True to her thoughts, she doesn't see Malfoy for a long time.
He's not in class for days. Not in the Great Hall or the library. Nothing. The bond is the only reason why she hasn't burned the castle down, looking for him. If the bond went dead, she'd be tearing the stones out with the claws of that terrifying dragon she dreamt of to find him. But all she has to do is take a peek, and she sees the storm. She then leaves him be without getting any closer out of respect for him, effectively making him an unknown ghost to her.
How is he doing? Is he hurting himself? Is he in pain? Has something made him happy, even for just a moment? She wants to know these things. She wants to know him.
Malfoy's been alone in the dark for so much longer than she has.
Detention is easy enough. She and Headmistress McGonagall spend it drinking tea, eating snacks, chatting, and playing a very long, very intense game of wizard's chess. Hermione's always been terrible at the game, but playing with the Headmistress is so fun that she actually takes it seriously for once. The bloody old crone—who she adores so much—puts her in check at least three times a day.
Fortunately, that bitch Trelawney doesn't seem to have exposed their bond to anyone. Hermione thinks if she had, the Headmistress would have spoken to her about it. There'd be Howlers or letters or explosions in the sky. But there's nothing.
So, while it bothers Hermione that she hasn't seen Malfoy, she's glad the bitch didn't tell. The injustice of the things she implied is something she simply won't tolerate.
Hermione can't stop herself from glaring at her whenever she sees her, though.
After a week-and-a half of no Malfoy in the halls or classes, Hermione goes to Professor Weasley and asks him if he's heard anything. And while Bill eyes her strangely, he tells her that, "Mr. Malfoy appears to be out sick. He's gotten a nasty case of Dragon Pox. So he was sent to confine himself in his room."
That puts Hermione in a mental tailspin, of course. Dragon Pox is serious business. It could kill him.
But then Bill tells her that he doesn't actually have Pox, and that the House Elves told him so, so Hermione calms down after that.
Hermione hates how well she can mask her emotions. She'd stood in front of Bill having an entire mental breakdown in her head, imagining all the horrible scenarios where Malfoy died from Dragon Pox, and he'd had no idea. Her ability to mask is so intense, even, that absolutely nobody notices anything different about her. Not even Pansy, with her hawklike gaze.
She thinks.
She's so tired. Just so exhausted emotionally that it feels like Malfoy pulled her heart out and twisted it to wring everything out before shoving it back inside of her chest. The moment she gets to her dorm every night, her facial expression falls flat, muscles aching from all the different ways she had to arrange them to ensure she looked like everyone else's idea of normal. She does her homework, gets into bed, and lies there breathing and crying and doing nothing else. She doesn't stab her quill into her leg anymore because she promised herself she wouldn't, so she lets it all out in her tears.
Is Hermione the one that's the problem? Is she the one who's selfish, cold, and cruel? She felt so emotionally exhausted after their argument that she'd spent several nights crying herself to sleep in complete silence. Should she be forcing her way into his dorm? Is she a bad person for letting him wallow like this?
But then how is she supposed to take care of herself, too?
And that's why she cries every night. She has shame of her own that weighs heavily upon her. She endures it every day, a small reminder hovering at the back of her heart, and she still hasn't quite figured out how to defeat it. She hopes she can help Draco figure out how to beat his.
Or maybe they can defeat it together.
The time aches on until suddenly, it's Valentine's Day.
The London trip is all her friends can talk about. Harry's excited to show them all the city at night. Theo's excited he gets to dance and put his hands all over Harry. Pansy's looking forward to dancing, "like a complete slag," as she says word-for-word, and being completely off-limits to all the salivating men knowing she's taken by Ginny. Ginny's—believe it or not—excited about the same thing.
Unfortunately, Ron overhears and asks to join on the trip. Since everyone's trying to keep the peace, that means Romilda's joining, too.
To Hermione's surprise, Ron has never once spoken to her about what Malfoy said to Romilda. In fact, he hasn't spoken to her at all. For all intents and purposes, one would think they'd never been friends in the first place. It hurts, but not to the extent that she thinks it would have a few months ago. She hopes it's not because he's happy Malfoy hasn't been in class.
Of course, Seamus is beside Hermione, so he overhears and tells Dean, who tells some others, and before she knows it, it's practically an Eighth Year trip. Most of the students in their Eighth Year are coming. It's unthinkable.
Hermione is not excited at all.
Not only is this just too many people for her to even keep track of, but with Ron and Romilda tagging along, Hermione realizes she's going to be there without a partner. Not that she thought she'd dance with Malfoy, or anything, but she'd at least assumed they'd be at each other's sides at a table, or something. God, what's he going to think if he hears everyone who hates him went without him? It's awful, just awful.
Malfoy's been gone so long. So, so long. The bond is intact, so he's alive, but he's also not at the castle. She'd inquired with the Headmistress a week ago.
Apparently, Malfoy had been given permission to take a sabbatical and left the castle entirely! A sabbatical, during their N.E.W.T.s year. She couldn't believe it then and she still can't now. A sabbatical means he'd have to make the time up during the start of the next school year, and then wait months to finally take his N.E.W.T.s.
Unless he doesn't care about that.
Unless he doesn't see the need to care.
Is he actually unwell and in need of the sabbatical? Is he gone because he wants to hurt himself off-campus? Is he getting his affairs in order? That's why he's on a stupid bloody sabbatical, and she knows it.
Would he even bother to say good-bye?
As if she'd let him say good-bye. She'd chain herself to that man so fast, he'd have no choice but to stay. And she'd give him an earful every single day while she's at it.
But maybe that's exactly why he wouldn't say good-bye in the first place.
Seamus's voice promptly cuts in on her terrified reverie.
"Blimey!" he exclaims as he devours a sandwich that's got way too much mayonnaise, in Hermione's opinion. She hates mayonnaise. All mayonnaise is too much. "I'm starving. Professor Weasley kicked our arses in DADA today. Right, Hermione?"
"Oh!" Hermione's quick to fix her face into her mask and smiles. "Yes. It was a challenging day today."
Seamus grins before looking at everyone assembled. "What about you lot? All right, then? What are you blabbering about down there, Parkinson? Ginny?"
"Nothing," Ginny and Pansy say at the same exact time. This draws Hermione's curiosity. The two of them have been whispering conspiratorially for the past ten minutes.
Theo's chewing slows as his eyes snap from Ginny to Pansy. "You're being strange."
"No, we're not," the witches say simultaneously.
Hermione's brow furrows in puzzlement, and Ginny just waves a dismissive hand in her direction.
"Yes," Harry says, setting his sandwich down. "Yes, you're being weird. Why are you being weird?"
"We're not." Ginny looks at Pansy.
"There's an awful lot of glance exchanging going on here," Theo says with narrowed eyes.
"We're planning something for Luna," Ginny says, eyes lingering on a shifty-looking Pansy. "And I asked Pansy..."
"Yes. She asked me what I thought she might like. And I said everyone likes surprises..."
Ginny's eyes widen a tad. "And that's when I suggested hiding a surprise gift in her dorm room."
"Luna doesn't go here this year," Hermione says, because it's the truth. "She doesn't have a dorm."
Pansy gives her a sharp, confusing elbow in the side. "Her bedroom at home, we mean. She has a...a..."
"Flat in Bath," Ginny says.
Pansy looks at her. "A flat in Bath?"
Harry looks impressed as he tucks into a third sandwich. "Wow, Ginny. I wouldn't have pegged you for a gift-giver. You even hated when I got you flowers."
"They die in about two seconds flat, Harry," she replies.
"Well, what are you getting her, then?" Theo says. "I'd love to hear tell."
Pansy and Ginny, clearly lying, exchange glances again.
"Oh, it's a big gift," Ginny says. "Really big."
"Naturally," Theo says, his lips curled up into a smirk. "You wouldn't want to put something small into her room, now would you?"
"No, no. Of course not."
"What is it, then?" Seamus asks. "You haven't told us yet!"
"It's the...erm..."
"Dresser," Pansy says loudly. "Yes, a dresser. We bought her a dresser."
"With Nargles painted on it," Ginny adds.
Hermione fights the strong urge to drop her head into her hand. These women are terrible at lying. What on Earth are they hiding?
"A dresser?" Harry says with an incredulous laugh.
"Oh, it's French, Potter. Directly from Paris." Pansy lifts her chin haughtily. "I doubt you know what real Parisian furniture costs."
"And Parisian furniture comes with Nargles—whom no one has ever seen in the flesh—painted upon it?" Theo asks.
Pansy and Ginny exchange glances. Again.
"Yes," Ginny says. "Yes, they do."
"Morgana's left tit, Theo," Pansy says with a scowl. "Do you know what an imagination is?"
"You two certainly do," Hannah says. She's just sat down across from Seamus. "Hi, Hermione. Happy Valentine's."
"Hello, Hannah," Hermione replies, wiping crumbs from the corner of her mouth so she can take a sip of her pumpkin juice. "Happy Valentine's to you, too."
"What we should be discussing," Ginny says, "is that Theo did not get Harry a Valentine's gift."
"Oh, that's blasphemous," Pansy says, shaking her head. "What a shame."
Harry and Theo look at one another, seeming to have a silent conversation between them. The second they do, Hermione sees Ginny and Pansy glaring at one another.
"'A dresser'?" Ginny mouths.
Pansy sneers at her, and they resume normal facial expressions when Theo and Harry look at them again.
"I gave him his gift already. Twice this morning," Theo says, his mouth curving into an easy smirk. Beside him, Harry covers his face with his hands, which makes Hermione giggle.
"Theo!" Harry's voice is muffled from behind his palms.
"Don't be shy, Potter," Pansy teases. "Ginny and I—"
"La, la, la, la, la!" Ron suddenly cuts in. Hermione doesn't spare him or the very quiet Romilda a glance. "I don't need to hear about my sister's sex life. Thanks."
Ginny and Pansy fall into a contagious fit of giggles that has the rest of them laughing, too. It's only Ron and Romilda who don't laugh, and Hermione's all right with that. Romilda doesn't deserve to laugh. What she deserves is a swift kick in the face. And someone should hex all those perfect white teeth out of her head, the stupid, bloody—
"So," Seamus suddenly says, "did anyone catch the Quidditch scores this morning?"
Harry perks up. But he doesn't get the chance to answer.
Suddenly, a loud bang rings out. Something from Weasleys' Wizard's Wheezes—something with a lot of popping and cracking noises. Shimmering sparkles of all colors rain down upon the entire room, so thick that Hermione can hardly see one foot before her. It fills the room with shouts of delight, surprise, and the Professors' irritated exclamations. The Headmistress, in particular, is livid.
But Hermione? Hermione is panicking.
The explosion had been big and abrupt. It made her shriek so loud it hurt her own ears. She scrambles out of her seat, knocking over her juice in her haste to get away. She falls onto her rump on the stone ground, still screaming and unable to breathe. Her friends are standing up, Ginny and Seamus going to her side, but Hermione can't hear. She can't see them or think of them.
The explosion may have left the room filled with something pretty, but it sent her mind hurtling into a dark place. A dark place where the walls close in and squeeze tighter and tighter. Where they suffocate her and try to bury her beneath the ground. Down to fire, where the unseeing eyes of those who died in the war linger, their bodies burning in agony. Screaming. So much screaming, and the wails. The shrieks and ungodly wails, rising to greet her.
Hermione doesn't realize she's running for the doors until someone's right in front of her, and she's slammed into them. The person is jolted, but they don't stumble. In her panic-blurred vision, she cranes her neck and sees pale blond hair and eyes the color of a rainy sky.
Malfoy.
Malfoy's hands are on her, one on her arm and one on her face, his eyes searching hers with concern amongst the showers of colored sparks. She doesn't notice that she's crying until she feels his thumb swiping the thin skin underneath her eye to catch some of the tears.
"Granger. Granger, look at me. We're not doing this today, all right? You need to breathe."
She can't speak or think, and he wants her to breathe?
Both of his hands go to her shoulders. "You can do it. Breathe."
Hermione shakes her head frantically. How can he ask her to do that? How can he expect her to breathe when there's barbed wire around her lungs and flames melting her skin?
"Please," he says. "Please breathe. You're gonna pass out."
Malfoy stands up straight and pulls her against his chest, wrapping one arm around her so he can run the other one over the top of the passion twists she'd given herself just the other day.
She'd wanted to try something new to take her mind off of everything, so she'd pulled a couple packs from the stash of hair she'd brought with her in her trunk. She'd turned on the radio Malfoy gave her and listened to all of her favorite songs playing while she twisted her hair, threading the extra hair in with it, all the way down to her elbows. It was relaxing, especially having the repetitive movements.
It wasn't enough to keep her from having her nightly breakdown, but it sure did stave it off.
Thinking about her hair works. It helps her panic ease and taper off, leaving her lungs free to expand. She allows herself to stand there, her face pressed against his jumper, before she pushes him back. Through the glitter and the bond, she can see that he's feeling a very severe level of guilt.
"Where..." Hermione takes a deep, shuddering breath. "Where have you been?"
He averts his eyes and opens his mouth to speak, only to be interrupted by Harry and Ginny, who come skidding to a halt around her. Behind them is the Headmistress, walking over to the Ravenclaw table and clearing the glittery sparks with a quick weave of her wand.
"Are you all right, Hermione?" Harry asks.
"Yes, I'm all right now," Hermione says, her voice hoarse and breathless from the screaming and running.
"That was terrifying," Ginny says. "I thought you got hurt."
Harry's eyes linger on Malfoy's hands on her shoulders and for a moment, Hermione worries he might pull his wand on him. It's only fleeting, given that Harry did declare him a friend, but Hermione also knows that Harry doesn't stand for bullying. He could have said that specifically because he wanted to defend someone from being bullied. Or maybe he does see Malfoy as a friend, but still doesn't quite trust him yet.
Malfoy steps back from her, taking with him the warmth and comfort of his touch. He gazes down at her with intensity and through the bond, Hermione can feel his concern mingling with a measure of guilt. She doesn't mean to look through the bond, as she's kept herself from doing it for all these weeks, but now that he's here, she can't help it.
Around them, the entire Great Hall watches the interaction in earnest, no doubt more shocked to see Malfoy having embraced her than they are about her anxiety attack. Minerva is now bustling her way over with two people: a young boy with a very red face...and William Porter. And William doesn't just approach—he saunters up with that same smirk he'd been wearing when he hurt Malfoy.
As the three come to stand near them, Hermione feels the now-familiar possessiveness rising through the bond. Since she's feeling exactly the same, she sends it right back to Malfoy. In response, he glances at her. She raises her eyebrows, but no words are exchanged.
She hates William. She despises him.
"Boys," McGonagall says sternly. "Apologize to Miss Granger. Immediately."
"I'm s-sorry, Hermione." The younger student says, looking ashamed of himself. "W-William gave it to me and s-said I should."
"I do apologize, Hermione," William says, and Hermione hates the way he says her name. Like he's caressing it. "I thought it would be a funny prank."
"And no one here is laughing, Porter," Harry spits out, moving to stand on Hermione's other side.
"I agree. It was not humorous in the slightest," McGonagall said in a clipped tone. "You both will be receiving detention—and more will be added onto your current detention sentence, Mr. Porter. Now, come with me to my office. Hermione, dear, will you be all right?"
Hermione nods "I will. I've got my friends."
"Very well. Go to the infirmary if you find you need a Calming Draught at any point today."
"Yes, Headmistress."
"And welcome back, Mr. Malfoy. I'm glad you decided not to finish the sabbatical."
With that, the Headmistress snaps her fingers and sweeps out the door. The younger boy follows her on cue, but William walks backward so he can address Hermione.
"I really am sorry about that, Hermione."
Malfoy's gaze slides past him. The Headmistress is already past the door and out of sight.
In the span of a second and with several loud gasps from other students, Malfoy shoots forward. The amount of scorching hot rage Hermione feels pouring in through the bond raises her body temperature. He clenches his hand in the fabric of William's shirt, yanking him up onto his toes and snarling down into his face.
"You don't look at her. You don't say her name. You don't think about her. You don't even breathe in her direction. Or I'll make sure you can't breathe at all."
William's smirk doesn't falter. "Why, yes, Malfoy. I wouldn't dream of it."
Malfoy lets him go with a violent shove. William gives them a jaunty wave, turns, and trots off after the Headmistress.
"Well, that was enlightening," Ginny says, wrapping an arm around Hermione's shoulders. "And very dramatic."
"He can be that way sometimes," Hermione says, her voice weak from the intensity of Malfoy's reaction. "Can we go sit down? I never got to finish eating."
"Yeah," Harry says. "Let's go. And welcome back, Malfoy."
"Thanks," Malfoy says quietly.
Ginny whisks her down the walkway, Harry going around the other side of the table, and they get Hermione back in her seat. The spot where she'd spilled her juice is clean and Pansy's in the process of loading up another plate for her.
"Thank you," Hermione says with a small smile as she steps into the bench. "I was—"
She stops.
Malfoy stands behind Seamus, who looks up at him with wide eyes. He jerks his head to the left.
Slowly, Seamus picks up his plate and slides a little to the left.
And Malfoy sits down.
Equally as slowly, Hermione sits all the way down. There are still several eyes on them but overall, conversation in the Great Hall has resumed as normal.
"You okay, Hermione?" Theo asks, frowning. "You really scared us there."
"Yes, I'm fine," Hermione says, trying to ignore the fact that the entire left side of her body is on fire. Being close to Malfoy again is like standing in the flames. "It was William Porter. He convinced a younger student to set it off."
Pansy scowls. "Of course he did. I hate that fucker more than I hate mornings."
"She really isn't a morning person," Ginny says.
Hermione starts to eat again. Beside her, Malfoy doesn't make a plate. He places his elbows on the tabletop and laces his fingers in front of his mouth like he's deep in thought. He watches the other Eighth Years for a long time, saying nothing to any of them.
It's not long before the new conversations come to a halt again.
"Figured I might as well come crash the inter-House party that I'm never invited to." Blaise Zabini slides into the empty spot between Theo and Ron. His umber skin glints in the late winter sunlight that filters through the Great Hall windows, and his smile is dazzling when he looks at Hermione. "Great Hall's been rather lively lately, yeah?"
"Erm...yes," Hermione says. She's never actually spoken to Blaise before, let alone been spoken to by him. "I'd say so."
"A right party," Ron says through gritted teeth. He was glowering at Malfoy, but making no move to engage.
Hermione, still shaken, makes no attempt to move away from Malfoy. She doesn't care much if anyone is bothered at this point. She and Harry both stood up for him after the Boggart situation, so unlike insane people like William, no one's willing to cross them.
She's having a difficult time waiting for the ringing in her ears to cease, but she feels better with the pressure of Malfoy's body next to hers. He smells good, feels warm, and reminds her of safety. Are things awkward for him, sitting with her after their argument? Should they be? She's just so happy he's back that she couldn't possibly be upset with him.
Hermione can't tell him she missed him in front of everyone, so she sends it through the bond and pretends she doesn't see him glancing down at her.
"I forgot about the Fizzing Bangers they sell at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes," she says instead. "It was only a matter of time before a student set one off. I'm not surprised it was William."
"I beg your pardon, Hermione," Theo says, smirking like the Slytherin he is. "But I was planning on setting one off just yesterday."
"Oh, honestly, Theo." Hermione rolls her eyes. "No, you weren't."
"Porter really seems to have it out for you, Draco," Blaise says, shaking his head as he fills a plate for himself. "I'm getting proper tired of his barmy, dodgy antics."
"It is what it is," Malfoy says with a shrug. He finally reaches for something to eat, aiming for the fruit bowl in front of him. Hermione's heart pangs when she sees his fingers tremble near an apple before he grabs an orange instead. She pretends she doesn't see them continuing to tremble as he peels the orange, too.
"We hate him, too," Harry says, shaking his head. "First Malfoy and now Hermione. I'm surprised he had the bollocks to mess with her after she hexed him into oblivion."
Hermione gives him a disapproving look that is much less powerful, given that she's smirking.
Theo nudges Blaise. "Seems we all have an enemy in common."
Blaise grins and nudges him back. "Then it looks like now we've got a party."
Malfoy snorts softly, but otherwise doesn't react. He focuses entirely on peeling his orange. On the outside, he's nonchalant. Inside, Hermione can feel that he's apprehensive and nervous, but also appreciative. Probably because of Blaise finally joining them, she thinks.
"Hello, Malfoy," Hannah says with a soft smile. "You've been gone for such a long time!"
"Hey," he says. Though he doesn't smile—because he rarely does—his tone is slightly warmer. "I wasn't feeling well."
"Oh, that's awful. Are you feeling better now?"
"Mostly."
"Well, it's good you're back."
"Yeah, now you can come with us to London," Theo says.
"I'm going, too," Blaise says. "Although none of you invited me directly."
"Blaise, you never sit here," Theo counters. "We barely see you."
"You've wounded me."
"Blaise—"
"It's essentially an Eighth Year trip at this point," Hermione interrupts. "It was originally only the s-six of us." She falters at the number, because she doesn't know if Malfoy's still coming. "And we were only going to go for the night."
"Yeah, I know. We're supposed to be back right after, right? If we're going out, we probably won't get done until two or three, yeah?" Blaise grins again. "At least, that's what happens when I hit the nightclubs."
"You go to Muggle London?" Harry asks curiously.
"All the time." Blaise pops a grape into his mouth and smirks at Malfoy. "Not all of us have terrible taste."
Malfoy scowls. "I think my taste has changed quite a bit, don't you?"
"Yeah," Ginny says innocently. "He snogs Hermione."
Hermione chokes on her food, coughing and hacking for air. Pansy pats her on the back, laughing.
"No need to be shy," Pansy says.
"I'm not being shy!" Hermione cries, her entire face as hot as the rest of her body. She holds up a finger. "I'll have you know, that private—"
And she's cut off.
She's cut off because Malfoy has leaned forward and ducked his head down to silence her with a simple kiss on the lips. When he pulls back, the silence from her friends means nothing to her because he's looking into her eyes and he's so pretty.
"You're going to London still?" Hermione asks, unable to keep the shyness out of her voice. "I was worried you...well, I was just worried."
"You asked me to go, didn't you?"
"No, I know, but you've been gone for so long. I didn't know if you still planned on going. I didn't even know when you were coming back. The Headmistress said you were taking a sabbatical. They're usually three months."
"Yeah, and I changed my mind."
"Why?"
"Surprise!" Pansy practically screams.
Hermione jumps and shoots her a withering look. "What are you talking about? Why did you yell?"
Pansy and Ginny are both grinning at her like loons.
"Surprise!" Pansy repeats. "We convinced him not to take the sabbatical and come back."
"You were so depressed," Ginny adds. "You think we couldn't tell, but we can."
"What? N-No," Hermione's heart rate picks up. Nobody knows she cries at night. Is her mask slipping? "I wasn't depressed. I mean, I'm not depressed. I'm fine."
"What a very expensive dresser, girls," Theo says. "No Nargles, though?"
Pansy shoots him a glare. "I'll just have to get my money back then, won't I?"
"A refund? Is the Parkinson estate dwindling?"
"Theo, you mother—"
Theo and Pansy continue to bicker like siblings, but Hermione can't hear it and she doesn't care to. She's thoroughly enjoying staring at Malfoy. She's certain there are stars in her eyes.
"What?" he murmurs, his brows twitching together.
Hermione leans closer, lowering her voice to a whisper. "You're really pretty."
"What?"
"I'm just being honest. You have nice hair and really pretty eyes, and—"
"And now you're going to list ten scientific facts about measuring attractiveness, right?"
"I...well, I was going to," she sniffs with a glare. "Now I'm not. And it wasn't ten. I have about four off the top of my head."
"What would you do if you couldn't list your facts?" His eyes trail from her eyes to her lips and back again. His forearms are on the table and he's turning the half-peeled orange in circles in his hands.
"Probably explode." Hermione's eyes drop to his lips and stay there. He has moderately full lips, too and Hermione knows that at the rare times he does smile, his entire face glows like sunlight. "You have nice teeth, too, did you know?"
"No, but you just told me."
"Right."
Through the bond, Hermione can feel amusement and a large amount of affection. She sends the same back to him, with the added bonus of how much she missed him and how relieved she is that he's back. It feels as though all the energy in the room has soared into them both, creating a magnetic force that wills them together.
Hermione sighs when his lips touch hers again in the softest of kisses. He unfolds his arms and turns toward her so he can place one hand the side of her neck, prying her lips apart with his tongue and eliciting another tiny sound from her throat. She parts her lips a bit and allows him to touch his own to hers. Their tongues brush one another almost tentatively, as if they're kissing to meet one another for the first time. He kisses her long and slow. It makes her stomach and her toes curl.
Hermione wraps her arms around his upper arm, leaning into him. Longing coils in the pit of her stomach, waiting to spring. It feels like they're lost within the confines of a sensual dream.
Now, this...this is a kiss.
"That is one disturbingly affectionate dresser," Harry says, his voice loud and pointed.
Hermione yanks her head back, her face flaming so hot that she's afraid she's going to start sweating. She doesn't know what just came over her. A quick look shows her that everyone is once again ogling them. While Theo, Harry, Pansy, and Ginny look amused, Blaise looks mildly impressed. Seamus is staring with his spoon halfway to his mouth, a large glob of kidney pie plopping down into his bowl. Ron looks indignant. The Eighth Years who could see the kiss are staring in shock, including the Patil twins, who look like they're going to be ill.
"Pansy, which shoppe in Paris did you buy the dresser from?" Theo asks.
"Shut up, Theo," Pansy says. "We had to keep it a surprise."
Blaise glances around. "What the Hell are you guys talking about?"
"We convinced Malfoy to come back as a surprise so he could snog her," Ginny says, sounding put-upon for having to explain. "Keep up, Zabini."
"Keep up with what? I wasn't even here!"
"Oh, bloody Hell," Ron mutters, hunching down over his food. Romilda doesn't speak, but a quick look out of the corner of Hermione's eyes shows that her facial expression is faintly revolted.
"Oi, do we need to tell you two to get a room?" Ginny demands, pointing her finger at Malfoy and Hermione with playfully narrowed eyes.
"Could we use yours, Potter?" Malfoy shoots back, one eyebrow arching as he faces Harry again. His serious expression is gone, replaced with a smirk.
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Sure. Just so long as I can use yours to hide your body when I'm done killing you."
"Oh, honestly, Harry, Malfoy," Hermione says, throwing her hands heavenward. "Don't bicker."
"We had a bet that she lost," Malfoy says. "I'm only carrying out the punishment."
"Malfoy!" Hermione scolds, shoving at his arm. "Honestly."
"In the Great Hall in front of your friends, remember?"
"Come off it."
"Hermione and Malfoy are snogging," Pansy says conversationally to Ginny. "Did you know that they're snogging?"
"How intriguing." Harry's the one who answers, and in the same tone. "I always thought Draco would be a terrible snog. Looks like I was wrong."
Malfoy gives him a deadpan look. "I can see your hair product from here, Potter."
"I got it from your bathroom, Malfoy," is Harry's reply.
"My product?" Malfoy gasps. "No wonder your hair looks stellar."
"I always had envied your ability to glue your hair to your head."
"Maybe you ought to slick it back, since you want to look like me so badly."
"You know what? Maybe I fancy you, Malfoy." Harry sets his sandwich down and starts to stand. "Here, why don't you try me out for a quick snog."
"Death to all who dare," Theo says, grabbing one of Harry's belt loops and yanking him back down to the bench. Harry's laughing.
Hermione sighs. "Oh—"
"Honestly," Malfoy, Harry, Theo, Pansy, Ginny, and Seamus say simultaneously.
Hermione starts to laugh. And laugh. And laugh. She laughs so hard that tears stream from her eyes while everyone watches her as though the sight of her mirth has transcended their ability to laugh with her. But she's not laughing because she found it funny.
She's laughing because Malfoy sounds happy.
She has no idea where he went on that sabbatical, but she's starting to think it was a good thing.
The rest of lunch passes fairly quickly with the insane amount of banter that's flying back and forth across the table. Hermione finds herself practically kicking her feet merrily beneath the table. Not only is Malfoy back, but he's getting along with everyone. Hannah, too. To top it off, there's nothing Ron and Romilda can do about it.
Besides. Hermione's tall wizard is a Hell of a lot prettier than hers.
Outside the Great Hall after lunch, Malfoy stops her. She looks up at him in query, ignoring the crowd parting around them with overtly disdainful glances.
"Come here with me for a second," he says.
Hermione wants to say she'll go to Hell in a handbasket with him if he asked, but she doesn't. She just follows him with a smile. They walk over to the side of the corridor, ignoring everyone else. Malfoy rummages through his satchel and withdraws something. He holds it out to her with an unreadable expression.
It's a rectangular red box made of velvet with hinges on the side. She stares at it, almost nervous to touch it.
"What is this?"
"It's your gift." He gives her one of his rare lopsided smiles.
"For what?"
"Valentine's."
Hermione blinks and then gasps. "Oh, my goodness. I completely forgot."
"Why do you think today's the day I came back?" He taps two fingers against the center of her forehead. "Open it."
"I'm not used to gifts," she says. "Especially not the ones you give."
"I gave you a radio, Granger."
"Yeah, but it was thoughtful," she whines with a pout. "It plays my favorite songs."
"That was the point, silly girl. Now, will you take it, or shall I send it back to where I got it?"
"Depends. How much did it cost?"
"Never you mind."
"Is it diamond? Because I won't wear anything that was mined with child slave labor. Did you know that—"
"Granger." He tips his head back and laughs in exasperation. "Will you just open the bloody thing? I know you. Do you honestly think I don't do my due diligence?"
"Mm-hm," she hums in a threatening, disbelieving manner. "We'll see."
Hermione snatches it out of his hand and opens the velvet box.
"And for your information," he says as she stares at what lies inside, "it's what they called 'ethically-sourced.' A goblin-owned family business with a very small-scale artisanal mine. So don't ever say I did nothing for you. I had to do my research, which I know gets you all hot and bothered."
Hermione's eyes sting. He did all that for her? How had he known how she felt about gemstones?
Lying upon a soft white pillow-like material is the most gorgeous necklace Hermione has ever seen in her entire life. A ruby teardrop pendant in a gold setting with a gold chain. It's simple, which is what she likes. And she doesn't have any jewelry. Not like this. This is something she could only have ever dreamed of.
Her eyes fill with tears, her vision going blurry. With tremulous fingers, she touches the pendant. It feels fragile. It feels valuable.
It's perfect.
"According to the She-Weasley, rubies are your favorite gemstone, but because they are—as you said—mined through slave labor, you don't own any." He scratches the back of his head and gestures toward her with the other. "Well, now you do."
Hermione can't even scold him for calling Ginny She-Weasley.
"Will you put it on me?" she whispers, afraid that if she speaks loudly, she'll burst out crying.
"Obviously. Turn around."
Hermione hands him the box back and turns. She gathers up her passion twists and holds them up high on her head. His arms come around her as he pulls the necklace onto her neck. The gold is cool against her skin—light, yet present. It even feels expensive. She shivers at the brush of his fingers.
She turns around and sees that he's got his arms crossed over his chest, eye contact minimal.
"It has a charm on it," Malfoy says and through the bond, she feels a tiny flash of nervousness from him. "The chain, I mean. The ruby doesn't."
"What sort of charm?"
"Protective," he says. "If you're ever in serious trouble and without your wand, all you have to do is touch the chain or the setting and think of the person you want to help you. And they'll be compelled to Apparate to you."
Her brow furrows. "How is that possible?"
"Magic."
She rolls her eyes. "You know what I mean. Is it like a Patronus?"
"No. More of a beacon, of sorts. They can always reject the desire, but it will only get stronger until they do."
"That's brilliant, Malfoy. How on Earth do you know a charm like that?"
"It's..." He sighs. "It's a Malfoy family charm."
Hermione freezes. "You placed it yourself?"
"...no."
She stares up at him sharply, her eyes widening. "This is...Malfoy family jewelry?"
He nods. Through the bond, she feels his nervousness increase, threaded with embarrassment and anticipation.
"Why would you give this to me?" she whispers. "Are you...? I mean, did you decide—"
"That's not why. The bond has nothing to do with it. I would just feel better if I knew you were always going to be safe."
Hermione's reeling. She doesn't know what to do with all of this. They have a massive row in the corridor, he disappears for a month, and when he comes back, he kisses her in front of the entire school and gives her a family heirloom?
"The original necklace obviously had a different gemstone," he says. "Which is why I found one that you would like. But the chain itself is what carries the charm. It also can't be removed by anyone but you, so no one will be able to rip it off of you, or anything."
Malfoy reaches forward and picks up one of her passion twists, inspecting it with an almost fond expression.
"I like this one, I think," he says.
"Which one?"
"This hairstyle."
Blood rushes to Hermione's cheeks and she looks down. "Thank you. It took me six hours a few days ago."
"Six hours?"
"Yes. I do my own hair and it can take me anywhere from six to ten hours, depending on the style. It seems like it would be a lot of energy, but it really isn't for me. I enjoy the repetitive movements and routine. I don't mind how long it takes...and why are you looking at me like that?"
He tilts his head to the side and reaches out again, taking her chin and shaking her face a bit. "Because you're cute."
"Erm...what?" She feels faint from how modest he's making her feel.
"Your entire face lights up when you get excited. And it's cute."
She remembers he's said that before—when they were in the coffin together. That's what he's acting like. The Malfoy she got to know in the coffin. The one she likes so much.
She's starting to get suspicious.
"Boy, you're laying it on awful thick today, aren't you? What are you hiding?"
Malfoy laughs and holds up his hands in surrender. "I'm not hiding anything. I'm just giving you a gift."
"And snogging me in the Great Hall."
"That was agreed to, if you'll recall. You did lose the bet."
"Mm-hm."
"I'm serious!"
"Whatever you say."
"How about you go to class, hm?" He steps forward and leans down toward her, surprising her with another kiss on her lips. He pulls back with a smirk. "Or you'll be late."
"...okay."
He walks away in a different direction, leaving her standing there in a daze. She touches her necklace, feeling the beautiful jewel that's now settled on her decolletage.
A tiny voice in her head tells her it's very strange how happy he seems. The kissing in the Great Hall. This Valentine's gift. Going to those lengths to get her an ethical gemstone. And now going with her to London.
Was he really happy? Or was he trying to give her his last days?
No. No, she will not allow herself to catastrophize. He came back. He's happy. He seems happy. A sabbatical is a healing time for many people, and he was gone for a month. Maybe it was enough time to get him to a better place mentally. It may not be a declaration of love or acceptance of the bond, but it's something. It's cute and it's innocent.
And it's something.