Haunted

Hermione stirred at the insistent sound of tapping against her window. Her eyelids were heavy, reluctant to open, but the tapping grew more insistent. Grumbling softly, she finally opened her eyes and turned toward the window. An eagle owl was perched on the sill, pecking at the glass with sharp determination, a small package tied neatly to its leg.

She swung her legs out of bed and shuffled over to the window, the early morning chill sending a shiver through her. The owl hooted impatiently as she unlatched the pane and allowed it to hop inside. “Good morning to you too,” she muttered, untying the package.

The owl nipped at her fingers affectionately before taking off into the crisp autumn air. Hermione closed the window and turned her attention to the package. The brown wrapping was neatly folded, tied with a dark green ribbon. Her fingers worked quickly, curiosity bubbling over as she tore it open.

Inside was a hardcover book she had mentioned in passing weeks ago: Magical Migrations and Their Cultural Impacts. Her breath hitched as she ran her fingers over the embossed title, remembering how she’d briefly commented on wanting to read it while they’d been studying one evening.

A folded piece of parchment fell out from between the pages. She picked it up, unfolding it to reveal Draco’s distinctive handwriting—neat, deliberate, and slightly slanted.

Hermione,

I told you I don’t do anything halfway.

If this is too much, tell me—gently, though. My ego is fragile.

But in all seriousness, I want you to know I mean this. You’re giving me a chance I didn’t think I’d ever deserve, and I don’t want to mess it up.

Thanks for being... well, you.

~ Draco

Hermione felt warmth spread through her chest as she reread the note, a grin tugging at the corners of her lips. Setting the letter carefully on her desk, she grabbed the book and slid it into her bag. Still smiling, she dressed quickly and slung her bag over her shoulder, heading out of the dormitory for a quick breakfast before settling into her usual spot in the library.

As she pushed open the portrait hole, she was surprised to see Draco leaning casually against the wall just outside, his hands tucked into the pockets of his slacks. He glanced up at the sound of the portrait opening, his pale features softening as he met her gaze.

“Too much?” he asked nervously, gesturing toward her bag. His posture was confident, but the slight furrow of his brow betrayed his uncertainty. He moved over to help her through the portrait hole.

Hermione chuckled, shaking her head and took his hand. “Not at all. The book was a wonderful surprise and honestly, this portrait is a pain to get through sometimes. It’s nice to have someone helping me through it.”

Draco relaxed slightly, the tension easing from his shoulders. Once she was through, he gestured to a small paper bag and a steaming cup of coffee in his other hand. “For you,” he said, holding them out.

Hermione accepted them, peeking inside the bag. “A blueberry scone,” she noted, her voice light with amusement.

Draco noticed her frown and tilted his head curiously. “Not your favorite?” he asked, his tone light but genuinely interested. “I thought blueberry scones and coffee were your go-to.”

Hermione’s expression softened, and she shook her head. “No, it’s perfect. But don’t you want to go to breakfast together?”

He smirked slightly, meeting her eyes with an easy confidence. “I’d love to. But I thought—since we just started this—you might not want the entire school talking about us over pumpkin juice. I don’t mind keeping things quieter if it makes you more comfortable.”

Hermione stopped in her tracks, touched by his thoughtfulness but determined to set things straight. “Draco,” she said, her tone firm but warm as she stepped closer. “I am not ashamed of you. And I hope you’re not ashamed of me.”

His smirk softened into something more earnest, his gaze steady. “Not even for a second,” he replied simply, his voice low but certain.

“Good,” she said, smiling as she slid her hand into his. “Because I’d really love some eggs and toast. Let’s go.”

Draco exhaled, his lips curving into a genuine smile that softened his entire face. “Alright,” he said, his voice lighter now.

As they walked toward the Great Hall, Hermione tightened her grip on his hand and leaned in, pressing a kiss to his cheek. Draco’s steps faltered for a fraction of a second before he grinned, the tips of his ears turning pink. She laughed softly, and together, they stepped into the hall, the soft hum of morning chatter greeting them.

If anyone turned to look, Hermione didn’t notice. All she cared about was the warm, steady presence at her side and the quiet thrill of taking this step—together.

Draco followed Hermione into the Great Hall, her smaller hand clasped firmly in his. The space, bathed in the soft morning light of an early Sunday, was quieter than usual. A handful of students lingered at scattered tables, enjoying their breakfasts in relative peace.

That peace didn’t last long.

The moment they stepped inside, he noticed heads turning, conversations stalling, and eyes following them. His stomach tightened. He could feel the weight of every gaze, every whispered word exchanged between their peers.

What were they saying? Were they questioning her judgment, her sanity? Judging him for daring to hold her hand? Did they think this was a joke?

What if she regretted this later? What if the whispers grew louder, sharp enough to cut through her resolve? He’d barely begun to earn her trust—what if he lost it now?

His pulse quickened. He’d spent years commanding attention in this castle—smirks, glares, derision—but this was different. This was her. What if they made her regret this? What if she—

“Draco.” Hermione’s voice pulled him out of his spiraling thoughts. She squeezed his hand and gave him a small, reassuring smile. “Come on.”

He exhaled and followed her to the Gryffindor table. She slid onto the bench and tugged him down beside her, their shoulders brushing. Across from them, Neville Longbottom looked up from his plate, his brows raising slightly before he offered a warm smile.

“Morning, Hermione. Malfoy,” Neville greeted, his voice friendly despite his initial surprise. “What brings you here so early?”

Hermione smiled, reaching for a piece of toast. “Just a change of scenery. What about you? You’ve clearly been up for hours.”

Neville grinned, his enthusiasm bubbling over. “Yeah. I’ve been helping Professor Sprout with Tantaculum Noctis. It’s this bioluminescent plant that thrives in darkness, but we’re missing its pair, Lumina Flora. Normally they grow together, but we’ve never been able to get one.”

Draco leaned forward slightly. “We’ve got Lumina Flora at the Malfoy greenhouses. If it’ll help, I can have one sent to Professor Sprout.”

Neville froze, blinking in surprise. “Really? That—wait, you’re serious?”

Draco shrugged, his tone casual. “Of course. It’s not exactly a rare specimen for us. If it’ll help your work, consider it done.”

A beat of silence passed before Neville’s face broke into a genuine smile. “That would be… incredible. Thank you, Malfoy.”

Hermione beamed at Draco, nudging him gently with her shoulder. “See? You’re not all bad.”

Before Draco could respond, a familiar voice chimed in. “Good morning, all.”

Pansy Parkinson slid into the seat across from them, directly next to Neville, who immediately flushed scarlet. “What are we talking about?” she asked, her gaze flicking between Draco and Hermione before settling on Neville with interest.

Neville stammered, his words tripping over themselves as Pansy leaned in, her smile sly. “Plants,” he managed. “In the greenhouses.”

“How fascinating,” Pansy purred. “I do love a man with a green thumb. Tell me more, Longbottom.”

Neville’s blush deepened, and he fumbled for words. “Oh, uh, well… it’s… uh…”

Draco bit the inside of his cheek, trying not to laugh as Neville fidgeted under Pansy’s attention. Hermione caught his eye, and they both struggled to keep straight faces as Pansy turned her full charm on Neville.

After a while, they finished their breakfast, and Hermione stood, grabbing Draco’s hand. “Come on,” she said, tugging him to his feet. “Library?”

Draco nodded, falling into step beside her. As they left the Great Hall, he glanced back to see Neville still sitting with Pansy, who was now animatedly asking him about something while Neville fidgeted nervously.

Draco chuckled softly, shaking his head. “She’s going to eat him alive.”

Hermione laughed, squeezing his hand. “Maybe. But who knows? He might surprise us. He is used to taking care of dangerous things; I think we can put Pansy in that category.”

Draco nodded his head in agreement.

With that, they headed to the library, the quiet buzz of the morning still lingering in the air. Draco felt a warmth spread through him as Hermione leaned against his side, their hands clasped tightly together.

This, he realized, was starting to feel like something real. Something worth holding onto.

As they entered the study room, Hermione glanced around and chuckled. “You know, it’s funny how this room is always available whenever we need it.”

Draco paused, a faint blush creeping up his neck. “Well,” he began, rubbing the back of his neck, “that’s because… the room's availability isn’t exactly a coincidence.”

Her brow arched, her curiosity piqued. “Draco, why are you blushing? What aren’t you telling me?”

His lips twitched into a reluctant smirk as he avoided her gaze. “After our first meeting in the library, I… might have booked this room for the rest of the year.”

Hermione blinked, surprised. “You what?”

“Madam Pince wasn’t thrilled about it,” he admitted, his tone both sheepish and amused. “She doesn’t like one student monopolizing resources. But, well… the Malfoys have donated quite a bit to Hogwarts over the years. She eventually agreed.”

Hermione stared at him for a moment before breaking into a grin. “You’re ridiculous, you know that?”

Draco tilted his head, feigning indignation. “I prefer ‘resourceful.’”

Laughing softly, Hermione leaned up and kissed him lightly, her smile lingering against his lips. “Thank you, resourceful.”

As she opened her books, she stole a glance at him, her heart softening at the sight of his faint blush still lingering. He’s taking this seriously.

For the next hour, they fell into their usual rhythm, the sound of quills scratching against parchment punctuating their quiet conversation. Hermione’s focus wavered only when she caught Draco sneaking glances at her, his lips curving into an unguarded smile whenever their eyes met.

Just as she began to relax completely, the peaceful atmosphere was shattered by a glowing silver horse galloping into the room. Ginny’s voice erupted from it, loud and incredulous: “Draco Malfoy—are you fucking with me right now?”

Draco froze, his quill slipping from his fingers as his face drained of color. Hermione sighed, shutting her book with a soft thud. “Honestly, it’s better this way,” she said, sitting back in her chair. “It’s better than hiding it. And besides—how could I possibly hide you? You’re huge. How tall are you now? Six-two? Six-three? And with that hair? There’s no sneaking you anywhere.”

Draco blinked, momentarily caught off guard, before a reluctant smile curved his lips. “Six-two and a half,” he corrected.

Hermione laughed, rolling her eyes as she drew her wand. “Six-two and a half, then,” she said teasingly. She conjured her own patronus, a shimmering phoenix bursting into the room in a blaze of ethereal light. She whispered a message, and the phoenix soared out, leaving a faint trail of light behind.

Draco’s eyes followed the phoenix until it disappeared, his brows lifting in surprise. “That’s not an otter.”

“No,” Hermione said softly, setting her wand down. “It changed after the Battle of Hogwarts.”

Draco studied her, his expression thoughtful. “Why?”

“I think no one came out of that war unchanged,” she said, her voice steady but tinged with melancholy. “My change just happened to include my patronus. I like it, though. A phoenix is strong and gentle. And it symbolizes rebirth—a new life. After everything, it felt… fitting.”

He nodded slowly, his gaze lingering on her. “It suits you.”

“What about yours?” she asked, tilting her head. “What does your patronus look like?”

His shoulders tensed slightly, and he looked down. “I’ve never been able to conjure one.”

She reached across the table, placing her hand over his. A sly smile curved her lips. “Not yet,” she said, her tone light but teasing. “Clearly, you’ve just been waiting for me to teach you. Don’t worry, Malfoy—I’ll whip you into shape.”

Draco blinked, momentarily startled, before a laugh escaped him—low and genuine. “Oh, will you now?”

“Absolutely,” Hermione replied, her grin widening. “After all, I am the brightest witch of our age. And you…” She tilted her head, giving him a mock appraising look. “Well, you’re a decent student. When you’re paying attention.”

Draco rolled his eyes but couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. “I’ll hold you to that, Granger.”

After a moment, Draco gave her a small, grateful smile, but a shadow of sadness lingered in his eyes. “Look, Hermione, I—” He paused, his fingers twitching slightly against the table. “I need to say this, even if I don’t know how to. I’m sorry. For everything. For the way I treated you. For the things I said and did.”

Her brow furrowed, but before she could speak, he pressed on. “I’m sorry for how I treated you growing up. I was such an ass. If I’m being honest with myself, I had a crush on you from very early on. When I found out you were Muggle-born, it made me bitter. How could I like someone who was supposed to be beneath me?” He let out a hollow laugh. “But you weren’t. You proved that over and over, beating me in every subject. And I didn’t know how to deal with it. For that, I’m sorry.”

Hermione’s chest ached at his words. She leaned forward, cupping his face in her hands. “I forgive you,” she whispered, her voice steady with the weight of the truth, before kissing him deeply. The kiss was slow, filled with quiet passion and a shared understanding, as if years of tension had finally melted away.

When they pulled apart, their breaths mingling in the quiet room, Draco’s eyes searched hers. “Can I take you on a proper date?”

Hermione laughed softly, her nose brushing against his. “Haven’t our study dates counted?”

Draco grinned. “I mean outside the library.”

“Fine,” she said playfully. “But only if you agree to let me teach you how to conjure a patronus.”

He smirked, leaning in to kiss her again. “Deal.”

As Hermione and Draco left the library, the castle halls were quiet, save for the soft echo of their footsteps. Draco insisted on carrying her bag, his fingers brushing hers every so often as they walked. The warmth of his presence settled something deep within her, and she found herself smiling as they approached the portrait hole to Gryffindor Tower.

Draco stopped just shy of the entrance, handing her bag back with a quiet smirk. “Goodnight, Granger,” he murmured, his voice soft but laced with affection.

Hermione leaned in and kissed him gently, lingering for a moment before stepping back. “Goodnight, Draco.”

As she climbed through the portrait hole, she barely had time to set her bag down before Ginny grabbed her arm and pulled her into a secluded corner of the common room.

“What the hell, Hermione?” Ginny hissed, her fiery hair nearly crackling with the intensity of her frustration.

Hermione sighed, crossing her arms. “I assume this is about Draco?”

“Yes, it’s about Draco!” Ginny’s voice dropped to a harsh whisper. “Are you serious about this? About him?”

Hermione met her gaze steadily, her voice calm but firm. “Yes, I am. He’s changed, Ginny. He’s not the same person we grew up with.”

Ginny’s brows furrowed, and for a moment, she seemed to be searching for the right words. Her hands fidgeted at her sides. “I get that people can change, but Malfoy? Are you sure? What if you’re wrong?”

Hermione took a deep breath, reigning in her frustration. She’s worried about you, she reminded herself. “I know who he was, Ginny. I’m not blind to that. But I also know who he is now. I’ve seen it. He’s… thoughtful. Kind, even. And if you gave him a chance, you’d see it too.”

Ginny’s fiery demeanor dimmed slightly, her shoulders slumping. “I just… I worry about you. He hurt you—maybe not the way others did, but he did.”

Hermione’s gaze softened, though her resolve remained. “And he’s spent every day since trying to be better. He’s not the spoiled, arrogant boy we knew. He’s not perfect, but neither am I.”

Ginny sighed, running a hand through her hair. “Okay,” she said finally, her voice quieter. “If you’re sure… I’m sorry.”

Hermione tilted her head, her tone curious but cautious. “Sorry for what?”

Ginny winced, suddenly looking guilty. “I, uh… I might have sent a patronus to Harry and Ron.”

Hermione groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Ginny…”

“I was concerned!” Ginny said defensively, though guilt flickered across her face. “I just thought they should know. I mean, you should probably expect to hear from them.”

Hermione shook her head, exhaling sharply. “Great. Just what I needed.”

Ginny hesitated, her voice tentative now. “Harry’s not so bad. He’ll listen. But Ron… he’s going to be furious. You know how he is.”

Hermione raised her chin, her expression hardening. “Well, he’ll just have to get over it. I’m not going to let him—or anyone else—decide my life for me.”

Ginny studied her for a moment, then nodded. “Alright. I’ll try to keep Ron from blowing a gasket. But… if you need me, I’m here.”

Hermione offered a small smile. “Thanks, Ginny. I mean it.”

As Ginny turned away, Hermione sank into a nearby chair, her mind already bracing for the inevitable fallout with Ron. But beneath her frustration, a quiet determination burned. She wasn’t going to let anyone ruin this—not even her oldest friends.

By the time Hermione made it up to her dormitory, her frustration with Ginny had settled into mild annoyance. She wasn’t angry—she understood where Ginny was coming from—but it didn’t make the meddling any less aggravating.

As she changed into her pajamas, the soft tap of an owl’s beak against her window broke her thoughts. Crossing the room, she unlatched the pane and retrieved the rolled parchment tied to the owl’s leg. The handwriting on the note was unmistakable: Harry’s.

Gryffindor fireplace—midnight.

Hermione glanced at the clock. It was 11:30. She sighed, grabbing her new book to pass the time. At least he had the decency to warn me this time, she thought dryly as she made her way back to the common room.

Settling into an armchair near the fire, she opened the book, determined not to let this ruin her evening. If they hadn’t bothered to keep her updated on their lives, they had no right to dictate hers. Still, a flicker of unease lingered—Harry’s opinion mattered, even if Ron’s didn’t.

She was mid-chapter, her thoughts a quiet storm, when Harry’s face appeared in the flames. “Hermione?”

She set the book aside, meeting his gaze steadily. “Harry.”

“Is it true?” he asked without preamble, his expression unreadable.

“Is what true?” she replied, arching a brow.

“You and Malfoy.”

Hermione took a deep breath, her tone even. “Yes, it’s true.”

Harry didn’t react immediately. He seemed to weigh her words, his lips pressing into a thin line. Finally, he said, “Look, I get why he did what he did back then. If it were my parents’ lives on the line, I don’t know where I’d draw the line either.”

Hermione blinked, caught off guard. “You’re… okay with it?”

“I didn’t say that,” Harry said, a faint smile tugging at his lips. “But I understand it. And if you’re happy, then that’s what matters to me.”

Relief softened her shoulders as she leaned back in the chair. “Thank you.”

“What about Ron?” she asked after a pause, though she already suspected the answer.

Harry grimaced, rubbing the back of his head. “He’s in the other room.”

“Why isn’t he here?”

“He’s refusing to talk to you,” Harry admitted, his tone tinged with frustration. “He’s pacing the sitting room, muttering something about betrayal and bad decisions. Honestly, it’s exhausting.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “That sounds about right.”

“He thinks you’re only doing this because of the pictures in Witch Weekly,” Harry continued, his expression apologetic.

“What’s her name again?” Hermione asked, waving a dismissive hand.

“Élodie Duval,” Harry said. “She’s from Beauxbatons, doing auror training with us.”

Hermione let out a sharp laugh. “Well, you can tell him not to hold his breath. And for the record, this has nothing to do with Witch Weekly.”

Harry chuckled softly. “I’ll let him know. But Hermione… give him time. He’s stubborn, but he’ll come around.”

“I’m not holding my breath,” she replied dryly.

Harry’s tone lightened, a teasing edge creeping in. “So, how’s the library-bound romance going?”

Hermione groaned, though her lips twitched. “It’s going well. Better than Ron might like to hear, but that’s his problem, not mine.”

Harry nodded, his smile more genuine now. “Fair enough. And for what it’s worth, I’m glad you’re happy.”

She tilted her head, curiosity sparking. “How’s the training going?”

“Good, actually,” Harry said, his expression brightening. “There are a few familiar faces—Theo Nott, for one.”

Hermione’s brows lifted. “Theo? As in Draco’s friend?”

Harry nodded. “Yeah. He’s surprisingly decent. Speaks highly of Malfoy, actually. Says he’s not as much of a git as he used to be.”

Hermione smiled softly. “He’s not.”

They talked for a while longer, catching up on each other’s lives, until Harry finally said, “I should go. But… if this is what you want, Hermione, I’m happy for you. Really.”

Her chest tightened with gratitude. “Thanks, Harry. It means a lot.”

With a final smile, Harry disappeared from the flames, leaving Hermione alone by the fire. She picked up her book again, her heart feeling lighter.

Whatever Ron thought, she knew she was making the right choice.

Draco Malfoy wasn’t the boy she’d grown up with—and she wasn’t the same girl. They were both different, shaped by a war that had forced them to grow up too soon. Maybe that’s why they fit so well now. They were rebuilding, piece by piece, and for the first time in a long time, Hermione felt hopeful.

Draco left Hermione at the entrance to Gryffindor Tower, watching her disappear through the portrait hole with a soft smile lingering on his face. The warmth of her kiss still ghosted across his lips as he made his way down to the dungeons, the faint hum of contentment following him like a shadow.

The cool, damp air of the Slytherin common room greeted him as he pushed open the heavy door. It was late, but Blaise was sprawled across one of the leather sofas near the fireplace, waiting. At the sight of Draco, Blaise grinned, standing up with exaggerated slowness and crossing the room to meet him.

“Well, well,” Blaise drawled, his voice dripping with mock awe. “If it isn’t Hogwarts’ newest scandal. Holding hands with Hermione Granger, in public no less? The whispers alone might shake the castle’s foundations.”

Draco rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress the small smirk tugging at his lips. “Spare me the theatrics, Zabini.”

“Spare you?” Blaise clapped a hand on Draco’s shoulder, his grin widening. “Not a chance. You’ve spent years cultivating that brooding, untouchable persona, and now you’ve gone and ruined it by holding hands. The horror.”

Draco snorted softly, shrugging off Blaise’s hand. “Get it out of your system now, because I’m not entertaining this all night.”

“Fine, fine,” Blaise said, still smirking. “Congratulations, mate. I mean it. But don’t screw it up. If anyone deserves a bit of happiness, it’s you.”

Draco inclined his head, his smirk softening into something more genuine. “Thanks.”

Blaise studied him for a moment, then leaned closer, his grin turning sly. “So, tell me—how’d you move out of the friend zone? Was it your legendary charm? Or did you finally admit that you’re hopelessly in love with her?”

Draco’s ears reddened slightly, but he chuckled. “Believe it or not, she made the first move.”

Blaise raised an eyebrow, impressed. “Granger made the first move? Honestly, that actually checks.”

“Yeah, well,” Draco muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Now I need to plan a date. A real one.”

Blaise’s grin widened. “A date, you say? I might have just the thing.”

Draco’s eyes narrowed, suspicious. “What are you plotting, Zabini?”

“Nothing nefarious,” Blaise said, feigning innocence. “Just trust me. I’ll help you set it up. Consider it my way of supporting this newfound romance of yours.”

Draco shook his head but couldn’t help the small smile creeping across his face. “Fine. Just… don’t go overboard.”

Blaise gave him a solemn look that was completely at odds with the mischievous gleam in his eyes. “Who, me? Overboard? Never.”

Draco rolled his eyes again, muttering under his breath as he headed toward the dormitory. Once inside his room, he began preparing for bed. His mind, however, was far from rest.

Sitting at his desk, he pulled out parchment and a quill, deciding there were two things he needed to take care of before sleep claimed him.

The first letter was to his mother:

Mother,

I wanted you to hear this from me directly: I have begun courting a witch. For now, I won’t confirm who it is, although I suspect you may hear whispers soon enough. I hope you can respect my choice, regardless of whether or not you approve.

That being said, I hope you’ll see what I have—this isn’t about legacy or bloodlines. It’s about choosing someone who makes me better. I’ve never been happier, and I hope that means something to you.

I’ll write again soon.

Your son,

Draco

Draco folded the letter carefully, sealing it with his family’s crest. Setting it aside, he reached for another piece of parchment, this time addressing it to his house-elf, Mimsy.

Mimsy,

Please retrieve one of the first-edition copies of Advanced Theories in Alchemical Potioneering from the library at the manor and have it sent to me at Hogwarts. Ensure it’s packaged properly—it’s a gift.

Also, can you have one of the Lumina Flora sent to Professor Sprout, please ensure it is packaged so the plant is not damaged.

Thank you,

Draco

Draco leaned back in his chair, staring at the sealed letters. The idea of creating a library for Hermione was more than just a gift. It was a promise—of effort, of thoughtfulness, of wanting to give her something that reflected her passions. Something lasting. Something real.

With a soft smile, he crawled into bed, his thoughts full of her. For the first time in years, Draco Malfoy fell asleep with a quiet, contented heart.