To a Better End

Chapter 12

November 5th 1898

Every night since the ball had been the same as the previous. After falling asleep, her mind would betray her in the worst way imaginable.

Hermione felt the ghost of a touch on her lower back, a cold hand in hers, and the sweet, minty breath she had grown insanely fond of. No, that wasn't it. She had grown a tolerance for it. Yes, tolerance, nothing more.

She spun out and then back into him - chest to chest. Too close, but she never complained. She gazed up at his lips, knowing that just a slight tilt from each of their heads would lead to impact. He smiled at her in a manner that captivated her in ways she didn't expect from him of all people. It wasn't his face, but it was still his smile.

He uttered, "Atta girl, Granger. That's a job well done."

"My partner is easy to follow," Hermione politely replied

"I enjoy being your partner, dear." His low tone melted her insides.

As quickly as the moment happened, it was gone. Malfoy stepped back, gave a polite bow, and left Hermione hungry for more.

Every morning was the same, too. She woke up gasping, clutching at her shirt collar to help reduce the chance of suffocation. Malfoy startled awake and immediately asked her if it was a nightmare and how he could help. Each time, she met his cautiously caring eyes, before dropping to those same lips capable of making her knees weaken with the smallest of smiles. Not knowing how to respond, she would shrug her shoulders and settle back down.

When the need for an extra chaperone for a Hogsmeade visit presented itself, Hermione quickly volunteered. Desperate to get out of the castle early, Hermione offered to take the morning visit. November and December trips were famously busy, even when she attended school herself.

She was up well before Malfoy, sans strange dreams, and sans the dangerous morning eye contact. The early start meant she could floo back to her room to change and even pen some notes to Theo. The sand was still immobilised, and there were no changes within the manor. She quickly stowed the notebook away and readied herself to leave.

Stepping through her door with haste, she walked right into a very unexpected Richard Strider. They both grunted at the brisk contact, and she looked around the hallway to make sure no one was looking.

"What are you doing here?" Her hands landed on her hips.

"Nice to see you too, dear." His smile wasn't enamouring in the slightest this time, it was filled with ire and sarcasm.

"Malfoy, what are you doing here?" She repeated.

"When a witch leaves one's bed unannounced, I believe it's good form to check on her." His voice was riddled with humour, and an undertone of impatience.

"It wasn't a bed."

"Close enough," he said with a shrug.

"What are you doing here?" she repeated with annoyance.

"I'm checking on you," all humour left his voice. "Are you alright? You've seemed off this week."

"I'm fine... I think maybe I'm just homesick." But not for 2003. For the small, tiny home with the bed that no one sleeps in with the kitchen where you learned to cook. I miss our cosy home with a green velvet couch that belonged to just us.

There was a small nod from Malfoy, accompanied by a half smile. He lingered for a moment, as though he wanted to console her. But the words seemed to stall in his throat. He turned and left. Per their agreement, she waited a minute after his footsteps were gone before following.