The Third Wizarding War: Salvation
It’s been four months since Hermione has seen anybody. It’s been two months that she’s been in the woods, with Harry’s blood still under her nails and tears in her eyes. She’s terrified, and there’s fear in her bones when she wakes, when she breathes, when she sleeps. Her heart is a pendulum in her chest, a wild thrum of chaos that swings with the weight of a church bell. Sometimes it beats so hard that she thinks her ribs will crack wide open and she’ll splinter from the inside out.
My mother taught me how to apply my own makeup at 13 years old, and the most important lesson I learned is to never touch my eyebrows and to cleanse, tone, and moisturize twice a day.
”[…] Are you feeling all right, Granger? I’m starting to think that perhaps you just might fancy me.”
Hermione froze, looking at him with a surprising, gnarled fist of horror and shock and anticipation embedded but volcanic in her stomach. She could feel the blood drain from her face at his words, instead sending the rushing blood to pound in her head and ears. She felt as if she’d just been tided to the shore by a sixty-foot wave: dazed, salty and confused. Her mouth felt horribly dry.
Draco seemed to have registered the look of pale revelation on her face, staring at her intently. Then he spoke, certainly as shocked as she was.
"Bloody hell. You do fancy me.”
"No, no, I don’t," said Hermione, shaking her head, feeling frazzled and very disoriented. She felt the skin on her face begin to heat up at the scarring speed. "I don’t fancy you. I mean, I shouldn’t. You’re Malfoy, and you’re dying, and you have this horrible fancy of humor in the image of your own death."
"But you do," his face breaking into a brilliant smile, summoning little jackhammers upon her heart, as if he was pleased and delighted with this piece of terrible news. "You do fancy me. Dear Merlin, Hermione Granger, you’re in love with me."
The Usurper sits on my father’s throne. How long must I wait?
MA: How did they get together? She hated James, from what we’ve seen.
J.K. Rowling: Did she really? You’re a woman, you know what I’m saying.
He pauses, giving her time to wait and stare at the white puffs of air vapor from both their mouths. “You are weirder than I first thought you were.”
It is her turn for silence now. “Is that a bad thing?”
He shrugs — she can hear the sound of his clothes rubbing against his skin as he does. “It should be.”
"But is it?”
His fingers flick across the mound of sparkling snow between them, and for a wild second, she thought he might take her hand, but he does not. “No.” - The Fallout, chapter six