Project 137.43.M.D.

XXXIII. | ERROR IN IUDICANDO

XXXIII.
ERROR IN IUDICANDO
(error in judgement)

"No, I'm serious. Do it alone."

Hermione leaned against a tree trunk and watched Draco slowly spiraling up into the air on his broomstick.

"I'm afraid you'll regret it, Granger. If you refuse to ever mount a broom again, you will inevitably develop a real phobia. And trust me, once you have it, you'll never get rid of it."

She rolled her eyes at his smart-ass behavior.

"Who's presumptuous now?" she murmured when Draco, who was flying faster now and was therefore moving away from her at incredible speed, couldn't hear her anymore.

Of course, he kept calling her Granger – at least until now. It was typical of him to ask her, albeit indirectly, to call him by his first name, while he didn't change anything himself. In fact, she had so quickly gotten into the habit of mentally and verbally calling him Draco that it was almost scary, but he just made it far too easy for her. Since he'd left her apartment this fateful night, in which he'd met Nott, he had asked no further questions and had been nothing but polite. Except, of course, for the cheeky jokes he kept cracking when she least expected it, which usually caused her to blush crimson, which in turn always made Draco laugh.

They had somehow come to terms with each other. And while there were nights when Hermione sat in her apartment and still couldn't believe it, there were other days (like today) when it felt like it had always been this way.

She raised her hand, shielding her eyes from the evening sun, and watched him in the distance.

Draco flew incredibly well. If she hadn't known that the Substitute had been implanted into his mind, she probably would have believed herself that he had played Quidditch professionally for a while. Now, as she watched him effortlessly fly his maneuvers, she wondered why she had never noticed it during her school days. He was fast, he was nimble, he was focused. And he cut a fine figure on the broom.

She shook her head with a sigh. It was dragon shite. After all, the man who was now hurtling through the air above her was no longer the child she had seen flying on the Hogwarts Quidditch pitch. Also, back then, she had mostly had eyes for Harry and her other friends, as she had always been worried about their well-being, especially during the matches against the Slytherins.

Hermione gave him a good hour before pulling out her wand and sending red sparks into the sky to show him that she wanted to leave. It was getting dark, and although there wasn't a cloud in sight and the air was still pleasantly warm, an uneasy feeling had settled in her stomach that was hard to ignore.

Draco landed gracefully next to her a moment later. He was sweaty and his eyes sparkled with joy. Hermione's body tensed a little more. He dropped his broom on the grass and leaned forward to rest his hands on his thighs.

"You know what, Granger? I think if I get serious about training, I'll eventually be able to apply to a professional team again. I feel fit enough, and Seekers rarely retire before their mid-thirties. What do you think?"

He grinned confidently at her. Her throat tightened as a result.

That had often been the case lately. She could scold herself as often as she wanted - it just didn't help. Whenever Draco was in a good mood, said hopeful things, just like now, or just looked happy, a lump would form in Hermione's throat so big that she could barely choke it down. That she hadn't burst into tears in front of him until now was a true feat of self-control. But she did it more and more often when she was alone in her apartment.