11| Illusions

                                    

                                          
Draco watched the cogs turning inside her head. It was taking quite a while. For the cleverest witch of her age, she didn't appear to be getting anywhere with the logical thought process. Or perhaps she just didn't want to admit it to herself. 
                          
Her first question was angry. She was demanding why he'd called her by her first name, acting wary and protective like it was something he stole from her. To be honest, he hadn't realised he'd even said it. It slipped out, and for a second he had forgotten how outrageous it must seem to her. A pang of nostalgia hit him as she started shouting, while he tried to recall the last time they'd been in this place together.
                          
"...and I don't want you to leave me any more notes, or any more homework, and I don't care if we- God forbid- were friends before. I want nothing to do with you anymore, Malfoy! I don't care about your answers anymore. I'll find them out myself when we get to the bottom of whoever cast this spell, but for now you had better leave me alone," she was yelling. 
                          
Draco wanted to knock some sense into her. This was exactly the girl he'd so severely disliked before this year, the stuck-up know-it-all who was so set in her ways that she was indifferent to whatever was happening to other people around her. Obsessed with Potter, obsessed with the Weasel. Annoying and petty. Blind. 
                          
He waved his hand, wanting her stubborn, moaning complaints to stop. "Shut up, Granger. For fuck's sake," he grumbled. "If you don't want any explanations, fine. You shouldn't have bothered to show up. So piss off." 
                          
She shook her head at him, hatred burning in her eyes. "I bet it was you," she said quietly. "You obliviated me. Who else would it be?" 
                          
Draco rolled his eyes. "I told you, I didn't do it," he snapped. She wasn't the first to assume it was him, but he didn't like the way she said it out loud, crass and uncaring. "I don't care about your bloody memories, Granger. I had no clue it had even happened until at least a day later, when the whole school found out. Ask Pansy," he said calmly.
                          
Her lips pursed as she spat, "I think she's done enough damage already." 
                          
Anger surged through him yet again. He was being nice, he was offering her answers, and this was how she repaid him? She was being so unreasonable. "Whatever. You want answers or not?" 
                          
He saw her think for a second before hardening her expression and saying clearly, "No." 
                          
"So why are you here?" He shouted back, and that stunned her into silence.
                          
•
                          
Hermione found Ron in the Gryffindor common room, alone. After her encounter with Malfoy she had fumed her way back to the library and aggressively read some books to calm herself down. She decided she didn't care about his cryptic clues, about what he was hiding from her or the 'answers' she had. Never before had she regretted something as much as she now regretted going to meet him in their 'special place'. She wished she could punch him again, and feel that same euphoria that she had felt in her third year (one of the happiest moments of her school career, she might add). And to top it all off, she still wasn't sure what to think, whether to believe Malfoy or not.
                          
But upon seeing Ron, she was calmer. Maybe it was the way his eyes lit up as she walked into the room. 
                          
"Hey, Hermione," he said, as she flopped down next to him on the sofa, checking the common room for signs of life. They were definitely the only people there. 
                          
"Hi," she answered softly, looking at the parchment in his hands. It was the essay from the other night, the one he'd never completed. 
                          
Suddenly Hermione remembered that evening, how close they'd been, how she'd almost gathered the courage to just kiss him and be done with it. She was certain she would have, if Harry hadn't ruined it. 
                          
To be honest, this time wasn't much different. The mellow light from the fire was the same as it always was at this post-twilight time, the smell of burning wood and of Ron's cheap cologne clouding her mind as it did all the time.
                          
And then she realised how content she was. Not joyous, not excited, just the right amount of happy. As they were transported back to the same closeness they'd had the other night, she saw how she could stay here forever and not mind. How she could point out endless evidence and analysis arguments that Ron would always miss in his less-than-average essays for years and years to come, and not get fed up. How she couldn't care less that his hair blew over his eyes, or that he sometimes had chocolate on the corners of his mouth, or that his clothes were always as far from neat as he could get them. She wanted this to last forever. 
                          
He kissed her. 
                          
His lips were soft, surprisingly, and she felt her eyes flutter shut as the dancing butterflies in her tummy started banging against the walls. Slowly, his hand found her waist, and rested there, a gentle, heated gesture that warmed her up from the insides. Normally, she would make a fuss about this public display, or think about how he still tasted a bit like dinner, but the way he kissed her was like he knew exactly how she wanted. His lips moved slowly under hers, the pair finding a mellow rhythm to move by. His hand didn't move, keeping her steady and warm. 
                          
By the time they broke apart, she desperately wanted to pull him back in and start all over again. He leaned back and looked at the fire, the pink in his cheeks starting to grow, clashing with his hair. A smile played at his lips, an irresistibly Ron-like smile. 
                          
This was all she had ever wanted. 
                          
•
                          
Draco kicked the green armchair angrily. Why couldn't she see? Why didn't she come back? 
                          
He had known all along that this wouldn't end well.