Chapter Text
Friends
Head Boy and Head Girl’s Dorm. Sunday, January 10, 1999; late afternoon…
As it turned out, Draco had misunderstood everything since the beginning of the school year. The friendly banter. The eagerness to work with him. The easy smiles. The laughter and inside jokes they’d shared.
Sitting next to him at meals. Partnering with him in Advanced Potions. Studying with him in their downtime.
Of course he had.
Hermione looked over her scroll and frowned. “Can I look at your notes from class for a moment? I can’t read what I wrote here.”
Passing his own over the table to her, he couldn’t help but tease her a little. It was still what they did with one another. “That’s because your handwriting is dreadful.”
“Some of us weren’t tutored in calligraphy since we were six years old,” she pointed out, scanning through his notes for the part she was missing.
“Four.”
Returning to his own work, Draco read through the same line in his Runes text for the third time before he began to absorb it. He dipped his eagle feather quill into the inkwell in the middle of the table and began to write out the translation and then stopped in the middle, thinking it over for a moment.
He was thoroughly distracted.
Glancing across the table, Hermione seemed not to notice. Deep in translating their Runes homework, that wasn’t due for three weeks yet, she had barely looked up or spoken to him in the last forty minutes. And he’d made almost no progress in that time.
He reached over and picked up his mug of coffee, taking a sip of it. Hermione had brought home the ceramic mug after she’d been out shopping back in the muggle world over winter break which she claimed reminded her of him. It was grey with a black dragon on it. Red and orange flames appeared whenever hot liquid was in it but disappeared when it was room temperature. Although she said it was muggle…it seemed oddly magical to him.
Draco held the warm mug to his lips a little longer than normal, giving himself a reason to gaze in her direction a little longer.
Hermione wrote down her translation of the text, her head bent over the book, ink splotched all over her fingers. Her curly hair fell into her face every few minutes, forcing her to push it back over her shoulders.
His eyes were fixated on it. He’d thought about touching her hair for so long. Thought of so many excuses to do it.
And he still hadn’t.
Since getting back from the Manor over the holidays, he was getting his work done much slower than he used to. He stopped too often to watch her. Thankfully, he was in the habit of studying ahead for all his classes.
Because he hadn’t gotten anything done for days.
Hermione reached over and dipped her pheasant quill into the inkwell in the middle of the table and glanced up, noticing him looking at her.
“What?” she asked, her eyes locking with his.
He threw up his occlumency walls, afraid that she would notice the longing that he felt showing through in his gaze and wonder about it.
Shaking his head, he set down his mug. “I was zoning out. I was trying to figure out how to translate this part…” he said, getting up and walking around the table.
And only months of befriending her, working with her, living with her, gave him the bravery to make his next move. And perhaps his occlumency walls, which kept him from feeling the nervousness that he would have been feeling otherwise.
Draco then leaned over her shoulder and pressed his chest against her back. He lightly rested his hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, his fingers gently sinking into her curls.
With his other hand, he ran his finger under a line of runes. And it was only because he was using his occlumency that he kept it from trembling.
Then he turned his head so close, his breath was hitting her cheek. And he took a breath and asked, “Did you interpret that word as murderous or suicidal?”
Hermione leaned forward a little and read through the passage.
Draco took another deep breath, inhaling the scent of her coconut shampoo that lingered on her hair. His thumb ran back and forth over her hair a moment, feeling the softness of the strands over her light pink sweater.
He had always wondered what they felt like. Always. Even, maybe, several years back when he first teased her about the unruly things.
And her hair was even softer and springier than he ever thought.
He withdrew a long breath, steady.
Even with his walls up, it didn’t prevent him from feeling anything. It just took the edge off enough not to act like a complete idiot. Or rather, to keep from reacting. He could be a statue if he wanted to.
Immovable.
But if he let his walls come down at a moment like this, he might do something stupid.
Irreversible.
Like kiss her.
“Just from the context, I would translate it as suicidal.”
But part of him wanted to know what it felt like to touch her without the walls up.
So, he did something he wouldn’t have done if he were thinking sensibly. Something he shouldn’t have.
He dropped them.
All of them.
“Or at least self-destructive. I think he has a death wish.”
And they came crashing down…and his heart began beating rapidly. So hard, he was afraid she could hear it.
“Mm…” Draco said, slowly backing away, letting his fingers trail down her back, still tangled in her soft curls. He turned his head back to hers, gazing at her for a long moment. Taking a long last look at her honey-brown eyes and the freckles that dusted her nose and cheeks. Taking one last unsteady breath, letting the smell of her shampoo invade his senses before finally pulling away. “He probably does.”
Then he walked back over to his spot and sat down, picking his quill back up and dipping it back into the ink. But he could hardly work anymore. He felt warm all over. Jittery. And certain that his heart was about to beat out of his chest.
“I think we should pause when we’re done and compare notes.”
“Agreed,” she simply said, going back to her work, as if nothing had happened.
Draco wasn’t going to be able to go back to translating as if nothing had changed. He couldn’t go another four months without touching her hair. He couldn’t keep living in the Head Dorm with her, pretending that he was only interested in studying with her.
Something had to be done.
“Hermione?”
“Hm?”
“Do you have to patrol at Hogsmeade next weekend?”
“Thankfully not,” she said, continuing to write. “It’s supposed to be cold. I’m just going to do some reading.”
As Head Boy and Head Girl, they had to take at least one shift per month to monitor Hogsmeade weekends, just like the other prefects. Babysitting students all weekend was a complete drag, since most of them seemed to think rules didn’t apply while they weren’t on Hogwarts grounds.
“They opened that new magic/muggle fusion café on the first of the year…” he nervously started, feeling everything like an idiot, since he still hadn’t raised his walls back up yet. Glancing across the table at her, he tapped his quill on his parchment.
“I heard about that. The Blending Brew? I’ve been eager to try it,” she admitted, continuing to write.
Taking a deep breath, Draco leaned forward, pulling on the feathers of his quill. “We should go there and try it out this weekend…together.”
Hermione smiled and laughed a little without looking up. “You make it sound like a date!”
He swallowed hard, his heart pounding so hard, it sounded like percussion in the background.
“Yes…”
“What?” she looked up, startled.
Her eyes connected with his. And she stared at him a moment. Perhaps waiting to see if he started laughing. If he was joking. But he just waited.
Her lips parted. And then, “No!”
Draco completely froze.
Hermione looked around in confusion, a little horrified. “I…I mean…”
But she said nothing else.
At length, Draco let out his breath and looked back down at his book and nodded.
“Right.”
“Draco…”
After a moment, he stood up and walked to his bedroom, closing the door. And he leaned back against it, took another deep breath, and then brought up every occlumency wall he could muster.
Until he was buried under so many barriers, there was nothing left but a calm stillness. A steady heartbeat. And the reflection in the mirror was the cold mask he was used to.
“Draco!”
No. He couldn’t do this right now. He wouldn’t.
Opting not to stay in the dorm with her, he searched his wardrobe for the warm pullover he used for quidditch practice in the winter and unhurriedly pulled it on. Then he grabbed his broom from the corner and headed out the door towards the portrait door.
Hermione stood up from her chair. “Let me explain…”
Draco shook his head. “You do not need to explain anything to me, Granger.”
He walked over to the foyer and pulled on his dragonhide boots. Then he took his scarf and wrapped it around his neck, taking time to tuck the ends into his pullover. And then he grabbed his gloves from his peacoat and put them on.
Hermione stood at the end of the foyer, watching him, her eyes narrowing.
“Quit occluding and talk to me.”
He laughed. “Absolutely not, Granger.”
“Draco…we’re friends…”
“I said that I don’t want to talk about it,” he told her, his voice completely even.
She sighed heavily.
Malfoy walked out of the dorm and headed down the corridor at a steady pace. He opened the doors and walked out into the frigid cold air. Mounting his broom, he took off into the air, climbing into the air so high, the school looked like a little miniature set below him.
And then he raced far away. As far away as he could go.
Draco didn’t stop until he saw the sun dipping over the horizon and finally pulled to a stop to watch it. The cold wind bit his skin, and he waved his hand to cast a warming spell, but it barely kept him from getting frostbit.
It was then that he finally let his walls come back down, one at a time. It took a while for them to come down. Once the last of them fell, everything hit him at once. And it hit him hard.
He’d misunderstood.
Epically.
He had probably messed up their entire friendship. Ruined everything! They had been Head Boy and Head Girl together. Roommates. Potion lab partners. Study partners. Even friends…although that was still a little new.
Completely fucked it all up!
But it was so much worse than that. So much worse!
Because he couldn’t just turn off months’ worth of feelings. He could put up as many walls as he wanted. At any time. But that didn’t erase them.
And what was he going to do with them now?
Pretend they didn’t exist?
He could feel his eyes begin to water as the sun began to set over the horizon and blinked them away, reaching up to run his hands through his hair. He let out a shuddering breath. And then he went back to flying until he lost all track of time.
Draco was gone for ages. He didn’t return until well after midnight. So, he was not expecting to walk in and see Hermione asleep on the couch in her maroon gingham nightgown, curled up, with an open book on her lap. Crookshanks curled up on her bare feet.
He was not ready to talk to her yet.
But he also didn’t want her to sleep with her head craned in an awkward position and have neck pain the next few days. Or fall asleep in the cold sitting room in the beginning of January when the castle was freezing and end up getting sick.
He let out an aggravated breath and then brought up all his occlumency walls again.
Taking a breath to ground himself, he bent down and lightly grasped her shoulder, feeling the warmth of her skin beneath it from where the fire had been warming her. He gently shook her and pulled away immediately.
“Granger. Wake up.”
Her eyes blinked open in confusion for a moment until she looked up and saw him. Looking him over and noticing he was still holding his broom, she glanced at the clock on the wall and then back at him.
“Are you just getting back now?”
He didn’t answer her and started walking to his bedroom. “Get off the couch and go to bed, Granger.”
Sitting up, she ran her hands through her hair and looked over at him. “It’s after one in the morning!”
“Is the Head Girl going to give me points for being out past curfew?” he asked, walking into his bedroom and setting his broom down in the corner.
If he were thinking reasonably, he would have closed his door and ended things there. He should have. But he didn’t, for whatever reason.
“Even if I wanted to, you know that I can’t point you,” she said, getting up off the couch. “But I wouldn’t! We’re friends.”
Crookshanks, wanting no part of it, jumped off the couch and hurried to Hermione’s room like a reasonable half-Kneazle.
“Friends,” he laughed humorlessly. “You keep saying that.”
“We are friends!” she argued, walking towards his room.
“Friends,” he repeated, thinking back to the harsh way that she had rejected him when he’d asked her out. He took off his pullover and threw it onto the floor.
The word sounded sour in his mouth now. Now that he wanted to be more. Now that she’d shut it down so…so decisively.
“I suppose you also stayed up late because you were worried about me. Friend.”
“I was!” she argued, stopping in his doorway.
Draco began to unbutton his dress shirt, ignoring her.
“You left…” she looked at the clock again, “over nine hours ago! I almost went to the headmistress; I was so worried!”
“Well, don’t bother, Granger,” he told her, his voice an eerie calm. “I don’t need any of your pity.”
Draco couldn’t help it. Whenever he felt hurt, he resorted to being mean. He was proud, after all.
Or perhaps he could help it, if he really, really wanted to. But he didn’t.
“It’s not pity! We’re friends,” she said, her voice beginning to crack.
He could see her eyes getting watery. He finished unbuttoning his shirt and crossed his arms over his chest, staring her down harshly.
“Granger…you don’t have feelings for me. That’s fine,” he told her, dangerously cold and calm. “Don’t pretend to be worried about me when you’re not.”
Hermione’s mouth thinned and her eyes hardened. “Fuck you.”
And then she left, stormed off to her room, and slammed the door.
He nodded and closed the door, stripping off his clothes and getting into bed. Then he laid down and stared at the ceiling.
Even occluding the whole night, he didn’t sleep at all.
The Great Hall. Monday, January 11, 1999, morning…
Draco got to the Great Hall late the following morning.
He walked in without preamble and walked over to the end of their expanded friend group, sitting at the far end of the Gryffindor table. Theo liked to refer to them as Slyvendor, since it was a mix of three different houses sitting together.
Draco, Theo, Pansy, and Blaise from Slytherin. Luna from Ravenclaw. And Hermione, Ginny, Neville, Seamus, and Dean from Gryffindor. That was the whole group. Not all of them were there every day. Sometimes the Gryffindors had morning practice. Sometimes he did. Occasionally Neville worked in the greenhouses. The group seemed to vary.
That day, unfortunately, they were all present.
Perfect.
Usually, Draco sat somewhere in the middle of the group next to Hermione. He couldn’t even recall why or how it started. Perhaps they were writing the monitoring schedule for the prefects one morning? Maybe they were discussing a potions assignment one Friday afternoon before class? Maybe they were studying Runes or Transfiguration together.
But that morning, Hermione was not sitting in the middle of the table. She was sitting at the very end next to Ginny, talking low. When he got up that morning, she hadn’t even been in the dorm.
Neither was Crookshanks.
And Draco didn’t like what that implied. But he tried to act as if everything was normal and sat down—on the other end of their group—beside Blaise, who was also in the habit of arriving late to breakfast most days. The man was never on time to anything.
Draco sat down and calmly looked over the drink choices. He had been a tea person most of his life, but he’d been drinking more coffee since living with Hermione. It was her preference.
Coffee. Definitely coffee.
He poured himself a cup and began to scoop teaspoons of sugar into it. Pansy glanced over at him across the table. She was seated between Theo and her favorite Gryffindor, Neville Longbottom. And she gave him a lengthy once over, narrowed her eyes, and watched him carefully.
One scoop.
Two.
Three.
Four.
Stir.
Drink.
Her brows rose and she said absolutely nothing about it. That’s what surprised him the most. She was always the first one to criticize him on any given day.
But no, this time, it was Theo. Theo had been indulging in his breakfast and listening to Luna discuss one of the fascinating creatures she’d seen outside on a recent walk through the Forbidden Forest when he looked across the table at Draco and blanched.
“Fuck! You look like shit!”
Draco rolled his eyes, ignoring the observation, and took another sip of his coffee. “Good morning, Nott.”
Theo looked him over disparagingly.
“What in Hades happened? Your eyes are red and bloodshot! Your skin is pale and sickly! More than normal, I mean. You didn’t slick your hair back, but it actually looks better that way, you know. The tousled look is rather fetching. Looks like you rolled out of bed and got dressed.”
Unfortunately, it wasn’t far from the truth, but Draco said nothing.
The truth was, he had heavily debated whether or not to get up at all. He had two classes with Hermione on Mondays. Arithmancy in the morning and Runes in the afternoon. But he didn’t always sit by her in them. Pansy was also in Arithmancy. Theo was in Runes. It wouldn’t seem strange if they weren’t sitting together.
Not to anyone else.
Pansy elbowed Theo. Hard.
“I just didn’t sleep well last night,” Draco said, looking at the plate that appeared before him, avoiding looking around at anyone.
Theo leaned forward, whispering. “Mate…your shirt is wrinkled!”
Draco salted the fried potatoes and began to move them around his plate.
“Theo, that’s enough,” Pansy said, her tone quiet but warning. The one that silenced all conversations around her.
Or else.
Theo leaned back and sipped his tea but still gave Draco curious looks.
“Nightmares,” Draco grumbled, picking up a single piece of potato and slowly chewing it. He nearly vomited it the moment he swallowed.
He didn’t normally keep his occlumency walls up so long without taking them down, at least for a short while. He was starting to get nauseated. And the walls felt a little shaky. But if he dropped them now, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to get them back up and he sure as Hades wasn’t going to class without them.
Breakfast was nearly done, so he thankfully didn’t have to answer anymore questions or pretend to eat much. He finished his coffee and headed to Arithmancy alone, before most everyone else got up.
He thought he was in the clear and took a deep breath, but then he felt an arm wrap around him. Tensing for a moment, he looked over and realized it was Pansy, who had quickly caught up to him. He began to relax again, but it was maybe a little too early.
“What happened between you and Granger?”
“Nothing.”
But he answered too fast and he took a breath and tried again.
“Nothing’s wrong.”
She gripped his arm hard and pulled him until he stopped and looked her in the eyes. “Quit your occluding. You’ve been doing it too long.”
“I can’t…”
Pansy yanked him hard, digging her nails into his arm. “Drop them! You’re going to be sick if you don’t!”
“Fuck, witch!” he swore, dropping his walls and rubbing his sore arm. He gave her a severe look which didn’t seem to shake her any.
“Talk to me about it instead! What happened between you and Granger?” Pansy resumed walking with him.
He exhaled roughly, starting to feel more stable almost instantly. “What makes you think that something happened between Hermione and I?”
“Because you’re not the only one that was acting off during breakfast.”
Now his curiosity was piqued. He slowed his pace so they wouldn’t make it to class quite as fast. “Why? What was Granger doing?”
“She looked just as rough as you did. Circles under her eyes. Scratchy voice. She even forgot to put her tie on under her pullover! The professors probably won’t even mention it because she’s their favorite swot.”
“Probably not,” he agreed, glancing back down the hall to see if he could catch a glimpse of her. When he didn’t see her, he lowered his voice as much as possible and told her. “I asked her out yesterday and she said no.”
Pansy gave him a confused look, her brows furrowing. “She did?”
He hung his head and nodded. The memories of the day before coming back to him full force the way they never did when he was occluding. The pain taking root deep inside him. The rejection. The self-doubt.
“But not just, no thanks. And not just, no. But, NO! As if the idea of it were…disgusting or preposterous!”
Pansy stopped walking and pulled him to a stop as well, looking up at him. “Draco, I’m sorry.”
He waved her off. “It’s fine.”
“No, it’s not! She hurt your feelings.”
He didn’t say anything for a moment and looked away uncomfortably.
“It was a misunderstanding. I read things wrong. I’m just an idiot who wanted something they shouldn’t have.”
“Draco! Look at me!” She shook his arm.
He looked back down at her.
“You are not an idiot!”
Pansy cupped his face and turned it back to her.
“Listen to me! You are not an idiot! You are one of the smartest and bravest men I know,” she told him, looking him straight in the eyes. “Not only because you get good grades. Not just because you survived the Dark Lord living in your house and didn’t damn your soul to Hades in the midst of it. But because you’ve liked someone for months and dared to take a chance and ask her out.”
Draco rolled his eyes and looked away again. “Lot of good that did me.”
“It’s okay for you to want things. It’s okay for you to go after them!” she exclaimed, letting go of him.
“Unless who I want is Hermione Granger. I’m not good enough for her.”
Draco had to start occluding a little just to keep his emotions in check. He was not about to start breaking apart in the middle of a crowded hallway.
“Even the Golden Girl herself,” Pansy argued. “Because if it’s not okay for a former Death Eater to have feelings for one of the Golden Trio, then it’s not okay for me to like Neville.”
“That’s not the same,” he assured her.
“Yes, it is.”
Draco scanned down the hall and spotted Hermione at a distance, walking with Ginny and conversing with her. For a moment, his eyes were painfully glued to her, and he noticed all the things that Pansy had told him. She looked tired, as if she hadn’t slept. Dark circles under her eyes. Curls that were more untamed than normal. Perhaps a little frizzy. A touch pale in complexion.
He closed his eyes and turned his head away before she caught him.
Pansy glanced over her shoulder, noticing them approach. Wrapping her arm around his, she began walking towards class with him again to keep their distance.
“You’re wrong, by the way.”
“About what?” he asked, sighing.
Pansy’s voice went lower than before. “She has feelings for you, Draco. I can tell.”
Reaching their classroom, he stopped outside it and stood there a moment. “You’re as delusional as I was,” he said, pulling the door open for her.
Pansy walked in and they made their way to the back of the classroom where the seventh year Slytherins sat. He opened his textbook, took out parchment, grabbed his quill and ink.
The door opened and a wave of students walked in, including Hermione. Draco tried not to look. He really did. But he still noticed when her eyes scanned the room. They briefly landed on him and then looked away. She moved to the front row to sit with Ginny. As usual.
Pansy clocked the brief glance their direction. “She’s in denial, you absolute git!”
“She told me to fuck off before bed last night.”
“Well, I can only imagine you deserved it. I think about saying it to you at least three times a day,” she told him, getting out her ink and quill.
Draco let his head fall back and looked up at the ceiling. “At least it’s Monday. We don’t have Potions until Friday afternoon. I can mostly avoid her until then,” he said, exhaling roughly.
“Can you?” Pansy said, doubtfully.
“Sure.”
“Draco, you live with Granger!”
“So…it might be a little uncomfortable! But she wasn’t even in the dorm when I got up this morning. I think she’s staying with the She-Weasel right now.”
“Oh, that’s going to be worse!” Pansy said, rubbing her hands down her face. “You’re going to be an absolute wreck by Friday! Four days without interacting with Granger?” she asked.
“She’s avoiding me. That’s for the best,” he simply said, picking up his quill as Professor Vector entered the room. “If she were in the dorm, we’d be tiptoeing around each other awkwardly.”
“Draco, you are always awkward!”
“No, it’ll be fine. We’ll avoid each other and, if I need to be around her, I’ll just occlude.”
Pansy gave him a doubtful look, but then turned to the front of the room as Professor Vector began lecturing.
And once again, Draco was wrong.