Dedicated to MissJordiLise because she made a very much appreciated piece of fan art for AWFL :D the link is on my profile if you'd like to check it out.  

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“The most important things are the hardest to say. They are the things you get ashamed of, because words diminish them – words shrink things that seemed limitless when they were in your head to no more than living size when they’re brought out. But it’s more than that, isn’t it? The most important things lie too close to wherever your secret heart is buried, like landmarks to a treasure your enemies would love to steal away. And you may make revelations that cost you dearly only to have people look at you in a funny way, not understanding what you’ve said at all, or why you thought it was so important that you almost cried while you were saying it. That’s the worst, I think. When the secret stays locked within not for want of a teller but for want of an understanding ear.”

- Stephen King

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Her stomach clenched painfully, and she could not think with her heart pounding so loudly in her ears. She looked for evidence, any kind at all, that would tell her it was not what it looked like. Except Draco’s door was wide open where she’d emerged from, there were lip marks down her neck, and her skirt was dishevelled, and she knew it would be foolish of her.

It took Hermione seven seconds too long to realise that the woman had said some form of greeting, and it took her five more after that to realise she ought to reply. So she gave a small hello, the word sounding strained and forced.

The woman held out her perfectly manicured hand, looking more confident. “I’m Tina,” she said. “And you must be Granger, yeah?”

“Hermione,” she corrected automatically, unable to prevent herself from staring at the red thong poking out of her pocket, refusing to take Tina’s outstretched hand that Merlin only knew where it’d been.

Tina’s fingers curled into her palm slowly when Hermione did not shake her hand, and reluctantly she dropped her arm to have it fall by her side uselessly.

“He called you Granger,” she continued, and was Hermione imagining it or did her voice sound wintrier than before? “He used your last name, not your first. He calls me Tina,” she added almost smugly.

“That’s probably because he can’t remember your last name,” she said coldly before she could think to stop. 

Tina’s eyes narrowed and she opened her mouth furiously to retort, but then they both heard the thumping of two feet coming down the stairs. Tina turned around as Hermione went around the kitchen counter to the dinner table, both of their attention now upon the staircase.

Draco yawned loudly, his hair sticking up in every angle possible, his pyjama pants down so low you could see the tops of his boxers.

Over the past few months Hermione had begun to think, though would never admit it out loud, that he looked… well, adorable in his sleepy state, and by not being a morning person, he was always thoroughly disorientated. He’d need help with the most basic of things, like which cupboard the cereals were kept in and the difference between sugar and salt, milk and juice (she’d found out that last one the hard way). And because he was a bit of a dolt in the mornings, Hermione wasn’t very surprised when he walked around Tina like a piece if furniture.

This didn’t discourage Tina in the least. She bounded up to him, wrapped an arm around his waist and suddenly looked much more happier than before. “Draco, sweetie. I was going to leave you a note,” she began, her voice now sounding much like Pansy’s had done when they were in school, “but I’ve got to drop into work for a –”

But what exactly she had to drop into work for, they’d never know. For at that precise moment, Draco, who had been previously staring down uncomprehending at Tina, gave a startled yelp and jumped away from her.

His eyes were wide as they jumped from the confused looking Tina, to the unamused Hermione and back again, looking between both females as if he had no idea how the two had become to be in the same room.

“Oh, shit,” he said, running a hand through his hair and making it stand on end even worse than before. “Oh, no, no, no…”

“Anyway, Draco,” Tina said with a small frown, walking towards him again. “I said I had to…”

Draco wasn’t listening. He was looking over Tina’s shoulder at Hermione meaningfully, like he was trying to silently communicate something to her.

Hermione neither knew what it was nor cared enough to find out. She went to leave, but this made Draco step around the chatting Tina, once again, as though she were a mere piece of furniture, and he grabbed onto Hermione’s arm. 

“Granger, I – it’s not – I mean – you should know that – that –” But he had no explanation, as she knew he would.     

A silence ensued. Tina had stopped talking and was looking between Draco and Hermione suspiciously.

“I see what this is,” she abruptly said. Both Hermione and Draco looked at her, but she just shrugged, looking strangely bemused and superior like she’d figured out something the other two hadn’t. “I’ll just be leaving now and, ah, let you guys sort out your unresolved issues.” 

Quite stupidly, though not unexpectedly, she went to the door on her left, thinking it to be the exit.

“Gina –” Draco called after her when it became clear that Hermione would not.

“Tina.”

“Right, sorry,” he said absently. “That’s the toilet. The way out is that way.” He pointed at the door in front of them.

“Really?” she asked curiously, her head cocked to one side as she studied the door, looking accusingly and suspiciously at it like it was some all powerful and great mysterious door of mysteries. “Huh. I thought we came through this one.” She stared at it for a while longer, then let out a tingling laugh that had Draco cringing. “Silly me, I guess.”

She walked past them, giving Draco a quick peck on the lips and Hermione a falsely sweet smile, then – finally! – left.

They stood like that a moment longer, Hermione facing him and he unable to meet her eyes. Truthfully, she still wanted to hear some good explanation, but her logic side, which seemed to be growing more and more distant over the days, spoke up and wondered why the hell she needed an explanation. It wasn’t her business who he slept with.

She went back into the kitchen to finish off her breakfast, and for a long time all they could hear was the sound of strawberries being viciously cut up and thrown forcibly into the bowl with a plop, occasionally splattering milk on the counter.

“Hermione,” Draco tried again. She glanced up involuntarily at the sound of her first name. “It was just – Tina and I – I don’t even –”

“Stop, Draco.”

It was said softly, but he did what she said instantly, looking relieved to be put out of his miserable excuses.

“You don’t owe me an explanation,” she went on. “I don’t care.”

The last three words had something shift in his expression, and before she could figure out what it was, it was gone.

“Of course you don’t,” he said, nodding profusely. He laughed mirthlessly. “Why would you care? What I do doesn’t matter, so long as we get through this year, eh?”

She frowned at his sudden change in mood. “That’s not what I meant… I mean to say, I didn’t mean for it to sound harsh or anything. It’s just that it’s not my business who you sleep with.”

“It’s not your business what I do at all, so long as I don’t screw anything up for you, right?”

She found herself becoming quickly annoyed by his attitude. “What’s your problem?” she demanded.

“I don’t have a problem,” he said airily, leaning on the counter across form her. “I just thought me inviting random women up here would’ve bothered you.”

Given the night she had had, the bitchy woman who’d abruptly turned up in her kitchen, and now Draco being in one of his stupid moods, it didn’t take long for her annoyance to flare, because she, in fact, had had a problem with him letting strangers into her home, but wisely had chosen to ignore it because she was not in the mood for a fight.

But to her it looked like that was exactly what Draco was hoping for. They fought all the time, he tried stirring her up all the time, but as the year wore on the fighting had died down to simple teasing and sarcastic remarks, with at least one loud argument a day about something utterly unimportant causing them to not speak for a few hours. This time was different. This time there was a real edge to his tone she hadn’t heard for months, and she wondered what had caused it.

He was in the middle of going off about how she always gave him the least amount of bacon in the mornings when she said loudly, “Stop taking your anger out on me. It’s not my fault you choose to sleep with idiotic women.”   

That stopped him. He stared at her.

“What makes you think I’m upset about that?” he asked, his voice controlled to calm. “I’m not even angry, Granger. Simply observing how you always get more bacon than me. And as a lady, I’d have thought you had to watch your weight.”

Hermione bristled at that and went right around the counter, glaring darkly. “Listen, buddy. I have no idea where this pent up anger is coming from, but it’s got to stop! You’re acting like you’re fifteen again.”

“And you’re acting double your age,” he snapped. All determined calmness had left his tone now. “Shouldn’t you be more of a mess, Granger? I mean, you see Weasley kissing someone else – c’mon that’s got to hurt – and then you turn around and kiss me? Aren’t you feeling guilty?” he asked, palm in his hand and looking up at her with faked interest. “Did you compare us? Who was better? The Weasel or the Malfoy? Or better yet, to make more of an informed decision, why don’t you test us out in the sack too?”

It happened before she could think to stop. One second her chest was heaving with rage and the next she had pulled out her wand, yelled, “Impedimenta!” and next instant Draco had flown off the counter and hit the wall behind him.

Fury was boiling inside her to the point where she did not feel in the least bit sorry. He had opened a fresh wound and rubbed salt in it purposely, because he knew, he knew, that she would retaliate.

Draco got to his feet, looking murderous. But Hermione was beyond the point of murder.

“I don’t know who you think you are,” she said, her voice shaking with fury, her fingers twitching to jinx him again, “but you CAN’T TALK TO ME LIKE THAT! Not after everything I’ve done to defend your sorry arse!”

“Don’t forget Granger, you snogged the daylights out of this sorry arse!”

“And I very much regret it, too!” she nearly screamed.

“THEN WHY DID YOU?” he bellowed, so loudly that Crookshanks made a run for it and hid under the stairs. “Everything was fine until you decided to kiss me back!”

“So you’re blaming it all on me, are you?” she snarled. “That’s what this is all about? A kiss? Because you went much further with the Queen Bitch of Dumbness last night!”

“You don’t care, remember? Unless it’s got something to do with work, your parents, Potter, the freakin’ Weasley’s, you don’t give a flying Hippogriff’s arse!”

“THAT’S NOT TRUE!”

“PROVE IT THEN!”

“FINE!” she shouted. “I care that you slept with that woman because she’s not good enough for you!”

She realised her mistake the moment she said it, and her hands flew up to her mouth in horror.

Draco stared at her, his bare chest rising and falling just as fast as her own.

“What?” he asked, his eyes roaming her face for answers.

She thought about running, because they were very late for work now, but she had already said it and the damage was done. He knew. So she breathed out heavily and said, “I care that you shagged her because – because she’s not good enough. I mean, Draco, you’re funny and you’re witty and intelligent and you’re always surprising me. You never do what I expect. And she’s… she’s just…”

“You don’t even know her,” he said, his anger being replaced by something completely unrelated, though just as powerful. She’d just complimented him…

“I don’t need to,” she said quietly. “I know you and that’s enough.”

He stared at her for a moment longer, the clock ticking off in the distance uncannily sounding louder than usual. Draco reluctantly went closer and his arm lifted, his fingertips inches from her own when, quite suddenly, Potter’s voice filled his head; it’ll always be Ron. Remember that the next time you think about touching her.

His hand fell back to his side, and he closed his eyes, counting seven ticks before he finally said, much gentler than before, “What you need to know Granger, is that I’m not a good person.” His eyes opened, seeking out hers. “And you’d do well to remember that.”  

***

“I think there’s something wrong with Draco.”

Harry glanced up from the parchment he was studying. “Why d’you say that?”

“Well, it’s been happening ever since New Years,” Hermione said, sitting on his desk as ladylike as one could. “He’s suddenly very… distant.”

Harry did not say anything at first. Instead, he took a bite out of his sandwich, and only when he’d swallowed and allowed himself a drink did he answer. “That’s how you want it, though, isn’t it? Aren’t things easier without him always being there? You’re not chained to the wrist, you know.” 

“I know that.” She sighed. “He’s just different. Keeps telling me how he’s not good and I sometimes need reminding who he is and all this other stuff he never used to say.”

“Have you ever… have you ever thought about listening to him?”

Hermione shot him a look. “Now why would I do that? He’s not right, I am.”

Harry smiled at her familiar stubbornness. “But Hermione –”

“No, Harry,” she interrupted firmly. “He’s not a bad person.”

He went silent for one, two, three seconds.

“I saw you at the party. With Malfoy.”

Her eyes widened, panic shot through her so strong that without further ado she slipped off his desk and landed with a thud on his carpet. She grabbed onto Harry’s desk and used it as leverage to pull herself back up, her heart racing in a way that only a guilty conscious could bring. “You – what?” she gasped.   

He paused, watching her get back up with a thoughtful expression. “I saw you…”

Oh god, this was it. He knows! I’m never going to live this down. 

“…enter the party with Malfoy, Zabini and Parkinson.”

Hermione deflated like a balloon from relief. “Oh,” she said, trying to look like she hadn’t almost died from a panic attack. “Well, yeah. We met up at the flat and Apparated together.”

“Really?” he asked, and there was something about the way he was looking at her… why was he looking at her like that? “Are you friends with Zabini and Parkinson, then?”

She almost blushed, feeling like she was betraying Harry and Ron by befriending the ‘enemy’, but then she instantly scolded herself. Why did she need to feel guilty about getting over her prejudice towards them? It was something to be proud of, and Hermione was most thankful for their friendship. So, unembarrassedly, she nodded. “Yeah. We’re friends now.” 

Harry took another bite of his sandwich and chewed slower this time. “Well, I won’t lie and say I’m thrilled. But if you like them, then I’m not stopping you.”

Hermione smiled. “Thanks, Harry –”

He then voiced the worst question. “What about Malfoy?”

“What about him?” she asked lamely.

“Are you friends with him?”

She stared, having no idea what else to do, because even she had no idea what was going on between them.

“Hermione?”

“I – I don’t –”

“It’s not that hard,” he persisted. “A simple yes or no will do.”

“Friendship with Draco… that’s not so easily –”

“But you call him Draco now. Remember when he used to be Malfoy to you? What happened?”

“Why are you asking me all these questions?” she demanded instead. “What’ve they got to do with anything? I came down to your office to see you, not talk about Dra – Malfoy.” 

Harry sighed, looking around at the countless pictures of missing peoples’ photographs scattered everywhere on his desk. “I just… things are getting bad out there, Hermione. And I want to make sure you’re okay, because I can’t always be there.”

“I don’t expect you to,” she said soothingly, coming around his desk to kneel at his side. She took his hand and waited for him to grip it back before continuing, and he did, no matter how weakly. “I’m okay,” she said. “Really.”

“And you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?” he asked, his green eyes boring into hers. “If there was something going on? Something you were worried about?”

She looked him directly in the eyes and nodded once. “You’d tell me too? If you were worried?” She glanced from his overloaded desk and back.

He paused in that way of his, when he was deciding whether or not to discuss what was really on his mind or if was better to keep his problems to himself instead of laying them on Hermione. In the end, he must have realised that she was, after all, his best friend, and this was exactly the kind of thing she was here for. So hesitantly, Harry nodded at his desk. “I’m worried about work, and –” He broke off.

“And?” she prompted.

His eyes dropped. He folded the spare piece of parchment into squares until the paper would no longer fold. “I postponed my marriage to Ginny.”

She blinked, her head refusing to absorb this. “You… postponed your wedding?”

His jaw tensed a little, and he nodded as though it was something one could only say once.

“What – why would you do that?” she demanded, her head swimming.

Again, he looked pointedly at the missing photographs. “I’ve got to try and get on the top of this first, everyone’s expecting me to, being ‘The Chosen One’ and all –”

“Harry,” Hermione said, her voice straining to stay on reasonable as she got off his desk. “You’re only one man. You can’t be expected to do everything around here. Their expectations are too…” She found herself trailing off. Not because she’d run out of things to say, but because Harry had reached up to rub his eyes, and she saw the dark bags that resided in the skin, and Hermione thought maybe he did not need to hear her argue and nag him. Not today.   

 “I don’t want Ron and I to leave,” he said quietly, “only to come back and find three more people missing, and then having to explain why we weren’t able to try and prevent it to their family because we were at a wedding.”

Indignation rolled over her like waves. Because they’d already been through this once, why, why should they have to put everything on the hold again?

“It’s not fair,” she said, holding back the urge to stamp her foot.  

Harry’s smile was a bitter twist of the lips. “It never is.”

She stayed for five minutes longer after that, and then decided it was time to leave. On her way out, the door opened before she could reach it and in stepped Ron, looking down at some piece of paper in his hand. She took steps back so he wouldn’t run onto as he entered the room. 

“Harry, you remember that bloke who said there was a Death Eater sighting at – Hermione?” Having looked up from his parchment, his gaze had landed on her.

“Ron,” she said timidly, her heart beginning to beat ridiculously fast in the pause that followed during which Harry rocked on the balls of his feet, glancing around the office; Ron staring at his suddenly fascinating shoes; and Hermione finding her own interest in her nails.

Seconds ticked away, and in the end it was Ron who broke it.

“So, what brings you here?” he asked, glancing up uncertainly.

“I’m visiting Harry,” she replied, thinking this to be obvious.

Apparently it wasn’t.

“Since when?” He frowned.

“Since… well, you know, since you and I…” Broke apart. She couldn’t bring herself to say it. 

“You have?”

Ron and Hermione turned accusing looks at Harry, who looked more than a little disconcerted at having the attention upon him now.

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Ron asked, moving the parchment around in his hands, catching Hermione’s attention. 

“Well… Ron, she’s my friend too. I couldn’t just cut her off.”

“No. I just thought it’d have been something you mentioned.”

“Ron,” she said abruptly, looking at the upside down cloaked person on his papers, “can I talk to you for a moment? Outside?” 

“What?” he said distractedly.

“It’s important.”

“You want to talk to me?”

“Do you see any other Ron’s in the room?” she asked impatiently, and before he could answer, she’d grabbed his hand and pulled him out of the room, leaving behind the frowning Harry.

“Careful, Hermione!” he said when she kicked the door shut and almost jammed his jacket in the process. “What’s this all about anyway?”

“I need to talk to you about something I saw at the party and I don’t think Harry wants to hear it right now –”

His eyes widened, and Hermione couldn’t help but notice how much bluer they were than she remembered. “You saw…? Bloody hell. Hermione, I swear I was going to talk to you about it, I’ve just been trying to figure out when it’d be a good time…”

“What are you talking about?” Although she thought she knew. Her breathing quickened.  

“Look, you’ve got to know… I didn’t mean for it to happen. I really didn’t. I was really trying to find you at the time, but then…” He didn’t need to explain what ‘but then’ meant. “I was furious. I pulled her off me as soon as I could. Told her I couldn’t be friends with her if she does stuff like this when she knows that I – I belong to someone else –” 

“Ron, stop,” she said quickly, cursing herself for being so sensitive. But it was a touchy subject, because, no matter how much she tried to hide it, the memory of Ron and the other woman always entered her mind when she was not busy enough, bringing back a whirlpool of emotions that she had no time to deal with.   

“Why aren’t you yelling at me? Or throwing stuff?”

What had her chest tightening what that Ron actually looked like he wanted her to do that. But she couldn’t. She was even guiltier than he was, but there he was, right in front of her, with guilt, fear and a silent plea in his eyes.

He moved forward, placing his hands – just as warm as she remembered – on her shoulders, tilting his head so his eyes could find hers.

“Hermione,” he said, concerned when she continued her refusal of meeting his gaze. “Darcy doesn’t mean anything, just like Lavender didn’t. It’s always going to be you, and you only. Understand?”

She nodded, sucking in a great shuddering breath, telling herself she would just send him an owl about the Death Eater she saw, because right now it didn’t seen like she could do that anymore.   

“I love you,” he went on. Her chest tightened even more. “And I’m going to make us work, all right? You’re going to be okay. We’re going to be okay.”

And he pulled her into a bone-crushing hug, resting his chin against the top of her head (because he had always been the prefect height to do that), and she was just the perfect height to bury her face into his broad chest, wrapping her arms tightly around his waist.

“You forgive me?” he whispered.

She nodded, and with her face hidden away where he could not see, she could pretend that she was crying because they had made up. With her face hidden away, she could pretend she wasn’t crying because Ron deserved better.  

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Next chapter; time for some fun, do you think? I think so ;D

“If you were a basilisk, I wouldn’t mind dying just to look into your eyes.”

He gaped at her. “Are you readingpick-up lines?”