Last Kiss

The Plan

Draco’s POV

 

A few days later, I slowly walked down for breakfast, thinking.Hermione has been avoiding me since she yelled at me, and she has doing a pretty good job.

‘I had lost my only friend, and it was all my fault. I need to get her to forgive me!’ I thought sadly, for the hundredth time. I sat at the end of the Slytherin table, poking a bowl of whatever I’d grabbed with a...fork? Wow. I must’ve been distracted something crazy, I thought to myself, rising again to grab a spoon.

“What is it?” snapped a guy next to me.

I shot him a look. Who was he? Oh yeah. Some kid named... Blaise Zabini. Wasn’t I friends with him a while back? Before the war?

“Hey, mate. Long time no see,” I greeted him pleasantly- er, as pleasantly as I could.

“Draco! What you need, mate?” grunted Zabini.

“Nothing. Got a fork instead of a spoon. Too...” I hesitated, not wanting to tell anyone about this confusing mixture of feelings I seemed to be developing. “Too...tired. Got lots of homework, and I have to...to...do that...patrol thing?”

“Nice one, Malfoy,” snorted Zabini. “I’ll get it. Hey, just a quick thing me and my mates been wondering about. Whatcha doing hangin’ out with that Mudblood?”

I swallowed, getting a nasty sense that my face was flushed bright red.

“I...er, you see...she’s, um...I don’t exactly like telling this to people, but we...I.... Ugh. You see, this is not the most...proud of my moments, but...I....” I stammered.  

“Oh, I see! You’re using the filthy rag to help you with your homework. Nice. The Dark Lord would be so proud,” chuckled Zabini, slapping me on the back so hard that I almost pitched face-first into my breakfast. “Keep it up, Malfoy. Ol’ dad- Lucy, if I recollect propers- lives on in you, eh?”

‘Lucy? And that grammar- propers?’ I thought nastily, my face screwing up into a snarl. ‘Oh, dear Lord. What’s gotten into me? I’m acting like...oh. That’s who’s gotten into me. Hermione, that pretty- what am I thinking? Shut up, Draco.’

“Hello? Draco? Are you still alive?” asked Zabini, waving his hand in front of my face.

“Just go and get my spoon,” I snarled, more rudely than I’d intended.

“Calm down, lad,” chuckled Zabini, as he walked off to get the spoon.

I sat back down at the table, my head in my hands. How can I make this up to Hermione? What in the world can I do? I wondered, glancing at her. She was buried in a book at her table, glossy eyes wide and sparkling, her brunette curls tumbling over one shoulder like those of a Muggle model’s. Beautiful. What did she like? Books, for certain. Other than that...I realized I had absolutely no clue. I set my jaw. I had to ask one of her friends. Of which there were...none. Other than the idiot who’d made her break down in tears and miss class, hardly deserving enough to be called even an acquaintance- much less what I’d fantasized about occasionally. ‘No, no no! You and Hermione are friends. That is it, that is all. She despises you. No WAY would she be your... your girlfriend. Never in a million years.’ I thought frantically. ‘Oh, great. I’m thinking about this again. Again.’ I glanced back over at Hermione. She had her hair clipped back with a rose-pink and white barrette. It actually looked pretty nice on her. ‘Hm. Rose and white look really good on her. I guess she likes those colors.’ I thought. Suddenly, I had a brilliant plan for making up to her. ‘Perfect!’

 

Hermione’s POV     

 

I hurried up to the dormitory, curling a lock of hair around my finger. The dinner I’d just eaten sat heavily in my stomach. Now I remember why I tried to become vegetarian. This Hogwarts food is no good for my indigestion, I groaned inwardly.

“Lemon drops,” I muttered, brushing off my robes, and running my hand through my bushy hair.

‘I’m so ugly. I hate this,’ I thought in frustration. ‘Not even these hair clips can keep my hair in place. But at least the colors are nice.’ I bolted straight through the common room into my own bathroom, hurriedly showering and going to the loo. Right away, I felt much better. Brushing my teeth, I opened the door and walked into my bedroom. My first impulse was to dive-bomb for my book, which lay open on the pillow. That was when I realized that there was something in the book.  

“What in the name of Merlin?” I murmured, plucking up the rose that bookmarked my page.

It was white, practically glowing with life and magic. I smiled, wondering who it was from. Maybe an owl had come in and dropped in here? My window was open. It was much more likely than the other possibility.

“No. That ferret would not dare to step foot in my room while I’m showering,” I spat under my breath.

Shaking off the anger, I lay down in my bed. My damp hair fanned out around me, haloing my head. I clasped the flower in both hands, holding it to my chest and sniffing it. The fragrance was wonderful, as though it had just been picked. ‘But is it fresh?’ I wondered, my analytical brain taking this moment to scrutinize unimportant details. ‘The bottom of the stem is slightly dry, indicating that it was picked about...about half an hour ago. And the cut is very clean, none of the outer “skin” hanging over or peeled off. The thorns have been dulled, which takes quite a bit of time. As this job is imperfect, I can tell it was all done without magic. This process would have left the person about ten minutes before I finished showering to place it directly in the center of my book. Naturally, this would remove the possibility of its being delivered by owl from Harry or Ron, and the person would have to had made a mad dash so as not to be caught in action...which, by all logical process of elimination, leaves one person.’ I frowned, knowing it had to be who I thought it was. Quite suddenly, an outer petal peeled back. I gasped and tried to catch it, but it didn’t quite fall off. Pink letters appeared on the inside of a petal.

I just wanted to let you know that I’m really, really sorry, and that you’re really pretty and really smart. Thank you for giving me a second chance, lovely. I know I don’t deserve it, but can I please have another?       

--The Handsomest Boy You Ever Met

What with that arrogant last line, it was indeed Draco.

“That...but this is so sweet, and...”

I burst into laughter. Typical Draco Malfoy. Smiling, I tucked the rose behind my ear and resolved to wear it the next morning.  And that last line isn’t too inaccurate. He is pretty handsome, I thought mischievously. Maybe I should tell him that. I fell asleep, thinking what I would say to him tomorrow.

The next morning, after I woke up, brushed my teeth, and did my hair, I picked out what I was going to wear based on the color of the rose, which was already tucked behind my ear. I had thought Draco left for breakfast already, but as I was about to leave, I heard floorboards creaking upstairs. I waited until he came down.

“Hey, Draco.” I said. His eyes lit up as he heard my voice.

“You- you got my... uh... note? How’d you know it was me?”

“Oh, please.” I scoffed. “Who else do I know who is so egotistical he has to write ‘The Handsomest Boy You Ever Met’ on an apology note?” I quoted from the rose.

“So, you’ll forgive me? I am so, so sorry.” he pleaded.

“Of course! Maybe I was a bit harsh, though,” I added hesitantly.

“No!” Draco exclaimed. “I deserved it all.”

I rolled up my sleeves, so I was showing my ugly tattoo- I realized that I don’t need to be embarrassed- , and we walked hand in hand to the Great Hall. As we got there, someone came up to us, and stared at our hands, which were linked together, and we quickly pulled away. He stared at Draco questioningly.

“You- her- homework- what?” he exclaimed.

“Oh, sod off, Blaise.” And with that, we walked away, and I couldn’t help but notice that Draco was looking very pleased with himself.