Romancing the Sorcerer's Stone

Chapter 22: Weasleys

Malfoy is the first to notice the ring on her finger. Well, the first to congratulate her, anyway. And isn't that a strange turn of events, Hermione thinks, bemused.

"You're the last person I thought would be happy for me — marrying a Weasley, and all," she says, laughing lightly to show that she isn't upset as she fiddles with the ring, but she knows her eyes betray her curiosity. They always do.

He holds her gaze steadily for a moment and she squirms, not wanting to acknowledge the bitterness that has crept into her tone. She hadn't meant it, truly.

He raises an eyebrow, tilting his chin toward his father, hunched over some muggle video game in the corner with Ron and Arthur Weasley. And isn't that a sight to behold. Hermione feels a swift upwelling of pride for her fiancé, cheeks flushing as the word surprises her and she gazes fondly down at the ring sparkling on her left hand.

Draco smiles as she turns her attention back to him.

"I never thought he was good enough for you, it's true," he says softly. "But I've changed my mind. He proved himself, in the war."

They both pause for a moment, letting the weight of those words press in on them and then roll away. It's getting better. The grief and pain have lessened, five years on, but it's still hard, sometimes. They lost so many.

He grins mischievously then, a twinkle in his eye letting her know that whatever is coming next will be... interesting.

"And he must have... other talents," he says with a hint of a leer, "to be able to hold your attention."

She blushes fiercely. She can't help it — She isn't used to the Malfoy who can say such things out loud, even if only in implication. She wonders if Harry knows that side of him — if he likes it.

Ginny, coming to make sure Malfoy hasn't murdered her and hidden the body, no doubt, arrives just in time to hear and collapses in a fit of giggles.

Hermione's cheeks flame hotter, and for a moment she thinks she might combust. She turns her attention away, hoping that distraction will help.

Pansy and George sit on a small couch in the corner, opposite the video game enthusiasts. They sit close together, heads bent over something George holds — a new Wheezes product? — whispering animatedly.

Molly and Narcissa sit in a pair of cozy chairs drawn up to the fire, deep in discussion, by the looks of it, knitting needles clacking away.

Molly scowls, suddenly, halting her needles with an abrupt chop of her hand, and huffs in frustration, eying the snarled mess. "I just can't seem to get it right!"

Narcissa hums thoughtfully, leaning forward to examine the yarn. Her pale hair falls in a silvery curtain around her face and she absently shoves it back. The gesture is so... un-Malfoy-like.

"I think... yes," she says, nodding. "Here." She reaches forward, then hesitates, looking up at Molly and biting her lip. "May I?"

It strikes Hermione then how much they want to be accepted here, in a house they would never have deigned to enter six long years ago.

Molly freezes, surprised, and then the lines in her forehead smooth and her eyes crinkle at the corners as she smiles. "Of course. I'm certainly not having any luck."

Narcissa nods, and Hermione knows they aren't just talking about yarn anymore.

Narcissa frowns in thought, then mutters a spell and, with a quick flick of her wrist, the yarn unknots and smooths itself out, seeming somewhat chastised.

She sits back with a satisfied smile, and Molly demands to know how she's done it, a light in her eyes that Hermione recognizes — curiosity. A burning need to know.

"Besides," Draco says quietly, pulling her attention back to him, where he stands quietly by her side. "We've all changed."

She realizes then that he's spent the past several minutes having a civil conversation with her. With her, for whom he'd never had a word to say at school unless it was an insult. And neither of them have thrown a punch yet.

Harry wanders over then and smiles abstractedly at her. "Hi 'Mione," he says, and then tugs Draco away, murmuring something in his ear and resting a hand on his elbow as he leads him closer to the fire.

Astoria joins Ginny at the counter beside Hermione and sighs, leaning her head on Ginny's shoulder as they both stare wistfully after them.

Hermione shakes her head. We have, she thinks, still mildly surprised. We certainly have.