Fresh Eyes

They exchange messages for the rest of the day.

Hermione is extraordinarily friendly, Draco thinks. He loves talking to her, loves how chatty and warm she is, though he still feels awkward and wrong-footed at times.

He keeps thinking about how she said she liked his face.

Really liked his face, actually, and Draco remembers that very clearly because he scrolls up to read that part of the conversation over and over.

It must be a muggle pleasantry, complimenting your conversational partner's appearance. In the wizarding world it would be considered flirtatious, and Draco marvels at how different the social dynamics are.

The next time Hermione sends him a photo (later in the evening, while he’s eating dinner), Draco musters up the courage to compliment her too. 

It is easy. The photo she sends is lovely. She’s holding up a bit of burnt biscuit, a playful pout on her face.

Hermione: tried baking :( 

Draco: You look very pretty.

She doesn't send anything back for a moment, then another.

Draco starts to panic when, after a minute, the dot dot dots still don't appear.

He must have misunderstood muggle social norms.

Perhaps if he comments on another part of the photo it will save the situation?

Draco: That bread is really burnt.

Draco: You probably shouldn't eat it.

Draco: Sorry, biscuit. Not bread. I can see it's not bread.

Draco: But I meant to say that bread is burnt, and you might hurt your teeth if you eat it.

Draco: Biscuit

Draco throws the phone as far from him as he can.

Hermione calls him then and he leaps forward, picking up the phone like it's a lifeline.

Her tinkling laughter is on the other side.

Draco covers his eyes, face burning, but Hermione doesn't sound put off and so the panic in his chest settles into nervous butterflies. 

"I went to get a glass of water," she giggles. "I came back to your essay on biscuits."

“I'm so sorry,” he says. “I have no idea what just happened.”

“I take back what I said the other night. Maybe you actually are bad at talking to people.”

He groans and she giggles again, which makes him laugh too.

“God," he says softly. "I don’t—I don't know what I’m doing."

“Well, right now you’re on the phone with me," Hermione says. He can hear the smile in her voice. "Does that help?”

“Yeah," he says, smiling. "It helps."

She hums, pleased. There's a comfortable silence.

"I was thinking," Hermione says after a moment. She sounds a little nervous. "Would you, um, ever want to—”

She is interrupted by the sound of a knocking on the door, over on her end of the line.

“Oh hold on,” she says, and there’s the sound of her getting to her feet. “Someone’s at the door. Ugh, and I'm in my pajamas...”

Draco smiles at the thought of her fluffy slippers.

The smile fades a little, though, when he hears a male voice.

Draco can’t really make out the words, though he strains to hear. He can tell the man is speaking in a friendly tone, and he does hear Hermione’s responses.

“Oh hi!” she says, with enthusiasm. Then, a moment later: “Yes, I’ve seen you around the mailroom. I’m Hermione.”

The male voice responds, and Draco thinks he imagines a sort of flirtatious lilt to the words.

“Oh, thank you!" Hermione says. "Yes, I'd love to. That’s very kind of you."

A few parting words and then Draco hears the door close.

He waits, hoping she will tell him who that was.

“That was my neighbor!” Hermione says. She sounds excited. “I hadn’t met him yet. He’s having a party this weekend and invited me.”

“Oh,” Draco says. He clears his throat. “That’s—that’s nice.”

"You... you wouldn’t want to come with me would you?’

—

He says yes, of course, even though the thought of social gatherings makes him nervous these days.

He wants very badly to be Hermione’s friend, wants to be someone she can count on. Someone who will go with her to a party even though he’s worried that he might have to watch her flirt with her handsome, charming neighbor.

Draco doesn’t know that the neighbor is handsome or charming, actually. But he’s preparing for the worst.

Hermione: can’t wait to see you tonight :) 

Draco: Me too. 

Hermione: are you on the way?

Draco: Yes. Almost there. 

He's changed his clothes three times, shaved twice and is now fiddling hopelessly with his hair in the mirror. It's been so long since he's thought at all about his appearance. But in recent days the concept of looking reasonably attractive has felt more... relevant. Even though that's silly.

A bottle of red wine is a nice thing to bring for a party, isn't it? In the worst case he'll be able to drink it alone if Hermione becomes engrossed in conversation with her handsome neighbor. With this grim though in mind, Draco Apparates to a spot a few streets away from the address Hermione had texted him and walks the remaining distance to the party.

He hears the music first.

It’s loud and a bit thumpy, and that’s his first sign that this might not be the kind of party that calls for a fifteen year old bottle of Chianti. 

Hermione is waiting for him on the street, and she’s wearing a little blue dress. Heels. Draco's mouth goes completely dry. She waves eagerly at the sight of him, and her bracelets make a pretty jingling noise.

“There you are!” she says, running up.

Once she's close he can see there’s this pretty shimmery makeup all around her eyes, it looks amazing, and then suddenly she’s hugging him.

Draco freezes for a moment, panicking.

This is a bad time for him to realize that nobody's hugged him in years. But he puts his arms around her before he has time to overthink it, and it shouldn't feel this good to hold her. She’s warm, and soft, and smells like vanilla. Too soon she’s bouncing back, all excitement.

“Come on, let’s go!”

“Yes, alright—”

She grabs his hand and pulls him up some stairs, towards an open door to a flat from which the loud music is blaring.

As soon as Draco steps in, he knows he is in above his head.

This is a party party, the kind Draco’s never even been to. By the time he was sixteen he had been a Death Eater, after all, and his twentieth birthday was spent in Azkaban. He doesn't know how to act here, among all these cheerful, tipsy, normal people. Everyone is dressed very differently than him, and some are dancing, and though there are drinks aplenty there’s not a bottle of wine in sight.

Draco surreptitiously drops the bottle of Chianti in a potted plant as Hermione pulls him through the room.

“We should probably say hi to Adam,” she says.

Draco notices that she seems a little nervous, too. Her voice is high and she keeps biting her lip. Maybe Hermione isn't comfortable at parties, either?

Or maybe she's nervous to see Adam..? 

“Is Adam your neighbor?” Draco asks. 

“Yes. Oh! There he is!”

Adam is tall, about the same height as Draco, with a white smile and dark brown hair. He looks delighted to see Hermione. 

“Hermione!” he says, giving her a long hug. “You made it!”

“Thank you so much for the invite. I don’t go to many parties,” she says happily, bouncing on her toes. “Adam, this is Draco.”

Adam looks up and notices Draco for the first time. He doesn’t look pleased, and Draco can relate.

“Hey,” Adam says shortly, then turns back to Hermione. The tender, fond smile returns to his face. "You look nice..."

"Thanks!" Hermione beams. "I just wanted to say hello, won't keep you from your hosting duties. Draco, let's go find a drink, I'm parched..."

Adam looks disappointed but Hermione doesn't seem to notice. She waves a happy goodbye and then she and Draco are headed together to the folding table stacked high with bottles of liquor. She must be nervous in crowds, Draco thinks—she keeps taking hold of his hand and seems to like staying close by him.

Maybe parties aren't so bad.

"Ooh, are those maraschino cherries?" she cries. "I love those..."

He makes them both a simple cocktail (extra cherries in her red plastic cup, extra vodka in his). Afterwards there's nothing to do with his hands. It’s just the two of them face to face and she’s looking up at him with a nervous smile. 

“Thanks for coming,” she says after an awkward silence. The music thumps on in the background and he has to lean in close to better hear her. “I’ve been—I’ve been really excited to see you.”

“I've been excited to see you, too. I've been—um, thinking about it."

She smiles, wide and genuine, her eyes sparkling like stars.

“I think about you too.”

She looks down at her bracelets, fidding with them nervously, and Draco can’t help but stare at her while her eyes are downcast. 

Her lashes are long, her freckles adorable.

She’s so beautiful.

He takes a long drink, trying to force himself to look down into the cup instead of at her.

A good friend would not stare at her, he reminds himself sternly. A friend would not be so aware of that one stray sparkle from her eyeshadow that’s somehow fallen and gotten stuck to her cheek, or the way her lips look soft and pink in this dim light…

He’s back to looking at her.

When she glances up Draco flushes with embarrassment at being caught staring. He hopes it's dark enough for her to not notice him blush.

“My drink's empty,” he mutters. "I'll just make another one..."

“Another for me too, please!"

He refills both their cups with vodka and cranberry juice.

“So,” Draco says, clearing his throat. “Your neighbor. He seems to like you.”

“Oh?” Hermione says, giving him an amused look. “Do you think so?”

“Yes. I, er, don’t think he’s very happy that you brought me.”

She smiles. 

“Hm..." she asks musingly. "Do you think he’s... jealous?” 

“Yes," Draco says with a frown, taking another sip from his drink.

To his surprise, she giggles. He looks up to find her looking at him.

“Well,” she says. “I’m not interested in him.”

Relief floods him like a tide.

Amazing news. Perfect news! Suddenly he feels much more warmly towards the host of the party.

“Great,” Draco says, smiling widely. “That's great. Um, that you know how you feel, I mean.”

He doesn’t realize that Hermione’s moving closer to him until she’s right there, the soft, sweet smell of her perfume filling his awareness.

Her big brown eyes are looking into his. 

He should step back to give her room, he thinks distantly. It must be the crowded party that's forcing her closer to him. But it's hard to think with the drink in his system and her face so close to his.

A good friend wouldn't be this attracted to her...

“It's a bit noisy in here," Hermione says. "Do you, um, want to go somewhere quieter?"