To a Better End

Chapter 18

November 1st 1942

Hermione stayed in bed late that morning. She wrote to Theo, telling him that the dance was standard and things seemed to be connecting well with Tom. She didn't tell him about how Malfoy almost kissed her. She didn't tell him that Malfoy held her too close.

She ended her check-in by telling him she missed him. It wasn't a lie, but there was also a part of her that felt guilty for not missing him more. She should miss him more; it was Theo. But he also said this was her time to live and love, and while she didn't want to do much of either without Theo, she was trying.

Hermione barely made it to breakfast, slightly surprised not to find Malfoy doing his usual pacing outside the common room. The moment she entered the Great Hall, she found him seated calmly at the table, holding a cup of tea with an empty plate in front of him. She approached him leisurely, doing her utmost not to think too hard about the fact his eyes had found hers the minute she stepped into the Hall.

Malfoy passed the coffee over to her when she sat down. He opened his mouth and then abruptly closed it, apparently deciding that he would rather leave the subject alone.

Not wanting to leave the air tense, she let the first thought in her head fill the void.

"I think some of the Gryffindors spiked that punch last night. Definitely needed a Hangover Potion this morning." Hermione had, unfortunately, opened the door to conversation.

"How was your dance with Riddle?" he gritted out.

"It was polite," she replied with a shrug. And in all honesty, it had been. His hands never wandered. He held conversation with her. And at the end, he bowed and wished her a good night.

"Polite?" he scoffed.

"Yes?" What else am I supposed to say?

"His eyes travelled all over your body as though you were a meal," Malfoy kept his voice as a whisper, but the harshness was ever prevalent.

"That's funny," she let out a genuine laugh, before lowering her voice back down. "He seemed to think that you had some similar issues."

"Me?"

Yes, you, Malfoy. You and your fucking dragon tendencies. You are literally so perfectly named it's not even funny. You held onto my shawl like it was a raft in the middle of the sea. Not even Molly Weasley could get the wrinkles out.

Instead, Hermione took a bite of her bacon and nodded. "He seems to think you are under the impression that you are my protector."

Malfoy looked down into his empty cup, pressing his lips into a line. "I like to think we are each other's protectors."

She hummed in response and nodded. They did rely on each other. She trusted that he would keep her safe, even though she had never voiced it.

"How are you sleeping?" Obviously attempting to change the subject.

"Fine," she nonchalantly sipped her coffee.

Expelling a sigh of irritation, "You need to be honest with me for this to work, Granger."

With a sharp exhale, she resigned. "I've been taking drops of Dreamless sleep a few times a week to help me."

"And?"

"And those are the only nights I am able to sleep. My bed remains under a nightly set of the strongest silencing charms, so no one hears me." Because I'm bloody pathetic.

"I'm sorry," he said so quietly she barely heard it. He placed his hands in his lap and gripped them together, knuckles turning white. Hermione lowered her hand to his and brushed her thumb over to loosen his grip.