Chapter 36- Feelings
“Is that all you’re having for breakfast, Malfoy? Come on, you should have some more.”
“I’m not that hungry, Granger.”
“You will need your energy for studying later. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, you know that.”
“Alright fine, pile on a little more of the bacon then.”
Ron watched in annoyance as Hermione placed bacon onto Draco’s plate. “Honestly, does he not have hands? Does she have to baby him so much?” the red-head mumbled heatedly.
“And some toast too Malfoy? Have it with some marmalade. You like the orange one, don’t you?”
“Yes, I do like orange marmalade. Oh what the hell, some toast won’t hurt either.” Draco watched contentedly as Hermione spread the orange jam over a slice of toast and then hand it to him.
“Hey Hermione,” Seamus called from beside Ron, “I do like toast too.” He looked at the Head Girl hopefully.
“Really Seamus?” Hermione smiled. “Try some of the toast with the blueberry jam. It’s delicious.” She made no effort to spread some jam over toast for Seamus, who looked deflated at not being served.
“Something seems quite… odd here,” Harry commented softly. “Am I the only one noticing it?”
Indeed, ever since Draco and Hermione had arrived at the Gryffindor table for breakfast, they had actually been acting like they were…well, friends.
After having a conversation about the ridiculousness of Divination over breakfast with Harry and Ron ogling at them, Hermione and Draco left the Great Hall for their dormitory.
“Bye fellas,” Hermione said cheerfully. “Make sure you study hard, all right? The exams are just around the corner.” With a smile, she left the table.
“She’s mental,” Ron said darkly.
“Maybe it’s all that studying,” Harry suggested. “It could be messing her up.”
Ron scowled at the retreating figures of the two Heads. “Somehow, I doubt that.”
Upon seeing Draco exit the Great Hall, Pansy, who was standing near the entrance, waved vigorously at him, only to realize that she was not being noticed. Putting her arm down, she clenched fists tightly. Lately, she was being ignored by Draco more often than not. And she was starting to get very irritated with the source of his distraction.
Granger.
Pansy watched the two Heads walk right past her, completely oblivious to her presence. Draco was quite animatedly (well, as animated as Draco Malfoy could get at least) describing something to Hermione, who was laughing like there was no tomorrow.
Disgusting, she thought with a shudder, agitatedly making her way to the Great Hall. How positively disgusting. She ground her teeth angrily. Something has got to be done.
A while ago, Draco Malfoy had come to the realization that Hermione Granger (apparently her middle name was “Jane”) was not as bad as he once thought she was. She was quite tolerable really. Well, some times anyways.
Surprisingly, he liked talking to her, especially when they were alone, without the Dream Team tagging along. He had always known that she was smart (and he used to hate the fact that she was), but after being with her for quite sometime, he realized that she was smarter than she was reputed to be.
Then there were the little things she did, little gestures that boggled him, perplexed him, yet secretly, almost subconsciously, made him happy. Like how enthused she would get when he suggested playing chess. Like how she would suggest taking a break from studying when he would want to do exactly the same. Like the way she laughed at the silliest things, and get angry over the most trivial matters (usually concerning him).
At the moment, he was telling her about a funny experience he had had once and she was laughing beside, her eyes dancing with mirth.
Damn, Draco loved it when she laughed.
That was codswallop. Maybe he just felt good that he could make his audience laugh.
Or maybe it was simply the way her laughter made his lips twitch into a smile.
Dear Merlin. He needed help. He was sure of it.
As strange as it may sound, Hermione increasingly found herself enjoying the time she spent with Draco of late. She did not mind being alone with him that much. She did not mind at all. In fact, he proved to be a witty companion most of the time, and she quite liked talking to him about things that she could never discuss with Harry and Ron (like theories of Arithmancy or hypotheses of Transfiguration).
And she had started to like the little things about him too. Like the way he remembered that she did not like apple juice. Like the way he would sit and stare at his homework but not admit that he did not have any idea of how to do it until she would volunteer to help him, at which point he would reluctantly agree to her help. Like the way his face scrounged up when he was writing a particularly difficult Potions’ essay. Like the way he would make sure that she had the blanket over her in the middle of the night (but only after making certain that she was asleep, or so he thought). Like the way he looked at her from the corner of his eyes and lingered a little too long when she wore that sheep nightie of hers.
She was even beginning to tolerate his arrogance and ego.
And that smirk.
Oh Merlin, was she losing her mind?
Of course, the arguments still occurred, but Hermione doubted that fact would ever change no matter how long she remained with Draco.
Right now, he was telling her a funny story that had had her sides splitting from the moment they left the Great Hall.
It was amazing how he could tell a funny story with just a smirk on his face.
Draco shook his head. “I mean, you should have seen the look on that stupid Mudblood’s face! It was bloody hilarious!”
Abruptly, Hermione’s laughter came to a halt.
“That filthy little Mudblood had no idea what hit him!” Draco continued with guffaw, ignorant of the fact that his audience was no long being entertained.
Hermione stopped in her tracks and turned to face Draco, sending him a glare that could have caused the bravest wizard to cower in fear.
“What?” Draco asked with a shrug, finally noticing that Hermione was sending him a death glare.
Hermione said nothing. She tore her gaze away from him, made a detour en route to the Heads’ dorm, heading to the library instead.
Draco followed behind, still feeling a little confused. “Was it something I said?” he questioned rather stupidly.
After they were done studying for the day, Draco was feeling extremely annoyed with Hermione’s ignorance of him the entire day. As they left the library, instead of heading to their dormitory, Draco dragged her down to the Quidditch pitch, where they sat on the Slytherin stands in frigid silence. Hermione stared down at her lap, where she kept her hands tightly clasped. Draco cast her a look from the corner of his grey eyes.
He hated it when she refused to talk to him. He was too used to her constant chatter and knew by now (all too well) that there was a problem when she was this (unusually) quiet. And the problem was probably him.
He had done or said something stupid/wrong/tactless/insensitive.
Darn the horrible Malfoy personality.
From somewhere above, the sky gave a low rumble.
“What’s the bloody problem, Granger?”
“Nothing,” she replied tersely.
Draco scowled. “Don’t play games with me. What’s going on in that head of yours?”
“What’s it to you?” she snapped, her voice in conjunction with distant thunder. “Why this sudden concern about me, Malfoy? For the last couple of months, you've been acting like every little action or word of mine matters to you!”
“What the hell are on you about, woman?” Draco said, finding it hard not to be defensive. Nothing she did ever mattered to him. And even if it did, so what? She did not have to bring it up.
“Have you forgotten, Draco Malfoy,” Hermione’s voice had dropped several octaves and was now eerily low, “that the person you've been tied to for all these months is, after all, a lowly muggle-born? Or, as your type so fondly say, a Mudblood?” She spat the last word like venom.
A flash of lightening ripped through the fabric of the sky and only then did it hit Draco what Hermione was talking about. When he was talking to her earlier. He had insulted that muggle-born in his story. He had called him a Mudblood.
Well that was smart of him.
But she had a point. Had he forgotten that he was tied to one?
No, no, he had not forgotten. He had just realized (finally, after all these years) that there was much more to Hermione Granger than the family she was born in, than the blood that ran through her veins. That did not define who she was. There was so much more to her. She was funny (when she was not busy getting angry with him), witty, caring, loyal, uptight, a goody-two-shoe, a know-it-all, too organized for her own good and a perfectionist. These qualities he had come to find out only after being with her every second of the day, qualities that no longer irritated the life out of him. As much.
Her heritage did not seem to matter as much anymore.
Or did it? Everything he was taught all those years…
“Have you forgotten?!” Hermione demanded, snapping Draco right out of his thoughts. “Have you forgotten who I am?!”
The sky groaned with Hermione.
A single tear rolled down the Head Girl’s cheek. And then a second one.
Initially, Draco thought that they were merely raindrops, but when he realized that they were not, that Hermione was actually, was actually crying, he was too stunned for words. He gaped at her like a goldfish out of water.
In all of his existence, he had never been as affected as he was now upon seeing another human being cry. And he would know; he had made a sufficiently large amount of people break down and sob with his terrorizing antics as he laughed in their faces.
But now, he was almost starting to feel disgusted at himself, like he had done something wrong. He fidgeted uneasily, feeling like he was somehow invading a very private moment of Hermione’s.
Another rumble was heard in the distance.
Realizing what she was doing and sensing Draco’s awkwardness, Hermione gauchely turned away. She wiped the tears away hastily, but it seemed that her eyes were more stubborn than she was; little droplets kept spilling over from those brown pools.
“It just hurts,” she said, her voice sounding hoarse and distant, “for some reason.”
Being the clueless twit that he is, Draco gave her a baffled stare. “What?”
Hermione sighed. “It hurts when you use that term,” she repeated shakily. “It never used to. I didn’t care one bit then. But it does now. I don’t know why.” She made a futile attempt to wipe her eyes again. “After all this time of being with each other, I thought… I thought you had accepted me for who I am, for being of muggle parentage. Little did I know that you had merely forgotten it. For your own convenience. So it’d be easier for you to live with me, day-in-day-out.”
Draco’s mouth opened his mouth slightly, as if to say something, but closed it almost immediately. He knew, somehow, there was truth in her words.
“Perhaps I thought having me around you all the time would make a difference... would give you a different perspective to muggle-borns…” she sniffed softly. “What an idiot I was thinking that it would…”
“Granger…” Draco managed to say, having finally found his voice.
Hermione shook her head, her brown curls bouncing as she did. “I was stupid enough to think that you were different from what I thought you were.” She laughed bitterly. “I should have known better.”
At this point, Draco was actually starting to feel bad. He wanted to say something to console her. Or try to at least. “Granger, listen””
“No Malfoy, I don’t want to listen to anything you have to say,” Hermione interrupted. She swiped the back of her hand across her face brusquely. “And look at me, sobbing here in front of you! I'm probably going to be the laughing stock of Slytherin tomorrow when you tell all your darling friends that you saw Granger bawling her eyes out like a pathetic little baby.”
“Hey!” Draco shot indignantly. That comment actually hurt. Or at least that was what that little twinge inside him felt like. It could just be an itch really.
“In fact, I'm surprised you're not laughing right now,” Hermione continued disdainfully. “I guess you're saving it all for tomorrow, aren’t you?”
“Look here, Granger…”
Again, Hermione did not give him the chance to speak. “I was so stupid to even consider that things were different… How could you be such a fool, Hermione?” she chided herself.
“FOR CRYING OUT LOUD GRANGER, WILL YOU JUST SHUT UP AND LISTEN TO ME?” Draco hollered, grabbing her arms and turning her to face him.
Thunder crashed from somewhere above them.
Hermione simply stared at Draco. “You're still the same, Malfoy,” she whispered, looking him straight in the eye. “And I just don’t understand why it’s hurting me that you're still a cold-hearted…”
“You better watch that mouth of yours, Granger,” Draco growled as his grip around her arms tightened.
“Torture-loving…”
“You're pushing me. You’re really testing my patience.”
“Trouble-making…”
“I'm warning you, Granger, I'm warning you.”
“Muggle-hating…”
“That’s it.”
And the downpour started when his lips met hers.
He had started it, but she responded in equivalent fervor.
The kiss proved a point, and at the same time it spoke of a myriad of emotions. Lips mingled with the rainwater and they were drenched within seconds, yet neither of them broke apart.
When they finally parted, Draco held on to the back of Hermione’s neck, forcing her to maintain eye-contact. He stared at her for the longest time. He watched droplets of water trail down her face, slide almost teasingly along the lips he had just touched with his own and down the nape of her neck before disappearing into her uniform, which clung to every curve of her body.
Then he pulled her close, until his lips were caressing her ear, and whispered, “And neither of us were drunk today, Granger.”
A shiver ran through Hermione’s entire being. She did not know whether to attribute it to the ice cold rain or something else entirely.
“What’s the big idea in calling us here, Parkinson?” Harry demanded, staring at the Slytherin standing in front of him.
Pansy propped herself down on one of the tables in the empty classroom, dusting off imaginary lint from her skirt. She did not reply Harry.
Most of the students in the Hogwarts castle had retired to their respective common rooms for the night. Harry and Ron themselves had been in the Gryffindor common room, when a scrawny first year student had ran up to them and handed them a note. The note turned out to be from Pansy, of all people. She had demanded that they meet immediately.
So here they were, curious, to say the least, at what Pansy Parkinson would ever want to discuss with them. A draft blew through the Potions classroom, rattling a few of the empty bottles on the one of the shelves.
Outside, a storm was brewing.
“Out with it, Parkinson!” Ron hollered, growing impatient.
“Would you keep it down, Weasley?” Pansy snapped, giving Ron her most condescending stare. “You're going to wake the entire school up.”
“Look Parkinson, I highly doubt you're planning to have a picnic with us here. In all honesty, there’re about a hundred things I’d rather be doing right now than being here with you, one of them being trying to touch my elbow with my tongue,” Harry growled, “so could you get on with it?”
Pansy sighed dramatically. “I’m here to talk to the two of you about Draco and Granger.”
Ron clenched his jaw while Harry maintained a look of indifference. “What about them?”
“Oh come on, isn’t it obvious?” Pansy threw her hands up in exasperation. “There is clearly something going on between them! You may be as daft as a block of wood Potter, but I’m certain you’re not blind.”
Harry fidgeted slightly.
“Don’t tell me you don’t notice the closeness,” Pansy continued, her voice coming out in a growl, “the whispering, the laughing at each other’s jokes…” She gagged. “Need I go on?”
Ron was as red as his hair from the top of his head to the tip of his toes. His suspicions had been confirmed it seemed. “We… have to do something,” he said, his voice almost strangled with anger.
“That is exactly why I called you here,” Pansy said, standing up. “You must realize that matters must be serious if I was desperate enough to call the two of you here.”
“Oh we know you’re desperate all right,” Harry said, making no effort to lower his voice.
Pansy ignored him. “I did try to solve this myself, mind you,” she went on, pacing. “I threw myself onto Draco, tried my best to get his attention, but I knew there was a problem when he smirked at something Granger had said instead of my joke.” She sniffed. “I saw no other way around it. I had to call the two of you here. Desperate times call for desperate measures.”
Ron stared at her incredulously. “How many times did you practice that speech to make yourself sound smart enough?” he asked, only half-joking.
“Shut it, Weasley,” Pansy snapped, plopping herself back down.
‘What do you have in mind then?” Harry asked.
“Well…” She paused purposefully, a devious smile stretched across her face.
“Come on, Parkinson, spit it!” Ron barked impatiently. He was obviously hoping that Pansy’s plan involved Draco being pummeled with a broomstick.
“I know how to push Draco’s buttons,” Pansy said slowly. “I know what gets him going, what makes him tick, what gets his blood boiling…” She narrowed her eyes menacingly. “And I’m sure the two of you know exactly how to push Granger’s buttons.”
“You could say that,” Harry said uncertainly.
“Good,” Pansy clasped her hands together. “Then all I need the two of you to do is to push hers, while I push his.” Seeing the confused look in the faces of the two Gryffindors, she took out an old, yellowed piece of parchment from the pocket of her skirt and handed it to Harry, motioning him to read it. Ron peered at the parchment over Harry’s shoulder.
When they were done reading, the two boys looked up. Both their eyes were wide with wonder “Where did you get this?” Harry asked. “Who wrote this?”
“All that’s not important now,” Pansy dismissed the question with a wave of her hand. “We need to ensure that we achieve what’s stated on that parchment. There’s a chance it might work if we do… And in order to achieve that, all we need to do is to push the right buttons.”
The Unseemly Proposal by sparx
Chapter Notes: Things are going to get a little more serious from here on...