Forget About It (Dramione)

12| Wildfire

"Hey, Hermione, is it true you and Weasley are dating now?"

"He's kind of annoying, is that why you like him?"

"Don't you think you can do a bit better?"

This was just like the rumours that had spread about her and Malfoy, but this time, she loved it.

Somehow, in true Hogwarts fashion, the story of her and Ron had got around the whole school in less than a few days. Everyone seemed to know it all, but they all wanted to ask her for the details anyway. People would approach her that she'd never even spoken to, never exchanged a word to in her whole time at Hogwarts. Of course, it was a similar case as how it had been with Malfoy, but this time around she gladly gave them what they wanted, reeling out the 'it isn't official right now, but yes' speech every time. To make it all even better, like the icing on the cake that was Hermione's blossoming relationship, Lavender Brown gave her no end of angry stares. She was pissed off with Hermione to no end, but Hermione didn't care because she had Ron, even though usually she would hate this attention. 

However, the thing that brightened her day above all else was the man himself. It was no lie that things had changed drastically between them, just from one little kiss, and now they were easily more inseparable than they were and had ever been. Hermione enjoyed spending time with him more than ever, as now it was accompanied by occasional touches, his soft hand that brushed hers when they were seemingly not in the right place for affection, such as the Great Hall or a class. He was a distraction, in some sense, a gorgeous, welcome distraction. In the few lessons she had without him, the time went so slowly, and she would find herself restless, thinking about when she could next see him and watch his eyes light up as they looked on her.

"Hey, Hermione," he would say, taking her back to all the other examples of times that he said the very same thing in greeting, but never meant it in such an intimate and flirtatious way. Even when they were 11 or 12 in their younger years, he would greet her with "Hey, Hermione," and she would reply with "Hello, Ronald," or just "Ronald," or if not, something along those lines. However, when it happened now, it was hard for her to believe that they weren't just friends any more. They were now far from friends.

Harry was not happy. Really, it served him right, considering he completely ambushed their attempted moment a week or so ago in the Gryffindor common room, but Hermione did sympathise with him somewhat. His two best friends were now looking at each other with starry eyes before rushing off to have a snog in the nearest available area, and Harry was left alone, pining after Ginny and stressing over Voldemort. Hermione knew she should be more concerned, but she wasn't. This bothered her. Because she had Ron now, nothing else in her teenage mind mattered quite as much, all of it pushed down the priority list, including the potential Death Eater in the form of Malfoy, Harry's issue with Dumbledore and Slughorn and even Voldemort. None of that could make her as happy as Ron could, she was sure of it. Poor Harry. This blindness she was feeling she was fully aware of, and she knew after a short time she'd get used to all the attention from Ron and be able to think straight. But for now, she didn't care.

As for Draco Malfoy himself, he was no longer a threat, or a problem, in Hermione's view. In the excitement of her new love life, the school had forgotten all about Parkinson's dire claims, and the talk and comments of Malfoy were starting to thin out and slowly decrease in number, until one day, Hermione didn't get any Malfoy digs sent her way at all.

•

Draco still received a few taunts, more than she did, in fact. This infuriated him to no end, the fact that she could so easily escape all this torment and kiss the Weasel all the time and get praise for it, because, in the words of some Gryffindor bitch he'd overheard yesterday, 'Ron is so much nicer than Malfoy, thank Merlin the nice guy hasn't finished last as usual!'

"Jealous, Draco?" Blaise came up behind him during Potions, when he'd been watching Hermione and the Weasel working together again, on the table in front of them. He turned around and shoved Blaise, chuckling. 

"Shut up, Zabini. I'm trying not to be sick into my cauldron," he joked. Hermione heard him, and her head shot around to give him a glare which sent Blaise into fits of laughter. Draco didn't find it that funny. 

"Wanna sneak out again to Hogsmeade tonight? It's Friday," Blaise asked. 

Draco shook his head. He had better things to do than drink. Much more pressing things that he'd tried to ignore for a while, letting stupid distractions build up. But he'd been spending a lot of time in the Room of Requirement recently, and things were going well. It took his mind off of things, being able to consistently work on something, although drinking would possibly do that job even better. 

But he didn't go. That evening, he found himself in the Room of Requirement again.

•

Apart from the job that was pulling him there almost daily, the reason he went and stood around uselessly was because the room had become a place he felt safe. A place that nobody else could get to, except Hermione. That, he wanted.

The Vanishing Cabinet was dark and malevolent, a dangerous pulling force, spluttering with magic. Being so close to it was like when you stand on the top of a high cliff and step a little closer towards the edge. Your heart beats faster and faster, your adrenaline goes crazy, but your mind tells you that you're in control. Really, if you did trip over your own feet from standing still, which was unlikely, you probably wouldn't fall close enough to the edge in order to topple off. You have the option of danger, you get tentatively closer to it, but never quite close enough.

It clunked loudly and roughly as he approached it, as if it was watching him walking over. The Cabinet had always freaked him out more than Hermione, something he was still a little cross about. Nervous, he opened the wooden door to reveal the apple he'd put in there that lunchtime, still fairly intact apart from a single, fresh bite taken out the side. 

He felt his heart speed up, and a powerful wave of satisfaction washed over him. It worked!

Hermione would be so proud of him, he thought.