silence.

**************************************************

On her way to breakfast Monday morning, Hermione stopped off at the Head Students’ Common Room - the HCR. She shared this room with Malfoy, of course, by luckily she had only had to actually share the space a couple times since the beginning of the year. They seemed marvelously good at avoiding one another. This morning was no different and the comfortable room was empty. A fire crackled in the hearth, indicating that he’d already been there. Hermione’s shoulders sagged in relief that he wasn’t there since she really didn’t know what she’d say to him. They’d have to talk eventually, but she was hoping she could have at least a couple of days before that happened, and she really hoped they could just skip the part were she found him crying in dark forest. Without putting her bag down she headed to the large desk and hutch where all the cubbies were. Here, she and Malfoy could leave notes for their prefects to pick up at meetings, or messages for each other. Outside the portrait entrance there were two slots, one marked Hermione Granger, Head Girl and the other Draco Malfoy, Head Boy. Any student, prefect, or teacher could slip notes into the slots and they would end up in the intended’s cubby. In her cubby was a small pile of parchments that she gathered up and took with her to the Great Hall.

Harry and Ron hadn’t arrived yet – probably getting a late start as was typical on Mondays, so she sat down at the table in her usual spot and started filling her plate. While she tucked in to her breakfast, she sorted through the parchments. Most were requests from the prefects to change their scheduled patrols, some were tutoring requests from first and second years, and there was even a co-authored note from Lavender and Padma with ideas for more balls than you could shake a stick at (Hermione snickered at her stupid saying): an autumn harvest ball, a Halloween masque, another Yule ball, a St. Valentine’s Day dance, a spring soiree, and finally the required graduation ball. Hermione rolled her eyes and tucked that parchment into the back of her organizer. The last parchment was small with a beautiful, intricate dragon emblem that writhed in the silver wax. She broke the seal and unrolled it.

Thank you.
I owe you.
DM

Her eyes darted over to the Slytherin table and found his looking back at her. His expression was closed and serious and they started at each other for a moment. She gave him a single small nod and the tiniest smile and he returned the gesture, without the smile, and they both dropped their eyes. Hermione slid the note off the table and quickly stuffed it into the pocket of her robe. She was just putting all the other parchments into her organizer when Ron and Harry grumped up to the table and sat down next to her with sleepy thuds.

“Where were you yesterday, ‘Mione? I was looking for you all over the place. I needed help with my Potions essay. You know I can’t do that stuff without you.” Ron turned on his innocent puppy eyes for her and she rolled her eyes.

“Gee, Ronald, I’m so sorry I wasn’t around to do your homework for you. How could I have been so negligent in my duties?” Hermione returned sarcastically with a lightly scolding smile.

“Yeah, yeah” he dismissed, “But, where were you? We looked everywhere for you.”

“I stopped by to see Hagrid, I went to pick some puffpinks, I spent a little while in the library, and I took care of some planning in the HCR.” She rambled through her list. It was easy enough to leave out some details. “If you did look everywhere, then you must have kept missing me. Sorry.”

Ron ignored her implication of his laziness by shrugging and heaping his plate with potatoes. Harry seemed to still be asleep – even with his eyes open. Not a morning person, her Harry.

Dean and Seamus sat down across from Ron and pulled him into some discourse on Quidditch that they’d clearly been debating on their way down. Hermione took the chance to look over at the spot where Draco always sat and finding his seat empty, did a quick scan on the Great Hall. In a corner nearer to the Head Table, Dumbledore was talking to Malfoy, who looked vaguely like he might bolt the first chance he got. A thought occurred to Hermione then, and she ran an investigative glance at the Slytherin table. Most of the 7th years were sitting together and talking amongst themselves. Pansy was laughing loudly at Goyle, who was gesturing wildly, causing all of them to snicker. Not one of them was paying Malfoy any attention and Hermione was more than a little surprised by it. If a psychopath had killed a Gryffindor’s parents, they would be utterly drowned in support from their housemates. What a shitty house he belonged to. Hermione sneered disapprovingly at the Slytherin table and then looked back to Draco and Dumbledore only to find them both gone. “Humph!”

--- Hope you liked that. Please review! Thanks!