We'll Always Have Paris

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We’ll Always Have Paris
Chapter 12

I have a smile stretched from ear to ear
To see you walking down the road
We meet at the lights
We stare for a while
The world around us disappears
It’s just you and me
On my island of hope
Breath between us could be miles
Let me surround you
My sea to your shore
Let me be the calm you seek
But every time I’m close to you
There’s too much I can’t say
And you just walk away
And I forgot to tell you I love you
The night’s too long and cold here without you
I grieve in my condition
For I cannot find the words to say I need you so

--“I Love You” by Sarah Maclachlan

For a few moments, Ron experienced perfect joy as he watched Malfoy’s unconscious form sprawled on the floor. He felt a strange sense of vindication for all the jibes and years of torment he’d suffered at the hands of that wealthy, arrogant tosser. True, the hex hadn’t worked quite in the way he’d hoped – Draco was supposed to sprout suckers on the ends of his hands and ears and his skin was supposed to turn a muddy brown like the bloodsucking leech he was – but there were some unforeseen perks … like the spasmodic twitching and drooling. Ron smiled in triumph. But then he heard the clank of his professors’ utensils just before feeling his wand fly from his hand. He didn’t have time to turn and see who caught it, because Harry slammed into him, knocking both of them to the floor and out of the way of a stream of magenta sparks, which rushed over them.

As his skull met the cold stone floor, the frenzied screams and exclamations of surprise rang in his ears, but Harry, lying on top, was pushing his arm against Ron’s throat. “What in bloody hell do you think you’re doing?” Harry yelled in his face.

Ron writhed underneath, trying to wriggle free, but Harry’s grip was too tight; he was much stronger than his wiry frame appeared. “Get off me, Harry! That slimy git deserved it, draping himself all over Hermione like she was some trinket he’d bought at Dervish and Banges.” He tried to sit up, but Harry pushed him back, knocking the wind out of his chest.

“Stay down, you twit,” Harry ordered. “That Slytherin girl just tried to hex you. I should have let her hit you too. Of all the dumb.…”

Harry didn’t get to finish his sentence, because someone had reached down and tugged them roughly to their feet. “Mr. Weasley, how dare you attack another student!” Professor Snape glowered so viciously at Ron, his eyes twitched in anger. In a low, threatening voice he growled, “I wouldn’t make any plans for the remainder of the holiday.”

“Severus, we need you over here,” Professor McGonagall barked. “Draco is injured and Poppy left this morning. He’ll need some of your healing draughts.” She looked sternly at Harry and Ron. “Mr. Potter, please escort Mr. Weasley to your common room. I’ll be up to deal with him shortly once we’re able to safely move Mr. Malfoy to the hospital wing.”

The severity of his actions seemed to be settling in, and Ron started to plead, “But, Professor, I …”

“Now, Mr. Potter!”

As Ron made his way to the exit, he caught the eye of Hermione, kneeling beside Draco on the floor. He couldn’t remember ever seeing that look in her eyes directed at him before, regardless of the number of times he’d angered her or upset her. As she held Draco’s hand tenderly in hers, she glared at Ron with a mix of confusion, ire, and disappointment. “This is by far the lowest, most conniving thing I’ve ever seen you do, Ronald Weasley.” Ron said nothing in reply as he tore his gaze from hers, suddenly stripped of any joy or satisfaction he had felt just moments before.

“Your wand, Mr. Weasley. Professor McGonagall acted swiftly to disarm you of it earlier,” a benevolent voice spoke from his left. Dumbledore was peering down at him with a look of regret mingled with understanding. He rested his hand on Ron’s shoulder with a heavy sigh.

“I’m sorry, Professor,” Ron mumbled.

“I’m not the one who needs your apology,” he said, looking pointedly at Hermione and Draco.

“Come on, Ron,” Harry said, tugging on the sleeve of Ron’s robe. “Professor McGonagall told us to head to the common room.” He eyed Lissanne guardedly as he spoke, watching as she retrieved her wand from the Deputy Headmistress as well.

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Professor McGonagall delivered the punishment to Ron swiftly and with no room for negotiation; detention every Saturday for the next three months, alternating between Filch and Snape, no visits to Hogsmeade for the remainder of the school year, and scrubbing the Potions classroom until it sparkled to prepare for the students’ return after the holiday. Harry thought, Ron had gotten off easy. When they had passed Malfoy’s unconscious form, Harry thought he had seen some blood on the floor. Harry figured Malfoy must have smacked his head pretty hard when he was thrown back from the table, which explained why he’d been knocked out. So Ron had physically injured Malfoy as well, in addition to breaking more than a few Hogwarts rules about fighting on school grounds. Although part of Harry envied Ron’s short-lived triumph, he also knew Ron had only made a delicate situation worse.

“At least that’s over,” Ron muttered miserably after McGonagall left. “But three months for hexing Malfoy? I think that’s extreme, don’t you? It’s not like that prat didn’t deserve it. In fact, it’s like I did everyone a service by knocking his arse to the floor.”

“Ron, if I were you, I’d be readying myself for Hermione’s reaction and not congratulating myself on performing my civic duty. If you think McGonagall was livid.…”

Ron threw his hands up in exasperation. “I don’t get you, Harry. Not one blooming bit. First you keep this big secret for her and then you just roll over and let Malfoy steal our best friend.”

“He can’t ‘steal’ her from us. We wouldn’t let that happen.” He paused for a short moment and hung his head. “Although your stunt tonight was an excellent way of shoving her right into his octopus-like arms. Do you know how dumb that was?”

“How can this not be bothering you?” Ron asked disbelievingly. “How can your skin not crawl knowing Malfoy’s kissed her and touched her and Merlin knows what else with her?”

Greatly agitated, Harry stood abruptly and shouted, “Shut up, Ron! Just shut it. Do you really think this is easy for me?” He stared at his best friend, suddenly quieted by his outburst. “It drives me crazy knowing that …” But Harry stopped himself. How could he explain something he was still grappling with himself? How could he tell Ron that pointing out Hermione’s relationship only twisted the knife further? Did he dare admit he’d missed much more than just copying Hermione’s notes while she was away at Beauxbatons? That he’d waited anxiously for each letter she’d written to him, rereading them until he could recite them verbatim? He couldn’t.

But he didn’t have to. Ron could read it all on his best friend’s face, in his bright, expressive eyes. Kicking himself for allowing his ire to cloud what was in front of his long nose, Ron stared at Harry, his mouth gaping open. “Merlin’s beard – you like Hermione. I mean like like her.”

Harry’s attempts at shock at Ron’s insinuations were unconvincing and pitiful. “Don’t be daft. Of course I don’t,” he stammered. “I just like her as a friend,” he said but his eyes told a different story.

“Sure, a friend you wouldn’t mind smooching on a regular basis,” Ron reasoned. He smiled wryly.

Harry slumped back in his chair and rubbed the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He sighed loudly but ceased his wretched attempts to deny it. Ron sat on the low table in front of Harry’s chair to face his conflicted friend. “How long have you felt this way, mate? Why didn’t you say anything?”

“There was nothing to say, and even if there were, it wouldn’t matter – she’s with Malfoy now.” He laughed mirthlessly. “After all, it’s my own ruddy fault I wanted to wait until Hermione got back to see if my feelings for her really had changed.”

“When were you sure they had?” Ron asked with a slight hesitation, knowing it was hurting Harry very much to be talking about this.

Without missing a beat, Harry answered, “The second she walked through the front door the night she got back from France. The moment I saw her, I knew.”

As he looked into his friend’s face, Ron could see the underlying regret and torment.

Both boys whipped their heads to the door as they heard someone outside angrily shout “Holiday cheer” – which, ironically, was the Gryffindor password – and then saw the door swing swiftly open.

“I’d always suspected Peeves was more mature than you, and your behaviour tonight confirmed it, you blimey twit. Of all the idiotic, juvenile things you’ve done …”

Ron switched effortlessly from supportive mate to attack victim in the blink of an eye. “That’s a bit like the pot calling the kettle black, isn’t it, Hermione? I wasn’t the one who went sneaking off with a bloody wanker like Malfoy to do Merlin knows what for Merlin knows how long.”

“We weren’t sneaking; we were studying,” she explained through gritted teeth.

They had closed the distance between them and were practically standing toe to toe, neither backing down. He leaned over to get right in Hermione’s face. “They teach biology and anatomy lessons in Muggle schools, not at Hogwarts,” he scoffed.

She clenched her fists by her side, amazed at her willpower to not lash out and smack him as he so deserved. But there had been enough violence for one night, and she had faced off against Ron too many times to try anything. If she let loose as she really wanted, he’d end up in a bed alongside Draco before the night was over. She took a step back, closed her eyes, and inhaled deeply to give herself a few moments to collect her wits. “It wasn’t like that,” she protested calmly. “While we were at Beauxbatons, Draco and I realized we study well together, and he needed help with our Arithmancy mid-term when we got back. He’s not the same boy he used to be, and I wasn’t going to deny him help because our location had changed.”

Incredulously, Ron commented, “And the fact you wanted to give him a good snog had nothing to do with it? Yeah, right.”

“Look, you don’t have to become best friends with him, but at least try to respect my decision.” She took a step closer to her friend. “I know you don’t like it, but it’s my decision to make, and I hope you can appreciate that.”

“But why Malfoy?” he whinged. “If you wanted to date someone, why not a nice Gryffindor or even a Ravenclaw?” He looked quickly over her shoulder at his raven-haired friend, who had risen to his feet. “I know lots of blokes who’d love a chance with you. Each of them would be better than Malfoy. In fact, how about …”

Harry’s eyes widened in shock at what Ron was about to divulge. Standing behind Hermione so she couldn’t see, he made a broad swiping motion across his neck with his finger like a blade slicing his throat as a warning to Ron to keep his fat trap shut. He was relieved when Ron halted, obviously getting the message.

But Hermione wasn’t hearing any of it anyway. “If they’re so great, then you date them. I want to be with Draco … and no one else.”

“But he’s a …a …” his mind scrabbled for insults and came out with the lowest one he could think of, “ … a Malfoy!”

“Yes, he is, and I still care for him,” she replied with a determined air.

He watched Hermione, her face resolute, her stance unflinching, and knew his current methods were getting him nowhere with her. When Hermione was faced with a challenge, she dug her heels in and would ride out the storm no matter what anybody else told her if she felt she was right, which was often. He decided to shift gears. The antagonism in his voice was replaced with deep concern. “He’s so dangerous though, Hermione. He’s into the Dark Arts; his whole family is. What if he’s just using you to get to Harry? You could get hurt.”

“So far, he’s the only one who’s been in the line of fire, Ron, thanks to you, so if anyone’s safety is in jeopardy, it’s Draco’s.” She knew Ron well enough to sense what was really bothering him. “And we’re at Hogwarts, Ron. You know we’re safer here than anywhere else. This is about something else. Tell me.”

Ron looked between his two best friends, the two people he did everything with, the two people he shared just about every waking moment with. With Malfoy in the picture, that would all change. They wouldn’t be the same trio anymore. The words seemed so clear in his head but came out as, “I don’t want to lose you.”

She grabbed hold of his hand and held on tightly. “Ronald Weasley, no matter what other people enter our lives, we will always be best friends. Nothing can ever change that. Do you hear me?” She held her other hand out to Harry and beckoned him to join them. “The three of us have been through too much together to let things like boyfriends and girlfriends come between us.” She looked between the faces of the two boys she adored so deeply. “You both mean so much to me.” She raised each boy’s hand to her lips and kissed them.

Harry sighed heavily and she could see the uncertainty lurking behind his glasses. “Hermione, I think what Ron’s trying to say – and I admit it concerns me too – is that we don’t exactly travel in the same circles with Malfoy and his friends. With your schedule and Prefect duties, we hardly see you as it is. What if hardly see each other at all? We don’t want Malfoy to …”

“… steal me away from you?” she asked, comprehension dawning on her.

Ron nodded at her realization. “I wouldn’t put it past him to try and keep you from spending time with not only us, but the rest of the Gryffindors. What if he tried to convince you that you didn’t need us any more?”

She smiled and squeezed their hands. “When have you ever known me to be persuaded to do anything I didn’t want to do?” The other boys smirked knowingly. “And I will always need you both, so you can’t get off that easily, Mr. Weasley. You’re stuck with me as a friend for good, so get used to it.” She stood on her tiptoes and gave each boy a kiss on the cheek.

“Well, I’m still not sure I like that bloody, smug …”

“Ron –“

“But I can tell you do, so I’ll try and keep an open mind – for a little while anyway.”

“And …” Hermione prompted him.

“And … I promise not to hex him anymore.…”

“Thank you.”

“… unless he deserves it, and he probably will tomorrow.” She poked him hard in the ribs. “Ow! That hurt.”

“No hexing,” she ordered in her tone that meant she wasn’t kidding. “I’m serious.”

“We’re serious, too, Hermione,” Harry said, his tone even and earnest. “We know you’re smarter than most, but just know we’ve got your back if you need us.”

“Well, it’s not exactly the reaction I was hoping for, but it’s a start, I guess,” she admitted and smiled.

“Are you heading up to bed now?” Ron asked after pulling away from one of Hermione’s tight hugs.

“No, Professor Dumbledore promised me he’d let me know when Draco woke up so I could see him.”

“He’s still not up yet?” Ron snorted, getting a warning look from Harry. He calmed down, but couldn’t hide a smile. “I mean, I didn’t think I hit him that hard.”

Harry put a reassuring hand on Hermione’s arm. “I’m sure Dumbledore and Snape will fix it, Hermione. We’ll wait with you if you want.”

“Thanks. I’d appreciate that.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

Draco awoke, but his eyelids felt too heavy to lift, so he lay in the darkness for a few moments. His head was throbbing and his chest felt as if someone had laid an anvil across it, but he could feel the gentle pressure of someone’s hand resting lightly upon his arm. “Urgh,” he muttered. “Hermione, what happened? Where am I?”

“You’re in the hospital wing, Mr. Malfoy,” the Headmaster answered kindly. Draco’s eyes flew open at the unexpected voice, but Dumbledore patted his student’s arm kindly. “Miss Granger insisted on accompanying you here with me, but I assured her you were in no real danger from your injuries. I convinced her to go to her dormitory under her explicit instructions that I was to notify her as soon as you regained consciousness.”

Draco tried to sit up in bed, but his head spun instantly and he let himself fall back onto the soft pillow and closed his eyes. He moaned, “I feel like a herd of hippogriff trampled over me.”

Dumbledore chuckled softly as he moved to the fireplace to contact Hermione. “Yes, I imagine you would. I apologize, Mr. Malfoy, but with such an able-bodied nurse like Poppy Pomfrey at Hogwarts, I confess I’ve let my first aid skills slack in recent years. It took Severus and I longer than usual to find the right potion to remedy you since, in his haste, Mr. Weasley’s Hiradus Hex did not work properly.”

His eyes snapped open. “Weasley hexed me?” he cried. “In front of all the teachers?” Memories rushed back to him of their dinner and the events which had unfolded.

Dumbledore nodded as he stood and made his way to the fireplace. He pointed his wand and clearly spoke, “Gryffindor common room.”

The old wizard smiled as the young witch came into his view. “Miss Granger, as I promised you I would, Mr. Malfoy has awoken and is no worse for wear.”

Draco rolled his eyes, thinking, How about if I give your head to Fang as a chew toy then tell me you’re ‘no worse for wear’? He could hear Hermione’s relieved voice. “Oh, thank you, Headmaster. I’ll be right down.”

“Wait, Hermione,” Dumbledore continued. “I’d like a few moments to speak privately with young Mr. Malfoy before turning him over to your capable attentions.”

“All right then. I’ll wait a few minutes. Is there anything he needs?”

Draco’s heart warmed at her concern for him; that alone made him feel slightly better. As the Headmaster looked over at him, Draco shook his head.

Dumbledore laughed quietly before turning his attention back to the fire. “Not right now, Miss Granger, but I am certain he is looking forward to your visit.” Dumbledore hesitated before asking, “How are things in Gryffindor Tower?”

Draco could something like relief in her voice as she replied, “Fine. We’re all fine here.”

“Good. Glad to hear it. I’ll see you shortly then.” The flame went out and he turned back to the young wizard in the bed. “Do you feel well enough to sit up, Draco? I’d like to discuss what happened at dinner.”

Immediately, Draco’s defenses went up. “What? You think this is my fault? Weasley’s had it out for me since day one. You were there; he attacked me.”

Dumbledore waved his hands appeasingly. “I know, Draco. I was there, and I know you were as surprised by Ron’s hex as everyone else at the table. And he will be suitably punished for his actions.”

Draco eased back in his bed, somewhat appeased, but wary of where the conversation was heading. “Good,” he said curtly as he crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You should make him clean the owlery floor with nothing but his toothbrush.” Staring straight into the older wizard’s piercing blue eyes, he huffed indignantly, “Honestly, I wasn’t doing anything to provoke him – just sitting there eating my dinner.”

Peering over his half-moon spectacles with a hint of incredulity, Dumbledore questioned, “Are you certain you did nothing to goad Ron into action? I was watching you with Miss Granger tonight as you watched Hermione with her two friends. It wasn’t too hard to notice your discomfort with their familiarity with one another.”

His eyes shifted guiltily to the floor. Hadn’t Draco engaged in such overt displays of affection to annoy Potter and Weasley? Hadn’t he been jealous of the other boys and wanted to show them he could get close to Hermione in ways they couldn’t? But nothing he did could merit being hexed as he had been. “That still doesn’t give him the right to put me in the hospital wing. It figures he couldn’t even do a hex right, that pathetic excuse for a wizard. I don’t know how he ever got a letter of acceptance to Hogwarts. I thought you had some standards of admission here.” Draco halted his rant; Dumbledore may not be his first choice as Headmaster, but he was still the wizard in charge. “Pardon me, sir,” he apologized. “I didn’t intend to sound so….”

Dumbledore looked intently into Draco’s emotional eyes. “It’s a reasonable response, Mr. Malfoy. You have been through an ordeal this evening, and I might have reacted the same way if I had been in your shoes. Your apology is accepted. And I agree with you that he had no right to hex you. Attacking other students is not an activity we encourage at Hogwarts, but you must understand something, Draco …” He paused, wanting to be sure the young man was paying attention. “… Mr. Weasley and Miss Granger have been friends since their first year. He is concerned about her safety and well-being.” He hesitated again, knowing he had to tread very carefully. “Above all else, he wants to be certain her relationship with you does not place her in any danger.”

“Danger from me?” he cried in exasperation, slamming his hands on the bed. “A few inches to the left and Hermione would be the one lying in this bed. She’s just lucky his aim is better than his ability to perform a simple hex.”

If Dumbledore was getting irritated, he didn’t show it. Instead, he remained calm. “I think Ron is concerned of how your family – particularly your father – will react to finding out you are involved with a Muggle-born witch.” He looked meaningfully at the dawning comprehension in Draco’s silver eyes. “Lucius is not known for his acceptance of people with Hermione’s ancestry.”

Draco nodded as he mulled over what the Headmaster had said, but he did not comment on it.

“In fact, I suspect both Ron and Harry are even more concerned with how your father’s … associates … will react upon hearing about you and her.”

“Now we get to the real matter at hand.” The implication was not lost on Draco, and he eyed the Headmaster unblinkingly. “Do you mean his do-gooder Ministry friends … or his evil Death Eater friends?” he asked sardonically. Draco felt a surge of annoyance; even Dumbledore believed his father was nothing more than You-Know-Who’s lackey. He tried to shield the hurt and anger from his voice but suspected the Headmaster could sense it anyway.

“That’s not what I was trying to say.…”

“He’s not a Death Eater,” Draco stated plainly, string unblinkingly into the deep pools of azure. “I don’t care what Potter says. My father was not anywhere near that graveyard when You-Know-Who rose again.”

Dumbledore watched the young wizard, staunchly defending his father even if it meant lying to himself. He didn’t blame Draco for wanting to believe his father was not a monster, but Dumbledore had heard too many rumours and seen evidence to the contrary to believe Draco’s denial. Dumbledore also knew, deep inside, Draco had a good heart, which is why he was not opposed to a burgeoning romance between the young Slytherin and Gryffindor. “How can you be so certain, Draco? Your father has never tried to hide his interest with the Dark Arts; historically your family has always held a certain fascination with them.” He proceeded cautiously. “Is it so unbelievable for someone to assume your family is in allegiance with Voldemort and his followers?”

Without hesitation, Draco replied, “Yes!” He leaned forward in his bed and pulled his knees up to rest his elbows on them. “Try and understand, Professor. My father may be a lot of things, but he isn’t a killer; he’s not as cold and ruthless as he pretends to be.” He knew his father wouldn’t approve of him telling Dumbledore any of this, but if it meant casting doubt on what Dumbledore thought was fact, then Draco had to say something. He stood again and started pacing, the pain in his head forgotten. He took a deep breath. “It’s all an act.”

“What’s an act?” Dumbledore asked, his voice betraying nothing.

Taking another deep breath, Draco told Dumbledore about Lucius’ responses to his son’s questions after the Dark Lord’s rise the night of the Triwizard Cup. About how his father was as stunned as everyone else, how he didn’t really want to eliminate Muggles and Mudbloods from the earth, because these groups needed to exist in order to demonstrate pureblood superiority. Draco also explained how all his father’s posturing about the need to eliminate the “dregs” of the wizarding world was an act he maintained because it was expected of him and the Malfoy family, and how he played the role of smug aristocrat because it made people fear and respect him, giving him control over them; and control is the real source of power

Draco knew his father probably wouldn’t be pleased he was telling the Hogwarts Headmaster such a closely held family secret, but the young wizard felt it was time Dumbledore knew where Lucius’ loyalties actually lay. He also felt his father’s precarious tightrope act between Good and Evil could not continue much longer without choosing a definitive side. And as soon as his father returned from his business trip, Draco was going to speak with him about the situation. Draco was no longer a child, he was a young man; Lucius would value his opinion more now. And if Dumbledore knew Lucius Malfoy was, in his own way, an ally, not a foe, he might help smooth the way for him to be with Hermione as well as help protect the Malfoys from the backlash they would certainly endure from Voldemort’s followers.

After all they were on the same side; when it came down to it, the Malfoys wanted Voldemort to reign as much as the Weasleys wanted the Dark Lord in power. They just approached things in different ways.

When Dumbledore finally did respond, all he said was, “I see.” And he got a strange, almost sorrowful look in his eyes.

“I’m telling you the truth, Headmaster. That’s what he told me … and he wouldn’t lie to me about something as important as this. He just wouldn’t.”

“I have no doubt he explained matters to you just as you’ve explained them to me,” he assured Draco.

They sat in silence for a few moments, until Draco acknowledged, “I think he may have been one of You-Know-Who’s followers when he was younger.” He put his face in his hands, unable to look Dumbledore in the eye. “When I was little I thought it would be exciting to follow You-Know-Who – all the forbidden magic and secrecy. I had thought it intriguing that my father might have been one of his inner circle. But then I grew older and learned about what his followers did to entertain themselves.” He took a moment, thinking back to his memories, and his features hardened with determination. “Even if my father did participate in that stuff years ago, he’s not doing it now. If he was, the Ministry would have found out long ago.”

“I hope you are right, Draco,” the old man breathed out. A slight smile broke free. “Do me this one favor – the next time you have the urge to prod Mr. Weasley or Mr. Potter into action, please keep in mind that they act toward Hermione as they do because they care a great deal about her.”

“Well, so do I,” he acknowledged firmly. He turned his face upwards and held the old wizard’s gaze. “Very much.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

In the past eight weeks, Draco and Hermione had gotten close in spite of their initial rocky start at Christmas Eve dinner. They didn’t spend every minute together, although Draco didn’t think he would mind passing the time with his intelligent, witty, fun Gryffindor. But they both were too ambitious and hardworking to let their relationship interfere with their schoolwork or Prefect house duties. However, in spite of their busy schedules and vastly different circles of friends, they made time for each other.

Draco leaned in the doorway for a few moments to admire the view. Hermione was sitting in one of the comfy chairs in her little library study room. Her school robe was tossed on the back of the chair, and her feet were crossed at the ankles, propped on the table in front of her. She was still wearing her uniform skirt, but – being engrossed in her reading – she failed to notice her skirt was scarcely covering her smooth, toned thighs. Her eyes were glued to the book in front of her, her mind oblivious to any world outside of the words printed on the pages. He watched as she, in an unknowingly sexy fashion, licked her finger before turning a page, causing his temperature to rise instantly. As she reached her hand down to scratch a small spot above her knee, her skirt slid up even further, and this spurred Draco to action. He couldn’t bear to be that close to her and not be touching her for another moment.

Soundlessly he crept into the room, careful not to alert her to his presence. He circled around to come up behind her chair so he could peer over her shoulder. Smiling to himself, he leaned over the chair to see what had captivated her attention this time … Ancient Runes, Transfiguration, Defense Against the Dark Arts? Surprisingly, it seemed to be a Muggle book and not a schoolbook.

“She was white and she tempted a Negro. She did something that in our society is unspeakable: she kissed a black man. Not an old Uncle, but a strong young Negro man. No code mattered to her before she broke it; but it came crashing down on her afterwards.”

“Miss Granger, that doesn’t look like anything from the Hogwarts library. Are you reading Muggle contraband in here?” Draco asked, effectively startling his girlfriend. She clutched the book tightly to her chest with both hands as she jumped in her seat.

“Draco, don’t sneak up on me like that. You scared me half to death.” She narrowed her eyes at him, but she couldn’t stay angry with him for long. “You truly are evil.”

Draco grinned wryly at the pretty Gryffindor as he moved to stand in front of her chair. “I know I am.” As he watched the color slowly return to her cheeks from her fright, he took off his robe and tossed it over the arm of the couch. He loosened his green and silver striped tie and slid it from his neck. Still grinning, he rested his hands on the chair’s arms and leaned over to kiss her cheek. “I couldn’t help it. You looked so irresistible perched in your chair, completely wrapped up in your book.” He held out his hand to her and helped her from the chair. As they moved to the couch, she set the book on the corner of the table in front of them.

She snuggled into his side as he wrapped his arm around her shoulders. “It was still evil, and you know it,” she said, but her tone held no malice or contempt. A slight smile threatened to break free so Draco helped it by rubbing his hand gently along her thigh.

They stayed comfortably that way for a few moments before Draco nodded at the book on the table. “What were you reading anyway? It didn’t look like the Transfiguration homework I thought you’d snuck away to get a head start on.”

“A Muggle classic: To Kill a Mockingbird.”

“To Kill a Mockingbird?” he asked in feigned horror. “And all this time I thought you were an animal rights advocate. What would all your do-gooder friends think if they knew you were reading a how-to book on assassinating poor defenseless creatures?”

She rolled her eyes and gave him a lopsided smile. “It’s not about killing birds. It’s about prejudice and the dangers of stereotypes.”

“What are you doing reading that for? A little lighthearted reading? Sounds like a load of laughs,” he teased.

“It’s very good,” she defended. “It’s extremely well-written and has so much to say on so many levels.” She moved to retrieve it from the table. “I want you to read this speech Atticus Finch makes. It’s one of the most eloquent in literary history.”

He laughed as she reached out to grab it. He had longer arms than hers and got to it first. “No, thanks. It doesn’t sound like much of a page turner to me.”

“Draco, give it back to me,” she pleaded, stretching to seize it from his firm grip. “It’s not mine; it’s Ginny’s. She needed help with her paper on it for Muggle Studies, so she stopped by here after her last class. I helped her for a bit but when she left to head down to dinner, I stayed back to read some more.” She blushed a bit. “I couldn’t help it; it’s one of my favourite books.” She lurched forward but missed it again.

They were both laughing as they wrestled for the Muggle book, and just before Hermione plied it from his grasp, Draco took the opportunity to tickle her side, ensuring his victory. Hermione screeched, “Argh! That’s not fair.”

“Whoever said I played fair?” he purred before lying back on the couch and pulling Hermione with him. He raised his arm above his head, holding the book out of her reach, and put his other hand behind Hermione’s head as he pulled her face to his. He smirked once more before kissing her full lips, starting slowly but deepening their kiss when she eagerly reciprocated. Her hands reached up, and she cupped his face in her hands as she maneuvered her body to get more comfortable on top of him. Then she moved her hands around front to unfasten the top few buttons, pulling the collar away so she could slide her kisses down his neck. As her hair tickled his throat, he shifted himself further down the couch, getting comfortable for another deliriously satisfying snogging session with Hermione.

Hermione kissed him deeply, thoroughly enjoying his reactions to her movements. Over the past eight weeks, they’d spent many evenings wrapped up just like this with each other, sometimes for hours, and she never tired of it. If anything, she wanted more. But first she needed to teach him a lesson. As he stretched his arm out to lay the book behind him, Hermione made her move. With a quick surge, she reached out, snagged the book from him, and deftly rolled off him and the couch in one graceful movement. As she peered down at a confused and disappointed Draco, she smiled coyly. “Two can play at that game,” she quipped with a wink.

Knowing he’d been had, Draco groaned and covered his eyes with his hands. “Argh! You little minx. I can’t believe you kissed me like that to get your hands on some book.” He propped himself on his elbows and pouted, “I feel so cheap.”

Hermione rolled her eyes before finding her place in her book and putting a bookmark in it. “Oh please. You’ve never felt cheap about anything. And it’s not just ‘some book.’ I told you; it’s a classic.”

“No book could be that good you’d skip steak and kidney pie for dinner with treacle tart for dessert.” He swung his legs from the couch and sat up to make room for her.

Hermione looked devastated as she flopped down next to him on the couch again. “Bollocks, I forgot! They’re my favourite.”

“I know,” he smirked and nipped gently at her neck. “That’s why I was surprised I didn’t see you at dinner.”

“How did you know I was here anyway? I thought you had Quidditch practice tonight.”

He pointed at his still damp hair. “Aren’t you observant. We had a light one because of our match against Ravenclaw tomorrow. We just ran a few drills,” he explained. “I saw the Weaselette on my way back to the castle. She told me she last saw you here and that you were in ‘Hermione Mode’ and probably forgot anything existed beyond the library’s walls.”

They both laughed at his gentle taunts. “Where did you see her? And she has a name, you know.”

“I know,” he grinned. “I just like to irritate you.” He snuck a kiss in while she smiled. “Ginny …” he emphasized the other girl’s name to prove he knew it, “was on her way back from Hagrid’s, I think. Probably heading back for your big night out with the girls.”

“It’s not just girls, you know. Harry, Ron, and some other boys are there too,” she explained.

He grinned wryly. “I know. I consider them all part of ‘the girls.’”

Hermione poked him hard in the ribs for insulting her friends, and he yelped a bit. “I’m going to tell them you said that,” she joked.

As a general rule, they usually spent Friday nights with their friends and Saturday nights together. At first, Draco was certain her friends would use the night to try and turn her against him, but it turned out to be a good idea after all. As much as it irked him, Hermione really was quite attached to Potter and Weasley and her other Gryffindor friends; spending time with them maintained a level of normalcy in a tricky period of adjustment. It turned out to be good for Draco too. As a Prefect, he needed to stay in touch with what was happening in his own house, and it freed him up to hang out with some of his housemates. At first they tried to get him to spill the beans on what his “plan” was, but he nipped that in the bud quickly by explaining in no uncertain terms that he and Hermione were legitimate and that if they wanted to test his sincerity, they would find out first hand what it felt like to be a ferret too.

“I should probably get going. They’ll be waiting for me.” Hermione reached for her robe to put it on, but before she could slip her arm through the sleeve, he reached for her hand and pulled her onto his lap. “Relax, we have a little time before they steal you away for the night.” He reached his arm around her back and proceeded to plant kisses on her neck similar to the torturous ones she’d given him earlier.

He continued planting more kisses along her neckline, pausing to bite and nibble every few kisses. “What do Gryffindors do for fun anyway? Sit around the fireplace, holding hands, singing spiritually uplifting songs? You probably even…”

“Shut up,” she teased. “At least it’s better than pulling a spider’s legs off or de-winging flies.”

“Hey, I take offense at that. Slytherins do not do that for fun,” he defended staunchly. Although he hastily added, “At least not Slytherins above third year.”

“Then what are you and your friends planning on doing tonight?”

“After I leave here, I’m meeting Liss to help her with Charms,” he answered casually.

Hermione looked at him as if it were a joke. “You’re kidding. Lissanne needs help with Charms class? Right. Next you’ll tell me Snape wants to groom Neville to be the Potions Master when he retires.” After Harry’s lackluster response to Lissanne at the Christmas Eve dinner fiasco, it seemed the Slytherin temptress had set her sights once more on Hermione’s boyfriend. Of course, she never tried any overt moves that Hermione could point to as evidence that Lissanne wanted under Draco’s robes, but Hermione knew it in her gut. Lissanne was never anything but perfectly nice and polite and downright friendly, but Hermione was a bright girl; she could tell Lissanne was trying to worm her way into Draco’s heart. But he was too close to the situation, still thinking Lissanne’s flirtations represented nothing more than a harmless schoolgirl crush. Hermione had tried to point it out to him a couple of times, but he would shrug it off or say something like, “Lissanne’s a very touchy-feely kind of person. You don’t know her like I do. That’s just the way she is. You get used to it after a while.” Though Hermione doubted she’d ever “get used to it,” she didn’t want to force the issue by seeming overly jealous or possessive. Besides, she trusted Draco and that was what really mattered. He hadn’t given her any reason to doubt his fidelity and she couldn’t imagine anyone putting so much effort into a relationship if he was seeing someone on the sly.

He pursed his lips and looked almost sternly at her. “They’re learning how to charm objects with mood enhancing spells, and she’s having a bit of trouble with the happier moods.” He could sense a remark coming so he added, “For your information, Liss is not the first Slytherin to have difficulties mastering these particular charms. We tend to avoid happiness-inducing objects, so they don’t come as easily to us as say …”

“… the wicked, spiteful, malicious mood ones,” Hermione finished for him with a sly smile.

“Does this mean I can get all huffy when you help Potter, Defender of All That is Good in the World, with Defense Against the Dark Arts class?” he asked to put things in perspective.

Hermione knew what he was trying to do and countered with, “That’s a different situation entirely. Harry and I have worked together on every subject since first year, and he and I have never been anything more than good friends.”

He cleared his throat and raised his eyebrows at her. “Need I remind you of the matter of the more than friendly feelings you had for The Bespectacled One a few short months ago? If anyone has cause to object, it would be me,” he reasoned, obviously having considered the precarious situation before. “That’s the one quality about Potter’s inability to see the obvious that I’m grateful for, because sooner or later, he’s going to realize he let the most amazingly beautiful, brilliantly smart girl slip right through his fingers.”

She blushed at his compliments, still not used to being lavished with such praise by him, before leaning in to kiss him properly. After a considerable amount of time, she pulled back and asked warily, “Speaking of Harry, was he or Ron with Ginny? She usually only goes to Hagrid’s if one or both of them are with her.”

He nodded as he moved his hand in small circles at the base of her back. “Yes, the Wonder Twins were there.”

“And how did that go?” Though things had been going more smoothly the past eight weeks between Draco and her friends, she never took the cease-fire for granted. She continually feared the slightest word or movement could make it all go up in smoke. They’d had a couple of moderately successful study sessions with Draco and some Slytherins as well as some Gryffindors. The usual exchange of barbs and benevolent insults were traded, but they had all seemed to be putting forth an effort to get along … or at least to not draw blood. Even still, Hermione wasn’t waiting for miracles. She was just pleased there had been no return trips to the hospital wing.

“Oh you know, the usual,” Draco replied casually. “General hexing, lots of name calling, a few fists here and there. That Weasley is quite a bleeder.” Hermione’s horrorstruck expression lasted for about two seconds, before she remembered he liked to tease her.

“You really are incorrigible, you know that?” she smiled.

“I know,” he replied, but then his tone turned more serious. “But would you want me any different?” Although Hermione had never intimated she wanted Draco to change for her since they’d been together, nor she for him, it was unmistakable he was unlike any of her friends or housemates. She’d even stepped away from the safety of her cozy Gryffindor common room a few times and into the Serpent’s Den in order to help some of the Slytherin Quidditch players with their Transfiguration projects. Of course, they had given her a hard time at first, but Hermione was no quitter; she’d helped his teammates just as she would any other students faced with one of the most difficult classes at Hogwarts. It wasn’t much, but it was a great leap from the stunned faces and silent gawps he’d first encountered in the Slytherin common room when his housemates had realized his relationship with Hermione was legitimate and not part of some scheme to get at Potter. Of course, some still shunned him – namely Pansy and her group – but Draco didn’t put much stock in her opinion. The fact he was Seeker on their house team had helped; he had to spend hours with his teammates practicing with them and they had always shared a certain bond and connection other house members could never tread on. Over six years he had earned a certain amount of respect and people knew he wasn’t someone to alienate lightly.

“I wouldn’t change a thing about you, Draco Malfoy … and I would never try to,” she assured him earnestly. She took his face in her hands. “I like you just as you are.”

He rested his hand on her knee, gently massaging the supple skin with his hand. Slowly he began sliding his hand further up her leg under her uniform skirt. Draco pulled her closer to him and leaned back once more, taking her with him to lie next to him on the couch. As their kisses grew more intense, he reached his hand up to loosen her red and gold Gryffindor tie and slide it from around her neck. He pulled her school blouse free from her skirt as his hand reached inside to caress her soft skin. It never failed that as soon as his fingers made contact with her skin, she would tremble at the sensation, furthering Draco’s desire even more. She tugged her lips away from his. “Draco, the door’s not locked. What if someone comes in?”

He silenced her with a heavenly kiss. “Hermione, it’s Friday night. No one but you would be in the library on a Friday night.”

Satisfied with his answer – or rather not having the willpower to tear her body away from his for even a few seconds to find her wand and perform a locking spell – Hermione felt herself falling under Draco’s spell once again. But she didn’t care. All these feelings she had when she was with Draco were as liberating as they were terrifying. Somewhere along the way, she had fallen hopelessly in love with him. She was as certain of that as she of her own name. But she hadn’t said anything to him about it yet. She was too young to be in love, wasn’t she? Did he feel the same? It seemed like he did, but what if it was just sixteen-year old hormones? What if she told him and he laughed? She didn’t want to scare him off. What if they were moving too fast?

She could feel his hand slide up her back and unclasp her bra. As his hand moved around to the front to caress her, she felt heat radiating throughout her whole body. He’d touched her like this before, but each time felt like a first time. He was so gentle and patient. She knew he’d gone much farther with other girls, but he never fussed if she’d ask him to stop, and that terrified her more than anything. What would happen if she didn’t want him to stop?

But she also knew that was a far way off; she wasn’t ready to go that far yet. After all, she was only sixteen. That sober thought usually brought her back to reality. She didn’t want to move too fast with him and end up ruining the great thing that was happening between them.

It was hard to maintain such rational thoughts when he kissed her like this … like she was the only girl on the planet, like her kisses sustained him, like he truly loved her. But somehow her sensible rational voice would speak up and not allow her to turn into a complete puddle of mush in his hands.

An indeterminate time later, Draco’s hand moved to her leg again, slowly ascending further up her skirt to the top of her thighs. He rushed nothing, savouring every taste and moan and tingle like it was the air he breathed. They had gotten to this point too, but the little voice in the back of Hermione’s head would begin whispering, “Settle down, there’ll be time for that later. Take it slow.”

She silenced the voice for a little while longer, enjoying the feel of his long fingers brushing lightly over her skin. But when they moved, grazing the inside of her thighs as they steadily moved up, when she could hear a low, sensuous moan come from deep in his throat, when she could feel his body rocking rhythmically against hers, she halted his hand with hers. Breaking their kiss, she whispered in a laboured breath, “Wait, Draco. We should stop.”

When he looked down at her with his sparkling, lust-filled grey eyes, dancing with excitement from their kissing, she wished for a few seconds that she hadn’t stopped him. But she knew she wasn’t ready to get that physical yet. Chest rising and falling with his heavy breaths, Draco licked his lips and pushed her hair out of her eyes. “You’re right. We should stop,” he breathed out.

“Really?” she asked, averting her eyes from his, dipping her head down.

“Really,” he stated, assuring her and lifting her face to his to plant a lingering kiss on her forehead.

She scrunched her nose. “But I’m frustrating you, aren’t I?” she asked.

He let out a chuckle as he rested his head against the cushion behind him. “Now that’s a loaded question if I’ve ever heard one.” When he lifted his head, she was peering expectantly at him, her large amber eyes unblinking. “You’re going to make me answer this, aren’t you?”

She nodded almost imperceptibly at him, biting her bottom lip nervously. “I know you’ve dated a lot of girls, Draco, and that you’re probably used to …”

He propped his head on his hand, took a deep breath, and silenced her qualms with a deep kiss. “I don’t care about any of that or any of them. They don’t matter to me.” He rubbed his hand up and down her arm before reaching up to stroke her cheek. He looked deeply into her eyes, trying to infuse as much sincerity and depth of emotion as he felt. “You’re the only one that matters to me now, Hermione.”

She leaned forward to kiss him again, closing her eyes to lose herself in him once more, because there she felt happier than anyplace else. Even amidst all the craziness of Draco forging a cease-fire with Harry and Ron, trying to juggle her friends, boyfriend, and schoolwork, Hermione could never remember feeling happier than she had been since Draco and she had danced at the Yule Ball. She could scarcely believe that was only eight weeks ago. Everything seemed so different now.

“Hermione, are you still reading that book? I thought Draco was coming to find you.…” Ginny’s voice trailed off as she opened the door to the small room and got an eyeful of Hermione and Draco wrapped tightly around each other on the couch. “Er, I guess he found you.” As the two sprang apart, Ginny covered her eyes and apologized profusely, “I’m sooooo sorry, Hermione. I thought he must have meant he would look for you later,” she stammered. “I’ll just leave you two alone.”

As she turned to leave, Hermione called to her, “Gin, wait!” She sprang from the couch, pulling her skirt down and fighting her blush. She then remembered that Draco had unhooked her bra and blushed an even deeper shade of red. “Bugger!” She muttered with embarrassment as she fumbled behind her back to fasten it. That task complete, she turned to her friend again. “Let me get my things and I’ll walk back with you.”

Draco stood as well, running his fingers gracefully through his fine hair, completely at ease with standing in front of Ginny, his shirt untucked and only buttoned halfway up. He moved to the edge of the couch to get his robe as Ginny slowly turned to face them. Something on Hermione caught Draco’s eye, but he didn’t have time to alert her to it. He opened his mouth, but Ginny got to it first.

“Merlin’s beard, Hermione,” Ginny gasped. “That has to be the biggest hickey I’ve ever seen.”

Draco smiled cheekily as Hermione’s face turned several shades of pink. Her hands clutched at her neck as she went to her bag to rummage for a compact mirror. Her jaw fell open as she spotted the Galleon-sized deep purple bruise below her collarbone. At the sound of Draco’s snickering, she turned to look at him. His arms were crossed in front, one of his hands scarcely concealing his bemused grin. “You think this is funny?”

He removed his hand and nodded. “Quite.”

She rolled her eyes. “Is that all you can say?”

He crossed to her and slid his arms around her waist. “All right, how about : You were right, Hermione. We should have locked the door?” Before she could make any retorts, he leaned in and sealed his lips over hers.

She kissed him back deeply for a few seconds before placing her hands on his chest and pushed him gently away. “Just a minute, Mr. Super-Suction, the least you could do is clear your bite mark from my neck before trying to brand me with another one.”

“Clear it?” he asked feigning hurt and distress at her request. “I’m insulted, wanting to erase the Malfoy Mark from your body,” he tutted. “Honestly, I’m crushed.”

She reached around him and grabbed his wand from the table. As she handed it to him, she eyed him patronizingly. “Can you act insulted and crushed tomorrow night instead?” She gave him a quick kiss on his nose. “Harry and Ron are waiting for me in Gryffindor Tower and you’ve got a date with a Slytherin.”

“It’s not a date.”

“Just make sure she understands that,” she instructed, but her tone was not harsh or commanding. Then she rolled her eyes at him. “Before I send you back to the Serpents’ Den, the least you could do is get rid of this thing.”

Ginny cleared her throat uncomfortably. “Er, I’m just going to leave you two alone. I’ll see you upstairs, Hermione.”

Draco pulled Hermione in close for one last kiss. “Hang on, Ginny. Miss Granger will be right with you.” He raised his wand and touched it gently to Hermione’s neck. The wand tip glowed blue and the hickey dissolved, leaving behind a patch of soft, untarnished skin.

Ginny stopped and smiled in embarrassment at her friend and the surprisingly charming Slytherin. She had never seen Hermione as joyous or carefree as she was when she was with Draco. Though Ron and Harry – especially Harry – cringed at the thought, Hermione and Draco were good for each other; they were genuinely happy together. Ginny sighed at the way Hermione’s eyes danced when she spoke of Draco and was certain the guarded wizard only smiled when Hermione was nearby. In spite of the initial opposition to their relationship, the two young lovers seemed to have found a way to make it work.

Hermione straightened her clothes and checked her mirror to make sure all traces of the Malfoy Mark were gone before slipping her robe on. “Nice work, Malfoy. It seems that you actually paid attention in Charms class when Professor Flitwick went over basic Medi-Wizarding spells,” she teased.

“It is a handy little spell,” Draco agreed as he put his tie around his neck. “And one I hope I’ll have cause to practice again.”

“But not tonight,” Hermione said, a trace of disappointment in her voice as she handed To Kill a Mockingbird back to Ginny and slung her bag over her shoulder.

“I suppose you’re right,” he acknowledged. “I need to conserve my energy for the Quidditch match tomorrow. I have to make sure I don’t catch the Snitch too early, so my Chasers have time to rack up lots of points.”

Ginny coughed to cover up her snigger. “Er, Malfoy, after Gryffindor’s spectacular win over Hufflepuff two weeks ago, your team would need to score more than four hundred points against Ravenclaw tomorrow to even come close to tying us. And Ravenclaw’s Keeper is no slouch.”

Draco chided, “Don’t worry about us, Little Weasley. Our strategy will be much more effective than Potter’s I-Lost-The-Snitch-In-The-Sun routine. That was so transparent.”

Automatically jumping to defend her house’s honour, Ginny retorted, “Harry really did lose the Snitch in the sun … and it’s not his fault it didn’t show itself again for almost four hours.” She paused wondering if she should continue. “Besides Ravenclaw’s Chasers manage their brooms better and have quicker hands, so their passes are crisper.”

Draco gawped at the younger girl, but Hermione was nonplused; she knew Ginny knew more than her share of Quidditch. He shifted his weight to one side and cocked an eyebrow at Ginny. “Is that so? And how do you know so much about Quidditch strategy?”

She dismissed him with a pacifying wave of her hand. “Please … I have six older brothers. What do you think they talk about at dinner? I learned to pay attention.”

Hermione stepped in before it degenerated into yet another boring Quidditch talk with people dissecting everything from players’ brooms to wind shear. “Good night, Draco,” she interrupted and leaned in for a sweet kiss. “Good luck tomorrow. I’ll see you after the game.”

He twined his fingers through hers and held her to him after she drew her lips back from his. “Until after the game then,” he agreed, his low, husky voice sending warm tingles down to her toes. With one final squeeze of his hand, she turned and left to spend some time with her friends.

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The Quidditch match lasted just under three hours. As it turned out Ginny’s observations had been correct; Ravenclaw played to their strengths and gave the Slytherins a run for their money. The Ravenclaw Chasers were quite good, giving their team a 280-270 lead. The Slytherin strategy to run up the score before catching the Snitch and get well over the four hundred points they needed to close in on Gryffindor’s lead before catching the Snitch wasn’t working as it should have. After calling a time out, they decided to end the game while they still stood a chance at winning since Draco was the best Seeker on the field.

When the Snitch appeared again, the Slytherin Beaters cleared the way for Draco, and he wasted no time in capturing the winged prize. As Draco floated to the ground, exhilarated by their hard-won victory, Draco clapped his teammates on their shoulders and accepted their congratulatory gestures. They were now poised to take the lead from Gryffindor, who still had to face the tough Ravenclaw club while the Slytherins only had Hufflepuff left on their schedule. But as he climbed off his broomstick, there was only one smiling face his eyes sought. Almost instantly, Draco spotted Hermione amongst the throngs of students emptying onto the field. As she ran to him, her face filled with excitement for him, his heart felt like it had hopped onto his broom and taken flight once more.

“Draco, that was brilliant! You played wonderfully,” she gushed as she flung her arms around him, planting kisses on his sweaty cheeks. She could feel Draco’s arms tighten instinctively around her and squeeze hard. Before she knew what was happening her feet left the ground and Draco was twirling her about. She was so caught up in the moment, the words slipped out as natural as if she’d said them everyday to him and not just feeling them. “I love you,” she said smiling broadly, her arms hanging tightly around his neck.

The twirling stopped.

Every sound on the pitch seemed to be carried away with Hermione’s words. Did she just say what he thought she said?

Draco really hoped she did. “Wh – What did you say?” he asked, doubting his ears.

She slid from his embrace and stared deeply into his eyes. He could see the wheels turning in her clever mind, wondering how to respond. She took a shallow breath but did not exhale it. “I said I love you, Draco.”

After growing up for sixteen years in a home where family honour was valued above sentimentality, Draco had thought he’d gotten past his deep-rooted desire to hear someone say they loved him. After all they were just words – words he heard every day in many contexts. He’d never fathomed hearing Hermione say them in one sentence to him would affect him so fundamentally.

But it did.

He leaned in and kissed her deeply, hoping he could infuse every elated emotion he was feeling into it. At first she kissed him back tentatively, almost nervously, but as he wound his fingers into her hair, keeping their lips joined together, she relaxed. His body was still filled with adrenaline from the game then from Hermione’s words of love, and he reveled in how she melted under his touch.

He pulled away from her, both of them breathless. Hermione averted her eyes from him nervously. She’d never intended to profess her love for him in the middle of a Quidditch pitch, but it just felt so natural, so right. She didn’t want him to say it back to her out of obligation; she realized it was probably quite a shock. She just hoped it hadn’t scared him too much. Her rational head knew all of this, but her emotional heart couldn’t help fluttering in a sea of anxiety that he still hadn’t said anything. True, she felt that kiss all the way down past her shaking knees to her twitching feet, but as he stared into her eyes, her stomach flipped with uncertainty.

He took a deep breath. “Hermione …” he started, but Hermione interrupted him, mistaking his hesitance as a sign of discomfort.

“Draco, you don’t have to say it back; I just wanted you to know how I feel.” She pushed a few stray hairs behind her ears, suddenly becoming interested in the Slytherin house crest on his Quidditch robes.

He placed his hand gently under her chin, pulling her face upwards. He smiled sheepishly at her. “Would you let me say something, Granger?” They both smiled; they no longer called each other by their last names as a way of contempt. Now it was a kind jibe. His smile softened, “Hermione, I …” Something glimmering in the sunlight caught his eye over her left shoulder, pulling his eyes from her for a second.

That second changed everything.

Hermione watched as the contented expression drained from his face, his sparkling eyes replaced with murky clouds, his jaw muscles clenching in consternation. “What’s wrong?” she asked, but he didn’t seem to even realize she was still standing there. Instead he just kept looking over her shoulder at something past them. She turned around, worried at the marked change in him.

Walking toward them, looking as pompous and smug as she remembered him, was Lucius Malfoy.

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