three little words ; 𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞

17. Lessons

Hermione's POV

"Morning, Herms," Draco murmured into her bushy curls. It had been a few days since Hermione told him about her being a Seer, and fortunately for the both of them, nothing had changed between them. Draco was still sweet to her, and she was never afraid to tell him what was on her mind.

Hermione sighed. She could get used to this. Waking up in Draco's bed(fully clothed, of course, there were no sexual goings on in this dormitory), going to breakfast with him, having him all to herself. "Morning," she said softly, savoring the tired grin he returned.

Reaching over to caress her cheek, he brought her close for a soft peck on the forehead. She moved to kiss him on the lips, but he moved away.

"What's wrong?" she asked, instantly worried. What had she done wrong? Had she done anything wrong?

"I wish we could stay here," he started with a grin, "but I'm starving. I can just imagine those sausages..." he propped himself up on one elbow, staring off into the distance.

Hermione rolled over into her pillow, groaning. "You're just like Ron!" she giggled, her words muffled by the fabric.

She raised her head to see Draco staring at her in sadness. After the war, she'd hoped that expression would never be on his face again. But here it was, just because she'd said his name. "No, Draco, I didn't mean it—"

"Yeah, okay," he said, distracted. He couldn't seem to look in her eyes. "Keep going on about your precious Ronald, I get it. I could never fit into the Weasley standards, anyway."

"What—what do you mean?" Hermione gulped. He couldn't be doing this. Not now. Not when she needed him. Not when the whole world needed him.

"Oh, never mind," he sneered, and she flinched. It was his usual behavior, the sneer that was always on his face before the two were together. "You seem to go for the slimy rats anyway. At least I've got the dignity to stop this nonsense before someone gets hurt." He grabbed clean clothes and stalked out of the common room without another word.

Hermione was left speechless. He couldn't just walk out on her like that, not when he was going to help them defeat Bellatrix. He was the key, and now, just like smoke, he'd slipped out of her fingers.

She felt the tears form as she realized he was right. The past few days, she had been talking about Ron a lot. But only memories, like the Quidditch games in sixth year when he won, and the song the Gryffindors made up for him. Things like that. It couldn't have been that bad.

But, with her heart sinking lower, she realized who had originally come up with the insulting chant: Slytherin. And Draco had helped, she was sure. So by bringing that up, she had offended his House. She'd led him in the wrong direction, making him believe she loved Ron more, even after she'd clearly denied it.

She shook her head wearily. I have to be more careful, she thought. He's more sensitive to that than I ever will be.

Still frustrated with herself and Draco, she pulled her brush through her hair, yanking it through the knots, making her wince in pain. But it didn't bother her nearly as much as Draco's reaction did. He'd just left, and that was what she hated. She should have been more careful about what she said, should have seen the looks on his face that surely had shown the pain he was experiencing.

When she was fully changed and looked as refreshed as she could after the disheartening events of the morning, she left in a rush for breakfast. I hope I haven't missed it, she thought.

When Hermione stepped into the Great Hall, she was greeted with the usual loud chatter from each table. She looked for Draco, and when she found his familiar face, she saw him glance at her. Her hand started to raise in a friendly wave, but it dropped lamely when his eyes hardened and he turned away, his back now to her. She slumped to Gryffindor table and plopped on the bench next to Ginny and...coincidentally, of course, Ron.