Chapter 20
Fleur went first.
Victor second.
And Cedric third.
All of their dragons were large and terrifying. For a moment Hermione had been convinced Cedric would not survive when his creature came storming after him. Theo had somehow known the names of each breed and their weakest points, which he put to use by muttering charms or curses each champion could utter to defeat their opponent. If Hermione hadn’t been entirely focused on the excitement in front of her, she might’ve told him how impressive it was.
Draco went last.
His dragon’s coat of scales was dark and menacing in a way the others hadn’t been. Hungarian Horntail, that’s what Theo had called it. Hermione thought terrifying would fit just as well. When the arena opened that last time and Draco had stepped out, Hermione stopped breathing fully. She wasn’t even sure she was blinking.
He didn’t see it upon his first glance, the scales blended into the rocky surroundings, and it allowed the creature a starting advantage in protecting its nest. When he did though, it was because the dragon was practically on top of him. Hermione screamed along with several other of her peers, urging him to look up. Her heart was racing and the only thing grounding her from panic was Theo who hadn’t let go of her hand since they’d left the classroom. They’d found Harry and a group of Gryffindors already seated and joined them as well.
Somewhere in her mind Hermione knew she was still angry; she knew she had a thousand questions to demand of him before she could move on. But none of that mattered while Draco was trapped in a pit with a ferocious beast. Instead, she found herself squeezing his hand tighter as if for balance and reaching for Harry’s too.
The dragon ducked down it’s neck and made a grab for Draco who leapt out of the way and tumbled down a level onto some lower rocks. It followed him, growling deeply and poising itself between him and the nest Draco needed to get to. Hermione was terrified as it breathed deeply, sucking oxygen inward before spitting out powerful flames in his direction. For a moment Draco wasn’t visible, covered by the smoke and fire, but as they dispersed around where he’d been standing, it seemed Draco had disappeared as well. Hermione found herself leaning over the row in front of them to try and get a better view of the arena and to spot him. But he was gone.
That is, until a Hufflepuff started shouting and everyone turned to where they were pointing. Somehow Draco had managed to reappear on the opposite side of the arena, not a single scratch on him as he straightened his cloths and hair. She thought it was just such a terribly Draco thing to fuss over in the middle of a life-or-death competition.
The shouting and cheers from the audience however, directed not only their attentions, but also the Dragon’s attention to where Draco had run off to. Hermione thought for a moment she could hear the wizard internally groaning at their stupidity. But then Draco’s wand shot out above him and cast a spell. She couldn’t tell which one though, a result of the Dragon gearing up towards him again, but she waited for it to take effect.
In fact, everyone waited for it to take affect as Draco stood perfectly still, even as the creature crept closer.
It was only as the Dragon opened it’s jaw once again that Draco moved and Hermione saw it. Everyone seemed to see it. He’d summoned a broom. And as the Dragon prepared to sear him to a crisp, Drago stuck out his arm and grabbing tight when a broom flew into it. In less than seconds he was in the air and shooting across the arena towards the nest while the Dragon, who’d already begun spouting flames, was far too slow to stop him.
Hermione Granger had never enjoyed flying and she seriously disliked going to quidditch matches, but watching Draco soar through the sky felt like watching a work of art. Quickly he dove down into the end and without even touching the ground or letting go of his broom, he collected his prize. Looking at the clock that had been set, it was clear Draco had set the record for fastest timing for the task out of all the champions. He’d done it in just under six minutes while the next closest hadn’t been under nine. The crowd went wild with cheers and celebration as people were thrilled. Hermione hugged Harry and Theo, high-fiving Dean and Seamus beside them. It wasn’t until they heard a startled shout that everyone’s eyes were drawn back to the arena.
While immediately after the other contestants had collected their eggs the Dragons had been contained by their handlers and kept away, somehow in the excitement of Draco’s victory, no one had tied down the Horntail. And even though Draco was hovering a great deal above the ground, the tail for which the creature earned its name had struck him off his broom and sent him plummeting, a spike lashing his side.
“Oh shite.” Harry gasped as they watched Draco’s body hit the ground. This time, thank Merlin, the Dragon handlers were in the arena without thought. The Horntail was detained and forced back behind the gate it’d been kept it. Draco though, didn’t move and Hermione’s heart was pounding in her chest. She watched wide eyes, unable to form words as several healers appeared around him, conjuring a stretcher and levitating him onto it. She could hardly speak as they carried him away, and only when he was out of view did she turn to look beside her.
“Theo,” She started but she didn’t even have to finish. His eyes were determined.
“Let’s go.” He answered and started walking to exit the stands towards the tent where they’d likely taken Draco.
----- ----- ----- -----
“DO YOU HAVE ANY IDEA WHO I AM? THAT IS MY SON. LET ME IN." Everything in Draco hurt. He didn’t know why, but he knew his father’s shouting was only exacerbating the pain in his head. Draco was fairly certain he’d been brought to the healer end of their tent. It seemed to have been converted though into a small private room where Draco lay on a low cot, unable to move.
“Yes sir, of course. But we can’t. He needs to rest.” Someone foolishly attempted to calm his father.
“I WOULD LIKE TO SPEAK TO MY SON. NOW.”
“As I’ve said, he’s still unconscious. We need to give him time to wake. I’ve done all I can to heal the wound on his abdomen. I’m not sure if you’re aware but your son already has some significant scaring there…” The person trailed off and if it didn’t hurt so much Draco would cringe. He could only vaguely remember flying upward on his broom to catch his breath, his eyes only just landing on Hermione and Theo smiling at each other in the crowd, before he felt something slam into his side and it all went dark.
“Obviously I’m aware, he had an accident many years ago. Though I do not see how that is currently relevant.” His father dismissed them. Draco hadn’t been sure if his father was entirely aware of the marks he’d left, but clearly he was, he just ignored them.
“Because sir, the dragon thorn that cut him contained purfendour.” They answered and Draco winced, knowing exactly what that meant.
“And?” His father asked, he’d not spent nearly as much time in a potions lab as Draco, or researching healing balms for cursed wounds.
“It’s a rare and dangerous material…you’re not supposed to come into contact with it unless gloved,” They paused, evidently waiting for some kind of reaction, they got none. “Mr. Malfoy I’ve done all I can to heal the physical wound on his chest, but unfortunately the laceration was deep enough that the purfendour entered your son’s blood stream.”
“I do not have time for this. Spit it out and tell me what the fuck is wrong with the boy so I can speak with my son.” Lucius snapped.
“Right. Sir it’s a dark chemical, the components of which can dampen a person’s ability to interact with their magic. Your son will likely need to be kept on bedrest for a week or two as the internal wounds will have to heal naturally over time. And he has at least three broken ribs I cannot fix on top of the concussion and bleeding.”
His father didn’t respond for several moments, Draco waited for him to spit outrage over his weakness to the poison and how he would be immune to magic temporarily, but he didn’t. After a significant time had passed though, his father spoke again.
“Thank you for your help. May I see him now?” He asked, far more calmly and in a manner that put Draco on edge.
The healer must have done something of affirmation because a moment later there was a ruffling and his father entered. Grey eyes immediately connected with his own and Draco wanted to back away.
“Father, I—” He tried to sit up but couldn’t.
“Don’t.” He cut him off and Draco looked down. “I thought I made myself perfectly clear when I told you what was expected of you today. Did I not?”
“You did, father, I—”
“Then why was it that after completing your task you remained waiting?” His words were spoken carefully and Draco knew he was walking into a trap, but he saw no way out.
“I don’t—I didn’t mean to—”
“Because you are selfish, Draco. You are selfish and spoiled and you always have been.”
“Father—”
“Do not interrupt me.” He snapped. Draco had to force the lump that had formed in the back of his throat down.
“I’m sorry, father.”
“You will be, Draco. After today you thought you had any kind of right to that celebration and look what it cost you. You looked like a fool, Draco. You made me look like a fool and I will not tolerate it happening again.”
“Yes, father.”
“Good.” He spat and Draco’s eyes fell closed in resignment. He’d been so sure the broom route Theo and him had prepared would be the strongest and still, it had backfired. He’d failed. “Now, you’re going to get over whatever the fuck this is and we’re going outside.”
This time his eyes shot back open and he looked up to meet his eyes. Fuck he felt like someone had torn a whole through him and he was fairly certain he had a concussion. Even with magic this wasn’t an injury he could simply push aside, and with the purfendour in him, it would be ten times worse.
“Father, please, I—” But Draco didn’t get a chance to speak because the flap to their corner of the tent was thrown open and someone ran inside so quickly he couldn’t even make out their face before they were too close.
Someone was wrapping their arms around him, pulling him into their shoulders, and squeezing him so hard his head became fuzzy. It wasn’t until they began sobbing his name that Draco made the connection and his blood felt cold.
“Parkinson?” He gasped through the pinching of his ribs. The girl pulled back then and Draco was appalled to see her face coated in tears as she attempted a sort of smile. “What are you—”
“Oh Draco! I was so worried!” The witch cut him off as she forced herself towards him again and Draco had to keep himself from hissing at the pain. “I was so scared you would be hurt.” She shook her head against him and Draco attempted to recoil from how wrong it was.
“What are you doing here?” He asked her as he tried to push her away. He threw as much malice into his tone as possible, wanting to be anywhere but near her.
“You’re hurt!” She cried. “I had to make sure you were alright, Draco.” He hated the sound of his name on her lips. Hated it. And he was preparing to tell her that as well when he felt a hand wrap around his forearm and squeeze.
Draco looked up and found his father had stepped closer and his eyes seemed alight with excitement, despite the pressure he was holding Draco with.
“Miss Parkinson is it?” He asked, his lips turning up in an elated grin as he looked over at her.
The witch seemed only then to notice they weren’t alone—thank Merlin—and stepped away from Draco immediately. Her eyes bounced between him and his father and it was clear the moment she made the connection.
“Yes, sir. I apologize Mr. Malfoy. I had no intention of being so rude. My worry simply blinded me, I suppose.” She answered with all the propriety of the pureblood witch she was and Draco couldn’t help the sneer that formed on his face. He wasn’t sure worry was what blinded her, given how many times he’d rejected her attention and she’d ignored it.
But his father was clearly not entertained given the way he dug his nails into Draco’s skin before he said, “Oh no harm done my dear, I understand entirely. Worries of the heart are so consuming, and I’d expect nothing less given the way my son speaks of you.”
Parkinson at least had the decency to seem surprised, though she answered nonetheless. “The feeling is quite mutual, sir. Draco’s been so wonderful since he arrived here, I’m honoured to have made his acquaintance. My father speaks so highly of your family, he was very grateful when he heard we’d have the opportunity to get to know one another here. Though,” The witch ducked her head in a moved that was blatantly rehearsed as she looked at Draco, “I know I hope that our friendship may not end when our schooling does.”
A small scoff forced its way out of him then, one that landed him a threatening look from his father. But he couldn’t have helped it. It was utter bullshite. He’d been nothing short of an arse to her since his arrival and avoided her at all costs. But apparently, the woman had no qualms with lying if it would further her chances at a contract with him, so she was fishing.
“I’m sure.” He said, not bothering to hide the annoyance in his tone. This time her face turned deep red as she looked away. For just a moment Draco had thought he’d finished it, he’d been wrong.
“Oh, I have no doubt that will happen one day.” His father was watching him as he spoke, his eyes sparkling with intention that made Draco’s stomach curl, before he turned back to the girl. “I was so pleased when Draco told me he’d asked you to the Yule Ball next month. I have no doubt you both will have a marvellous time.”
At his words Draco’s eyes bulged and Parkinson’s breath hitched obnoxiously.
“What?” She asked at the same time Draco began.
“Father.” He tried, pushing himself up by the elbows, despite the searing pain it caused. This was getting out of hand. Instructing him to flirt with a girl was one thing. He could manipulate people however needed. Escorting her to a public event in front of all of their peers however, that would send a message. A message Draco had no intertest in sending. One he wouldn’t.
And that was not even considering the voice in the back of his head reminding him that he already had a witch he’d planned to take to the ball. One he wanted to take. One he’d literally dreamed of taking. A dream where dressed in his finest robes and her in an elegant dress he’d dance with his soulmate the entire night. A dream where when they finally left the dance floor, smiling but still holding each other tightly, he’d take her to the astronomy tower and tell her what she meant to him. Where he’d give her a Black family heirloom necklace and declare his intention of courting her. He hadn’t figured out the logistics obviously of how to ask and explain to his mother why he would need her to retrieve it from the vault, and he hadn’t yet asked Hermione to go with him because the timing had still felt too soon. But he’d made a plan. A plan that did not account for his father cornering him into an invitation for a witch he despised.
“Father, please don’t,” He begged, hoping and praying to Merlin that the man might not make the situation worse for him than it already was.
But it was a fool’s hope, and rather than listen to him, Lucius feigned surprise, bringing his hand over his mouth in a mock gasp as he looked between them. “Oh dear, he hasn’t asked you yet.” He tsked. “My apologies,” Looked at Draco then pointedly, he began, “You just seemed so excited, my son, I thought you wouldn’t have wanted to wait.”
“No, father. You don't understand, I was going to—" He started again, his voice as firm as he could manage, but halfway through the word his father’s hand rested on his shoulder, pushing him back down forcefully. At the same time, a pinching sensation fell over his throat and all noise stopped coming from him. Draco tried to again to speak, yet nothing came. Dread set in as his father’s brow curved upward and he waved a hand in front of him in a wandless demonstration.
“Well, I suppose I’ve ruined the surprise, but don’t let me stop you Draco. We both know how excited you seemed in your letters home about the prospect of her company. I mean, you were planning to ask Ms. Parkinson, weren’t you?” He asked and his dark grey eyes practically begged Draco to try and stop him.
But there was no hope and he knew it. He couldn't disobey, no matter how wretched the idea of Parkinson made him feel. There were too many things at stake to worry about Draco's feelings. So he did the only thing he could and nodded through the pain curling inside him. He was going to take Pansy Parkinson to the Yule ball. Draco just prayed he might be able to explain the situation to Hermione before the mindless bint could spread the news across the castle.
If Parkinson noticed how empty he felt, she surely didn't show it as she began hopping around, nearly jumping on top of Draco as she practically shouted her affirmation. "Oh yes! Yes! Draco I'd love to! Yes!"
Nevermind the searing ache of her weight on his shattered ribs, Draco wanted to scream when the scent of her shampoo filled his nostrils. It was horrible and wrong and nothing like Hermione's. Yet all he could do was sit in silence as his plans fell apart.
Parkinson was chattering on about something, reassuring Draco that she wasn't upset at all about the escort being spoiled, when the flap to the tent parted and Theo and Blaise Zabini entered the room. If he had been able to, he would have thanked them. With the addition of other people in the room, Parkinson seemed to finally realize she was crowding him and took several merciful steps back, looking embarrassed. Draco couldn't care less. He couldn't even bare to look at her, the happiness written on her face felt like someone reopening the gash on his stomach.
Instead he looked at his brother. Theo's eyes were unfocussed as he watched Draco, a strange glint in them which Draco didn't understand. For a moment he wondered whether it might be worry or frustration, but it was gone too quickly for him to tell as Theo nodded once and approached his father.
“Uncle Lucius,” He greeted pleasantly, ducking his head in respect before holding out an arm. For the first time since he'd entered, Draco's father finally released his grip on him and rounded the bed. Draco couldn't remember a time when he'd been on the receiving end of the same kind of genuine smile his father gave to Theo.
“Ah! Theodore! How are you my boy?” He asked jovially, sticking out an arm for his oldest friend's son.
Theo’s face was less expressive than normal, but nonetheless he smiled at held out an arm, “I’m well, Uncle Lucius. Glad that you were able to make it to the event.”
“Indeed, indeed.” His father nodded, shaking his hand warmly. “Your aunt Cissa misses you terribly when you are away. I’ve been instructed to tell you to please write her more often than you do.”
Theo laughed softly but nodded. “Please give her my apologies. We’ve been so occupied with our studies since arriving that I haven’t had the chance to write as often as I would like to, but I will do my best to amend that.”
“Good, I’m glad.” His father answered.
Draco watched as Blaise Zabini then approached him, his brow furrowed as he examined his body, likely for wounds. “Alright then, mate?” He asked.
Once again Draco opened his mouth to reply but found himself incapable. His eyes shut briefly in exasperation before he nodded.
“Right.” Blaise answered, though his gaze was wary. His father seemed to have noticed the other boy then because he looked at Blaise expectantly, “Blaise Zabini, it is an absolute pleasure to meet you sir.” He nodded, bowing just the slightest bit at the waist.
Predictably, the gesture pleased Lucius whose smirk was as if he’d just won a contest, “Lucius Malfoy, the pleasure is mine. I’ve heard great things of you from your father.”
Blaise grinned, “As have I from your son, studious bastard that he is.” Draco winced at the joke though his father seemed intrigued.
“I trust he’s not kept too tightly to his books, I’m always reminding him to relax and have a bit of fun.” The lie fell easily off his lips before the conversation continued without any contribution from Draco.
Instead he just listened as Zabini proved himself to be a more reliable ally than Draco ever would have bargained for. Without Draco's help, the boy managed to assure his father of their friendship and of a budding following they'd developed together over the other pureblood Slytherins around the castle. Apparently, they and a group of others had begun an amateur quidditch league in the absence of the school’s season and it had been Draco’s idea.
Draco had never heard of such a thing, and he was only fairly sure it didn’t actually exist, but it wasn’t like he could’ve protested it even if he had wanted to. Somehow Theo had chimed in on the conversation and the three wizards conversed as though he wasn’t even there. Similarly, the other two boys his age ignored Parkinson, who, after several minutes of not being acknowledged, excused herself and left. Draco, for one, felt extremely grateful. The lack of attention and her general presence was a reprieve, one that allowed him to momentarily calm his heart and what was happening around him.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed but eventually the healer returned, this time with the minister of magic who asked after Draco’s health and informed Lucius that they must depart now if they were to make it to some councilmen’s dinner that evening. His father spared him no words, apart from telling the minister he was perfectly fine, and casting him one last disappointed glance before following the other wizard out the tent and leaving.
Once the men left, Draco collapsed backwards onto the bed in exhaustion. Both Blaise and Theo seemed to run towards him then, one on either side and both watching him with deep concern.
“Draco, what’s wrong? You’ve barely spoken.” Theo asked quickly though Blaise interrupted.
“He’s not spoken at all. He’s been dead quiet. What’s wrong with you?”
He could only point at his throat and try to mouth the spell before Blaise understood and pulled out his wand. “Finite Incantatum.” He cast and finally Draco felt the pinching over his vocal cords release and he practically gasped.
“Thank you.” He swallowed tightly. “I—I couldn’t,” Draco gestured in front of him to point out the obvious. He couldn’t have cast it himself or asked for help as long as his father was in the room.
Theo seemed to be taking the news quite poorly though as he glared down at Draco, “He fucking silenced you?!” He stepped back, his face growing red. “Why the fuck did he silence you?!”
“He—he …I didn’t want to—” Draco tried to figure out how best to say it without admitting to Theo that he’d have to let his sister down. “I tried to…”
“You tried to stop him from telling Pansy.” Blaise said quietly in realization and Draco nodded.
“You heard?” He asked and the other boy scoffed.
“Of course we heard, I was waiting outside for the right moment to come in when the man decided to play match maker. It’s not like either of you cast a silencing charm on the room. You should’ve seen her face when he said you’d written home about asking her.” Blaise said flippantly, looking surprisingly angry at the memory. This time though it was Draco’s turn to scoff.
“I did see, I was actually there.”
But then Theo spoke up, “Not Parkinson, Draco.” He said slowly and the look in his eye made Draco feel like he’d cracked another rib. “Hermione.”
“What?” He breathed, the only thing he could think. “What do you mean?”
“She was here. I brought her here.” Theo told him and Draco grabbed him desperately by the sleeve, praying he was lying.
“Why? Why would you bring her here? Tell me you didn’t bring her here.”
“I—I didn’t know… She wanted to see you—”
“My father was here!” Draco shouted, still in too much pain to move but desperately wishing he could. “My father was here, and you knew it! Why would you bring her near him? You were supposed to understand.” His heart was pounding at the thought.
“You fell from the sky!” Theo answered back, taking a deep breath before continuing sternly. “You fell from the fucking sky and then you didn’t get up! How was I supposed to tell her no when she looked just as worried as I did!”
“By saying no!”
“We came to see you after the task. She needed to know what had happened and I did as well. It took us ages to get past the professors outside the tent, but I knew you'd be in here. I didn't think, Draco so we came and then I heard your father and you speaking before I could open the flap so I pulled her to stop and thought we could wait until he left. I needed to know that you were okay, Draco!”
“I'M ALWAYS OKAY, THEO! ALWAYS!” Draco shouted, his arms folding over his head. He couldn’t look at his brother anymore. Couldn’t see the worry, the anger, or the pity anymore. He was so exhausted and in so much physical pain already, he couldn’t handle the emotional one as well. “Can't you understand that?" Draco hated the way his voice cracked as he shoved down the ache. "I’m always okay.” He repeated with his eyes closed.
Theo's voice was quiet as he spoke and Draco could feel him standing beside him. “You fell from the sky, Draco. I can’t apologize. I’d do it again. I just needed to know.”
“Well, now you know.” Draco answered, his voice cold and detached as his frustration wracked him. He wasn’t sure he even had the energy the open his eyes, everything just felt like too much. “And now she knows.”
Why did it always happen? Why did this always happen to him? Just when he’d started to think he had a handle on things, everything fell apart before him. Just when he was sure he’d found a way to work around his father’s expectations, his father would outsmart him. The man was always two steps ahead and Draco was so tired of feeling behind.
Blaise and Theo kept talking for several minutes above him, but Draco didn’t hear any of it. His mind was elsewhere, with his witch, helpless to know what she thought of him now. Whether she thought he’d been misleading her all these weeks—of course she did, what else was she supposed to think? And whether she might give him any sort of chance to explain, to apologize, or —merlin please— to make it right.
He didn’t know when they left, whether they’d grown tired of his silence or the healer had kicked them out, as Draco succumbed to the extent of his injuries and collapsed into a deep sleep between them, his mind still only focussed on how he would fix things with Hermione.
----- ----- ----- ----- -----
Hermione was sitting in one of the Gryffindor study spaces the night after the first task. She was finishing an essay for runes that she had procrastinated all weekend. It was dumb and she knew it, but she’d started planning for it with Draco days ago when they’d been together, and she hadn’t wanted to finish it on her own.
But now it was due tomorrow.
And after everything she’d heard between him and Pansy, on top of the fact that he’d been avoiding her for days, she’d realized he wouldn’t be coming.
After having a good cry in the bathroom when she’d initially run off, Hermione had pulled herself together. She’d grabbed her books from her room and made her way to her favourite corner of the common room where she’d been for now hours. At first Harry and Ron had attempted to join her, but when they’d realized she wasn’t in the mood for a chat, they’d both left. Crookshanks had found her around hour three and was sitting pleasantly beside her parchment on the table. When she’d dotted her last ‘I’ and crossed her final ‘T’ on her revisions, Hermione sat forward, crossing her arms on the table, and resting her chin on them.
“What do you think?” She asked the cat quietly. “Was it just me, or did I do something to make him change his mind?” Crooks, just stared at her and Hermione sighed. “Yeah, that’s what I thought.”
Hermione pulled one arm out and started petting his back, her familiar purred softly and rolled over onto his side, bumping into one of her textbooks but not seeming to mind.
“Well, at least I’ll always have you, won’t I Crooks?”
He lifted his head just barely in acknowledgement, but she took it as an affirmation. Hermione tried to pick him up, but he swatted at her with one of his paws and she smiled sadly. “Oh, come on, you can’t grow tired of me too.” She laughed to herself and pulled him closer anyway.
“Who’s grown tired of you?” Hermione jumped at the voice behind her. It was late and most people had gone to bed hours ago.
“I—” She turned around to see who the only other person in the common room but froze when her eyes met familiar ones. “Fred.” She startled and he grinned. It was such a Weasley thing, that grin. Goofy and warm and comforting all at the same time. Hermione could remember the first time she’d been on the receiving end of one from Ron their first year. Even now, seeing the reflection in Fred’s eyes made her smile. “What are you doing here?” She asked him.
He ignored her though, coming even closer and pulling out the chair and sitting beside her. “Who’s grown tired of you, Mione?” His face was kind as always, but there was a concern in his eyes that pulled at her heartstrings.
Hermione loosened her grip on Crooks and ducked her chin. “No one.”
When Fred stayed silent, she could feel his gaze burning into the side of her head. After a few quiet moments had passed she looked up at him with a shrug that she knew gave her away.
“Doesn’t everyone eventually?” She could see his protests written across his face as he sat straighter, but Hermione cut him off. “It’s not a pity party. And I swear I’m not looking for compliments or anything. I just…” She sighed and looked back at her cat. “I know what people think of me. I’m not oblivious. I hear the jokes they make; I know what they say about me, how Harry and Ron only tolerate me because they use me for homework, and they feel bad.” That particular one Pansy had reminded her of just last week when she’d run into her in the loo. She looked out the window, fighting against the stinging sensation behind her eyes as she remembered who Draco had owled home to his parents about. “I—I’m not an idiot who doesn’t realize she’s too loud or brash or whatever else they think. I know people say my curls are ridiculous and make me look like an erumpent trying to hide my overlarge brain, and—and I don’t care. I really don’t care, Fred. But—but why do people pretend?” She looked back towards him then, at a loss for words and anything else to say.
“Hermione,” Fred sat forward, his face pinched in worry, “Did Ronald say something stupid again? You know I’ll beat the shite out of him. He doesn’t mean it. You know that? He’s just an idiot who doesn’t thin. He loves you, Mione, we all do.”
“No,” She answered, sniffling though she tried not to. “I know he does, Ron didn’t do anything. It’s not about him, I just…” Her hand splayed out on the table in a ‘what can you do?’ motion. When her eyes met Fred’s though, she remembered who she was talking to and immediately felt embarrassed. He was her friend’s older brother; he likely could not care less about her problems. “Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you with all of this.” She told him and stood quickly, beginning to pack her things before a hand wrapped around hers and she froze. Fred was standing as well, though much closer than before and he squeezed her palm within his.
“You’re not a bother, Granger.” He said softly. “I want to know, that’s why I asked.”
Unfortunately, his kindness only served to make things worse as a tear finally broke free. “No, I know, and you’re sweet but I’m being dramatic.” Hermione tried to brush him off, wiping one side of her face with the sleeve of her jumper as she sniffled. Fred however, wouldn't let go. In fact, he took a step towards her as his face grew serious. So serious, in fact that Hermione froze when their eyes met.
“I’m not sure if you’re aware, but my brother and I are kind of known for being the most dramatic blokes in school.” He told her.
“It’s different.” She answered, though she couldn’t help it if her lips twitched upward just a bit when he winked.
Fred seemed to notice because he smiled and brought his free hand to the cheek she'd missed, brushing away her tears gently. “It’s not, but that’s okay. And I don’t think you’re dramatic Mione, I think you’re human.” After a moment he continued, “And I think you’re beautiful.”
Hermione had to look away to hide the pink she knew sprouted across her cheeks. “You have to say that.” She muttered.
But Fred didn’t let his hand fall and pushed her chin up softly, so she was looking at him again. His eyes were squinted slightly, and a smile played on his lips as he looked down at her. “Why do I have to say that?” he asked.
Hermione huffed, of course he was going to make her say it. He was after all, still a teasing prankster. She tried to push him away playfully, but instead of following, he took a step closer. Hermione couldn't help but feel caught off guard by it, and maybe that was why she answered. “Because you’re Ron’s brother. You have to make me feel better.” She shrugged.
Fred’s smile fell, and his mouth opened though he didn't say anything. Hermione watched as the older boy licked his lips seeming to contemplate something for a moment before he spoke. “And what if I wasn’t?” He asked carefully.
When Hermione frowned in confusion and noticed his Adam’s apple bob before he repeated himself even slower. “What if I wasn’t Ron’s brother, Hermione? What if I was just a wizard letting a witch know that I thought she was absolutely brilliant and the most thoughtful person I've ever met and unforgettablybeautiful? What would you say to that?”
“I—” Hermione wasn’t quite sure what to say, though she knew her entire face was heating. He was only saying this because he was Ron’s brother, or because she was a younger student who was sad, and he felt bad. But she wasn’t blind, and Fred had always been a handsome wizard and, with the way he was watching her now, she wasn’t sure how to respond. “Thank you?” She answered, unsure.
He let out in a huff of laughter, letting go of her and turning around briefly. When he looked back at her again, he was smiling oddly and shaking his head. “You’re welcome Mione.” He told her, and when she gave him a small smile he continued, “And I mean it. If anyone’s grown tired of you, it’s their loss, not yours. Don’t waste time thinking about people who can’t be bothered to just see you. They're not worth it. Alright?”
Hermione was still feeling slightly embarrassed, but she knew he was being honest, so she nodded. “Alright.”
“Good.” Fred stepped towards her again then and surprised her by wrapping his arms around her and placing a kiss on top of her head. She hugged him back for a moment, though eventually he let go and pulled away. “Get some rest, Hermione. You deserve it.”
“Thank you.” She answered and as she watched him walk towards the stairwell to his dorm she couldn’t help calling out, “Sweet dreams, Fred.”
When Fred turned back to her, he was grinning and carding a hand through his hair. “Sweet dreams, Mione.”