Maybe Some Day

Chapter 8

"Shut your trap, Pans, you'll catch a firefly."

I couldn't listen to Draco, it's a miracle I acknowledged his tease with a grunt. I was frozen.

Because Hermione Jean Granger was gliding down a staircase in a miraculously gauzy periwinkle dress and smiling so brightly my knees weakened.

But then she took the arm of that Viktor Krum and my face fell flat as a stone.

I couldn't help but turn my nose up at the pair. Hermione was a vision with her unruly curls smoothed and fashionably styled. Krum looked positively regal in his fur lined robes pressed to perfection. They were a completely flawless couple. And it irked the hell out of me.

Because it was a match made by Merlin, himself, if that was possible. Hermione was dazzlingly witty and captivatingly beautiful.
Krum was quiet and sullen but polite and a gentleman. He would treat her like the regina she is.

In a way I could never, because eventhough Hermione Granger was too good for men, she attracted them like Harry Potter did Nargles...at least according to Luna Lovegood.

And the worst part, she didn't even realize.

Hermione had matured and it was becoming noticeable among the older school boys.

(I often eavesdropped on the higher Slytherin years, in order to gage an idea of their views on the younger year girls)

It was no question as to whether she fancied blokes. I saw the way she gazed at Weasley over the cauldron in Potions many a days.
(Though she was way out of his league)

Hermione had blossomed and she had chosen the most public way to show it.

Suddenly, I wished I had plucked up the courage to ask her to be my date, to hold my arm, to dance with me.

Sure, she'd have thought I was taking the piss and politely asked me to go fuck myself. But I never tried.

It seemed I wasn't the only one regretting my chosen date.

If I looked like I had just had a stroke, Draco looked as though he was having a terribly violent heart attack.

He had gone rigid and begun to shake. His hand had flown up to grasp his chest rather tightly and he looked as though he might fall over any second.

It was stupid Potter. Potter who had had the gall to look as though he had walked off the page of last weeks Witch's Weekly magazine, with his expensive, perfectly tailored robes that accentuated his viridian eyes. Potter who was shattering Draco's terribly fragile heart while exchanging a bashful smile with one of the gorgeous Patil twins.

I would have drug that Golden boy out of the grand hall and tore him a new one for stealing my poor Draco's heart, if not for Draco himself - and McGonagall of course, that woman will always terrify me.

As she ushered the champions and their dates to the dance floor, I fisted Draco's luxurious silk robes and pushed him into a hidden, nearby aclove.

He was having another panic attack.

I sat him down and reminded him to count. His breathes slowly started to soften and I felt his magic swell before he reigned it in.

It was as if it breathed with him. I have never had a powerful connection to my magic nor have I ever felt as intimate with it as particularly great wizards and witches have. So I felt I was always learning about magic around Draco. He had few, but vigorous panic attacks and it was quite horrifying when I was there to help him through them.

I always felt he was on the cusp of ending it all, of leaving me behind during these episodes. So, I had made two rings. When his magic started to overpower his senses, my ring would burn, not too hot to scar, but enough to demand attention. With a quick spell, I could locate him and coax him into tranquility - most days. Others were more challenging.

"Oh Pans, Draco rasped his voice hoarse, " I couldn't breathe."

I sat down fully, definitely soiling my annoyingly frilly gown, and embraced him.

"Hey. It's alright. You can breathe now, right?"

I pulled back to search his expression.

"Yeah, yeah."

He dipped his head and shook it like a dog, completely disheveling the style I pulled his infuriatingly soft locks into.

"Hey! Stop that!"

I pulled his head up gently.

He smiled weakly as I scolded him for mussing up a good hairdo I worked tirelessly on.

"Come on, we'd better get in there. If your dad or my mum figure out we ditched, we're both dead."

He just glared at me.

"I know, I know. Not funny. Sorry."

We rose and fiddled a bit to no avail. If only we were out at the time.

No one would've thought a lesbian and a gay teenager would sneak off at the Yule Ball to shag.

Draco would watch Potter's disinterest as his date was swept off her feet by a Beauxbatons boy.

I would watch Hermione gleefully prance around, shaking and whooping along with everyone else as the Weird Sisters performed.

And later we'd sneak back into that same aclove and watch as the Golden Trio fought as if they had their own Muggle drama.

Hermione would be left in tears on that same staircase she glided down so gracefully mere hours ago.

Leaving my heart broken for her and wishing I could tell her she deserved far more than a ginger Weasel manchild stomping away in denial of his feelings.

That she deserved the world that I planned to give her if she ever gave me a chance.