Chapter Text
MONDAY, AUGUST 25th
“Mione?” she hears and starts, turning her head to find Ron propped on an elbow beside her, a bemused grin on his face in the early morning light. His bare chest and, now, chest hair glows with the sun as well. She smiles apologetically.
“Sorry!,” she says, “what did you say?” mentally giving her head a shake to dissipate the thoughts and focus.
“Just asking if you’re ready for potions today,” he says, rolling over and placing his feet on the carpet of her room. He stands, taller than ever, and gives a big stretch, facing the window and affording her a full view of his bum.
She giggles and leans over to give it a good natured tap then slings her legs over the side of the bed as well.
“I am,” she replies, heading to the bathroom, “I can’t wait to see what this project is going to be,” she says through a mouthful of toothpaste.
“Dunno but I hope we get partnered together,” he says while he pulls on his pants and trousers.
She hums noncommittally, toothbrush in her mouth. It would be nice just to be with him but she can’t truthfully say he’s her ideal partner in potions class. That is probably his worst class and though he’s not completely inept, she knows that should they be partnered together, she would be doing the majority of the work. He wouldn’t purposefully be a deadweight but she is just on a different level in that area than he. Although she has always kind of enjoyed being the one in charge (so as to do it exactly the way she wants and not have interference), she finds more and more often lately she would rather have an equal partner. Life is hard enough without the added pressure of carrying everything alone on her shoulders.
They finish dressing (he has a drawer in her bureau, just as she does in his, toothbrushes and a few little products in each bathroom as well) and head down to breakfast.
“Good morning, gorgeous!” a boisterous voice chirps as Hermione finds a heavy arm suddenly around her shoulders in the hallway. She smiles up at Theo, who has slung his other arm over Ron’s shoulders; though he has to reach a little for that as Ron is taller. “Oh. And you two as well, I suppose,” he grins, winking at Hermione in the mirror they’re passing.
“It’s too early for you,” Ron mumbles. He needs to eat in the mornings before having any real conversation or much patience for people.
“Damn Granger, didn’t you give him some last night? He should be happier,” Theo teases, his grin turning into a yelp as she pinches the side of his bum.
He pulls his arms back to himself and gives the area a little rub, pouting at her. She laughs along with Ron and Theo, trying to will the slight blush in her cheeks away. Ron was definitely satisfied with their dalliance the night before but she realizes it has been a few weeks since she has gotten off with him. No wonder she finds herself craving some extra alone time lately, to take care of things herself. The boys’ long strides have carried them a bit ahead of her and they continue to yap - well, Theo continues to yap - as she walks contemplatively behind them. They arrive at the table and a good amount of students are already there, the small hall buzzing with conversation. The 8th years were given their own dining room, a miniature version of the great hall. They’d even enchanted the ceiling for them, a gesture Hermione appreciates daily.
They have a table in the great hall as well, but with the 8th years starting 2 weeks before the regular students, it is much too large for just them. Besides, Hermione is barely able to stomach seeing the glaring absence of certain professors at the head table. Who knows how the younger students would react, either, to her presence - an unfortunate thing she now has to worry about since accidentally gaining fame. The great hall can be for holidays, as far as she’s concerned. So she was relieved to have this space to themselves. The dorm hall, the dining room, the small common room. The halls of classes below their living space, just for them. It will be a good program for future students as well; old enough to be finished with their regular studies but not quite ready to leave just yet.
Hermione, Ron, and Theo plop down next to Harry, across from Daphne and Pansy. Blaise tended to skip breakfast, working his way silently through a few cups of coffee before taking on the day. He usually sat in the common room with some book or another as he did so; his own little personal time when he wasn’t sitting with them. Malfoy was late as usual; the rest of them halfway through the meal as he strode in, hair still damp from his shower. He ran every morning, no matter the weather, then usually visited with his mother. She had been his condition to return to Hogwarts. Resting in her private room in the hospital wing under the care of Madame Pomfrey and an expensive aid he had hired to tend her at all times, Narcissa was still in a coma. Her vitals seemed ok but she just would not wake. They weren’t sure what else to do but keep her comfortable.
As Malfoy walked, several heads turned, eyes lighting up as he passed. He had grown incredibly handsome as he became a young adult and the odds were that he would continue to do so as he aged. He looked more like a man now, his tall frame filling out to be more lean than lanky, muscle definition well-maintained below his robes. Hermione knew because everyone knew. Whenever it was remotely warm out, he would run shirtless. And come back in through the halls shirtless. She swears he goes out of his way to saunter past as many girls as possible, timing his entrance just right so the majority of students will be eating when he graces them with the view of his bare torso, shining with sweat. Hermione rolls her eyes as she hears an actual sigh down the table and Malfoy grins widely at her as he sinks into the seat across from her.
“Chin up, Granger,” he declares, beginning his meticulous routine of making the ‘perfect oatmeal,’ another daily habit, “if you pout too long, your face will permanently stick like that,” he raises a light brow at her.
“Humans get wrinkles, it’s natural,” she replies, fighting another eye roll. Her next bite of toast feels extra dry in her mouth; her dad used to say that to her when she was younger and she made faces.
“Wrinkles?? Ew!” Theo cries.
“Don’t worry Theo,” Draco drawls, “your brain is smooth enough to compensate for any wrinkles your skin will ever get.”
This draws a laugh right out of Hermione, then leads to a perfectly distracting conversation with the group as she was the only one who got the joke. They talk about koalas and other animals for the remainder of the meal. Hermione gives Harry a gentle, thankful squeeze under the table when the conversation shifts to Australia and he derails it by bringing up the performance of whichever quidditch team last played Australia. The food pops away as they stand and head toward the classrooms. Hermione feels another little tingle of pride and satisfaction at that. One of her conditions to come back to Hogwarts (though she is sure McGonagall knew Hermione would return no matter what, she humored her) - all house elves who work there had to be free and there of their own accord, with pay. Nearly all of them stayed and they even got an influx of new elves after the war. They had fought against the pay, and Hermione supposed she couldn’t begrudge them their love of taking care of people, though she still stands by her morals. The thought of slaving away for free used to offend her, and still does, but she understands a little more now. A small act of love like that, to look after and care for others, really wasn’t so small at all.
“Alright, Hermione?” Harry asks softly, walking at her side. The shaggy ends of his hair flop over his forehead into his eyes, bright green as ever behind his glasses.
“Yes, thank you,” she smiles and receives a smile in return. She feels the familiar rush of love for him; it is how she imagines siblings feel toward each other. She never got to have one, but she has a found family that counts just as much in her opinion. He understands the pain of losing parents, though their situations are different.
They walk in amiable silence down the stairs to the end of the hallway, filing into the huge potions room with the other students. They had taken care with this one; putting it in just the right spot to have both windows that allow the perfect light in for the row of plants on the sills and a dark, damp corner on the opposite side of the room for the plants on the shelves there. The back of the room is lined with several doors, most of them opening to temperature controlled closets with shelves and shelves of fastidiously labeled ingredients. One door even holds a staircase that would take one around and outside to the greenhouse, to gather more ingredients. She loved to be the one who volunteered for this; to see Neville. He had taken a position as the Herbology professor instead of joining them. Since his position held him separate from the rest of them a lot of the time, she liked to visit as much as she could.
Today, they stood in a bunch instead of taking their seats, awaiting the arrival of Professor Slughorn. He was someone greatly changed by the events in the past few years. He proved his loyalty and bravery at the Battle of Hogwarts, defying everyone’s assumption that he had disappeared in cowardice by returning with reinforcements and even dueling with Voldemort himself. So impressive was his skill that McGonagall had offered him the DADA professorship, but he had declined. Potions were his passion and he claimed to have seen enough action to last the rest of his life. No longer a slightly bumbling, pusillanimous kind of man, he was more self-assured and had dispensed with his odd predilection for “collecting” famous friends and acquaintances. Hermione admired him and he had become one of her favorite professors. She did like the course, too, but her enjoyment of the subject was dampened by the fact that this was the only class she was not the top student in. She was close, to be sure, but Malfoy took that spot; much to her chagrin. And he never let her forget it, either. But this mystery project they would embark upon today was her chance to best him.
Slughorn greeted them as he walked in, a friendly smile on his face. For a second, Hermione’s mind flashed vividly to her first ever potions class; Snape striding in, all billowing black robes and sneers, commanding them to open their books to page 394. Such an entrance that was, that Hermione remembered the page number. He had humiliated her shortly after that and really presented himself as an arse for years after but she had always had a slight, begrudging respect for him; one that became more than slight upon discovering that potions book Harry had found in their 6th year was his. He was a brilliant potions master and had helped them more than they ever could have imagined so many times. The sound of a stack of books hitting a desk brought her back to reality and she scowled a bit. Though the therapy had helped her so much, she still often had moments like this, memories assaulting her and turning her stomach.
“I am sure you are dying to know what the project will be, but I will sort you into your pairs first so you can sit down. Maybe that will help you concentrate,” he adds, giving a pointed look at Seamus, who froze in the act of slipping a pygmy puff into Malfoy’s pocket. In the silence that followed, there were several little squeaks that gave away the fact that the pygmy puff was not the first. Malfoy lifted his arm, looking down, then reached in and pulled 3 others out, all squeaking happily on his palm. He also shot Seamus a look. Seamus blushed furiously but grinned and carefully took them back, putting them gently back in his own pocket. Ron found this hilarious.
Once the distraction had abated, Slughorn proceeded to read off students from the list on the scroll in his hand. There were 16 people in this class; all classes had two sessions a day and the 8th years were halved into groups that they took their classes with, as everyone had to take all of the required classes. 8 pairs, then, sitting beside each other one by one. Dean Thomas was saddled with Seamus, but he was used to him, so he went with no complaints. Susan and Parvati, Pansy and Theo (who was less than thrilled, given Pansy’s lack of enthusiasm for the class), Blaise and Daphne, Hannah and Katie (who Hermione had rather wanted as her own partner). As the choices narrowed, she became a little anxious. Most of the students she would have chosen were dwindling fast. McLaggen and Padma were next until only Ron, Harry, Hermione, and Malfoy stood partnerless. Hermione held her breath, there really wasn’t a great outcome here, either way. But it leaked slowly out of her as Ron and Harry were partnered together. Despite Slughorn’s personal growth, he did rather continue to favor Harry so he tended to be put in favorable situations in this class. Finally, Hermione was partnered with Malfoy.
She returns Ron’s pout glance with a little grimace, but she was glad and she could tell he wasn’t actually put out as he turned to Harry, nudging his best friend with a grin as they took their seats. Hermione was on good terms with Malfoy now but it still was very odd to be his partner in any circumstance. She had never once been alone with the guy. At least she could finally get up close and personal with his methods; figure out how he managed to be better than her in this class.
“Oh!” she exclaims as he pulls her chair out for her instead of sitting himself. “Thank you…” she says belatedly, sinking into the seat. He even gives her a little push, guiding her chair closer to the table before folding his long limbs into the seat beside her.
He doesn’t reply, simply laces his long fingers together and watches Slughorn in anticipation, eyes flicking in the opposite direction of her for just a second. Hermione takes a second to stop staring at him and turns to the front as well, just in time to catch a glimpse of the face Theo was making toward Malfoy, but he turned so quickly that she didn’t get to really see what he was trying to convey. Malfoy seemed to stiffen slightly at her side. Once again, Hermione’s brain decided to grace her with a lovely stroll down memory lane. This time, it was more like being slingshotted through several moments at once, the audio more prevalent than anything else. All the things he used to say to her. He gave no indication that he believed these things to be true anymore and was staunchly against his own father during Lucius’ trial, but was he uncomfortable to have her as a partner? Was Theo just making fun of her? She bristled at the thought.
“This project is the first of its kind here at good old Hogwarts,” Slughorn announces, an excited grin on his face, “I have permission from McGonagall to use you as a test class, of sorts. If we can manage to do this properly, then this could become a permanent part of the curriculum for 8th year students going forward. So, please, do not embarrass me. Or yourselves.”
The students watched him with great curiosity, his warning sending a ripple of murmurs throughout the room.
“What we are going to do here is give you full license to create a potion of your own. It can be anything you want at all, even something dangerous; though take great care in making it if so. At the end of the semester, you will all present your finished potions to myself, McGonagall, and the head auror for review. We will also be inviting any specialists or experts in whatever field your potion pertains to. One team will be granted the privilege of having their potion become patented and put to use, with the option for mass production, and the recipe will even go into the textbook for future Hogwarts students!”
Hermione gapes at him, her mind pausing for a moment at the magnitude of such a project before spinning with options. She could make a potion that undoes magical memory loss and get her parents back. She could make a potion that could extend the user’s wakefulness in a healthier and more effective way than caffeine, so one could stay up later to get more done. She could make a potion to reveal someone’s true intentions, an iteration perhaps of veritaserum. She could make-
“Granger, this is a partnership, you know,” Malfoy says, eyeing her suspiciously as if he knew that she was already planning without him.
“I know!” she replies petulantly. He quirks a brow at her and she narrows her eyes at him. “Do you have anything you want to discuss as a possibility?” She asks.
“It’s a broad subject,” he muses, glancing around the classroom as if the ingredients on the walls would give him a hint, “we could do so many things.”
She waited patiently for him to think a bit. At least, she thought she was. He chuckles, looking at her again.
“You’re practically vibrating over there. What do you have in mind?”
“To make it fair, how about we brainstorm together,” she says instead, reaching into her deceptively small bag to find some parchment and a quill. The tip of her tongue pokes out of the corner of her mouth, her face screwing up in concentration as her hand brushes a number of things. Finally, she grasps what she is looking for with a triumphant smile and sets the parchment on the table in front of her, positioning the quill above it eagerly.
“Ok,” she states, “Let’s make a list. We can categorize it into problems that a potion could solve, things that could be bettered by a potion, and a section for things that don’t even exist that we could create.”
The quill scratches along the parchment as she speaks, dividing the parchment into 3 perfectly even spaces, heading each as the subject she mentions. When she’s finished, she looks at the paper for a moment, chewing her bottom lip in thought. Then she looks up at Malfoy, ready to start. He is watching her with an amused expression, eyes on her face instead of the parchment. She pulls her lip out from under her teeth, giving it a quick swipe with her tongue; a bit self-conscious. The perfect Malfoy heir probably never chews on his lip. Or his nails. Or his quills. Nor would he occasionally chew the end of his hair when he was extra stressed, even if it was long enough. All habits of Hermione’s. Malfoy wets his lips as well, almost an involuntary reflex, then leans a little closer, looking down at the paper.
“Start with problems,” he suggests, “there’s no shortage of those in the world.”
With that, they are off. By the end of class, Hermione’s hand is cramping and she hurries to jot down their last idea while the rest of the students pack up their things around her. It takes up the last bare inch of parchment and she sits back to admire it for a moment before using her wand to replicate it into a copy for Malfoy,
“Take this and narrow it down. Let’s say… to 5 things each? That we feel we are most interested in. Bring it to class next time and we can narrow it down from there. If you think of anything else that we haven’t already written down, put it on the list too. We can keep this as a guide, just in case we change our minds.”
“Yes, ma’am,” Malfoy gives her a cheeky salute, but she can’t bring herself to care that she’s being bossy. She is far too excited about this project. She adores lists, as well. The perfect start to any project or decision. Writing out options and methodically arguing their points in her head as she narrows it to the correct answer is something she doesn’t think she will ever tire of.
The rest of the day passes quickly. Though no other class gives such an exciting project as potions, she is happy to get into the swing of things. The academic year is young; they are only in their second week of classes and she is enjoying sinking into the rhythm of them. She, of course, has done all the reading for the first several weeks; having obtained syllabi from her professors ahead of the official start of classes so she could be properly prepared. The classes are arranged in a block pattern; potions, transfiguration, herbology, and charms on Monday/Wednesday and DADA, the study of magical law, muggle studies, and history on Tuesday/Thursday. Fridays are for independent study, shadowing, field study, and the occasional lecture for topics they don’t get a full class on.
After dinner, she disappears to the library. They do not have their own library in the 8th year wing, but she is glad to use the regular one. It is convenient to have all texts in one place and it still feels like her safe place, no matter who else is in there. She uses her usual spot, having made sure to be there often enough leading up to classes to unofficially claim it. A large desk toward the back, near a window overlooking the black lake and the edge of the forbidden forest. A great view to look at to think and good light for reading by. She is close to the stacks and this is the closest desk to the forbidden section; which is available to the 8th year students. She can hardly wait to examine the trove of knowledge in there as the year goes on. She gets the homework for her other classes out of the way, working diligently until they are done and perfected. By then, it is rather late and the light is coming only from the torches in the library; the sky dark outside. She turns to her potions list and gets to work.
Two hours after replying to Ron on their enchanted parchment that she will be passing out soon alone in her bed, she rubs her gritty eyes and sits back. She has only narrowed her list down to 12, but she still has one more day to contemplate it. She tidies up, slings her bag over her shoulder, and yawns as she trudges up to the dorms. Her hair is in a large and messy bun on her head and she can feel the curly strands tickling her neck as it sags, threatening to come loose at any moment. Her fingers are stained with ink and her hips sore from sitting so long. But she feels accomplished and tired in a good way. She finds herself glad to be alone as she readies for bed, eyes half closed. Too tired to dwell on that, she gratefully sinks into her mattress, spreading her limbs out on all the lovely space she has to herself.
TUESDAY, AUGUST 26th
In the morning, she wakes in the same position; on her stomach, star-fishing across the bed. One knee is hooked up a little, resting on a bunch of the blanket. And there is a bit of drool on the pillow beneath her. She hums as she stretches, the sun tilting in through the window perfectly. Everyone’s room is the same size and shape but each student got to design it to their own liking. Hermione’s room holds a large, comfortable bed. The headboard is a beautiful carved redwood, with four posts matching and holding up a gentle canopy. It is based on the bed she had growing up, but more of an adult size and not patterned. The canopy and duvet are a deep maroon and her sheets are gold. There is a hand-knit orange blanket that clashes, but was given to her on her 9th birthday by her late grandmother, so it stays.
There is a fireplace on the wall to the right of her bed, with 2 cozy red armchairs in front of it, a small table between them. Two windows flank the fireplace, high enough to not reveal her room to the outside too much but low enough to be able to fully see out of. They’re flanked by light golden curtains, with gauzy and translucent blinds that roll down to cover the windows when she wants extra privacy. On the wall across from her bed sits an impressive desk, made of the same wood as her bed frame. It has many drawers and shelves above the writing area. A comfortable but straight-backed chair is neatly pushed in under the desk. A filing cabinet sits beside the desk on the left and to the right lies the door to the bathroom. Bookshelves cover the remainder of the wall. Another bookshelf sits against the wall to the right of her bed, just past the nightstand on that side. Another nightstand flanks the left side of the bed, closest to the door to the hallway. This is her side.
The bathroom is small but neat, a roomy enough stand up shower in the far corner with a plush rug in front; the sink next to it on the left. Plenty of counter space but she keeps most of her things in the drawers below, not liking the surface to be cluttered. Ron tends to leave his things out on one side anyway, and she always takes a moment to tuck them back into the drawer; lined up perfectly. A toilet sits in its own little stall, a smaller room off of the bathroom for extra privacy, and a vanity gifted to her by Ginny abuts the wall on the right, below another window. This window has textured glass to let the light in but keep her privacy. Plush towels hang evenly on the rack beside the vanity, between that and the shower. She even indulged herself by enchanting the floors to be heated. All in all, a perfect living space.
Hermione looks absently around her room from her place on the bed, waking up. Another stretch presses her hips down against the blankets, unevenly bunched beneath her due to her moving in her sleep. It sends a pleasant tingle through her and she does it again. She glances at the clock; she has time. Closing her eyes, she pushes a hand beneath her, into her pajama pants. She curls her fingers to rub and bites her lip at her growing pleasure. Bending her knees and lifting her feet into the air gives her the perfect angle and she manages to come quickly without having to think too hard; it’s so easy when it’s by herself, especially in the morning. With a big, pleased sigh, she removes her hand and gives another stretch before getting up. She checks the weather on her enchanted clock and sees that it will be warm out still; the heat from summer lingering humidly. Under her robes, she wears a pair of jean shorts and an airy t-shirt, paired with some flat sneakers. She ties her hair up, letting the mass of it fall behind her and out of her face.
The day goes by quickly. They are studying the rights of citizens in relation to auror business and that is fascinating. In history, it is more in-depth of the ministry. DADA is the usual; studying various dueling practices before they start to apply them in the next few classes. After classes, she takes a break before dinner to go outside. Spreading her robe on the ground, she perches on it with her homework and list for potions tomorrow, chewing in her quill as she contemplates it. The sun is rather warm but there is a lovely and light breeze skimming across the lake toward her. She hears a shout and looks up to see Blaise, Malfoy, Ron, and Harry dressed in quidditch gear, carrying brooms and heading toward the pitch. They all wave at her and she waves back with a smile. It really is so nice to see; them getting along like that. And to see them in their quidditch uniforms. She takes a moment to really appreciate that, looking them all over.
“Perv,” comes a voice beside her as Theo plops down onto his stomach beside her, taking up the other part of her robe blanket and dropping his books in front of him. He props himself up on his elbows and wags his eyebrows at her.
“I’m sure I don’t know what you mean,” she sniffs, turning her nose up.
“Hmm,” he smirks, “I’m sure I know exactly what you were doing. But the real question is, who is most visually pleasing to Hermione Granger, golden girl? Is it her own boyfriend, the somehow simultaneously lanky and thick ginger? Couldn’t be Potter, our compactly muscled short king,” he muses, “Zabini? He likes to hide his attributes during classes but he really is muscular and I mean that booty! Or could it be a certain Slytherin prince? Shining blonde hair, lean but fit, long limbs and enough confidence you just know he’s good in bed?”
Hermione chokes at his last words, coughing a little, then laughs. “It sounds to me like you have a preference,” she says, looking at him pointedly.
He grins in return, “I, my dear, am an equal opportunity perv. I appreciate everyone’s bodies. For example, look at you in your little muggle shorts today; how scandalous! Golden skin all smooth and on display for us to enjoy. Talk about good bums,” he wags his eyebrows again.
“Merlin,” Hermione mutters, blushing but rolling her eyes, “You really are a menace, Knott.”
“I know,” he beams proudly. Then he looks at her thoughtfully, “You know, I mean it, Hermione. You really are lovely. You always have been.”
She looks over at him in surprise. He is a kind person, she knows. His compliments come often and to everyone and even when he is teasing (which is most of the time), he really means it. But the last sentence of that little speech was unexpectedly sweet. She regards him for a moment, his eyes gentle and serious on hers as she searches them. Then, she offers a little smile and thanks him softly. He reaches a big hand over and gives her thigh a squeeze before flipping his history book open.
“Ugh could this class be any more boring?” he whines, “At least I’ll be sure to catch up on my sleep.”
Hermione snorts; he is right back to his usual self. She crosses her ankles and leans back on one hand, holding her list in the other. The sun shines through the back of it but she can still read it. She practically has it memorized anyway.
“Ohh is that your potions project?” Theo asks, lifting up on his arms and bending his back to try to peek. Hermione lowers the paper to the ground on the other side of her body, putting it quickly out of his view.
“It is,” she replies.
“What are you going to do?” When she doesn’t reply, he laughs, “Oh come on, Granger. Everyone knows you and Malfoy’s potion will win. We don’t stand a chance. I’ll tell you what we’re doing,” he says enticingly. She lifts a brow. “Ok I’ll tell you regardless,” he acquieses, “Pansy wants to do some sort of beauty potion. That’s about as far as we’ve gotten. Not sure there’s much more to do that isn’t already out there. Not like we can bottle eternal youth,” he snorts.
Hermione can’t help but snort along with him. That subject hadn’t even made an appearance on their list. She lifts it again and looks it over with renewed vigour. Leaning over, she crosses a few more out decisively. She and Theo sit in companionable silence as they study. Eventually, she hears a quiet snore and looks over to find Theo’s handsome face plastered to a page in his history text. She giggles at the sight and moves so her body is perpendicular to his, laying on her back and placing her head in the dip of his lower back. He’s warm and comfy and the next thing she knows, she hears giggling and a click. She opens her eyes, lifting a hand to shield them from the now sinking sun. Above her stand the four boys, back from quidditch; their hair a mess from the wind, cheeks pink from exertion. Ron has several dirt and grass stains on the trousers of his uniform and Blaize has some on his shirt. Harry stands in the front with a camera. Ah. That was the click.
“Why?” Hermione grumbles, sitting up and raising her arms above her head to stretch her back out.
“You guys looked so cute and peaceful,” Harry grins, “you’ll like it, I promise.”
“Hermione always looks cute,” Ron chimes in with a wink. She beams at him and allows him to help her to her feet.
Malfoy contemplates Theo for a moment before nudging him in the ribs with the toe of his boot. It must tickle because Theo starts to giggle. This sends the rest of them into laughter, which renews once Theo fully wakes up; a confused look on his face and a few lines of text inked onto his cheek. Harry snaps another picture of him.
“Didn’t want you lot to miss dinner,” Blaise grins at him.
“No, that would be a tragedy,” Theo agrees, packing his things up, “not all of us are adored by the house elves and get treats all the time to make up for missed meals.”
Blaise laughs and nods and Hermione looks up from tucking away her list in her bag. Malfoy’s cheeks are a little redder now and he rubs the back of his neck with a laugh, “What can I say lads? Everyone adores me,” he says, smile turning into a self-satisfied smirk.
Hermione fights to not roll her eyes yet again, picturing him summoning the elves at any hour to get whatever treats he’d like. Typical rich boy. The group walks back up to the castle together, Ron taking Hermione’s hand in his. It’s sweaty from the sun and sport and she stamps down the urge to pull her hand away to wipe it on her shorts. Guilt twists in her belly at this urge and she gives his hand a little squeeze, smiling up at him. He really is cute; dark blue eyes and freckles. Cute smile. Familiar. Like home. Her Ronald. She pushes away her previous thoughts. Maybe tonight she’ll make a point to go to bed early; and not alone. That should make her feel closer to him.
Sure enough, she allows herself to leave her homework as-is that night and offers to stay with him in his room. His room is messy but cozy, just like the burrow. He’s not dirty; it’s clean clothes mostly that litter his floor, pristine textbooks on his small desk (too pristine, most are still in the plastic wrapping), bed not made and piled high with pillows. Once they’re ready for bed, he picks up the quidditch magazines that lay on her side of the bed and deposits them on the small empty space on his nightstand. Then, he turns and takes her right into his arms. It feels safe and comforting. Her body tightens when his tongue meets hers, anticipation rolling through her. His hands go down to give her bum a squeeze and then they’re on the bed. Clothes come off, hands wander familiar paths. He puts his fingers to her and she squirms, biting her lip. Oh yes. Oh - oh. She feels a stab of disappointment when he removes his hand far too soon but continues her ministrations on him with her own hand.
“Mm, want you,” he murmurs, rolling over her.
She nods up at him, looping her arms around his neck. There is a slight burn when he pushes inside. Not quite enjoyable yet, given the lack of foreplay, but getting better as he moves above her, each thrust helping more and more. She holds him close, concentrating on the sounds he makes, the slide of his skin against hers. Slowly but surely, she is getting more turned on. He finds a lovely rhythm that has her moaning but then he changes it shortly after that. She feels a spike of anger but doubles down on her efforts. It’s too late, though, she can tell. Her mind is moving too fast, concentrating on how she is concentrating instead of feeling. Thinking about how it was good but now it’s not. This happens a few more times, waves of pleasure and disappointment. Then, his hips are stuttering and she gives him a hearty moan to help him along, throwing her head back so he’ll think she’s happy too. It works, like it always does, and he rolls over to her side with a look of pure content on his face.
“I love you,” he says, eyes slipping closed,
“I love you too,” she whispers. She means it! She really does.... Her teeth find her lip again and her eyes refuse to shut and she lays in the dark, alone in her wakefulness, just listening to him breathe.