Chapter 37- Making Sense of It All
He stared at her with those intense eyes that were the color of the clouds above them. Hermione felt them examining her every expression. She willed herself to look away, to look at anything but those eyes, but she found their intensity overpowering.
Before she knew it, his lips were tickling her ear. “And neither of us were drunk today, Granger,” he whispered, his breath warm against her cold, wet skin.
She shivered.
Slowly, he released her neck from his hold and it was only then did Hermione find the power to come to her senses. She turned away from him. “That doesn’t change what you said, Malfoy,” she said, praying her voice was steadier than she felt.
“Would another one help then?” he asked audaciously, his trademark smirk in place.
Unbelievable. He was flirting with her while she was trying to be serious. Unfortunately, instead of admonishing him, she blushed a deep crimson. Oh how she hated when her body acted against her will. She wanted to be angry at him, to tell him that he had no right calling anyone of muggle parentage a Mudblood even if the person being insulted is not her, to shout at him at his cheek of kissing her.
But she could not. The only thing she could do was to remember the feeling of his lips on hers. Remember the way those soft, pale lips crushed upon her own, sending indescribable sensations coursing through her. It was exactly how it felt the first time he kissed her, but then she had been so tipsy that she was certain she had not been able to distinguish all her bodily sensations.
The sensation now however, the sensation that was sweeping through her right this instance, was so distinctive that she felt a strange ache as she furtively glanced down at his lips.
She had never felt like that even when Viktor had kissed her.
“You’re trembling,” he noticed, and Hermione noted the hint of concern in his voice.
“It’s cold,” she told only half the truth, her voice soft.
Draco took out his wand and cast a spell to shield them from the rain and keep them warm. “We better head back.”
A fire was lit by Draco the moment they stepped into the common room. They were greeted by Godric Gryffindor, who at once questioned the Heads about their drenched state. The two students hastily dismissed all questions by the founders, before hurrying into Draco’s bathroom to have hot showers.
It was slightly past midnight when the two of them clambered into Draco’s bed. Since the kiss, they had hardly exchanged a word with each other. Hermione had questions, so many questions whirring around her mind, but she could not bring herself to say anything.
“I’m sorry Granger,” Draco finally said, sinking under the covers.
Stunned, Hermione glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “W…what?” He was apologizing? But Draco never apologized! Wait, hang on a moment, what was he apologizing for? Was he apologizing for the kiss?
“About what I called you earlier,” Draco continued, answering Hermione’s mental question.
The Head Girl sighed in relief. And then she smiled upon realizing what Draco Malfoy had just done. She would have never thought…
“Now get some rest, Granger. And make sure you keep yourself warm at night. Don’t want you catching a cold.”
Hermione found herself pleasantly surprised at his concern. She felt a weird sensation in the pit of her stomach, as if she had just drunk a warm, fresh bottle of Butterbeer. “You too Malfoy,” she said, bringing the duvet up to her chin. “You were soaked too. Good night.”
Draco mumbled something under his breath.
Hermione’s smile grew wider. “Sleep tight.”
Again, Draco muttered something indistinguishable.
“Sweet dreams.”
“Oh for Merlin’s sake woman, don’t you dare get mushy on me. Now shut it and let me sleep.”
And even then, the smile refused to vanish from Hermione’s face.
Hermione had never felt so warm and comfortable in her life. If she did not know better, she would have sworn that her comforter had been charmed to be this cozy. There was a faint sound in the background as well. It served to lull her to sleep.
Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump.
She felt more than heard the sound and slowly opened her eyes. Half-asleep, she fumbled around in a groggy attempt to adjust the sheets around her, only to realize that she was incapable of movement. Her arms seemed blocked… by something really warm.
Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump.
As the faint beat continued, she realized that she was not resting on a pillow. Her head was against something warm and smooth… on Draco’s shirtless chest. His arms were wrapped protectively around her and his warm breath tickled the side of her neck. She was hearing his heartbeat.
Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump.
He had been the source of warmth and comfort. It had to be him because Hermione’s duvet was sprawled across the foot of the bed, barely covering her calves. He had taken it upon himself to make sure she was warm…
Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump.
It scared her more than surprised her that her first instinct was not to jump away from him or kick up a fuss. The last thing she wanted to do was to move away from him. She felt so relaxed, warm and safe in his arms…
Safe? she thought to herself wildly. Safe?! Heaven help me, how can I feel safe in Malfoy’s arms?
Hermione made no move to push away from Draco. She shut her eyes and let her thoughts float to the kiss they had shared earlier in the day. She snuggled against him subconsciously, feeling his arms gently tighten around her as she did.
And as Hermione drifted on the brink of sleep, for the briefest moment, her mind allowed her to confirm what her heart was feeling.
Thump thump, thump thump, thump thump…
The next morning (after pretending that he did not realize that Hermione was sleeping in his arms), Draco was back to being his usual cynical, sarcastic and egoistical self. Yet, there was something distinctively different about him. Oh do not be mistaken into thinking that he had turned into a mushy romantic for Hermione’s sake; he was still his usual arrogant self. But there was something about him that was… different. Hermione could not quite put her finger to it. Like when he told her she looked nice her new jeans (well, he also added “as compared to the old, ugly, disgusting-looking one”, but with Draco Malfoy, you shouldn’t ask for too much).
To his misfortunate, Draco found himself being dragged away by Hermione the first thing that morning, without even having breakfast first.
“What’s so important that it can’t wait until after breakfast?” Draco complained.
“I’ll be quick,” Hermione assured.
And she held true to her word. Draco watched in amusement as Hermione fluttered shelf after shelf under the Muggle Section in the library, pulling out books that he was pretty certain had nothing to do with any of the subjects they studied. Whenever he tried to get a closer look at the books she was holding in her arms, she would hastily slam one of her textbooks above them.
It was only when they were on their way to the Great Hall after checking out did Draco manage to snatch some of the books from her hands.
“Muggle Psychology? An Introduction to The Theories of Psychology? The Psychology of Interpersonal Relationships?” Draco read off a few of the titles before Hermione seized the books back from him. “What in Merlin’s name are you doing with all those books, Granger?”
“I’m doing a bit of research,” Hermione answered, not meeting his eye. “For a friend,” she added with an afterthought.
“For a friend?”
“Yes, for a friend.”
“And which friend of yours is this?”
“Do you have to know everything Malfoy?”
“Yes.”
Hermione made a face and refused to relent to his pestering. “No, I don’t.”
“Oh come on Granger. After all we’ve been through, the least you could do is tell me what in the world you’re doing?” Draco smirked, sounding almost cheeky.
“Shut up, Malfoy.”
Breakfast this morning was at the Slytherin table. Blaise was having an intent conversation with Hermione (surprise, surprise) about elf rights as Draco watched with amusement and Pansy in repulsion.
“Zabini, you’re not getting the basic point. They are living creatures in the Wizarding World. Therefore they have rights,” Hermione emphasized, her face firm with determination of getting her point across.
“The issue isn’t about rights. It’s in their nature to serve us, Granger,” Blaise countered. “They were born with the need to do so.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes and scowled. “I disagree that it’s in their nature. I think it’s simply a preposterous cycle that perpetuates generation after generation. From the beginning of time, we have made these elves feel like they are slaves, and eventually, they have come to believe so themselves. It’s a self-fulfilling prophecy.”
Draco raised his eyebrows at the Head Girl, clearly impressed. He watched her carefully, catching her every movement and expression as she argued with Blaise.
“That’s nonsense,” Blaise disagreed with a shake of his head. “Their need to serve runs in their blood. It’s been such since man inhabited this Earth.”
“I disagree with that, Zabini…”
“Oh why don’t you just stuff it, Granger?” Pansy snapped angrily. “What would a filthy Mudblood like you know the way our world functions?”
Hermione threw Pansy a dirty look, an insult ready on the tip of her own tongue. Before she had the chance to retort however, Draco spoke.
“Don’t you ever call her that again, Pansy,” he warned. The expression on his face was purposefully nonchalant, but his voice was firm and hard.
Pansy recoiled as if she had been slapped. The portion of Slytherin students nearest to Draco fell completely silent. Hermione herself was shocked beyond words. She gaped at the Head Boy, dumbfounded.
The fork that was clasped in Pansy’s hand was brought crashing down onto the porcelain plate upon which her breakfast resided. She stood up with such force that the entire table rattled. She shot Hermione a look of pure loathing, before marching out of the Great Hall. A second later, Millicent got up from her seat and scuttled along after Pansy.
No one spoke for the longest time.
“Draco, did you just…” Blaise finally spluttered, looking from Hermione to Draco.
“Come on, Granger, let’s go,” Draco ordered, not waiting for Blaise to finish his sentence. “We need to get started on work.”
Later that day, the two Heads were studying in their common room. Except that Hermione could not really concentrate. Her mind kept turning over what Draco had done in the morning.
“Thank you, Malfoy,” Hermione quite suddenly. She smiled at Draco gratefully.
Draco shrugged. “For what, Granger?”
“For standing up to Pansy when she called me a…”
“That was no big deal,” Draco shrugged casually. “I couldn’t chance you breaking down and crying again.”
“I wouldn’t have broken down if she had called me that,” Hermione said, a shy smile creeping onto her lips.
Draco looked her straight in the eye. “And why wouldn’t you have?”
“Well, she’s different from you, isn’t she?” Hermione said, lacing her voice with nonchalance.
“Why is she different from me?” Draco asked, his tone almost challenging, as if he was daring her to answer his question. He placed his quill down and leaned toward her. “How is she different from me, Granger?”
Hermione held his gaze, and saw his eyes shift to give her lips the briefest glance, before returning to stare into her chocolate-brown ones.
“It was an excellent party, Salazar, wasn’t it?” Godric Gryffindor’s voice boomed from his frame, announcing his arrival back into the Heads’ dormitory. “Sir Paulwick certainly knows how to throw a bash!”
“Indeed,” Salazar Slythering drawled a reply. “If only he didn’t have such Merlin awful dress sense.” The Slytherin founder crinkled his nose in distaste.
Instantly, the two students broke eye-contact and carried on with their work, as if they had been nearly caught doing something that they were not supposed to.
“Hullo Hermione, Draco!” Gryffindor said jovially, beaming at them. “Studying hard again yes?”
The two nodded mutely.
“Very good, very good,” Gryffindor continued. “Study hard you two. The N.E.W.Ts are of utmost importance now. Which is why Salazar and I have been trying to leave the two of you alone as much as possible. So that you will focus your full concentration on studying. We don’t want to be a bother. Right, Salazar?”
Slytherin merely grunted in response.
“We do appreciate that,” Draco spoke, and Hermione noticed an inexplicable twinkle in his eyes. “But I think the both of you deserve to know that it’s not enough.”
“What do you mean?” Gryffindor asked, looking worried.
“Well,” Draco continued slowly. “We do need more time alone. You blokes returning like that, so suddenly, it totally ruins our concentration.”
Gryffindor’s eyes widened. “We had no idea!” he gasped.
“Typical,” Slytherin snorted. “Give them a Knut and they ask for a Galleon. So typical of teenagers.”
“Oh come on Salazar,” Gryffindor chided, “we should help them out. We could always go round to Mannford’s portrait during the day. You know he likes our company and he’s one of our friends that you actually like. We won’t have to return until these two are well tucked into bed for the night.”
“But I don’t want to hang around in someone’s painting the whole day,” Salazar whined.
“Salazar Slytherin, these children are having their N.E.W.Ts, soon and we will do anything within our power to help them. Am I understood?” Gryffindor scolded, sounding uncannily like Molly Weasley.
Slytherin scowled. “I hate children,” he grumbled as Gryffindor dragged him off to their friend, Mannford’s portrait.
“Well that was effective,” Hermione said once the founders were out of earshot. “Why were you so eager to get rid of them though?”
Draco shrugged and allowed himself a furtive smirk. “Obvious, isn’t it?”
Hermione eyed the blonde suspiciously. “What do you mean?”
The Head Boy leant in towards the brunette, so close that their foreheads were nearly touching. “We need time alone,” he breathed, his voice low.
“For… for what exactly?” Hermione asked, her own voice soft.
Abruptly, Draco move away from Hermione. “To study of course. What were you thinking Granger?”
And it was hard for Draco to suppress his smirk as he watched the Head Girl’s face burn a furious red.
“Good evening, daughter-in-law.”
Hermione groaned when she heard that voice later in the night. She knew it all too well. Oh how she had enjoyed the peace in its absence.
“I’m not your daughter-in-law,” she said pointedly to the head of Lucius Malfoy, which was currently sticking out from the fire-place in the Heads’ common room.
“Not yet, but soon enough, I’m sure,” Lucius leered.
“Hello father,” Draco greeted. “It’s been a while.”
“Too long a while, if you ask me,” Lucius drawled. “It’s all your mother’s fault really. That woman cannot seem to get enough of holidaying. And currently, she’s in a bit of a quandary.”
Draco frowned. “Regarding?”
“She cannot decide whether France or Italy would be a better venue,” Lucius replied.
“A better venue for what?” Draco asked, his blonde eyebrow raised.
“Why for your wedding of course!” Lucius answered, looking at Draco as if he were an idiot for asking. “She’s already drawing up the guest list.”
“There’s not going to be a wedding,” Hermione enunciated through gritted teeth.
Lucius pretended not to hear her. “Anyways, enough with the chit-chat, I’m here for some serious business. Now tell me, what’s the progress like between you two?”
The two Heads noticeably stiffened at the question. Draco fidgeted on the spot and Hermione nervously licked her lips. It was as if the two of them were so afraid that their faces would betray all the information of what has happened between them for the past month or two.
“I’m waiting,” Lucius scowled. “I don’t have all day you know. Any moment now and Narcissa is going to come barging in, demanding that I take her for dinner.”
“Father,” Draco started before Hermione had a chance to say anything, “do you not see the Love-Knot around our wrists? Do you honestly think we have made any progress whatsoever? Come off it, father.”
“Well your mother wants a wedding to plan, so the two of you better hurry it up,” Lucius snapped.
“It’s not going to happen,” Hermione asserted, narrowing her eyes at Malfoy Senior.
Lucius merely gave an oily smile at her statement. “You forget my dear, I win either way. If the two of you don’t agree, then you have to live with each other for the rest of your lives anyways.”
To Lucius’s utter surprise, Hermione laughed. She exchanged a look with Draco, who, within moments, started laughing as well.
“What is the matter with the two of you? Need another appointment with Healer King?” Lucius questioned, clearly annoyed not being privy to Draco and Hermione’s secret.
“We have it all figured out,” Hermione smiled sweetly at the elderly Malfoy. “We’re not as much in the dark as you think we are.”
Lucius looked from Hermione to Draco. “What is she talking about, Draco?” he demanded.
She just means we know more than you do, father,” Draco told his father with a smirk. That’s all.”
“Draco, I will have you know that I am in no mood for riddles. I demand you tell me what’s going on at once,” Lucius ordered, his face hard with anger.
It was then the voice of Narcissa Malfoy was heard in the background. She was calling for Lucius.
“Give me a moment, Narcissa!” Lucius exclaimed irritably. “I’m busy!” He turned his attention back to the two students, who were trying very hard to suppress their chuckles. “What is going on?!” he shouted.
In response, Draco and Hermione merely shrugged in unison.
“Does this have something to do with the Love-Knot? Because if I fiiiiiiiind…!” Lucius never got to complete his sentence as Narcissa Malfoy had taken the liberty of yanking his head out of the fireplace.
“If you are never going to leave those two alone, how are you ever going to expect progress?” Narcissa was saying to her husband before her voice faded, and was eventually replaced by the cackle of the fire in the hearth.
The suppressed chuckles were released as full-blown peals of laughter once the Head Boy and Girl were alone. They rolled on the couch with laughter, making fun of the expressions on Lucius Malfoy’s face before he was chased away by his wife.
Once they had calmed down, Draco asked Hermione, “So what have we got all figured out? Did you find out a way to get rid of the Knot?”
Hermione shook her head. “Of course not! I would have let you know the instant I find something like that out, wouldn’t I?”
Draco looked confused. “Then what was that about? Why did you tell me father we have it all figured out?”
An impish grin appeared on Hermione’s lips. “I just felt like irritating him.”
For a second, Draco glared at Hermione, and she was sure that he was going to tell her off. To her surprise, he started laughing. And Merlin, did he look good when he laughed.
“That was a good one Granger,” he said between howls of laughter. “Father is going to be eating his head with worry for a long time.”
“Parkinson, will you stop pacing?” Harry scolded. “You’re giving me a headache.”
“Why the sudden need to meet us today?” Ron asked, staring at the Slytherin girl as she circled the empty Potions classroom. “I thought we agreed not to meet till after we carried out the plan?”
Abruptly, Pansy’s pacing ceased. “We have to do it sooner. Next week’s too late. I want it done on Thursday.”
“You can’t just barge in here and order us to carry it out on Thursday instead!” Ron barked callously. “Who the bloody hell do you think you are?”
“We agreed on next Wednesday, Parkinson,” Harry reminded her sourly. “So why the sudden need to change the day?”
“We do it sooner!” Pansy shrieked, her eyes wild with fury. “I don’t care what we agreed on. I want it done sooner. I cannot take it anymore!”
Both Harry and Ron were taken aback by the rage etched on Pansy’s face. For a few instances, the two boys stood there speechless. It was finally Harry who spoke, “All right, we’ll reach a compromise,” he said slowly, as if afraid Pansy would explode if he talked too fast. “We’ll do it on Saturday night.”
Pansy looked like she was on the verge of arguing, but after contemplating for a while, she relented. “Fine, Saturday night,” she agreed with a growl. “I’ll be counting down the seconds.”
There was a vehement expression on Pansy’s face that momentarily made Harry wonder if he was doing the right thing, but he dismissed the idea almost immediately.
It’s for a good cause, he inwardly assured himself. It’s for Hermione.
Dear Ginny,
It’s strange that despite being in the same school as you as and seeing you practically everyday, I have to resort to writing you a letter to share with you my thoughts. How I miss the days when we could talk freely, face-to-face. The Love-Knot indeed comes with a price.
I'm not complaining though, not about having to write this letter, nor about the Love-Knot. I've learned to live with it “ and with him too. It really isn’t that bad, not anymore at least. He isn’t all that bad anymore. I know, I know, it sounds odd, doesn’t it? I, me, Hermione Jane Granger admitting something like that. I still find it hard to accept. But, believe me, that’s not the worse part of this letter. We have bigger problems. I have bigger problems. You’ll see what I mean in a bit.
Have you ever experienced hating someone with every fibre of your being, and then gradually tolerating that someone, then having his habits, his mannerisms, his attitude, his temper, his smile and that stupid way he smirks grow on you? And before you know it, you’re feeling emotions that cannot exactly qualify as hate for this someone? Emotions that deserve to be put in a completely different category, a category quite the opposite of hate?
Well, I know you well enough to say that no, you have never experienced the abovementioned. Unfortunately, I have. I’m experiencing it, right this instant. And you know exactly who I’m talking about. Yes, I can hardly believe it myself.
There’s just something about him, Ginny. EVERYTHING about him. It may surprise you, but he can actually be quite civil, gentlemanly and, I daresay, sweet (when he wants to). Don’t get me wrong, I’m most certainly not saying that he’s an angel in a devil’s disguise. No, no, he’s not a misunderstood poor soul who has been misguided by his parents. He is the way he is, an insufferable git, no doubt about it. But that’s what’s so perfect about him “ his imperfect in every conceivable way and I’ve seen most of it. I’ve seen through it. He’s not innately evil, Ginny, and I can bet you my life that he will not run off to become the next Voldemort.
I have been spending most of my waking moments making sense of these feelings that seem to be running amuck in my mind. Initially, I thought ignoring them would make them go away. Fat load of good that did. It only made matters worse. Then I did what any sane, logical person would do in a situation like this-- I went to the library, borrow a whole lot of books and did some research. And these feelings simply defy logic! According to the Matching Ptrinciple of Interpersonal Relationships, I am supposed to like someone with a personality, interests and likes similar to mine, not so VASTLY different! Then there's Watson's Theory of... Oh, you know what I mean!
I have not been hit over the head with a Bludger repeatedly (as I know you will ask me), I’m not drunk and am certainly not under a spell of some sort. I assure you, Ginny, that I am in the right state of mind. Actually, I don’t know about that last bit though, because I honestly think I am falling for Draco Malfoy. That surely warrants for me to get my head examined, doesn’t it?
Love,
Hermione
P.S. Please don’t tell Harry and Ron. They’re not ready for such a shock. I can almost imagine their reaction “ ranging from booking a room for me in St. Mungo’s Psychiatric Ward to feeding Malfoy to the giant Squid.
P.P.S. Please, oh please, burn this letter after you have read it.
The Unseemly Proposal by sparx
Chapter Notes: Just wanted to repeat this again: This story is not HBP and DH compatible!! Also, special thanks to EJAU, who wrote a portion of this chapter for me (you know which one EJAU...)!