Meet the Kids

Chapter 12

Epilogue Part 2: And So It Ends

Dear Secret,

I have other hobbies besides reading you know, contrary to what you said in your last letter. I socialize with my friends, I do homework, I play Wizards' Chess occasionally . . . but there is nothing wrong with a good book every now and then. I could recommend a few if you'd like since it seems you are in lack of interesting ones. Hogwarts, A History is quite good and there are plenty of others in our library. Not that you may have ever been in it considering the distaste you seem to have for classes and work of any kind . . .

When are you going to tell me who you are? It is quite unfair and creepy that you know who I am but I don't know who you are. I shall have to content myself making up unflattering descriptions of you so that you are goaded into denying them and telling me your identity. Let's see, you have bad acne and are short and scrawny with a squeaky voice; you have no friends which is why you wrote me in the first place . . . I could go on if you'd like. That doesn't really describe anyone in seventh year, though, unfortunately.

What did you think of the book Professor McGonagall assigned us in Transfiguration about the origination of animagi? I thought it was quite fascinating. I might like to try becoming an animagus when I'm older. I've already talked to McGonagall about it, and she thinks I could do it. I have no idea what animal I would be, though, since we don't get to pick. Hmmmm. I bet you would be something like a fox, something sly and tricky. Maybe a ferret. You know Draco Malfoy? He got transfigured into a ferret once in fourth year. It was quite funny. Were you there? I should really be doing my essay for Flitwick instead of rambling on to an anonymous stalker.

Sincerely, Hermione

Draco smiled to himself as he reread her latest letter. It had been almost three weeks since they'd started owling, and it was nearing the end of November. She did like to write lengthy letters, much longer than they had started out being. He almost wasn't upset by her mention of that horrible ferret incident at the end. Funny how she had talked about him . . . He felt a little jump of guilt in his stomach. He'd been having those more often lately, when he saw her or when he wrote or read a letter. Draco couldn't get past the thought of what would happen if she knew it was he she was owling. Would she be mad? Undoubtedly. She probably wouldn't want to have anything to do with him.

But then, what if she didn't mind that it was he? Obviously she knew that whoever her correspondent was, he hadn't started off liking her. But that hadn't stopped her from replying and now they were almost . . . well, not friends. They couldn't be friends if their only communication was letters. But he certainly couldn't profess to hate her anymore. Would she still hate him if he revealed his identity? Or would she disregard past feelings and see him not only as Draco Malfoy, former enemy, but also as her pen pal? He was afraid of finding out the answer, that it might not be the one he wanted.

The door to the dormitory banged open, and Draco looked up, startled. Blaise had entered, but stopped short at the sight of the parchment.

"She's written you again?" He sounded almost incredulous. "This is what, her fifth letter?"

Sixth, Draco corrected mentally. Blaise came closer to read the letter but Draco, anticipating this, quickly shoved it into his pocket.

Blaise stared at him, an eyebrow raised. "You're not going to let me read it?"

Draco shook his head. "It's private." For a second he thought he saw an injured look on Blaise's face but then Zabini scoffed and stepped back, his expression cold and sneering.

"Private, is it? Have they turned to love letters, now? I thought Granger didn't know it was you!"

"She doesn't," Draco retorted, stung. He scowled at Blaise. "Don't be so nosy, Zabini. It's my mail."

"You never would've started writing her if I hadn't convinced you to!"

Draco opened his mouth to respond but quickly thought better of it. He had been about to deny this, but if he did, he would have to tell Blaise about the message he'd found telling him to send his first letter to Hermione and he didn't want to start thinking about that again. He turned away in an effort to dismiss Blaise.

"My God, Draco," he said scornfully. "You actually fancy her, don't you? I was right all along." He gave a short, humorless laugh. "You finally fancy someone, and it's the one girl who wouldn't take you for anything."

Draco stared at him. He felt very numb all of a sudden.

"This is ridiculous," said Blaise at last. He sounded calmer and more contemptuous now. "You should've have seen yourself these past few weeks. I haven't seen you smile so much in . . . well, never."

Draco froze. Did he smile when he read Hermione's letters? Did he smile when he saw her in the halls? He couldn't remember.

"You're living in your own little fantasy world where you and Granger can be cute little friends. Only, you're not, because she doesn't know it's you, and if she did, she'd hate you," Blaise continued, his voice getting uglier.

"No, she wouldn't," Draco protested, finding his voice at last. But he was trying to convince himself of that as well. He couldn't hide the hopeful tone in his voice.

Blaise laughed again. "Don't try to fool yourself, Malfoy. You know as well as I do how much she loathes your family. Do you really think she'd want to be friends with you? After everything you've done to her over the years?"

Draco felt stone cold. He couldn't think, couldn't respond. He turned to leave the dormitory, but Blaise blocked him.

Draco felt his fists clench involuntarily. "If you thought a friendship between us was impossible, why did you encourage the letters?"

"Because it sounded interesting," Blaise snapped. "I wanted to see what would happen."

"Well, you saw," said Draco savagely. The numbness was gone, and now he felt only white-hot anger. "Happy?" He tried to get to the door again but Blaise shoved him aside.

"Don't touch me!"

"Tell her who you are!" Blaise said suddenly.

The angry snarl on Draco's tongue evaporated. "What?"

Blaise's eyes gleamed. "If you're so sure you like her, so sure that she would like you even after learning it's you, tell her. I'm sure she wants to meet you." Draco thought of the letter in his pocket, in which Hermione did say that very thing.

"No," he said, his throat dry. "Not yet."

"Yes. You have to."

"Don't give me orders, Zabini!" Draco shouted, flaring up again.

"Tell her, Draco," said Blaise in a soft, dangerous voice. "Or I will."

For a moment, all Draco could hear was the thump of his own heart. He stared at Blaise, who looked deadly serious, no joking smirk on his face.

"You wouldn't," said Draco quietly. He clutched the letter in his pocket.

"I would," said Blaise, equally quiet. "You know I would."

Yes, Draco did know. Because it was the same thing he would've threatened in reverse roles.

"It's your choice, Draco." Blaise stepped aside, freeing up the door. "Either you let her know, or I'll pull Granger aside after a Potions class and give her the good news for you. I'm sure she'll believe me. After all, how else would I know about the strange letters she's receiving?"

It was faultless logic. Hermione would believe Blaise, and then she'd probably get Potter and Weasley to beat Draco up on the spot. Draco stared at the other Slytherin. He wasn't accustomed to feeling so helpless. "Blaise . . ." he began, wondering if he would have to wheedle. That wasn't something he was used to, either.

"You can keep your damn letters, Draco," said Blaise, stepping closer so Draco was forced to step into the hall. "But you can't keep the façade."

And then he shut the door in Draco's face.

* * *

Hermione scanned the Great Hall as the owls flooded in to deliver the morning mail. She had been checking every day for almost a week now, since she'd first spotted her correspondent's owl flying out a window, seemingly from the direction of Slytherin table. Since then, though, she hadn't seen it again. It seemed her pen pal had realized the dangers of using his owl every time for his next letter, a day later, was delivered by a different owl, making it nearly impossible for her to keep track of it at post time.

"What are you looking at?" Ron asked through a mouthful of sausage. "The Daily Prophet's already been delivered." He waved a fork at the rolled up paper sitting beside her plate.

"Nothing," said Hermione vaguely. She busied herself in reading the front page to avoid further questioning. Next to her, Harry and Ron began talking about Quidditch. That set her thinking about her pen pal again. She knew he was a fan of Quidditch because he had mentioned it several times in his letters. His favorite British team was the Falmouth Falcons, and she knew he had attended the Quidditch World Cup two years ago because he'd mentioned that, too. She wondered if he played Quidditch on his House team. Suddenly it became very hard to remember who exactly was on what team. She shook her head, trying to concentrate on the articles. The one at the bottom was a review of a recent Quidditch game. Choking on her scrambled eggs, Hermione threw the paper aside and gulped down water, hoping neither of her friends would notice her odd behavior.

Draco felt a very sharp feeling of foreboding as he walked slowly to the Owlery, clutching his recently penned letter in his sweaty hand. It had taken him much longer than usual to write, and he had had to recopy it at the end because his hand had shaken so much. His last two sentences kept on running through his head like a bad omen. You've said in your last few letters that you want to meet me. If you still want to, I'll wait for you at the top of the stands after the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch match on December 3^rd. That was how it had ended. It was a short letter and he knew he sounded distant and awkward in it. He hadn't been able to think of what to say; Blaise's blackmail and the invitation he knew he had to offer had hung in his mind like a thunderous black cloud. He just couldn't get Zabini's nagging words out of his head, because deep down, he knew his fellow Slytherin was correct: Hermione would hate him if she knew.

But it was too late now.

* * *

Dear Hermione,

I actually tried reading Hogwarts, A History a few years ago, but it was entirely too boring for me. I'm not that interested in history. Binns and his dusty lectures put me off it in our first year. As for that ferret incident you mentioned- yes, I was there. I bet with your brain it would be really easy for you to become an Animagus. And for your information, I have flawless skin, I'm 5'9," my voice is exceedingly deep and masculine, and I have plenty of friends. Nice try, though. You've said in your last few letters that you want to meet me. If you still want to, I'll wait for you at the top of the stands after the Slytherin vs. Gryffindor Quidditch match on December 3^rd.

-Secret

Hermione read the letter, her heart picking up speed. Finally, he had offered to introduce himself. December 3^rd was only a few days away. She would know, as Harry and Ron had been gone every night for almost two weeks now practicing for the match. The unfamiliar barn owl that had delivered the letter hooted, and Hermione tossed it an owl treat she had taken from the supply in the Owlery. Then, without further ado, she scribbled a reply.

Secret,

Of course I'll meet you then. Can't wait!

-Hermione

She tied her message to the owl's leg and watched it take flight, her heart still pounding. She looked back at the letter, knowing that December 3^rd couldn't come soon enough.

* * *

Draco didn't think he'd ever been more nervous on the day of a Quidditch game in his life, not even his very first one. He couldn't concentrate on Quidditch either. Thoughts of Hermione kept flitting through his traitorous mind, even though he had vowed to ignore any thoughts about her until after the game was over. At this rate he would never be able to find the Snitch, let alone catch it- not that he had the greatest confidence to begin with considering they were playing Gryffindor. Though he would rather eat bubotuber puss than admit it aloud, Potter was a phenomenal Seeker.

He looked up from where he sat on the bench in the Slytherin changing room to see Blaise telling Crabbe and Goyle, the new Beaters, good luck on his way to the stands. He flashed Draco a sneer before whisking out of sight. Draco felt his jaw harden in grim anger. Blaise had approached him a few days ago to ask if he had told Hermione the truth yet. Though skeptical when Draco told him of his agreement with Hermione to meet up (he hadn't said the date, fearing Blaise would interfere), Blaise had at least believed him.

After a quick pep talk from the captain, which consisted mainly of snide remarks belittling Gryffindor and a grunting litany from the team mates about how they would grind said opponent in the dust, Draco trooped out of the changing room, lagging behind the rest of the team. He scanned the crowds of cheering students quickly until he caught sight of the patch of red and gold clad supporters. He was too far away to distinguish Hermione but he knew she was there anyway. Madame Hooch was saying her customary pre-game words about fair play and all that other balderdash Slytherin usually ignored. Then she blew her whistle. Draco kicked off, catching sight of Potter and Weasley sending him their usual twin glares of disgust before they too sped away, Weasley to his goal posts (not that he did any good there) and Potter to his usual circling of the field.

Draco, feeling much too antsy to fly around on his own, in fear that his nervousness would make him lose track of the match, kept an eye on Potter while searching the field for the snitch.

It wasn't he most exciting of games. For once the Gryffindor chasers were not savagely outdoing the Slytherins. Draco knew two of their Chasers from the past several years had graduated last year, and the two new ones, though good, were not as successful as their predecessors. And then there was of course, Weasley, who let almost anything and everything by him. Draco still thought Gryffindor's triumph for the Quidditch Cup last year was sheer luck, and nothing would convince him otherwise. Thank goodness he didn't have to play on a team with Weasley.

The score was soon forty-thirty in favor of Gryffindor. Potter, about ten feet above, was becoming more agitated, his flying erratic as he tried to keep a close eye out for the Snitch and on the game. Draco yawned, and squinted downward, trying to see past the glare of the sun. It looked as though something gold might be fluttering down there . . . He angled his broom down and flew forward a few feet. Suddenly, a scarlet blur whooshed past him, and Draco had to clutch him broom to keep from falling off. Potter had seen it, too. Cursing under his breath, Draco lay flat against his Nimbus 2001 and tore downward after the Firebolt. He could see the Snitch's wings clearly now, the little golden ball hovering near the bottom of the Slytherin goal posts. He could hear the spectators roaring. One of Gryffindor's own Beaters narrowly collided with Potter. Draco was mumbling a steady stream of expletives. Potter was going to beat him to it . . .

Then, to both Seekers' astonishment, the Snitch reversed direction without warning and shot upward, wings moving as fast as a hummingbird's. It was now directly between Draco and Potter, but Potter, wheeling around in the blink of an eye, didn't realize that.

Potter slammed into him before Draco could pull up. Draco felt something small and sharp graze his cheek. Potter was yelling in his ear. They were both slipping off their brooms. Draco grabbed a handle, and now he was spitting the curses aloud. A sudden weight dropped off the handle he was holding and Draco yelled in sudden pain as Potter, in his downward slide, grabbed his ankle. The Nimbus 2001 was lying on the ground thirty feet below. He must be holding onto Potter's Firebolt, then.

"Malfoy!" yelled Potter furiously, pulling Draco's leg even harder. "Let go of my broom!"

"You idiot, then we both fall!" Draco snarled down. He was sorely tempted to kick and shake Potter off, but even he wouldn't sink that low. Draco wondered if his leg had left its socket yet.

"If you hadn't grabbed my Firebolt-"

"You crashed into me, and knocked me off my broom!"

Draco suddenly realized that the students weren't cheering anymore. They were laughing. Gritting his teeth, he glared down at Potter, seething. How humiliating. Not only was he hanging onto a broom in midair, but Potter of all people was attached to his legs. Charming.

Oh, the insinuations one could make out of context.

"Harry!"

Draco looked down to see a red head girl hovering next to Potter, holding his Nimbus 2001. He vaguely recognized her as the only Weasley girl.

"That's Malfoy's broom!" Potter protested, sounding extremely unhappy.

"Take my damn broom, Potter!" Draco shouted. "Get off me before you break my leg. We can switch back in a minute." His arms were getting very tired from holding onto the Firebolt.

Below him, Potter let out a groan.

"I'll let go," Draco threatened. "And then we'll both fall and kill ourselves." Well, he doubted they would actually die, but a little melodrama never hurt the situation.

Reluctantly, with Weasley's help in holding the Nimbus steady, Potter swung onto Draco's broom and let go of Draco's leg. For a few seconds, spasms of pain raced through his leg and then it began to go numb. Sighing in relief, Draco, using the last ounce of strength his arms possessed, hauled himself onto the Firebolt. When he had at last regained a mounted position, he flew down to hover near Potter. Really, the Firebolt was a wonderful broom, he thought, admiring how smoothly it flew. He looked up to glare at Potter, who was glaring back. To his angst, Weasley was laughing silently, looking from one boy to the other. The eleven other players, even the Keepers, had abandoned their spots and were flying closer, many of them laughing as well. Madame Hooch, her lips twitching, flew towards them.

"Are you all right?" she demanded, surveying them. For the first time Draco realized he was bleeding from a little cut on his face. Potter's glasses had broken when they'd collided. He must've been hit with a tiny shard of glass.

"Yeah," said Potter, disgruntled.

Draco nodded assent, though he was still grimacing from his aching leg. Considering this was all Potter's fault, it really was unfair how much more wounded Draco was.

"What happened to the Snitch?" Madame Hooch asked, her eyes narrowed. "Did either of you catch it?"

Draco started to say no, and then, to his horror, saw Potter nod and pull something out of his scarlet robes. It was the tiny golden Snitch, its wings still beating futilely in Potter's grip. Potter was smirking. The rest of the Gryffindor team let out yells of excitement and flew towards him. The crowd seemed to understand what had happened as well, for suddenly the Gryffindor supporters were all standing and cheering once more. Draco clenched his fists around the Firebolt's handle.

"That should be a foul," protested Bole, the Slytherin captain. "Potter flew into Draco and knocked him off his broom."

"They flew into each other," Ron Weasley countered, a triumphant smirk on his ugly face. "It wasn't Harry's fault."

Thus began a five minute shouting match between various members of the two teams over whether or not Potter's catch of the Snitch should be counted because of the crash, or if the Snitch should be released again.

Finally Madame's Hooch's shrill whistle pierced the air, and all arguments broke apart. Well, almost.

"I am not a bad flier, you pestilential, moronic ferret!"

"You lousy, cheating, bas-"

Two short, sharp whistles followed. "Potter! Malfoy! That is enough!" Madame Hooch glared at them. Draco, still seething, forced himself to look away from Potter.

"I have decided," the referee said in haughty, unquestionable tones. "We will release the Snitch and resume play. A penalty will be rewarded to each team for this ridiculous display of behavior." Draco gave a silent yes! of triumph and smirked as Potter, glowering, reluctantly let go of the Snitch. Both Weasleys looked mutinous. In fact, the entire Gryffindor team looked ready to throttle the Slytherins. Behind them, half the stands had started to boo.

"I want my broom back," said Potter shortly. He turned and dived toward the ground, pulling up fast to avoid crashing, yet he stumbled all the same getting off, obviously having a hard time controlling his temper. Draco, landing gently on the ground, heard him mutter "reparo" to his glasses. They exchanged brooms quickly, still glaring, and then mounted once more. No matter how smooth a ride the Firebolt had been, Draco was more than happy to have his Nimbus back.

Play resumed. The Slytherin Keeper saved the Gryffndor penalty, and Weasley, in his fit of anger, managed to actual save a goal as well, so the score remained what it had been, and the game went on as before.

Draco decided not to stay near Potter this time and began circling the field. He wondered if Gryffindor would win anyway, despite Slytherin's second chance. It would be, considering the way this day was going, just his luck. And really, he didn't mind the game continuing for a while longer. After that he would have to face Hermione.

Five minutes later, Potter caught the Snitch.

* * *

Draco dallied in the changing room, exchanging depressed, dour comments with his teammates about how unfair the game had been and how horrible Gryffindor was. When ten minutes had passed, and Crabbe and Goyle had finally left (after offering to polish Draco's Nimbus since Potter had been touching it- he refused, worried that the two might break it) and Draco was sure the stands would be sufficiently empty, he left the changing room. It didn't take long for him to spot Hermione, seeing how empty the seats were. She was sitting alone in the Gryffindor section, chin resting on her hands, her elbows on her knees, watching and waiting. Draco gulped, and felt all his nerves from before the game come rushing back.

He knew, without a doubt, that he would rather still be hanging off of the Firebolt with Potter than approaching her now. But he did anyway, because he'd promised, and so, his feet dragging, his heart feeling like it might fall into his stomach, he climbed up the stairs.

She didn't see him coming, and only turned to face him when he cleared his throat, standing at the edge of the bench, about five feet away. She looked surprised, but wasn't instinctively glaring, which he took as a good sign.

"Malfoy? What are you doing here?" she asked, her face creased in confusion.

Draco cleared his throat again. What could he say to make her realize his intent?

"Malfoy?" Hermione repeated. This time her voice was a bit colder. "Is there something you need?" She stood, looking wary.

"Hermione," Draco began awkwardly, feeling his cheeks warm slightly. He had never used her first name in speaking to her before, and yet it sounded so natural, as if he'd never used another. She stiffed in further surprise. "I'm- I'm Secret."

She stared at him, her eyes wide. And then she did the last thing he expected: she laughed.

"No, you're not." But her voice was shaking. After all, how could she not believe him? How else could he know about the letters?

"Yes," Draco said in a low voice, barely able to get the word out. "I am."

Hermione took a step back, and plunged a hand into her robes. Draco knew she was holding her wand. Her eyes were scanning the stands frantically as she desperately searched for someone- anyone- else.

"I'm telling the truth," Draco said, trying to keep his voice from shaking. He reached into his pocket and pulled out her last letter, the parchment with the simple message that she would meet him. He had been afraid something like this would happen, that she wouldn't believe him. Hermione stared at it, and he saw her shudder.

"You tricked me," she said, her voice barely louder than a whisper. And in that instant, her face crumpled, as if the last hope she'd had had suddenly been dashed. She believed him.

"No," Draco protested, stepping forward. "I didn't trick you- I started writing to you because-"

"Is this your idea of a joke?" Hermione asked icily. She held out her wand in front of her now, threateningly. "To pretend to befriend the Gryffindor muggleborn? Did someone in Slytherin dare you to do this? Or did you come up with it on your own, you horrible prat!" She sounded close to hysterical.

Draco tried to ignore the insults, but each one was like another shard of Potter's glasses, cutting away at him. "No," he repeated, knowing it was no good. "Nobody dared me-" He stepped forward until they were barely a foot apart. Hermione let out a disgruntled sound and tried to step away, but he caught her arm.

"Hermione," he said, trying not to sound too desperate. "This isn't a joke. I like you."

Those three little words seemed to hang there. Draco hadn't realized their impact until he said them. Hermione stared at him, her mouth slightly open in shock, and Draco stared back, not knowing what to say next.

"Liar," she breathed, and he saw, to his horror, that a tear was starting to slide down her cheek. She stepped back, pulling free of his grip, and he didn't resist. Then, still staring in disbelief, she began walking backward and, after a few steps, whirled around and began racing along the stands, running down the stairs at the other end. Draco watched her go, helpless to stop her and completely at a loss as to what to do next. He stood there for three whole minutes before realizing it had begun to drizzle, and as he turned his face up to the sky, closing his eyes against raindrops, he wondered what would happen now. His mind was numb. Everything that Blaise had predicted had happened. Hermione had refused him, called him a liar. And the worst thing was, Draco knew he deserved everything she'd said.

Crumpling her last letter back into his pocket, he slowly began walking back towards the castle.

* * *

It took all of the will power Hermione possessed not to start crying as she ran down the stands, back to the castle, and up to her dormitory in Gryffindor tower, where she flung herself on the bed. Luckily, Lavender and Parvati weren't there. They were down in the common room celebrating Gryffindor's win in the match with everyone else in her House. Harry and Ron were down there, too, and she knew she should have congratulated them, but . . .

Hermione smacked her pillow with all her strength.

Malfoy.

Of all the people in the world, it had to be Malfoy. She wanted to scream. No, what she really wanted was to go hit him, just like she had in third year. And then maybe scream at him. A big part of her really wanted to believe that Malfoy had been lying, but it simply wasn't possible. He had shown her the very letter she had written a few days ago. But he couldn't have told the complete truth. After all, he had said that he liked her, and that was impossible, too.

It had been a joke.

Once more Hermione felt pinpricks on her eyelids, of tears straining to get loose. No, she thought vehemently. She was not going to cry because of Malfoy. He wouldn't get the satisfaction of knowing how badly she'd been hurt.

Hermione sat up and leaned against her bed, closing her eyes. The clues in the letters were starting to match up to Malfoy in head. He was an arrogant Slytherin, disliked Gryffindor, loved Quidditch . . . Why had he pretended to like her, though? In his letters he had sounded so friendly.

"Hermione?"

Hermione's eyes snapped open. In her musing she hadn't heard the door open. Ginny stood in the threshold, looking uncertain.

"Are you ok? Why aren't you at the party?"

Hermione tried to speak and found she had to clear her throat first. "I'm fine."

Ginny came into the room and shut the door, a determined expression on her face. "No you're not." She sat cross-legged on the end of Hermione's bed. "Neville said you stayed behind after the game ended. Why?"

Hermione looked away. She had never been very good at lying.

Ginny sighed. "Were you waiting for someone?"

Despite herself, Hermione flinched and Ginny, with her sudden perspicacity, didn't miss it.

"Who was it?" she demanded. "For whom were you waiting for?"

Hermione felt a sudden urge to explain, to admit what had happened, to tell someone about the correspondence she'd foolishly believed in. Ginny was her best friend after Harry and Ron, and she certainly couldn't tell the boys about Malfoy. They would want revenge, and Hermione didn't feel like stirring up trouble between the Houses.

"Last month someone sent me an anonymous letter," Hermione began in a small voice. "It was insulting and stupid, so I ignored it. Then I got another one, and I wrote back, because I was annoyed." Ginny listened patiently while Hermione explained how the pen pal relationship had progressed to minor friendship. Ginny looked several times as if she wanted to interrupt and ask who the person was, but she kept silent. When Hermione reached the part about waiting in the stand, she had to clear her throat again, swallowing hard.

"Hermione?" Ginny encouraged, looking extremely curious. "Who was it?"

Another pause. "It was Malfoy," Hermione said finally, tonelessly. "He came and said he was 'Secret.' I thought he was lying until he pulled out my last letter. And- well-" She shrugged helplessly. "I called him a liar and ran away."

Ginny stared, her eyes so huge she almost resembled Luna Lovegood. "It was Malfoy? You've been writing Malfoy for a month?"

"Yes," Hermione said waspishly, defensive. "Don't sound so disapproving. I didn't know it was him."

Ginny shook her head. "It's not your fault."

"It was a horrible trick," Hermione sniffed indignantly, beginning to feel angry again. "A stupid, cruel, practical joke-"

"What makes you think it was a joke?" Ginny interrupted.

For a second, Hermione was positive she'd misheard. "What? Of course it was a joke! He said he liked me, and that most certainly isn't true," Hermione said emphatically, wondering why Ginny looked so doubtful.

"He said he liked you?" Now the redhead looked intrigued and slightly excited, a dangerous combination. "You didn't say that before."

"Because it's not important," said Hermione dismissively. "Malfoy doesn't like me."

"How do you know?" Ginny countered. "You said yourself you were friends through the letters. How do you know he hasn't changed his opinion of you?"

Hermione stared at her wordlessly. It was unbelievable that Ginny even thought this prospect remotely possible. "It's Malfoy, Ginny. He's always hated me. He hates Gryffindor, he calls me a mudblood-"

"Let me see those letters," interrupted Ginny again, and she looked so determined that Hermione simply sighed and got up. She kept all the letters tucked inside her copy of Hogwarts, A History. Ginny took them from her silently and began to rifle through them. They were easy to read in sequence as Hermione, meticulous as always, kept them in order by date. It took ten minutes for Ginny to finish skimming, during which Hermione sat quietly next to her, picking through each letter as it was discarded, marveling at how easily Malfoy could pretend to be friendly in writing.

"Well," said Ginny at last, setting aside the last letter, the one in which Malfoy had proposed they meet. "I think Malfoy was telling the truth."

Hermione had hoped that the letters would dispel that nonsense. "He wasn't."

"You don't know that."

The two girls stared at one another, each equally sure that she was right.

"Even if he was, that doesn't change anything," said Hermione forcefully. "I dislike Malfoy. He's been horrible to me for six years, and a few stupid letters aren't going to change anything." She was breathing heavily, though, and the words sounded choked and false even to her. Imagine if Ginny were right- she wasn't, but just imagine- and Malfoy had changed. What did that mean? Certainly Hermione wasn't obligated to like him in return but . . . she couldn't hate him either.

"What if he writes you again?" Ginny asked quietly.

"I'm not replying," Hermione said instantly, but again the words held doubt in them.

Ginny stood, piling the letters together and slipping them back into their hiding place. "Are you going to be all right?"

"Yeah." Hermione got up and tried to smile. "I was just shocked."

"You should probably come down to the party then," said Ginny awkwardly. "Harry and Ron will be wondering where you are."

"Don't tell them," Hermione said quickly as she followed Ginny to the door. "About Malfoy."

Ginny nodded. "I won't." She gave Hermione a quick hug. "We can't ever find out the truth from Malfoy if Harry and Ron murder him first."

This evoked a weak laugh from Hermione and smiling wanly, she headed down the spiral steps to the common room, from which raucous, celebratory noise could be heard.

"Congratulations on winning the game," Hermione added as they reached the bottom, and she caught sight of Harry and Ron drinking butterbeer in the center of the room with the rest of the team.

Ginny laughed. "About time you remembered to say that."

And, vowing to put all thoughts of Malfoy out of her head for the time being, Hermione went to join in the festivities.

* * *

By the time Draco got back to Slytherin common room and had stomped off to the dormitory, glaring at anyone who dared approach him, he was itching to hit something. Or rather, someone.

Blaise Zabini turned around from where he'd been standing near his dresser, a smirk on his face. It disappeared fast when he caught sight of Draco's murderous expression. Draco didn't hesitating in striding up to him and slamming Blaise as hard as he could against the wall.

"If you ever nose into my business again, you will regret it," Draco snarled, barely restraining himself from using his wand or his fists.

"Let g-" Blaise struggled to extricate himself, but Draco's fury and hopelessness seemed to have spurred him to greater strength.

"Do you understand?"

The other boy stared at him for a minute, seemingly incredulous that Draco could be serious. Then, after his dark eyes had strayed down to Draco's arm, which was still pinning him back, he gave a short nod.

"Let go." Draco finally relented, and Blaise gave him a heave backwards, obviously hoping to regain some higher ground. Draco didn't need to tell Blaise to get out; Zabini seemed to understand all by himself that perhaps being in the same room as Draco wasn't the best idea right now.

"I take it I was right, then," Blaise said coldly from the door, his hand on the frame. "Granger did rebuff you." He disappeared before Draco could reply.

It was another few minutes before Draco realized he was simply standing there, breathing fast. He was going to have a seizure if he didn't try to calm down. Slowly he sank onto his bed and cradled his head in his hands. What was he going to do?

What would Hermione say on Monday, when he saw her in classes? Had she already told Potter and Weasley? Should he be on his guard in case those twits tried to attack him?

He groaned, for lack of any better emotional output. First the disastrous Quidditch game and now this; really, his day couldn't get any worse.

* * *

Draco spent the next few days in a stupor. Sunday, the day after the Quidditch game, he moped around in his dormitory all day, torn between listlessly wandering the halls in case he spotted Hermione or staying in bed and pretending to write an essay for McGonagall. He did the latter and ended up with a very shoddy paper which he was too depressed to redo in any case.

Monday had Potions, and that meant finally getting to see Hermione. Draco was no longer sure if he even wanted to, since her loathing of him had obviously increased tenfold and he would be lucky not to receive another slap (truthfully, he had been surprised when she hadn't hit him in the stands). Hermione, to all intents and purposes, however, appeared to be ignoring him. Not once did she look over at the Slytherin side of the room, even when Pansy and Millicent started whispering condescendingly about the Dream Team. Draco tried not to focus on her, but it was hard, and he kept finding himself staring in her direction and then had to mentally hit himself, afraid she or someone else would notice.

Somehow, he didn't think Hermione had told Potter or Weasley because neither of them showed any more hostility towards him than normal, and Potions, by its normal standards, was a peaceful affair. The only sign that Hermione seemed to have noticed him at all, was when she left at the end of class, firmly sandwiched between Potter and Weasley and carrying on a conversation in a high, unnatural sounding tone. She also seemed inclined to peer behind her, as if to check for him, but her head never made it past her shoulder before she snapped it quickly back around.

Tuesday was worse. In Care of Magical Creatures, he had somehow unintentionally managed to wind up standing behind the trio. Draco felt a rather aching feeling in his chest when Hermione suggested in a falsely cheery voice that she would much rather stand on the other side of the clearing where they were examining a baby acromantula and Potter and Weasley obediently followed her.

He knew he had to approach her, somehow, and make her understand that he hadn't been tricking her. Then, even if she still refused to speak to him- which of course she probably would, at least he would know that he had tried. But talking to her proved much more difficult than he'd anticipated. Draco didn't know her schedule, and the only times he did see her she was with the idiotic duo.

His one hope was that he would finally get a chance to talk with her alone on Friday during their patrol. Draco was fifteen minutes early that night and had spent a half hour before that stressing over how to explain that his letters had been sincere. He was more than a little stunned to see Ernie MacMillan walking down the hall towards him at five 'till seven.

"Where's Hermione?" Draco demanded instantly, probably sounding a bit more frantic than he would've liked. "I thought we-"

"She wasn't feeling well," said Ernie. "She asked me to take over for her." He gave Draco a distantly polite smile and added, "Shall we start."

Thoroughly disgruntled, Draco nodded and set off after the Hufflepuff, feeling lower than he had all week. So Hermione had even faked being ill to avoid him. That settled things. Any sane person would've taken the hint and given up, realizing that the cause was not worth it and it would be best to forget about it.

Slytherins were not generally known for their sanity.

The first thing Draco did when he got back to his dormitory was write a letter, hastily scratching out his message and ignoring the murmurs of his room mates. Then, before he could change his mind, Draco left again and set off towards the Owlery almost at a run.

He went straight to Ares and tied the parchment to the owl's leg with his signature green ribbon. Hermione would know it was from him, and she might not even let Ares deliver it, but he had to try.

"Make sure she gets it," Draco said fiercely, patting Ares on his feathery head. Then, knowing Ares probably wouldn't make the delivery until tomorrow considering the lateness of the hour, Draco went back to Slytherin. He had told Hermione the truth, Draco thought wearily as he trudged down the same halls he had finished patrolling only a half hour earlier. He had tried to make her understand he wasn't lying and that he did like her.

And that was all he could do.

* * *

"Oh look, Hermione, that strange owl's back," said Lavender brightly, and promptly opened the window before Hermione could protest. Malfoy's owl swooped in, looking regal as ever, and dropped the familiar scroll onto Hermione's lap. It settled next to her, obviously expecting a reply. Hermione stared at it in numb shock for a few seconds and then, knowing she couldn't be mean to the owl just because it was Malfoy's, gave it a gentle, quick pat on the head.

"Thanks, but I'm not writing back to him," she whispered. "So go on, go back to Malfoy." The owl blinked at her, let out a shrill hoot and flew out the window.

Lavender and Parvati stared at her. Blushing, Hermione abandoned the essay she'd been writing on her bed and hurried out of the dormitory. Harry and Ron were at Quidditch practice, and it wasn't hard to find a secluded space in the common room. She was going to throw the letter, unread, into the fire.

Her heart seemed to be pounding a bit more than usual. It felt as if her feet were moving slower than usual, and Hermione didn't want to credit it to her own hesitancy. What did the letter say?

Nothing she wanted to know, she told herself firmly.

It was probably full of Malfoy's gloating.

But what if-

Suddenly, the letter was snatched out of her hand, and she was being pulled forcefully back towards the dormitory by someone with an iron grip around her forearm.

"C'mon, Hermione, don't you remember you promised to lend me that book on Numerology?" Giving a tinkling laugh, as if something were funny, Ginny didn't pause until they were back in the girls' dormitory and the door was closed behind them. Lavender and Parvati had vacated to the common room, thankfully giving them privacy.

"Ginny!" said Hermione crossly, rubbing her sore arm and wincing. "What was that-"

"He wrote you again!" said Ginny jubilantly, brandishing the scroll, which was starting to unravel, the green silk strand's knot coming undone.

Hermione didn't say anything; but then, it hadn't really been a question.

"I can't believe you were going to burn it without reading it first," said Ginny admonishingly. "You should at least see what he has to say."

"I am not going to read any more derisive insults from him," Hermione said hotly, trying to take the letter back. "Now, if you don't mind-"

"Hermione!" Ginny sounded truly consternated. "You have to read it!" Hermione tried not to sound any less confident than she had a moment ago, but with Ginny's ammunition, her resolve was starting to weaken. "I don't-"

"Then let me read it," Ginny interrupted. "And I'll tell you if it's bad or not."

Hermione liked this solution even less. Somehow, it would feel wrong to let Ginny read one of Secret's letter before she did, even if Secret was Malfoy.

"Please," Ginny wheedled, sensing her advantage. She held the letter out invitingly. The ribbon was completely off now, and Hermione could see what was written at the top.

Dear Hermione,

Hermione, not 'mudblood,' or 'frizzhead' or even 'know-it-all.' Nothing vaguely insulting.

Just her name. And not even her surname at that.

"All right," she said reluctantly and took the letter. She sat on her bed, reading the letter with some trepidation.

Dear Hermione,

I'm sorry I surprised you the other day in the Quidditch stands. Clearly, you expected to see someone different, and that's understandable. But I can't change who I am, or that I wrote you and you responded. I know there is little chance that you're actually reading this letter, but you've been avoiding me, so I had to write anyway. I didn't trick you, or lie to you, or write you for a bet. I didn't mean to hurt you. I know my first few letters might contradict that, but nothing in our exchanges of the past few weeks has been anything of a volatile or insulting nature. Even you have to admit to that. I enjoyed writing you, strange as that may seem.

I don't expect you to talk to me or be friendly, but I still needed you to know that nothing I said after the Quidditch game was a lie. And again, I apologize for surprising you.

Yours Sincerely,

Draco Malfoy

Hermione stared at the letter for a few moments in silence, digesting every word and all the meanings she could find. Not that there were many beside the overt ones he had repeatedly stressed- that he hadn't been lying and he did like her. She tried to find a hidden insult, but there was nothing. It even sounded sincere- though very formal. But that could be expected considering the nature of the letter.

A noise of impatience finally escaped Ginny, and Hermione looked up. Silently, she held out the letter, and Ginny took it, her eyes widening eagerly as she too read.

"Well," she said briskly, when she had finished. "I told you he was telling the truth."

Hermione accepted the letter back and placed it with her other ones in Hogwarts, A History. "There's no proof of that other than his word," she said tonelessly. "And he is still Malfoy, no matter how apologetic he may sound, so his word isn't exactly reliable."

Ginny looked at her disparagingly. "Hermione, if it had been a joke, don't you think he would've given it up by now, or at the very least made fun of you falling for it?"

Hermione didn't answer, but her face must've betrayed her agreement, for Ginny continued in the same determined manner.

"He wouldn't be apologizing and trying to defend himself if he didn't have a reason to." Both girls were silent for a few minutes, Ginny looking encouraging, and Hermione doing her best to avoid her friend's gaze.

"Are you going to write him back?" Ginny asked quietly.

Hermione shook her head. "Ginny, why are you sticking up for him?" she demanded. "It's Malfoy! His father's a Death Eater, Malfoy's been horrid to all of us for years. He ridicules your family, he makes fun of me- why are you taking his word?"

Ginny took a minute to formulate her answer, though not for lack of one. "I'm not saying I like his family any more than you do. And it's not that I want something to develop between you," she said slowly. "A friendship, I mean. I just think, considering the strangeness of it all, the unexpectedness, that you should see where it goes. I'm not asking you to like him, and I don't necessarily think you should. But if Malfoy has changed, isn't it better to come to peace with him than to keep him as an enemy?"

Hermione could see the logic in this, but before she could respond, the door opened and Lavender and Parvati walked in, holding long Divination charts trailing on the floor.

"So if Jupiter's second moon is orbiting thus in relation to its third moon-"

Hermione had never been quite as happy to see the pair of them before.

"Just think about it," said Ginny quietly, heading for the door. Hermione gave her a weak smile, and then, after murmuring a hello to Lavender and Parvati, left as well, hoping to find Harry and Ron, who if they knew about the letters, she was comforted to know, would think the idea of writing Malfoy back just as repulsive as she did.

* * *

Draco couldn't concentrate in Potions the next day. It was all he could do to mix in the right ingredients and not cause an explosion. Hermione hadn't looked at him once, hadn't given any indication that she had received his letter. She hadn't sent one in reply either, though, granted, she had only gotten his two days earlier. Draco was tired of waiting. He was going to confront her after class and talk to her, whether she wanted to or not. He was all prepared. He had even already slipped the Sticking Solution dissolving tablets into Potter and Weasley's cauldrons so they would stay behind after class and he could find Hermione alone.

Indeed, everything went just as he'd hoped, and when Potter and Weasley's cauldrons both tipped over from Draco's quietly whispered jinx near the end of class (after they had already collected their potions- he didn't want Hermione to get mad at them if her best friends failed the assignment), Hermione, looking strained and tired, hurried from the dungeon alone. Draco followed, lagging behind the other Slytherins. It took a moment to find her in the dark shadows where she was waiting for Potter and Weasley. He steeled himself, taking a deep break, willing himself to approach her. Everyone else had gone upstairs, and they were alone. It was now or never.

"Hermione?" His voice sounded too shaky and unsure, so unlike his normal drawl.

Hermione glared at him, her clutch on her book bag seeming to tighten. "Go away, Malfoy." She stepped nearer, clearly about to walk away and abandon Potter and Weasley.

"Hermione," said Draco again, quickly, hoping she wouldn't leave. It seemed her name was the only thing he could say.

Hermione flushed. "Please, go back to using Granger. I'd even rather hear-"

"No, you wouldn't," Draco interrupted. His own eyes widened just as Hermione's did.

"What?" she said, looking flustered. "I didn't finish-"

"You were about to say you would rather I go back to insulting you," said Draco, shocked at this knowledge. He knew it was what she had been about to say, though he didn't know how he knew. It could have been a lucky guess . . . Hermione looked just as unnerved as he felt.

"Will you please leave?" she asked quietly. "I don't want to speak to you. Harry and Ron will be coming out in a minute," she added almost hopefully, as if this might scare him into leaving.

"No, they won't," Draco said with conviction. "I put dissolving Sticking Solution tablets in their potions. It'll make scrubbing up awfully hard."

Hermione stared at him appraisingly, her eyes narrowed. "That's a Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes product."

Draco shrugged, his heart beating rather irregularly in his chest. He was amazed that they had been talking for nearly a minute, and she hadn't run off yet or cursed him. "Yes, I know. Ironic, don't you think?"

Hermione merely looked at him coolly. "Tricking my friends is not going to make me trust you."

Draco knew that was coming. "Right. Well. I know . . . I know that I surprised you the other day."

"That's an understatement."

"But you have to admit we had fun writing to each other for a while," said Draco quickly. He was grasping for anything, and he knew it. He hadn't come very well prepared- well, he had, in a way; at least, he'd come with the necessary items to corroborate his honesty, but he had no idea what to say, how to convince her of his sincerity. Draco wasn't often called upon to do this sort of thing, to plead his honesty.

"You seemed really eager to meet me, at least." That she couldn't deny.

"That was before I knew it was you," said Hermione witheringly. "I thought I made it clear that I never want to speak or write to you again. If you don't stop it, I will go to McGonagall."

"All right. Just let me finish, and if you still want nothing to do with me at the end I'll stop bothering you."

Hermione opened her mouth.

"And I'm not harassing you!" Draco added, unable to keep the annoyance out of his voice. "You took the initiative to write back!"

Hermione stared at him. "I didn't say anything." She sounded unnerved again.

Draco blinked. "Didn't you?"

"No." She looked at him suspiciously. "But I was going to."

There was a pulsing feeling in Draco's head, the beginnings of a migraine or something of the like. All of a sudden, he didn't feel right. Something was wrong, but he couldn't pinpoint what. Shaking his head, Draco reached into his bag and pulled out the bundle of parchments he had prepared earlier to show to her. He heard Hermione's sharp intake of breath.

"Those are my letters, aren't they." It wasn't a question. Hermione reached out and took them from him.

"I really did like hearing from you," Draco said, his voice constricted slightly. "I didn't realize-"

"It would be so fun to get to know me," Hermione finished in a whisper. It was Draco's turn to stare at her, open-mouthed. How had she known what he was going to say? And why was his head starting to hurt so much? This felt almost surreal, and he had the extreme sense of déjà vu.

"Do you feel-" Draco hesitated. This wasn't what he was supposed to say; this wasn't in the script.

"Like we've done this before?" Hermione again finished for him. "Yes . . ." She winced, and put a hand to her head. Concerned, Draco made to step forward, but stopped, something nagging at him. This was like in the dungeon, all those weeks ago, during that very strange patrol, when they'd found . . . found . . .

An hour-glass?

Hermione handed back the letters. She wasn't glaring anymore, though she did still look wary.

Draco took a deep breath. He didn't have time to dwell on hour-glasses. It took every ounce of strength he possessed to ignore his pride and say the next three words.

"I'm sorry, Hermione. I'm sorry for calling you names and making fun of your heritage. Oh, and for making your teeth so big in fourth year," he added. He hadn't planned to apologize for that particular incident, but since it rose to mind . . .

"I wasn't aiming for you. I try not to hex girls."

Hermione obviously didn't know what to say, her mouth slightly open in astonishment. "Well, you could've apologized then," she choked out.

Draco steadied himself again and reached into the pocket of his robes, drawing out a small glass phial half full of a colorless liquid. "I also have this."

"Veritaserum," Hermione breathed.

Draco tried not to show how disconcerted he was. "Yes. If you don't-"

"You don't need to drink it."

Hammers were pounding on Draco's head from all sides, and he felt as though he were sinking. She wasn't going to accept his apology and the truth. She was going to continue hating him, just as she always had. He put the phial away, his stomach leaden.

"Then I'll leave you alone," he said, his voice empty and distant. "Like I promised." He felt miserable.

"Malfoy, wait! I didn't mean it like that . . ."

Draco stared at her, hardly daring to believe what she might mean. But he couldn't say anything. The roaring in his head wouldn't stop; it felt as if there were something trapped there, trying to get out. Dropping his bag on the floor, Draco clutched for the wall, trying to keep from retching.

"Malfoy-"

He was dimly aware that Hermione was closer now. He could hear a faint note of pain in her voice as well. She was obviously being affected in a similar manner, but why and by what he didn't know.

"Draco." Her voice was more urgent now, and she was grasping him by the shoulders.

Something was pulling at his brain, something was struggling to give way to a greater force. There was something he had forgotten, that he needed to remember . . .

And then, suddenly, he saw it. A rush of images flashed across his vision, images he had forgotten, but were now coming back with such intensity Draco thought he might scream.

A blonde girl and a brown haired boy looking into an office with surprised faces

. . . searching for a missing Time-Turner in the grass . . . Dumbledore, his eyes twinkling . . . dancing in the Three Broomsticks, Hermione pressed against his chest. . . an older man who looked like him and a woman who looked like Hermione . . . Potter and his son . . . he was in the snow, kissing Hermione and being kissed back, his arms around her . . . saying good-bye to Lizzie and Dave . . . Mia and Drake pointing their wands at them . . .

"Draco!" Hermione was still holding him, and as he blinked, his vision still swimming, he saw the worried look on her face. His heart was beating very rapidly. Did she remember, too? If she didn't, Draco didn't know what he would do.

"Draco," she whispered, and he was alarmed to see there were tears in her eyes. "Do you-"

He nodded fervently.

Hermione's voice was shaking. "Lizzie and Dave? And James and Jamie and everything?"

He nodded again. "And the dance, and Truth or Dare, and the Room of Requirement."

They stared at each other. Hermione was breathing heavily and a few tears had slid down her cheeks, but she was smiling, almost laughing, reaching up to tentatively touch his cheeks and smooth his hair.

He tenderly cupped her face as well, wiping her tears just as he had done in the armchair in Gryffindor Tower before they'd kissed.

"We remembered," he said wonderingly. His mind felt wonderfully clean and refreshed. Everything made sense, how they'd each known what the other was about to say and why it had felt like déjà vu.

"You wrote me," said Hermione, her voice trembling slightly.

Draco grinned. "I told you I would. And you wrote back." He remembered the slip of paper he had found on his desk, the one that had said to write Hermione. At last he knew where it had come from. Dumbledore had given it to him before he and Hermione had left the future and instructed Draco to put in his pocket. Draco leaned forward intending to kiss her, his lips just about to brush hers-

She pulled back. Draco stared at her, his heart starting to pound faster again. Was she about to say she wanted to forget it all and go back to the way things had been before they'd time-traveled?

"We can't," she whispered, a regretful note in her voice. "We have to wait until New Year's."

It took Draco a few seconds to comprehend what she'd just said. "Are you serious?"

She nodded, though reluctantly. "We really should let this develop as naturally as possible considering we know the outcome."

Trust it to Hermione to look at things from an analytical point of view. Though very aggrieved, Draco sighed.

"All right." He pulled her into a hug before she could protest, though, and was overjoyed when she wrapped her arms around him in return. At least she wasn't denying him the embrace he was aching for.

"Harry and Ron will be out in a minute," she whispered, pulling back to look at his face.

He didn't want to let her go. "When can we meet?"

"Tonight?" she suggested. "In the Room of Requirement."

Draco nodded. "All right. At eight."

She smiled at him, and he wondered how he could have ever thought her anything other than beautiful. Reluctantly he released her and she picked up her bag from the floor where she'd dropped it.

"I miss them," she said quietly, and he knew she was talking about Lizzie and Dave and everyone else they'd left behind (or ahead, to be technically correct) in the future. "It's silly, considering I've only just remembered them. But I do."

"I know," Draco said softly. "But I imagine we'll see them again."

Blushing slightly, Hermione nodded, her lips curved upwards. "I think we will."

Walking backwards, Draco kept eye contact with her. He could hear Potter and Weasley's voices coming closer, but he still smiled at her. 'Tonight,' Hermione mouthed, and giving him one last smile, turned to greet her friends. Feeling happier than he had since- well, since he'd been in the future- Draco went on his way to lunch, knowing that eight o'clock couldn't come fast enough.

* * *

Hermione watched Draco disappear around the corner, smiling. Her heart was beating fast, and she felt as if she might simply float away she was so full of serenity. Neither Harry nor Ron, who were both scowling, noticed, and she used their preoccupation with their spilt Personality Potions to collect herself on the way to lunch.

She couldn't believe that this morning she had been dreading seeing Draco. It was incredible that her feelings could've had such a complete turn around in so short a time. Hermione marveled at how effective the Memory Spells had been. For weeks she had had no inkling whatsoever that she had been to the future; she had loathed Draco just as much as she ever had . . . it was almost appalling to her in retrospect the revulsion she'd felt toward him. And now . . . she shivered happily, anticipating that night. Even if they didn't physically touch (she was still determined not to kiss him until New Year's) it would be good enough just to be with him, to recount all that had happened that they'd forgot. And then maybe they could sit together and snuggle, his arms around her, and she could breathe in his once-more familiar scent . . .

"Hermione, do you want pumpkin juice or water?" Ron asked, waving two pitchers around wildly and looking at her expectantly.

Blushing, Hermione accepted the water, and tried to focus on her friends instead of Draco. What would they say if they knew what she was thinking about? Rather, whom she was thinking about? But they wouldn't find out until February.

Of course, not everything had to be the same as it had been for Mia and Drake, Hermione thought idly. She could tell Harry and Ron now; the time traveling might make it a bit easier for them to understand how she and Draco had gotten together; but then again the chances of them believing such a story were slim to none. At least she could tell Ginny. Hermione brightened at once at the thought that she wouldn't have to keep all her friends in the dark. Ginny already knew part of it, and was even willing to accept Malfoy, more willing than Hermione herself had been that morning! Hermione would leave the future bit out, and perhaps the extent of the relationship as well, but other than that Ginny could be safely let in on the secret.

The rest of the day seemed to go unnaturally slowly. Hermione found herself craning her head around at dinner quite a lot in order to glance at the Slytherin table. She wasn't positive, but she was pretty sure Draco was doing the same thing, and they locked eyes once. At ten minutes to eight Hermione put away her school work and hurried out of the common room, leaving Harry and Ron with their Herbology essays. It didn't take long to get to the Room of Requirement; she began pacing up and down while thinking 'I need a room to meet my boyfriend in.' Hermione felt rather nervous using the term 'boyfriend' even in her own head and wondered how Draco would feel about that.

When the door had appeared Hermione stepped inside and looked around. It was small, though not cramped, and dimly lit with floating candles. There was a red plush loveseat and a small table. Hermione sat, her stomach doing flip-flops. Within five minutes there was a quiet knock on the door.

Draco stepped in. There was a look of nervous anticipation on his face as he smiled at her and walked hesitantly forward, sinking onto the loveseat next to her. They stared at each for a few seconds, uncertain.

Finally, Hermione said the only thing that came to mind, a question she had been wondering about for the past several weeks.

"What's your owl's name?"

For a split second Draco's face registered shock, and then he laughed. "Ares."

Hermione grinned. "I like him."

"I'm glad. Draco was quiet for a moment. "What do you want to do? Do you want to do what they did and keep it a secret until- until Valentine's Day? Or do you want to tell everyone the truth?"

Hermione hesitated. Yet even as uncertainty filled her again, she felt a rush of happiness as well. Just by asking Draco was plainly saying that he wanted to be with her no matter what.

"I hate lying to Harry and Ron," she said regretfully. "They're my best friends."

To his credit, Draco tried to look sympathetic.

"But they wouldn't understand if I tried to explain about the future."

"We could take it slowly, and just see what happens," Draco suggested, taking her hands in his. "Since what happened in the future occurred rather fast, I assume we're going to be taking this rather slowly as well."

Hermione nodded. "Of course."

"Not that I have any doubt it'll work out," said Draco quickly.

Smiling impishly, Hermione leaned forward and gave him a soft kiss on the cheek. He pulled back, looking immensely disgruntled.

"That isn't fair! If you're going to kiss me, then I ought to be able to-"

"That was on the cheek," Hermione said, laughing as Draco frowned reproachfully at her.

Hermione tried to figure out how to phrase her next point diplomatically. "If we are going to wing it, it wouldn't hurt if you're a bit more . . . polite to Harry and Ron. Then they might not be as . . . violent when they find out."

Draco sighed. "Perhaps."

She raised an eyebrow.

He sighed again. "I can try."

Hermione smiled contentedly and leaned back on the couch armrest. He did the same on the other, his fingertips still holding hers on the top of the couch cushions in the middle.

"I love knowing the future," said Draco, with a morally ambiguous smirk. "I feel so omniscient."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "It might not happen exactly as it did. Will. Might." She shook her head. "Time traveling plays havoc with my tense usage."

Draco laughed.

They spent the next half hour talking about random things, reminiscing on what the future had been like and laughing over the various other couples that had turned out.

"Course Weasley can't hold anything against you since he'll be going out with Pansy in a few months," said Draco cheerfully as it neared nine o'clock and they had reluctantly decided to part. He stood, stretching, and helped her up. They stood, only a few inches apart, looking at each other, for a few seconds, and then Hermione gently pulled away.

Draco squeezed her hand once more before opening the door and checking the hall. The dancing trolls were the only other occupants, however, and they stepped out, the door melting into blank wall behind them. They parted at the end of the passage, Hermione to go further down the seventh floor to Gryffindor Tower, and he to go downstairs to the dungeons.

"I'll send you a letter," Draco said softly with a small, teasing smile. "Ares will be glad to see you again."

Hermione smiled as well. "And I promise to not burn it without reading it first."

She walked backwards slowly, keeping eye contact until he reached the stairs and had to turn around.

Hermione spent the walk back to Gryffindor counting the days left until New Year's.

* * *

Hermione leaned back against Draco, snuggling under the quilt they had brought. He clasped his arms around her, his head nestled against hers on her shoulder. The scenery from the mouth of the cave that they were leaning against was beautiful. They had a clear view down the mountain and could see the village of Hogsmeade in the distance.

Several months had passed, and it was now May; it was the last Hogsmeade trip of the year, and after having spent the morning with their own friends, Hermione and Draco were now having a picnic in the same cave Sirius had once hidden in with Buckbeak so long ago.

Things had progressed rather well since that fateful November. Just as they'd decided, Hermione and Draco took matters slowly, letting them develop as they would. The kissing did indeed wait until New Year's, as Hermione had intended; they both realized (though neither of them said it aloud) that in delaying kissing, their relationship, based on growing friendship rather than physical passion, was much stronger. They would meet in the Room of Requirement once a week at the least, and during the January Hogsmeade visit they walked away from the village to the hills and back, since they couldn't very well have drinks together in the Three Broomsticks. Occasionally, when Hermione worked late in the library, Draco would come and sit across from her when nobody else was around. If they passed in the halls or in Potions or Care of Magical Creatures they didn't speak, but if no one was looking, sometimes one would smile and catch the other's eyes. When other Slytherins bumped into the trio in the hall, Draco would often slip behind and take the chance to catch Hermione's hand; he stuck to his word and made an effort not to provoke Harry and Ron himself. It was a trial for him, Hermione could tell, as she often saw him gritting his teeth or mumbling something clearly snide under his breath, but it was worth it when Ron, sometime in mid-January, remarked on their way back to the castle from Care of Magical Creatures, looking quite perplexed, that Malfoy hadn't said anything to them in ages, and the stupid git must be ill or something because he hadn't even made fun of Hagrid in class that day. Hermione was very cheerful that day and most of that night's rendezvous was spent snogging.

The revelation to the rest of the school did indeed happen on Valentine's Day, though not in quite such a dramatic way; it simply became public knowledge that Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger had begun dating. The time had seemed to have flown by, and by the beginning of February neither Draco nor Hermione had thought of a suitable way to alert their respective friends. Hermione was resolved in her conviction, however, that surprising Harry and Ron with no warning was the absolute worst way to let them know; though it might have eventually worked out for Drake and Mia, she was determined to avoid it since she had advance warning.

Thus on the night of February 13^th, she pulled Harry and Ron upstairs to the boys' dormitory, sat them down, and told them quite clearly that Draco Malfoy had asked her out, that she'd said yes, and she didn't want to hear any 'but's, about it. They stared at her, gibbered a bit, and then Ron tried to drag her to the hospital wing. Hermione had to cast a Stinging Hex to make him let go and then, feeling guilty by his yelping, healed it. Ginny, hearing a commotion, came upstairs and saw Harry and Ron demanding how Hermione could be so insane. She added her two cents to the argument by explaining in no uncertain terms that Draco had been writing to Hermione anonymously since November, and he had been acting like a perfect gentleman for ages (it also helped that by then Harry was completely smitten with Ginny and was not loath to argue with her). When Hermione pointed out how non-aggressive Draco had been for the past few months, Harry and Ron were forced to admit perhaps she had a point, but that still didn't explain why she was going out with "the idiotic, prat-faced lump of festering mold" as Ron described him.

Hermione said that they didn't need to understand, that they should know they were still the top priorities in her life, that she loved them dearly, and she knew what she were doing. And for good measure she also warned that if they attacked Draco she wouldn't speak to them. That, unfortunately, didn't work so well, because several Slytherins, appalled at Draco's taste, tried to make trouble in various unpleasant ways. It wasn't until Harry and Ron witnessed Draco shouting at Millicent Bulstrode for tripping Hermione up after a Potions lesson in early March that they grudgingly admitted perhaps he was treating Hermione appropriately.

A fair number of other students were equally shocked, as well as the teachers. Professor McGonagall stopped Hermione in the hall to ask her in low tones if she were feeling all right, and for the next few Potions lessons if Snape asked a question and Hermione was the only one with her hand raised, he simply ignored her and moved on leaving his query unanswered.

Hermione and Draco had still not told anyone about the trip to the future, though neither planned to keep it a secret forever. For now, they were content to nurture their romance and stick to thinking about the present (there was, after all, an ensuing battle with Voldemort, although that's another story).

Now, in May, they were enjoying one of their last peaceful days together for a while. Hermione was constantly frantic about the N.E.W.T.s and Draco had had a hard enough time as it was convincing her to come have a picnic instead of studying. After a lazy lunch that the House-Elves in the kitchens had packed, despite Hermione's protestations that she could pack the food herself, they were sitting contentedly, enjoying each other's company.

"What do you think they're doing right now?" Draco asked quietly, after a few more sunlit minutes of peace had passed.

Hermione shifted, tilting her head so she could peer up at him. "Doubtlessly causing trouble."

Draco laughed. "Certainly not studying for N.E.W.T.s."

"Perhaps James is," said Hermione fairly. She allowed herself to think about the twins for a moment; it was something she rarely did anymore, so concerned was she to not obsess over the future. She could recall every detail of that November weekend perfectly, but it still felt surreal, like it might not have happened, though her relationship with Draco was living proof that it had.

She remembered the Pensieve memories they'd visited, and wondered how the proposal would differ; as far as she knew Draco wasn't planning on turning back into a ferret. And really, technically, according to Mia's stipulation that Drake had had to do it before she agreed to marry him, Draco had already done it during the Truth or Dare. Hermione grinned; not that she would make Draco do such a thing anyway although, granted, Mia had been joking, too.

The guest room that she and Lizzie had spied on floated to mind next. Hermione still blushed while thinking about it, even though what she and Draco were doing now wasn't that different. She remembered Harry's story in Dumbledore's office, when she and Draco had still been planning to change the future, and she involuntarily shivered, fastening her cloak beneath the quilt. Hermione hadn't told Harry about the upcoming fight with Voldemort, although it was easy to see he and Dumbledore both anticipated it. And besides, there wasn't anything they could do to stop it. Hermione saw briefly in her mind's eye Drake and Mia standing in the hall outside the Fat Lady's portrait hugging, Drake reassuring Mia that the future wouldn't be changed, that he loved her. With a jolt, Hermione remembered an important question she'd thought of after seeing that scene, yet she'd never gotten a chance to ask Mia. When had she and Drake first told each other that they loved one another? Hermione felt a strange tingling just thinking about it; that was, perhaps, one of her greatest regrets, not having found out the answer to that question.

"Are you going to be staying at home this summer?" Draco asked, sliding gently out from behind her and moving to lean against the cave beside her, still holding her hands.

Hermione nodded. "Yes. Professor McGonagall offered me that teaching assistant job yesterday, though, so I'll be back at Hogwarts in mid-August to help prepare for the school year." She smiled just thinking about it. Professor McGonagall had called her to her office last night to offer the position, and Hermione had asked for some time to think about it, though she knew already she would say yes, and not just because it had happened to Mia, too. She had forgotten all about the student teaching job in all the other excitement the future had held.

"Will you come visit me at the lake house?" Draco asked quietly, looking at her uncertainly. "My parents won't be- you won't be in-" He hesitated. "There won't be any trouble." He had told her a few weeks ago that he wouldn't be staying at his parents' manor over the summer holidays, that he would be staying by himself at one of their vacation homes until he had found a suitable job he liked (he harbored hopes of eventually becoming the Falmouth Seeker as Drake had).

"Of course I will," said Hermione softly, squeezing his hand. He gripped hers tightly, his face becoming relaxed again as he smiled.

Hermione surveyed the scenery again, remembering previous picnics from the last few months, and traipses up the hill with Harry and Ron all those years ago to this same place for such a different reason. She felt completely at peace up here with Draco, as if nothing could disturb them, not even the wizarding war, and Hermione knew, instantly, that this what she wanted, for the rest of her life. She hadn't doubted for a while that she and Draco would end up together, but this moment seemed to cement that future into something tangible, something including certain names and certain faces she longed to hear and see again.

And she knew the answer to her question.

Hermione turned toward Draco, slipped her hand around his waist, and leaned up to kiss him gently. Though surprised, he kissed back and was smiling when she pulled away.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I love you," said Hermione.

His eyes widened, and for a second he looked unsure of how to react. Hermione waited, her heart pounding.

Draco took a deep breath. "I've never been in love before, obviously, but I think I know what it means." He hesitated and then once more took her hands in his, looking more serious she could ever remember seeing him. "I want to be with you, whether you want to wait one year or ten years; whatever job you want, whatever options you want to explore, I'll wait or come with you; I know I want to be able to see your smile every day for the rest of my life . . . I want to see them again." His voice shook slightly. "And I think knowing all that means I love you, too."

Hermione's vision became a little bright as she released her pent-up breath, but she was suddenly laughing, and Draco's tentative smile grew until he looked happier than he had all afternoon. He pulled her towards him for another kiss.

And in the end, Lizzie was quite right.

They did indeed live happily ever after.