Yes or no
They’d been dancing around one another for weeks.
The tension that had built up and nearly combusted in Potions working together as partners continued to bubble beneath the surface, threatening to spill over in their study sessions. Hermione supposed she had Madam Pince’s ever-watchful eye to thank—never in her wildest dreams would she ever risk her library privileges to distractions like Draco Malfoy.
Admittedly, he made for a lovely distraction.
She asked herself for the millionth time what had possessed her to invite him to study with her. Hermione could barely think every time he leaned over her shoulder to peer at her notes. She thought he’d be cold, what with his general paleness and the haughty manner in which he’d always carried himself. Instead, close proximity proved him warm in a way that made her want to lean in and soak him up skin to skin.
Would his hands be silky soft, or calloused from years gripping a broomstick? Would his hold on her be firm, or gentle?
He kept sitting next to her so he could shuffle his chair close as they shared texts and checked each other’s work. In the instance that she arrived after he had already settled in and she tried to sit across from him, there was always some excuse preventing her from taking a far seat. Either he’d have his legs kicked up, or his bags would be strewn across the chairs, or he’d get up to search for another text, only to return and settle in right next to her. Once in place, Hermione couldn’t find the willpower to put distance between them.
Before she knew it, being close to Draco was as natural as reaching for pumpkin juice at breakfast. They shared a natural harmony in and out of class that already rivaled the pace she’d taken to get to that point with anyone else.
Maybe if they’d lived in another reality without all the prejudice they could have become friends much sooner. Who knows how close they’d be by this point if that were the case?
The tip of her quill snapped after a particularly hard jab at her parchment, prompting her to curse loud enough to draw Pince’s glare.
“Sorry, sorry,” she muttered, nodding apologetically. With an annoyed sigh, she cast a reparo at her battered instrument.
“How many times have you repaired that by now?” Draco mused. He eyed the battered end in a way that had Hermione flushing in embarrassment.
“Does it matter? I’ll fix it as many times as necessary.”
“Yours looks like it’s on its last legs.”
She paused to inspect the quill more closely, taking in the slightly crooked nib, the chewed up feather tip, and the worn-away color from where she gripped it.
“I suppose I should have a backup in case the spell finally gives up.”
“You could—” Draco paused to clear his throat before continuing, “I mean, I would be happy to accompany you to Hogsmeade this weekend.”
She must have stared at him in shock for just a beat too long, because pink bloomed in his cheeks as he squirmed in his chair in a distinctly un-Malfoy-like way.
“I just thought you’d like a replacement and I’ve been wanting to go for a while now and—”
“Are you asking me out on a date?” Hermione blurted out.
“I…I suppose that’s what some people might call it? It’s not like you have any obligation to indulge me, and actually there isn’t any rush, you absolutely don’t have to go if you don’t want to. I promise I won’t be offended if—” he continued to babble on, now Howler red.
“Draco.”
His mouth clicked shut, wide grey eyes fixed on hers.
“Are you asking me out on a date—yes, or no?”
She watched him struggle to speak, mouth opening, then closing, throat bobbing as he swallowed and shut his eyes before opening them up again, determination setting in.
“Yes.”
One word never sounded so sweet, and Hermione wanted nothing more than to jump and squeal in all the ways she would have rolled her eyes at in the past.
Another tiny part of her, the one with a mean streak a mile wide, wanted to make him repeat himself.
“Then ask me officially.”
Their homework forgotten, the presence of all others in the library fading away to nothing, Hermione and Draco stared at one another in their own bubble, every breath heavy with intent.
“Hermione, would you go on a date with me to Hogsmeade this weekend?” he said slowly, enunciating each word carefully.
For the first time since they’d started working together in class and studying together in their free time, Hermione turned directly into his space. Both legs pivoted around to slot between his own as she held him steady in her warm gaze.
“I would love to.”
Watching his face transform was a memory Hermione never wanted to forget. What started as a somber plea flitted to hope as she faced him, almost immediately tilting up into unabashed joy that lit up his entire countenance.
The weekend couldn’t come fast enough.