“So explain to me why I was your choice of escape.”

“I don’t know. I couldn’t answer Ron, and you were just… there.”

“Well, jeez, thanks,” he said sarcastically. “Do you think that maybe you’re trying to play hard to get?”

“I wouldn’t understand that game if it tap danced in front of me,” she answered honestly. “I'm not good with things like that.”

“Oh, but you are.”

They were in the Room of Requirement; the perfect getaway from loud noises and the drama that constantly worked itself into Hogwarts. They were sitting down, Hermione with her legs crossed Indian style, facing Draco.

Hermione chose to ignore him. “I just can’t answer him… not yet, anyway. He’s my best friend. I'm afraid of ruining that. So… you and Pansy?”

“What about us?”

“Anything there?” she asked, fumbling with her bracelet.

“No, should there be?”

“I'm not sure. She seems a little protective.”

“We had a thing a couple of years ago, but it was more one-sided. She wanted more of me than I was willing to give.”

“What do you mean?”

“Put it this way,” he sighed. “She wasn’t the most emotional person. More… hands on.”

“Oh.”

“You know, it’s funny. People think of Hogwarts of some sainthood, somewhere that nothing bad ever happens. But when you group hundreds of kids together for seven years… I'm surprised that not more people, other than Cedric have Died.”

She nodded, and knew he was right. “My… my mum recently wrote me about five deaths in my Muggle cousin’s school… some boy brought a gun and shot four boys his age and one girl. She was my cousin’s best friend…”

“Exactly. It’s supposed to be a place to learn… but everyday is a danger in itself.”

Hermione looked at Draco, wondering more things than ever before. His cold gray eyes had melted away to reveal a light blue that was more beautiful than anything she’d ever seen. He wasn’t smirking for what seemed like the first time in forever, and he seemed just as curious as she was.

“Why?”

He didn’t have to ask what she meant. “If you don’t put up a barrier, you’ll get hurt easily. I don’t wear my heart on my sleeve.”

“Aren’t you lonely?”

“Who isn’t?” Draco’s hand worked its way into hers and they sat there, two totally different people feeling the same exact thing.
Happiness.

….

They walked slowly to the Great Hall, not saying anything, but knowing that they didn’t need to. Draco opened the door to reveal the hectic bustle necessary to prepare for the play. Hermione went in, and he followed.

“See you on stage?”

“As always,” she smiled, and turned left, leaving him in the middle of the room. As she was walking, she took in her surroundings. Hundreds of black, theatre-style chairs were aligned in neat rows, all facing a grand oak stage that wasn’t there the day before. Lights hung from the ceiling where the weather used to be portrayed.

Hermione sighed and headed towards her dressing room, where her costume was waiting. She slipped into a ragged dress with an awful flower print and put on more makeup than she’d ever wear in her life. A loud knock at the door sounded.

“Come in.”

Harry stuck his head around the corner. “Hey! You nervous?”

“No,” she replied honestly, rubbing dirt onto her face as Harry took a seat next to her. “What’s up?”

“I talked to Ron.”

“That’s normally what best friends do.”

“Ouch. Since when are you so snappy?”

He didn’t answer.

“Anyway,” Harry continued. “He seemed kind of crushed… but he also said you didn’t answer him. He thinks he scared you off.”

Hermione still didn’t say anything.

“All right, I’ll get to the point. Do you like him, or not? I mean, bloody hell, Hermione. You two snogged for ages. What is he supposed to think?”

She snapped her eye shadow closed. “Yes, Harry, I do like him. Happy? But there’s more to this than you think.”

“Like what?”

The door opened and Professor McGonagall strode in. “Come on, Miss Granger. We need you backstage.”

Hermione smiled. “Be there in just a moment.” She turned to Harry, eyebrows raised, and whispered, “I like someone else, too.”

….

“Nervous?” Draco questioned, looking at her from the corner of his eyes.

“Why does everyone keep asking that?”

“Why not?”

“Because if they keep asking, I will get nervous!”

“Oh. Right.”

“Sorry, Draco,” Hermione said, brushing her hair away from her face. “I'm not nervous… just anxious. Harry came to my dressing room.”

“I see he’s trying to take another page out of my book…”

“Ha ha, not really,” she laughed monotonously. “It was about Ron.”

“If you like him, date him.”

“It’s not as easy as that, and you know it.”

He stepped in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders. “Listen, all right? Whatever… whatever’s going on here… you know as much as I do that it can’t happen.”

“Why not?” she asked stubbornly, arms crossed.

“Hello! Different houses, different lifestyles- I'm only in this play because I need to pass my class. My father’s already mad about that as it is. Imagine if he found out… me… you.”

“What about us?” she mocked what he’d said earlier.

He rolled his eyes. “Come on, don’t do this to me.”

She pulled him into a hug, wrapping her arms around his waist.

“You’re lucky no one is here,” he whispered into her ear.

As they pulled apart, Professor McGonagall swept into the room, ushering Hermione up on stage behind the curtain. “Come on, you’re opening the play, and we’re fixing to start!”

Hermione clambered up the stairs and turned back to look at Draco. He gave her a soft smile.

“Presenting, Hogwarts first play since the late eighteen hundreds…” Colin Creevey roared to the bustling crowd. “Fate!”

The curtains opened and Hermione walked up on stage, ready to do everything she had practiced.