Chapter 29
“You’re pickup needs work, Malfoy. You’re getting sloppy.” Krum informed Draco in Russian as they left training with Karkroff for the morning and made their way through the castle.
Draco rolled his eyes. Krum was projecting. Draco had bested him six out of seven duels in a row, with the final match ending in a draw because they’d run out of time. If anyone needed to work on their transitions between casting, it wasn’t him.
“Do you think?” Draco mused sarcastically. “Perhaps you have some tips you can share with me. Though I’m not sure the brawn over brain strategy would work as well if I tried it. Stupidity doesn’t look as natural on me in the same way it does for you.”
“Oh?” Krum smirked. “Of course. Pretty boy can’t get his hands dirty. I forgot. That’s why you quit the team last year.”
Draco had to bite his tongue at that remark. He’d quit his dormitory’s quidditch team when Krum had been selected for the Bulgarian National Team. To most the correlation would have seemed non-existent, but Lucius Malfoy had considered it an embarrassment that Draco had not also been selected for his own national team. For a brief period, Draco had tried to argue that it was different since Bulgaria played in the European league. The competition there was not nearly as severe as it was in England. Just the British Premiere League alone boasted more than 16 seekers, all competing for dominance. His father would hear nothing of it though, and when Draco returned to school, he’d been forbidden from bringing a broom.
Obviously, Draco had told everyone it was because he had no need for it in his future. Quidditch was undignified with the aspirations of a Malfoy heir. It was still a sore subject though.
“Not all of us see the need to. Some people have more tact.” Draco gritted.
He heard Krum scoff as they turned the corner, “Is that what we’re calling it now? I thought it was just laziness.” He elbowed Draco in the stomach.
Draco was opening his mouth to respond to the thick-headed arsehole when his eyes landed on someone, and he stopped. Hermione was there, her eyes locked with his. She was coming up the stairs right towards them and she looked upset. Immediately, Draco forgot entirely about his companion.
“H—” He started to say her name, but—
“Herminnie!” Victor screeched like a banshee, stopping Draco in his tracks as he looked at the boy. What followed, was a conversation that left the pit in Draco’s stomach widening with every word.
At first, he thought he’d misunderstood. That he was confused by what they were saying. But then Krum called Hermione his date and excused Draco from the conversation, and he hadn’t known what to do.
For a moment Draco had simply stood there, staring. But when it became apparent that neither of them was paying him any sort of attention, Draco hadn’t known what to do.
On the one hand, he couldn’t leave. Krum was talking to Hermione and he’s called her his. It was unacceptable. The very words had made Draco’s skin feel too tight and the corridor too warm. Krum was disgusting. Draco had attended the same school as him for years, he knew the wizard, and Draco knew Krum could never deserve Hermione. He was just—fowl. And awful. And horrid. And an idiot. And—and absolutely not.
Hermione smiled at Krum and Draco’s hand found his wand. He could kill him, right? No one would notice.
But then her smile tightened, and Draco froze again from pulling out his wand. She was grimacing as she nodded at him. Looked at Krum and back at her. Hermione looked distinctly uncomfortable, and he felt his hand begin to relax and the wood drop back into his pocket. Maybe Krum could live.
They were arguing—well, not arguing, but neither looked like they were enjoying the conversation, and Draco felt his lip twitch up slightly. Perhaps all hope wasn’t lost. As they spoke Draco felt mild hope form. It was clear Hermione didn’t care for the wizard if she hadn’t even bothered to know his full name. In fact, Draco was beginning to smirk as Hermione stammered her response, perhaps—Draco’s musings were ruined when Victor Krum grabbed Hermione’s hands.
Immediately, Draco’s smirk fell. He took it back. Krum was touching his witch and that same feeling from before was back. The same crawling sensation. His nerves prickled as he watched the wizard plead and it wasn’t until the wand was fully out of his pocket that Draco even realized what he was doing.
Fuck. He tensed. What the fuck are you doing?You maniac. Draco cringed as he moved himself backwards. Luckily neither Krum nor Hermione seemed to have noticed his twisted attempt at murder, but it wasn’t over. That feeling wasn’t gone.
It was awful, gripping his entire body, this ache and anger. Draco felt mildly uncontrollable as he pushed his wand inside his robes and stepped away. He had to move. He had to leave. Draco didn’t understand it, but something foreign inside him was shouting to do something. Remove Krum. Protect Hermione. It was overwhelming, this voice. Without thinking Draco’s hand was back in his pocket, reaching for his wand. And it was only as his palm gripped the vinal carving that Draco startled. What the fuck is wrong with you? He shouted at himself.
Draco needed to leave. He couldn’t control himself, and he had no idea why.
Immediately, he turned on his heel and went back up the stairwell to cause as little notice as possible. Draco was moving fast. Fear was a strong motivator, and Draco would be lying if he said he wasn’t the slightest bit afraid of himself in that moment. He needed to get away. He needed Theo.
Yes, Draco needed to talk to his brother. He needed to figure out what the fuck was going on. He needed to figure out what Theo knew. How much he knew. Theo wouldn’t have kept this from you, Draco tried to reassure himself as he stopped on the landing one floor above. He would have warned you. But would he?
Theo had made it very clear with whom his allegiances stood. And as much as Draco wanted to think Theo wouldn’t let him walk into the situation blindly…he didn’t know. There was no one in the world who knew Draco better than Theo. What if Theo had known he’d react like this? What if Theo had wanted to protect Hermione?
Protect Hermione?
There was no one who wanted to protect Hermione more than Draco. She was everything. She was incredible. She was wonderful. She was kind. She was.
And yet…she was with another man. Draco’s chest stung at the thought. It was a strange piercing feeling, like pouring alcohol on a wound. Draco didn’t know why his reaction was so physical, or why it was this particular situation that had him so upset. Hermione was with other wizards often. Merlin, her two best friends at Hogwarts were both wizards. But Draco had never felt quite this angry to see her with Potter.
He couldn’t understand, and yet, Draco also couldn’t stop fuming. And he was still festering over this when Hermione walked up the stairs towards him.
“H-hi,” Draco stammered, pushing himself off the wall. He’d have liked to say he’d been subtle, but Draco was certain Hermione noticed his rushing to be close to her.
“Hi,” She answered so quietly he almost didn’t hear.
“I didn’t mean to eavesdrop—” He worried, realizing now how conspicuous his location must have seemed. Hermione stopped him with a shake of her head.
“I didn’t think you were.”
Draco looked down at the floor for a moment, trying best to decide what to say. He knew he had no right to be as hurt as he was. Salazar, he really had no right to be upset at all given his own date. But he still felt like a fool and the only words that appeared were, “I didn’t know.”
Despite her every reason to scoff at him, Hermione only answered, “I didn’t tell you.”
It made him feel sick. Sick with himself. Sick with his selfishness. She was so pure of heart and wonderful, and Draco was loathsome. Hermione deserved everything she wanted, and if Krum was what she wanted then, “I’m hap—” Draco tried, but the words wouldn’t come out.
And still, she didn’t judge him. “You don’t have to lie.” Hermione answered and Draco cringed.
“Look, Hermione, I—”
“Do you know how to dance?” She cut him off.
“Pardon?” Draco frowned. Had she said dance?
“Do you know how to dance? Like—waltz, or ballroom, I-I don’t actually know the difference between them. Victor called it a waltz, but I imagine their quite similar, and-and either way, I can’t dance, and I don’t know how to waltz and I have to do it in front of the whole school and I’m quite terrified of looking like a fool. But I’m going to—so I guess what I’m asking, is do you know how to dance?” She stammered and Draco could only stare at her nervous expression.
“Yes, of course.” Of course, he knew how to dance. Draco’s parents were both members of the Sacred Twenty-Eight, and his mother’s galas were world renowned. Ballroom dancing lessons were a part of his daily schedule the day he turned six.
“Can you teach me?” She asked. For a moment Draco wondered if she were joking. But as he tried to discern, he noticed her fidgeting hands and his heart ached for a completely different reason.
“I’d be honoured.” He told her.
“Really?”
Draco nodded, “Yes, anything you need.”
“Thank you, Draco.” She said. The smile that ensued told him he’d been correct in his assessment of the request, and Hermione’s shoulders fell in relief. It was only brief though before she jumped forward, wrapping her arms around his neck and squeezing. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” Hermione told him, even as he stumbled backwards at the unexpected weight.
Draco caught himself quickly, not wanting to waste a second before holding her back. As much as possible, he used the lift she’d given herself onto him to bury his nose in her curls and breathe. It was remarkable, how much control she held over him. Draco wasn’t even sure if Hermione was aware of how much he felt his heart revolved around her. She could ruin him in seconds if she wanted, and he’d still feel saved by just her scent.
“Thanks,” she told him again softly, as Draco felt her arms loosen. He couldn’t imagine she’d hugged him for more than five seconds, but and still, he hated releasing her.
“Anytime,” He nodded as she stepped away. “Let me know whenever works for you.”
“Alright.” Hermione answered, looking away. She took another step backwards and Draco knew she wanted to leave, but— “Well, I’ll see you. I really have a lot of work I must get done today, so…” She trailed off, throwing a thumb over her shoulder as she turned.
“Wait—” Draco called, quickly moving towards her again. “What if—what if we studied together. Like old times?” He cringed; Hermione hadn’t gone to their astronomy tower to study with him in over a month. Why would she want to now? He could hex himself at the stupidity.
“Oh, um, okay.”
Draco’s brows jumped. “Really?”
“Sure.”
And that was how the two spent their day. Draco hadn’t even had nearly all of the supplies on him that he would need to complete the work due, but when he thought about leaving Hermione to go grab his books, he couldn’t. His body physically wouldn’t move from where he’d positioned himself beside her. Even after they’d been there for hours.
Not that it would have made much of a difference at all, he thought. The books he did have on him were enough to get one or two essays completed, and if he needed, he could always ask Hermione to see hers. But he hadn’t. Instead, his mind had been focussed on one thing: How the fuck Victor Krum managed to ask Hermione to the ball. It just did not make sense. Hermione never spoke about the wizard, and the one time he’d even heard them mentioned together had been by Theo. And Theo had made it clear that Hermione hated Krum. The bastard had ruined her belongings for Merlin’s sake!
Draco had not spent hours fixing Krum’s mistake so that he could get back in Hermione’s good graces.
He thought the thunderstorm that had begun around mid-day was fitting to his current state.
Draco simply didn’t understand. And the more he ran over the events of that day in his head, the more uncomfortable he felt. Draco tried to distract himself with his work, but every time he turned the page, he remembered that Hermione was going to the dance with someone else and he’d been forced to restart.
He needed to speak with Theo. The situation was dire, and Draco was desperate to understand when everything had become so exponentially worse. He also needed to know how much worse it was. Did Hermione—did she have feelings for the oaf? Or was it just the dance? Could Draco kill him? Or would ending Krum only hurt Draco’s reputation in her eyes?
There really was no clear answer, but Draco knew he needed to find something. And this was, perhaps, the only reason why, when Hermione set down her quill at exactly ten after five and told him she had to leave, Draco did not argue. In fact, he packed his bag as well, walking her down the stairwell and bidding her a good evening, before moving to his dormitory as quickly as possible.
*****
Hermione Granger believed in the power of words. As the daughter of two highly educated adults, she had grown up in a household that believed in putting value behind what you said. When Hermione made promises, she kept them. It did not matter why, who, or what for, when Hermione committed to something, she followed through. Especially when the promises were made at the request of a friend. And regardless of whether or not that person deserved it.
She was still learning that this was not the case for everyone.
After the most painfully awkward hours spent in the Astronomy tower next to Draco, who she could feel staring at her half the time, she’d nearly forgotten about her anger. Instead, she’d regrettably spent the latter half of their time together waiting to go see Fred.
The moment it was time to leave Hermione had jumped up. She’d hastily explained that she had to be somewhere, trying to be honest without making him uncomfortable. Draco had, of course, been terribly kind and obliging, offering to walk her wherever she needed or carry her bag. Hermione brushed him off, she knew he felt bad about earlier, and she really had no interest in putting him out any longer.
She left as soon as they’d reached the bottom of the stairs. Regrettably the Astronomy Tower was located on the northern end of the castle, and it was raining. That meant she couldn’t take the few cut-through paths across the building because they required walking in an open-roof area. It was going to be further than she’d expected, but Hermione thought if she walked quickly, she could make it across by the time Fred was there. She was right.
Hermione let out a sigh and a smile when she reached the courtyard two minutes early. She kept to the side of it, where she could see everything while remaining dry, and waited. A part of her was seriously nervous at the prospect. She knew Fred was her friend, he’d been there for her when she needed someone so many times. But Fred was also a prankster at heart, which meant even in his most predictable moments, she never knew what would happen.
He'd told her it would be a good surprise though. Promised that he thought she’d like it. Hermione trusted him.
She glanced down at her watch when she heard the clocktower chime for half past, no sign of Fred. That was okay, Hermione could wait. As the seconds ticked by, she kept her eyes peeling around, looking out for that famous red hair and Weasley grin. No luck. That was alright, she smiled.
Hermione looked down, thinking back to their conversation at lunch, before Ron had ruined it all. Fred was different, excited even. He’d seemed so larger than life as he told her why he’d have to meet at this time. Hermione felt so inspired. A mastery. A charms mastery, nonetheless. He was brilliant and it was all just so Fred.
As much as he and George drove her batty—and really those two could drive her up a wall—they were special. Hermione could see it in Fred’s eyes. His dreams were so big. His plans and hopes were so wonderful, Hermione was eager to watch it unfold. Neither of them was bound by this world and it made her excited. The Weasleys had been so stung by misfortune, and the boys had at times been so disadvantaged in their development, but they never let it stop them. He couldn’t afford a mastery program so Fred was making one himself. It made her feel giddy with excitement.
Even as her watch struck another fifteen minutes past, Hermione still felt ready. If Fred could find the time to take on an entire extra courseload, she could manage to wait for him to finish. More than simply promising her presence, Hermione was committed to supporting her friend in what he’d asked.
When the clocktower struck six, Hermione found herself standing. She looked around her once more, checking for Fred’s orange hair, but found none. That was alright, she told herself. He was probably held up in the charms lab finishing something. She decided not to worry and pulled out a book and returned to her seat.
At six fifteen Hermione started to feel anxious. Where was Fred? She hoped he was alright, but wasn’t sure how she could check on him if she didn’t know where his lessons were. Hermione spent a few minutes standing and walking the perimeter of the courtyard, just in case she’d missed something he’d left for her to find. She hadn’t.
She’d even wondered whether she was getting it wrong, and the surprise was mean to be in the courtyard. Hermione regretted to say that she’d spent an unfortunate amount of time combing through the large south courtyard of the castle looking for a possible ‘surprise’ from Fred.
It was six-forty when Hermione realized he wasn’t coming. A full hour and more before Hermione stood back inside the castle, shaking from the cold rain, and feeling more discouraged than she’d been before. She’d wasted so much time, and she didn’t even know why. A large part of Hermione hoped Fred was safe and it had been an accident, but a small part of her hoped he were injured or with a really good reason.
She told herself that she had work to finish. Papers due, and while it wasn’t a school night, Hermione couldn’t afford to get behind on her schedule. That was easier than admitting she’d been disappointed Fred hadn’t been able to come.
It was five after seven when Hermione got back to the Gryffindor common room, her robes still dripping. She made her way quickly across the large space, wanting to get into new clothes and finish her work so she could sleep and forget the entire day happened as soon as possible.
She hadn’t been looking. In hindsight, she realized this unconscious decision to stare at her shoes had been intentional. She hadn’t wanted to see who was in the room as she made her way through. In the very back of her mind she had known there must have been even the smallest chance she would see him. Her brain had tried to protect her.
Hermione’s ears though? They’d heard his laugh. Hermione heard him call something out to Lee and she’d looked up without thinking. Her eyes found him immediately. Fred was sitting on one of the couches, laughing next to George, Alicia, Angelina, and Lee, not appearing the least bit aware of Hermione.
Even worse was the smirk on his face, it was different. Different than the one he always gave to her. No, Fred’s expression looked firmer than usual, more intentional. Almost as though he were trying to convey a message. For a second, Hermione forgot her path to her room, instead standing there wondering what that message could be. She wished she hadn’t.
Hermione wished she hadn’t stopped and watched him, waiting for the moment when he saw her. In the end, Hermione did not know which had felt worse, when Fred’s arrogant smirk landed on her and made her feel small, or when he noticed her robes and guilty recognition flooded his face, proving he had known what he did.
Hermione left then. She felt Fred’s eyes on her, saw as he stood abruptly from his seat, Hermione heard as he asked her to wait up. But she didn’t. The whole day had gone to shit, and Hermione was ready for it to be over. That night when she laid in bed, her mind drifted through it all. Trying to process if and where she’d gone wrong.
In the end, she didn’t know. It had all been so messed up, perhaps the only good thing, she wondered, to have come of it all, was Draco’s promise to teach her to dance before the Yule Ball.