5th year,
Hermione was finding it rather difficult to focus on her History of Magic textbook as Ron’s irritated mumbling grated on her concentration.
She decided that figuring out what was annoying her best friend would probably prove more productive than trying to study around him. She snapped her book shut, “Ronald, what on earth are you mumbling about?”
He let out an exasperated huff, “I’m listing things that I would rather do instead of going on Prefect rounds with Pansy Parkinson.”
Hermione raised an eyebrow and caught Harry’s eye from where he was sitting next to Ron, “She can’t be that bad. I mean, besides the fact that she’s in Slytherin.”
“And incredibly rich.” Harry interjected.
“And a pureblood.”
“Yes, and then there’s the matter that she hates our guts of course. Can’t forget that.”
“Oh! And the time she hit you with a bat-bogey hex for no good reason.” Hermione giggled.
“Exactly! She’s the devil incarnate - I’ll be lucky to make it back here with all of my bones!”
Hermione sighed at him, “Get over it Ron, if it makes you feel any better I’m stuck patrolling with Malfoy tomorrow night.”
She opened her textbook back up and hoped that Ron’s fussing with his robes hid her face as she felt it flush slightly at the thought.
The next night,
“Painfully punctual as per usual, Granger.” She could practically hear the smirk in his voice.
“Just glad you could see me with your nose stuck up in the air like that, Malfoy.” Hermione threw back as she turned to meet him.
Fairly tall, unbelievably blonde, totally smirking.
“Hard to miss that owlery on legs that you insist on calling hair.”
He said it more jokingly than mocking but she scowled all the same.
She took the lead, having mastered the most productive route to patrol the castle halls with her mental catalog of tapestries and alcoves to investigate for curfew breakers and general mischief makers.
Tonight was about as calm as it could get.
The castle halls were still running cold this time of year - not particularly enticing when the common rooms were all charmed to keep the students warm through the night.
Truly the only disturbance was the pair’s own fighting.
“I don’t believe that you really did better than me on the potions project. Snape is infamously biased towards you Slytherins - it’s completely unethical if you ask me.” Hermione waved her hands around wildly as if unable to express just how perplexed she was without them, Draco’s eyebrows shot through the roof
“This happened last term, Granger. It's about time that you move on - and I actually didn’t ask you, thank you very much.”
No, fighting wasn’t the right word. The two were bickering.
“- and there’s nothing ‘unethical’, as you put it, about awarding a student with a grade reflective of the quality of their work.” he put matter of factly, continuing before she could interject with her counter, “Now the Triwizard cup last year? That was unethical.”
Hermione faltered.
Did he just go out of his way to bring up last year? We weren’t supposed to be bringing up the matter of last year.
“I’d call the Yule ball a moral grey area on all accounts.” She said in a hushed tone while she worried the seam of her sweater sleeve, catching him peering at her through the corner of his eye.
4th year,
“Screw you Ronald! Maybe next time that there’s a ball you should ask me before somebody else does, and not just as a last resort!”
Hermione couldn’t help but think that she must look absolutely tragic bursting out into the corridor in her tear-ridden state. All the work she’d done to make herself look nice this evening had gone completely to waste and all over the complete tossers that her best friends had chosen to show up as tonight.
With the ache in her feet protesting at the thought of spending another minute in her blue heels, she walked over to the base of the staircase - that honestly wasn’t usually there with its ridiculous preference for wandering but at least something had worked in her favour tonight.
Only someone was already there.
“Don’t you look lovely.”
Malfoy.
Draco Malfoy was sat in his crisp black dress robes in the place of Hermione’s sought after solace, fan-fucking-tastic.
“Oh for the love of-” she tried to take a deep breath but her lungs were struggling against her sobs turned hiccups.“Not tonight, Malfoy. You can mock me all you want in class tomorrow but right now I need to sit down and be upset. Can’t you just find some tiny scrap of humanity in your soulless body and leave me be!”
He looked at her, perplexed, as she slumped onto the step and shucked off her shoes.
Her shoulders continued to shake, the sobbing was subsiding but the anger hadn’t quite dissipated from her, in her periphery she saw Malfoy hold something out towards her.
It was a pristine white handkerchief with a green ‘M’ embroidered on the corner.
“I don’t need your pity.” she spat.
He regarded the handkerchief.
“It’s not pity, it's a handkerchief. If you get silk, like the kind that your dress is made out of, wet, it stains, Granger. I thought you would’ve had that fact stored away somewhere in that big brain of yours.”
She did know that. She had just forgotten to care. It was going to bug her for the rest of the night now, so she reached out and took the handkerchief from the boy.
He was just a boy, she supposed.
She set to drying off her face, aware that the previously unmarred cloth would probably get smeared all over with her forgotten makeup.
“I guess those pureblood etiquette classes were good for something after all” she mused.
He laughed a low, lovely?, sound. “I’m nothing if not a gentleman.”
“Why are you out here then?”
“Well, Granger, someone had to take one for the team and be on ‘comforting distraught witches’ duty. Couldn’t have very well left you alone without an appropriate handkerchief.”
She toyed with said handkerchief in her lap, “Encountered many of those this evening?”
“Just the one.”
She felt him shift himself closer - not too close, but close enough. “So, was it Krum who ruined the evening? or the Weasel?”
She meant to sigh but it came out a bit choked, “He said I was fraternizing with the enemy.” She turned to look at Malfoy. His, admittedly perfectly fine and, merlin, even handsome face was eerily calm as she continued, “I know that he’s just jealous - whether or not that you think someone could be jealous over me aside - but his behavior was still hurtful.” she did not need to be telling him this but fuck it, why not?
He nodded once in agreement. “I’d just like to clarify, so we’re on the same page, that I wasn’t being sarcastic when I said that you looked lovely - tears aside.”
She drew her eyebrows together, trying to mentally pull together this moment with everything that she thought she knew about the boy in front of her - realising that she admittedly did not actually know that much about him.
And then it happened.
She couldn’t tell who had started leaning in first, all that mattered was that she was snogging Draco Malfoy on the bottom step of a staircase in her ruined ball makeup.
It was over as quickly as it had begun and she launched herself to stand, unprepared to unpack or even think about what had just happened.
“Sorry, I suppose that was truly fraternizing with the enemy.” He murmured.
She felt her mouth form a line and held out his handkerchief to return it but he merely shook his head at the gesture, “Keep it.”
She nodded once stiffly and turned on her heel, “Thanks, um, have a good night Malfoy.”
Back to 5th year,
“Very flattering by the way, Granger.” Draco’s present day voice pulled her from her reminiscence, “I know I may lack some of the experience of my housemates but I didn’t think that kiss was that bad.”
His face was telling her that he was very aware that she didn’t think the kiss had been bad.
No. Not bad at all. And yet: “You’re a prat.”
He scoffed, “Charming, swot”
They continued on their patrol route in complete silence. Hard to say if the tension was awkward or magnetic but it was most definitely present and Hermione couldn’t stand it. Draco being aware of this fact, however, was something that she couldn’t stand even more.
“You can’t stand this can you”
Prat.
“I’m just unsure how to appropriately broach that particular topic right now, so I think I’d rather not discuss it at all.” She thanked Merlin that her voice didn’t betray her lack of confidence.
He nodded once, expression painfully neutral.
“So we won’t.”
She nodded back.
“On another note, though, Umbridge is onto you and your lot’s secret meetings-”
Hermione knew that this was coming, they’d gotten away with running Dumbledore’s army for the most part but it was always bound to get discovered eventually. “That’s fine.”
“- now she just doesn’t know where you’re meeting - what do you mean ‘that’s fine’?” his blonde eyebrows knitting together in confusion, “I just told you that the crazy pink bint is hot on your trail and intent on making you all carve sentences into your hands with her psycho quills and ‘that’s fine’!?”
Hermione smiled, glad to feel that she had the upper hand.
“Well, if you were intent on catching us I have full faith that you would have dragged me to Umbridge’s office as soon as you saw me. The fact that you’re even warning me gives me time to make sure my failsafe works.”
They’d finally reached the bottom of the staircase that would take Hermione up to her common room.
Draco turned to look her in the eyes, “I can’t believe that a Gryffindor actually made a failsafe. You’re actually a bit scary.”
They were both smiling now. An odd sight.
“Yes, well, thank you for walking me back here. Your chivalry is appreciated.” She said the words mockingly but she meant them.
“Well, as you know, I’m nothing if not a gentleman, Granger.”
A few days later
The great hall was alive with the buzz of breakfast, and with that came the mail.
Hermione found her daily reading and toast disturbed by the appearance of an enchanted paper crane that perched next to her tea. Curious, she unfolded it to find a note in an unfamiliar, but awfully neat and uniform, script:
The rat is sitting on the edge of a combe.
Yes, a gentleman indeed.
6th year,
In her defense, Hermione began the night with the intention to fully commit to the decision she made earlier that day. The problem, however, came when she settled into the realization that the decision in question was to bring Cormac Maclaggan to Professor Slughorn’s party.
She’d been trying to lose him since they had arrived and he, absolutely oblivious to her blatant hints, was still in hot pursuit.
She’s not totally certain as to why she brought him if she’s honest.
Yes, she’s mad at Ron Weasely and his latest hobby (performing grotesquely public displays of affection towards her own roommate Lavender Brown), but not because she’s harbouring some secret crush on him herself.
No, Hermione just thought it would be nice to prove that she could pull off something similar with someone else - now, that someone was most definitely not Cormac Maclaggan.
This was affirmed even further as she observed him take a break from his stalking of her and appeared to be incredibly confused by the mechanics of the butterbeer fountain - poking his finger into the steady stream and pulling it away with pure startled astonishment. Startling indeed, she scoffed to herself.
Harry’s eyes sought her out in the throng of polite party goers and Hermione tracked him earnestly as he made his way across the room to her - basically grabbing at his lapels to drag him behind a curtain, “I’ve got to get out of here! Harry, please you have to cover for me.”
He laughed. She was in torrential distress and he was laughing at her!?.
She smacked him lightly on the chest.
“I was wondering if you’d make it through the night without cursing his bollocks off. Honestly Hermione, why the hell did you bring him?” he was still laughing at her!
She glowered at him, “It doesn’t matter - I was being foolish and now I need to leave!” she hit him again - maybe a tad harder this time.
“Ow!” Harry had stopped laughing, “Okay okay, let’s get you out of here”
She watched her friend pat down his suit jacket before locating the pocket he was after, pulling out what seemed to be nothing and unfolding it.
“Oh Harry, I could kiss you.”
Hermione had never before been so glad that he had the ridiculous invisibility cloak. “Thank Merlin for your persistent paranoia”
It was her turn to laugh and his turn to playfully shove her.
Throwing the invisible cloth over herself she emerged from her hiding spot and weaved through the party, alerting not so much as a pygmy puff to her presence.
Finally reaching the corridor outside, she went to remove the cloak from herself when she saw movement in her periphery.
Draco malfoy was stalking the perimeter of the party, not entirely out of place in his black suit - although, he wore it with a bit more of a Victorian air than the party perhaps required.
Deciding that he couldn’t possibly be up to any good, she walked up to him with a newfound sense of purpose, “Oi, what are you doing here?” she whispered.
Startled, he just looked entirely perplexed into the ‘empty’ space where she’s standing.
Oh! right.
She yanked the cloak from her body - Malfoy was looking more and more like a deer stuck in headlights.
“What the fuck, Granger?” he gasped.
“Yes yes it’s an invisible cloak - that’s not the point.” she stressed, “What are you doing here? I know you weren’t invited to the party.” She stood firm, arms crossed in front of her chest.
With the breath returned to him he mustered up a reply, “Honestly, was hoping to crash it once old slug’ got enough fire whisky down.”
Hemrione pondered over whether or not she had believed him. He had to know that she wasn’t stupid and was acutely aware that there had been something off with him all year - especially after seeing him with his mother in Knockturn alley back in September.
“Well, I can assure you it isn’t worth it.” she said primly, “Want to get out of here?”
His eyebrows shot up, “And where would we go?”
She shrugged her shoulders, “Anywhere? We’ve got an invisible cloak at our disposal after all.”
“Always full of surprises, Granger.”
And as they walked down the hall and away from the party, Hermione found her mind snagging on the mental image of Malfoy’s smile just now, and how it looked so similar to the one he had after their kiss in fourth year.
7th year
“RON! DUCK!”
Hermione grabbed him by the shoulder to yank his head away from where the Death Eater’s curse was about to collide with the wall, obliterating it completely.
Hogwarts was crumbling to pieces around them, the dark magic infecting the halls and rotting it from the inside. Hermione and Ron had to get the Horcrux and Hermione to the Chamber of Secrets, it was the only thing they could do to help Harry right now.
They continued on their path, deflecting spells and dodging debris as they went.
Then Hermione felt the very second that something sinister gripped the air, the vibration of adrenaline that had been steadily pumping through her body stopped dead and eerie. She could barely hear Ron, as though he was in a different room, “‘Mione, can you feel that?”
Dementors.
Before she could even begin to think the air began to break by the effort of an effervescent ragdoll cat.
“Ron, whose is that?” Hermione asked with great effort.
But the source of the patronus quickly made herself clear, “At least try not to die Weasley!”
Pansy Parkinson stood tall, her wand poised for striking.
“On your left!” Ron bellowed back and he made sure to see that she had deflected the curse that was thrown at her before allowing Hermione to urge him away.
The pair started down a staircase, headed for the girls bathroom that would take them to the Chamber of Secrets.
They were just about there when they found themselves bombarded. A group of Death Eaters were closing in and, although Hermione and Ron threw spell after spell, they were easily outnumbered.
Unfortunately for the Death Eaters in question, she was Hermione Granger.
She threw a strong spell at the ceiling, sending it crumbling and crashing down like the rest of the castle.
Ron held a shield around them both as they watched the Death Eaters become pinned beneath the rubble - Hermione couldn’t help but be bitter that it probably wasn’t enough to have killed any of the monsters.
“Right, we’ve got to get to the chamber.” She made a move to grab Ron’s arm and continue into the bathroom but saw movement on the outskirts of the hole she’d made on the floor above them that stopped her in her tracks.
“Hermione!”
Ron craned his head to see where the voice had come from, “Is that Malfoy?”
Hermione felt the breath return to her, she knew where he was now.
“Draco Malfoy, you get the hell down here right now!”
He began his descent and she ran towards him, grabbing his hand to help him down the pile of rubble. With him safely on the ground, Hermione launched herself at Draco and he returned the embrace with equal - if not more - desperation. He held her face in his larger hands and devoured her with his eyes, trying to discern if she was okay.
Reaching up to grab one of his hands, she could hear the thoughts tearing through his head: “I’m okay, we’re fine. But we need to get into the Chamber of Secrets and destroy the Horcrux - it’s all we can do to help Harry right now.”
“Oh, bloody hell.”
The pair broke apart to turn to Ron, clearly more astute than Malfoy was used to giving him credit for, “We’ll discuss what’s going on here later, but ‘Mione’s right - we need to destroy this thing now.”
Draco nodded once, firm.
“Well, let’s crack to it then Weaslebee.”
Hermione had never felt more exhilarated than she did right now, raising the basilisk fang above her head and plunging it through the copper of the Horcrux cup. And again. And again.
Until the billowing of Voldemort’s ash-like soul fragment blanketed the chamber and the drain system erupted from the overload of dark magic.
“Merlin save us, Granger.” Draco breathed, “I’ve never wanted to kiss you more.”
There was that smile again.
She grabbed at the lapels of his ridiculous suit jacket and crashed her mouth onto his as she felt his arms lace around her, holding on as if someone might try and snatch her away from him forever.
“Ahem.”
They broke apart, laughing this time, as if laughter was entirely possible in this moment.
“If you two are done with... whatever that was,” Ron grumbled, “then let’s go kill this scaley bastard.”
8th year,
At the decree of the Head girl, Padma Patil, this year's halloween feast was to be a ball. The newly rebuilt great hall was done up to the nines with decorations and lights, the atmosphere denying any and all memory of the violence that tore it apart last year.
Hermione wore a floor length gown, a touch darker than the periwinkle she had sported at the Yule ball. She had decided that this time, however, she would forgo all of the sleek-easy potion and left her wild curls to cascade down her back. She was a true vision. So much so that no one seemed to care that her primary accessory was a tall, blonde, slytherin who kept at least one arm around her at all times.
She was absolutely smitten.
When the music started, everyone dispersed around the hall, it was all a shuffle of tulle and glitter. The eighth years had collectively decided to partake in a slightly complicated dance where they would swap partners every few steps. A sort of performative show at the newfound unity shared between them all post-war. Hermione was determined to not step on any toes.
She started the dance with Draco, feeling like she was made of air in his confident hold, and then stepped into Harry’s arms, and then got twirled around by Ron, and even Neville was holding his own on the floor - only stumbling at the initial change over.
When the night began to wind down, Hermione found herself drawn out into the corridor in search of some fresh air. She held Draco’s hand loosley behind her.
She sat down at the bottom of the staircase, the one that normally wasn’t there. And began to undo the straps of her shoes. Draco sat down next to her and she took the opportunity to take in his appearance - tie undone, hair ruffled, face flushed from all of the dancing and laughing (and spiked punch).
He had a bit of her own lipstick smeared near his mouth.
She pulled out an old handkerchief, the one a certain gentleman gave her all those years ago, from her magically extended purse and softly wiped the smear from his face - which he scrunched up in mock protest at the action.
“You look lovely, Draco.”
And there it was, the smile that she would take to her grave.
“No one could ever be as lovely as you, Granger.”