Cleaning trophies with Malfoy was the most annoying thing I had ever experienced.
No, he didn't break anything like what Ron most likely would've done, and no, he didn't loiter around and made me do all the work. In fact, he was taking care of his share and was even rather efficient.
It was the complaining that got on my nerves. I couldn't believe I had forgotten how pretentious and spoiled he was. No one could've have complained as much as him about how doing chores without magic was a waste of time, and that mundane tasks like this were the reason house-elves were needed.
I thought about reasoning with him and telling him that muggles had to do these mundane tasks on a regular basis, and that not everyone was privileged enough to hire someone to do these chores for them. However, I couldn't be bothered. So, I kept my mouth shut.
"We should take a break," Malfoy sat in the corner of the roof and tossed his linen cloth to the side. "You've been oddly quiet. What's wrong?"
"Well, for starters," I sat next to him, "you can cut down the complaining."
"You could've told me that earlier if it bothered you this much," he threw his hands. I sighed. "But fine, I will stop now. What else?"
I debated whether I should tell him what happened earlier before I came here for my uncalled-for punishment.
"Do you plan to ever speak to me again?" Ron looked up from his plate when I stood up to leave the dinner table. "Or are you planning to just ignore me and pretend we don't know each other from this point on?"
"What?" I was agitated. "It was you who acted like you wanted nothing to do with me. Not the other way around."
"I'm not looking to start a fight, Hermione," he put his fork down and shook off Ginny's hand that was pulling on his sleeve, "I'm trying to make peace with you."
"Sure," I said as calmly as I could and sat back down. From the corner of my eye, I saw Malfoy leaving. "Let's make peace then."
Complicated emotions emerged on his freckled face. He covered his eyes with his palm, inhaled and exhaled deeply, and scoffed:
"What am I even doing? This is going nowhere."
"What do you mean?" I frowned.
"I don't think we can sort this out until you sort yourself out," he locked eyes with me. I had never heard him speaking to me in this tone, and it made me nervous. For the first time ever, I felt he was maturer, and I was the one acting childish. "You should go to the trophy room now, Hermione, Malfoy is probably waiting for you."
He was right. I needed to sort myself out. Malfoy was right, too. I wanted to be the one in control and the one to move on first. Ron had taken that away from me, and I resented him for it.
But how could I sort myself out? Perhaps I wouldn't be able to until I found my own happiness.
And would that happiness have Malfoy in it?
Was I falling for him?
"It's nothing," I ended up deciding not to tell Malfoy. "Let's get this over with and get out of here. I'm not sure about you, but at least I have better things to do than being stuck in this stuffy room."
"Does that mean you don't want to spend time with me?" The corners of his mouth dropped as he spoke with a feigned melancholy. "You're breaking my heart, Granger."
"What a splendid delivery," I clapped. "It's a shame that you don't want to be an actor."
"An actor?"
"Ugh, never mind," I flung my wet cloth and if I didn't dodge fast enough, I would've gotten muddy water on my face.
"Oh, I remember," he snapped his fingers. "You explained that to me yesterday when you talked about films."
"Mm-hmm."
"Hey," he folded his arms, "what's with this attitude?"
"What attitude?" I got on my feet. "Come, Malfoy, the break is over and let's wrap things up."
He grabbed my wrist and spun me around. It came so suddenly and unexpectedly that I almost lost my balance.
"W-what do you think you're doing?" I lifted my chin to meet his eyes.
"Something is bothering you and you're telling me," he stated. "And that's your prerogative. However, I'm getting bored here, and I hate being bored. I propose us go to Hogsmeade. Why should we spend time cleaning when we don't have to? We can easily leave unnoticed from him, can't we?"
"Are you crazy?" I let him hold onto my wrist. "Do you have idea how much trouble we'll be in if we got caught?"
"Weasley will be rich if I gave him a sickle every time you said that line yet still ended up sneaking out with me," he raised one brow. "You and I both know that you want to go out."
I shook my head. I must admit that Draco Malfoy had the kind of devilish charm that no one could say no to.
***
"If you like books that much," Malfoy said after we arrived in Hogsmeade, "how about you write a story about our adventures?"
"A story or a confession that'll be used against us for breaking rules?" I chuckled. He threw his hands. "Where do we go now?"
"Do we have to go somewhere?" He began walking. I trailed behind him. "Can't we just stroll around and see what catches our eyes?"
Wandering the streets of Hogsmeade was a pleasant experience. There weren't many people around, and everything was peaceful and quiet. The small town illuminated by dim street and shop lights shrouded by a light fog was serene on a weekday evening.
I felt at ease. The scent of grass and fallen leaves in the misty air brought me a sense of calmness, and I felt the weight of my troubles had lifted off my shoulders.
I glanced at Malfoy. The tip of his nose was red from the cold, and he was walking with his arms folded.
"What?" He asked. "Haven't I told you not to stare at me like that?"
"I'm sorry."
"You don't need to apologize for that. Just try not to do it again."
"That's not what I wanted to apologize for."
He stopped. I too.
"What for then?" He turned to face me.
"I shouldn't have given you an attitude," I bit my bottom lip. "I had a, well, unpleasant exchange with Ron earlier, and it's been bothering me. He said I need to sort myself out. It's not like I didn't know that. I know I need to sort myself out. But it's been difficult."
He briefly looked away, sighed, and looked back at me.
"As I said, it's your prerogative if you don't want to tell me about your life," he said. "Although I want you to know that I appreciate you being open with me. That's not something people tend to trust me for. I don't know what I can for you if you don't tell me. So, if there's anything I can do to help, just say it."
He sounded sincere. And I knew he was sincere. The switch between the snarky Malfoy and the genuine Malfoy was baffling, and I couldn't tell which one was his true self. A strange emotion came over me, and my nose tingled. I lowered my head so that he wouldn't notice the redness in my eyes.
"Thank you," I said, "having you listen to me is more than enough."
"You poor thing," he whispered. "Come here."
He opened his arms. I hesitated. And in the next second, I had wrapped my arms tightly around him and buried my head in his chest.
"Can you come to the Saturday's Quidditch match?" He asked.
"What?" My voice was muffled.
"I know that you aren't fond of Quidditch," he tilted his shoulders back a little so that he could see me, "but I'd like to have you there. And can you make more of those biscuits and bring them with you?"
He looked at me with that cursed devilish look no one could say no to. How could I refuse when he pretended to look like a lost puppy? And about the pastry he was talking about, well, what happened, or what wasn't supposed to happen was, once we had lost track of time while arguing over the correct answer to a minute homework question and missed dinner. So, we followed the footsteps of the great Harry Potter and sneaked into the kitchen, only to find nothing left. And I, as if some magical being had taken over me, decided to make biscuits. Apparently, Malfoy was fond of that and had been shamelessly asking for more ever since.
"Are you trying to get me into trouble?"
"And there's another sickle for…" he stopped mid-sentence and cleared his throat, "…anyway, if you keep saying the same thing, I'll have no choice but add a new item to the contract."
"You can't just add things to a signed contract on a whim," I protest. "It doesn't work like that."
"Did you read the fine print?" He grinned.
Ah, the fine print. It was always the bloody fine print.