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The thing is, he is so beautiful it makes her want to cry. And not in like a pretty – single tear running down your cheek while you stand in the rain – kind of way. But like, actual sobbing. It’s truly unfair how beautiful Draco Malfoy is.
You’d think platinum blonde hair matched with a proper English tan – i.e. I haven’t inherited a single iota of melanin through all those centuries of Pureblood inbreeding – would not be a good look, right? It shouldn’t be attractive to visibly see the blue and green veins running up his inner forearm. And having skin so milky pale that if he so much as sleeps on the wrong side of the bed he gets these deep purple bruises under his eyes - which on anyone else would make you think they were a terminal insomniac - but on him they just look rugged. Like a tortured poet who smokes cigarettes and reads Proust and stares off into the distance while standing on top of a cliff probably. These are not qualities Hermione would immediately think of if she were to describe her type. And yet…
He is just so beautiful.
The realisation hits her in the most inconvenient of moments. Here she is just trying to scarf down her breakfast before class or trying to keep a steady stream of notes during one of Professor Binns monotonous lectures or locate an obscure book on gytrashes in the library for a final essay reference and then- there he is. In all his alabaster glory.
It’s not like there’s some twinkling halo above his head or cherubs circling about him strumming harp strings. But there may as well be with the way her breath always catches whenever she sees him and the involuntary blush that rises up her neck to the apples of her cheeks when his eyes ever so much as flitter in her direction.
It’s not like Hermione is some kind of inexperienced schoolgirl- well… actually, that is a exactly what she is, but it’s not like she hasn’t had her fair share of crushes in her time. It’s just that she has never felt like this before.
His presence is almost disarming. Arresting.
A distraction for sure.
She actually for the first time in her life bungled a potions recipe in class because she was so enraptured by the way his long fingers gripped a blade as he sliced sopophorous bean into such neat and orderly piles. An entirely innocent, inconsequential action, right? And yet there she was ten minutes later with a melted cauldron and a potion that had the consistency of tar whereas it should have been a translucent liquid all along because she’d spaced out thinking about how elegant he looked when performing the most basic of tasks. And of course, what should naturally follow that line of thinking other than the simple question of what would his hands look like gripping other things? And how would they feel against her skin? Her body? Probably incredible, he has such quietly confident and purposeful movements, he’d be sure to make a point of doing the job well. And how would those long, elegant fingers feel if they were to circle her clit and press into her core-
Merlin.
It’s alarming how quickly this little crush of hers turned into something definitively not little.
More alarming is the fact that she is not, as it turns out, as subtle as she had hoped with this crush of hers. Harry and Ron have started noticing her lack of attention during meals – although the former of which mercifully hasn’t realised the direction of her gaze during any of these encounters (I mean, really Harry, you stalked him all of the sixth year, but you can’t work out who has always sat at the end of the Slytherin table for eight years running?). And the latter has chalked it up to just ‘Mione being Mione’ and she’s probably just twigging out about grades or finals or something equally uninteresting.
Ginny on the other hand is a more pressing concern. Just the other day they were sitting in the courtyard - Hermione had conjured up one of her trademark blue fires in a jar to warm them against the chill of the autumn air - when who should swan by but Draco Malfoy.
Alone – he was always alone now – and wrapped in a Slytherin green scarf up to his ears, with black robes covering the rest of him from the bitter winds. It was such a startling contrast to his porcelain complexion she couldn’t help but gasp and wow… ok, yes, green really does bring out the grey in his eyes. Like a storm at sea. And she was just about to appreciate how a rare ray of sunlight was going to cast his hair aglow when a giggle abruptly snapped her out her reverie. Well not so much a giggle as it was a snicker. A very knowing, very amused snicker that could only belong one of the Weasley clan.
It took her brain a few moments to recalibrate and actually recall that, yes, she was in the middle of having a conversation with Ginny, and that yes, she was in fact mid-sentence in recounting her latest letter from Saint Mungo’s on the status of her parent’s memory retrieval when she had stopped speaking entirely to pointedly stare at Draco Malfoy, in a very noticeable, very telling way.
Hermione had blushed and stuttered and avoided making eye contact with Ginny, at all costs, for the rest of the day. She didn’t want to know how her friend would react to this news. Would she laugh in hysterics or recoil in abject horror at the revelation that she, Hermione Granger, reputationally a good girl, had a thing for Draco Malfoy, reputationally spawn of wizarding Satan.
She didn’t want to know. She didn’t think she could handle it right now either way. Hermione had returned for her eighth year at Hogwarts with only one objective: Completing her N.E.W.T’s without having to risk death or expulsion due to some new fantastical conspiracy plot that conveniently came to a climax around exam period. (Honestly, if she didn’t know any better, she’d swear Harry planned half these escapades they went on over the years, purely to avoid academic assessment.)
All of these diversions were peripheral to her main goal. She had her books. She’d drawn up her timetables and charted her studying strategies all the way up to Christmas break, even accounting for Hogsmeade visits and Slug-club dinner party invites she most likely would not be able to worm her way out of. She was supposed to be concentrating on her studies. She just hadn’t anticipated coming back to Hogwarts and having all these… other feelings.
Nevertheless, after that last episode Hermione had been continually one edge. She kept anticipating Ginny to make a thing out of it. But apart from a few knowing smirks and raised eyebrows she hadn’t actually acknowledged Hermione’s little transgression in any other way.
That was until the Quidditch after party. Gryffindor vs. Hufflepuff (Gryffindor had won, obviously). An easy win according to Ron but Ravenclaw was the one to watch out for this season. They had a new beater on their team that transferred from Durmstrung, with a nasty backhand, or powerful swing or some other such thing that made him the one to beat, and blah blahblah blah blahblah blah.
If she had to endure the common room being commandeered by insufferable quidditch fanatics for a whole evening she may as well join in and drink a little. Seamus and Dean had looked at her somewhat dumbstruck as she poured herself glass and decided to take part in the merriment. “What? I’m not a total killjoy. I can have- fun,” she had told them convincingly and with no tenor of defensiveness in her voice whatsoever.
By the time Hermione had downed three – no, wait. Four. No, definitely three butterbeers, the youngest Weasley had come to loop her arms around her in a sloppy embrace and whisper in her ear, “I know something you don’t know.” And Hermione was definitely buzzed but not far gone enough to recognise by the sing-song quality of her voice that Ginny was decidedly not referring to their DADA class curriculum when she said she knew something Hermione did not.
As a rule, Hermione made it a point to know things other people did not know. But if she had to take a guess, Ginny was about to disembark on one of those few topics she was admittedly not fluent in at all. Boy talk.
*Shudder*
You know, just because they live in a boarding school with only girl dormitories does not mean that they had to live out the stereotype of staying up late in their oversized fleece pyjamas, eating chocolate frogs and braiding each other’s hair while they talked about who they’d most like to shag in their year. The whole thing was really just a male gaze fantasy propped up to portray schoolgirls as frivolous and frilly lovesick loons. It really was demeaning to their entire sex. Still, in all her eight years of being at Hogwarts she had yet to avoid that exact scenario playing out at least once every term one way or the other. And here was Ginny, about to do it all over again.
Well, not if she could help it.
“If this is about the tactical advantages and disadvantages of the rom-sky faint then I’m afraid your little speech is going to fall on deaf ears, Gin.”
“First of all, it’s the Wronski feint, and no it’s not about that,” Ginny admonished, rolling her eyes as she snatched Hermione’s drink out of her hand for a not so small sip. When she finished, she wiped the foam from her upper lip and said, “I’m referring to a certain tall, blond, recently reformed death eater who happens to have… caught your eye, shall we say?”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Hermione snapped, then seized her butterbeer back from Ginny’s clasp, scanning the common room to see if anyone else had overheard.
Ginny was unperturbed by her irritable response however, seeing right through her as always. “I know you don’t know that’s why I said” – *hiccup*- “that I know something you don’t.” *extra hiccup*
She trailed off looking wistfully at the flagon in Hermione’s hand which she had very nearly drained to the bottom. Hermione glared and swigged the rest of the drink down in one quick gulp before Ginny could steal it away from her again, earning a little pout in response.
“You know I wasn’t even the least bit surprised when I saw you two,” Ginny continued, shaking her head, “Well- I was a bit surprised but once I sat down and actually thought about it… it does make a whole lot of sense. I mean, you’re both at the top of your classes and you both prefer to spend your time sitting and studying in cold, drafty common areas together when it’s not like there are plenty of respectable haunts in this castle with serviceable fireplaces. And as far as I’m able to discern you two are perhaps the only students in this school’s history to actually enjoy Ancient Runes-
Hermione made a strangled sound of indignation, but Ginny pressed on.
“And- objectively I can understand that two young, good-looking wizarding talents such as yourselves would eventually form an attraction after years of built-up tension and rivalry. Allure of the forbidden and all that,” she waved her hand off flippantly, as if all of these things were a given, “But what really sold me on it was the way you two look at each other… it’s like there’s no one else in the room but yourselves. It’s kind of pathetic, really. But to his credit the ferret is at least more subtle about it.”
Hermione’s brows scrunched up in bewilderment. She was making it sound like… this attraction was mutual thing. That they both-
No. That was simply not possible. She had never seen Draco look at her at all this year. Not once. She should know, she’d spent the better half of this term internally lusting over him.
Moreover, Draco Malfoy didn’t look at anyone. Not anymore. She had at least had the presence of mind to notice, during all her wistful glances and licentious fantasies, that there was a complete absence of his former self. The old Draco would glare and leer and condescend to anyone in a 10-mile radius. But after his trial, when she and Harry had testified, and then later when he returned to Hogwarts as a part of his parole conditions... And even before that, back at the Manor… there wasn’t even a shadow of his former self present in all of these occasions. It was like whatever proud, insufferable git Draco Malfoy once was became entirely annihilated during the war. He had changed. She could tell that just by looking at him.
It occurred to her now, with her brain slightly addled by alcohol and whatever the hell Ginny Weasley had just unloaded upon her – that this was perhaps what had started this whole thing in the first place. This complete upheaval of all that Draco once was. Without all the withering glares and muttered slurs and his former fixation to do everything in his power to make her life miserable. Without all that in the way anymore, it was like she was finally able to see what was there all along. The stage curtain had been pulled back. She could finally appreciate him for what he was.
Harry and Ron had always described him as pointy and slightly inbred looking. But Hermione now saw that that wasn’t altogether fair. While yes, if you were to look at him a few years ago and see how all that arrogance twisted his features into a sour, slightly pinched expression, that may have been a reasonable assessment. But now he had well and truly grown into his features.
He bore his height well. He wasn’t any taller than Ron but where Ron seemed to lumber around and never know fully what to do with all his limbs, Draco held himself high and with a kind of formal poise that spoke of a lifetime of etiquette training ingrained into him.
His brows were darker than his white, blond hair. They were arched and thick. They would furrow in concentration and contract in unspoken surprise. They seemed to gesticulate the exact pattern of his thoughts at any given moment.
And his jawline was… Hermione wanted to do unspeakable things to that jawline. Trace her fingers over it. Run her tongue all the way down from earlobe to chin, and then use her teeth to graze and bite into the defined angles. Have herself sit on his face like a throne and grind her core against that jawbone, while his mouth laved at her-
Good Godric, she really was becoming the most depraved and perverted degenerate in the whole United Kingdom now, wasn’t she? Merlin help her if he ever so much as loosened his tie and bared his clavicle to her she might just fully descend into the depths of total nymphomania then.
Another full glass of butterbeer was pressed into her hands. And the frivolity of the party swam back into focus.
Hermione blinked.
Ah, right. Ginny. She was still having a conversation with Ginny.
“…And of course, even I can look past all the years of torment and generational hatred between our two families to see that objectively Malfoy is every inch of the debauchee heir he was destined to become. Do you think Azkaban offers physical activity programmes to its inmates? He’s become inexplicably fit over the summer-“
‘Who’s gotten fit?” interjected both Parvati, Padma and Lavender. Appearing out of literally nowhere. Honestly, these three were like moths to a flame at the first hint of gossip (Or perhaps more accurately like three sharks smelling blood in the water).
Hermione shot Ginny a quick imploring look; Please don’t tell them. Please don’t make a big deal out of this. It’s not a big deal, it’s just a passing fancy. He’s just- gotten fit, like you said, it caught me off guard, is all. I’ll tell you all about it later, I promise. I’ll tell you every lurid and disgusting detail of my shameful obsession with him if you just don’t say a word about-
“Draco Malfoy,” Ginny crooned. Her eyes were slightly unfocused, and she was swaying faintly back and forth, grinning as she stood there holding yet another flagon of butterbeer (Where on earth did that even come from, by the way?)
Hermione sighed internally. There was no way this witch was in any secret keeping capacity tonight.
Both the Patil’s and Lavender’s reaction were immediate. Albeit varied. Padma scoffed and turned her lip up in distaste. Parvati just shook her head in disapproval. While Lavender looked a little conflicted, both disturbed and understanding from the plight of finding Draco Malfoy desirable.
“Eugh. You have got to be joking Ginny. He’s a total prick. Death eater scum. I can’t believe they let him back into this school after what he’s done,” Padma spat out the words with such potent venom it made Hermione flinch.
“He’s totally the worst, I agree. But to be fair, Ginny has a point. I mean, have you seen his bum? I’d go there.” Lavender giggled.
Parvati’s eyes widened in shock. “You can’t be serious? You’d hook up with Malfoy?”
“I wouldn’t make a thing out of it, obviously. But if the opportunity arose to slither-in to that four-poster bed and inspect his wandwork I wouldn’t hold back.”
“Oh, bleugh,” Parvati laughed, seeing that Lavender was mostly unserious in her reply.
Hermione grimaced. She hated the way they were talking about Malfoy now. Even the utterance of his name these days made people’s eyes burn with hatred and tongues spill out every foul word they could think of. Yes, they were all full of criticism now. Never mind that less than a year ago when all these morally indignant words actually mattered, they chose to remain complicit and silent.
If anyone should have felt vindicated in this turn of events it should be her, right? Finally, the tides had turned and now she was the one people lauded while he was finally facing the price for his wrongdoings. But, as it turns out, retribution was a bitter draught to swallow. Especially when she knew in her heart that Draco Malfoy did not deserve to be punished for being manipulated and abused the way he had been by his family.
And then there was Lavender’s remarks. The overt objectification and total disregard for his consent. It’s not like Hermione was above sexualising the poor guy – clearly - but somehow, she felt like Lavender’s words had crossed a line. To treat him as no more than a notch on her bedpost and just disregard his feelings altogether. He was human being for Godric’s sake. Not an object or piece of meat to use and discard.
Hermione shrunk away from the conversation unnoticed and weaved through the crowd to make a quick exit out the portrait hole.
What she needed was air. It was too stuffy in the common room tonight with all those warm bodies and loud mouths. Curfew be damned she would take a brisk walk about the castle till her calm was restored.
Which, luckily, was an easy accomplishment with the aid of the chill night air and gut full of butterbeer. In no time an easy smile pulled at her lips and she skipped down the empty corridors. Already forgetting all that was troubling her.
She turned in the direction of the wooden bridge that overlooked the forest and the Black Lake. She had a sudden impulse to see it tonight. Carefree and uninhibited as she currently was. To stare out into the inky vastness of this night and see the moonlight reflect on the lapping waters of the lake’s shores and listen to the rustle of branches and owl’ wings flap in the distance.
She had made it no more than ten paces on to the bridge when she stopped dead in her tracks. A white beacon of light had caught her eye. And in those few seconds it took for her retinas to adjust to the brightness she hadn’t the faintest idea of what she was actually seeing.
All her breath left her in an instant when she realised.
It was Draco Malfoy.
He was standing there, alone, about halfway up the bridge, leaning his elbows on the railing and looking out at the view. The upper half of his body was directly cast in moonlight causing his hair to illuminate like a lumos. It was brighter than candlelight. So pure and white it resembled of a unicorn’s mane. She couldn’t help think of goose feathers and snowy owls and altocumulus clouds. And she wandered if his hair would be even softer to touch than all those things put together. It certainly looked it.
He was stock still. So still that Hermione began to worry that this crush of hers had taken a turn for the worst and she was now so delusional and pathetic as to dream him up into existence.
But then movement caught her eye. A single hand raised up to his mouth and she saw a cigarette (So, he was a smoker. Merlin, that little tid-bit of information wasn’t going to help supress all those tortured poet fantasies she was having…) dangle between his two deft forefingers, take a long drag and then puff out a cloud of smoke, much like a dragon that was his namesake.
The action seemed to jolt her out of her stupor and Hermione realised that she probably shouldn’t be watching him. Especially like this. Staring at him while she stood hidden in the shadows like a total creep.
She turned around, painstakingly slow. Her foot inching back and then landing on the wooden slat– *Creaaak*
Curse this old rickety bridge. Where was Harry’s invisibility cloak when you needed it?
“Granger?”
She froze. Then, as if imperius-ed, turned around to face her doom.
His expression was… it was an indecipherable mix of emotions in that moment. Surprise, for one. Confusion, definitely. His brows were furrowed, and his eyes were… searching? They kept scanning up and down her form and then landing back on her face, as if to make sure it was really her. Probably, trying to work out what in Godric’s name she was doing out here in the dead of night.
Now he was looking a little expectant. Questioning. And- oh, right, he’s waiting for you to reply. But what on earth was she supposed to say. Oh, hi Malfoy, just me. I was standing here staring at you for an indeterminate about of time, as per usual, but then I realised maybe I shouldn’t stay too long. Seeing as I’d really rather not out myself as a stalker and get put on some kind of register just yet – these things look terrible on your cv – anyway I’ll be off now. I believe there’s a patch of earth just yonder that I really ought to be stepping into and letting it swallow me whole. Alright, cheerio.
Yeah… or maybe not that.
A greeting would do. Or even just a curt nod. Acknowledgement in anyway would be ideal right now. But Hermione had not moved an inch since meeting his eyes. She felt trapped by them. Or possibly lost in their glacial greyness. Hard to tell.
“Are you… alright?”
He was looking a little concerned now. And possibly weirded out. This is- not normal behaviour. From anyone really, but least of all her.
“Granger?”
Good God. This may be the longest stretch of time in which you haven’t spoken. You can monologue, unprompted, about any given subject in class - muggle or magical - to the great annoyance of your classmates (and most professors) but you can’t force out a single blasted syllable right now all because of how fanciable you think Malfoy is. Merlin. Just say something. Anything.
“erm… yes, hi.”
Her voice was dry and slightly breathless as she croaked out the words. Unthinkingly, she lifted her hand in a perfunctory sort of wave that was entirely superfluous given the situation and you know, the little matter of who they were to each other. Really, if someone could just Avada her now where she stood that would be ideal.
“What are you doing out here?” he asked.
A fair question. One that should not take her the sum of ten seconds to reply to. But she was doing a lot of things she shouldn’t tonight.
“Walking.”- a pause and then - “What are you doing out here?”
He gestured the cigarette in his hand in answer.
“Right.”
Riveting conversationalists. The two of them.
“Well, I’ll be…” she trailed off and pointed back to the castle. Cringing that she would ever feel the need to explain herself to Malfoy. He didn’t care obviously. Was probably dying for her to leave.
Just go back to your dormitory now, cast a silencing charm over the bed canopies and scream into your pillow for a good five minutes to get over the pure mortification of this entire interaction and also all your life choices.
Yes, that was a good course of action as any. Possibly the most sensible thought she’d had all evening.
Hermione turned and this time made it no more than two steps before he called.
“Wait, Granger.”
Again, she faced him. Her traitorous heart all too willing to do as he asked.
She was surprised to see that there was a tinge of fear in his eyes now. A skittishness that she hadn’t seen since… that night in the Manor. But as quickly as it was there is slipped away and all that was left in his expression was a hard resolve.
“I’ve been meaning to…”
Now who was the one looking at a loss for words. His mouth was slightly parted. Standing still as stone.
“Yes?” she prompted.
He sighed and ran a hand through that offensively gorgeous hair of his. Rocking on the balls of his feet.
“I’msorryforeverythingIdid,” he blurted out suddenly.
Then his eyes widened, like even he was surprised by the abruptness in which he had spoken.
Hermione blinked rapidly, not quite understanding the strange sequence of noises that left his mouth. “What?”
“I’m sorry,” he repeated, this time firmer. “For everything. For-” he huffed out a humourless laugh, “literally everything. For being a prat. For the names I called you. For making your life here hell. For not helping you that night my aunt…”
“Oh,” Hermione rushed out, “I know you already said-”
“At the Wizengamot hearing, I know. But a public apology doesn’t count. I never actually got to- to tell you in person.”
He swallowed and looked down at the cigarette in his hand that had long shrivelled to his fingers and burnt out.
“Well. I forgive you.”
His head snapped up to face her again and she was surprised to see that he actually looked angry.
“You don’t need to do that. I know for the sodding public you feel obligated to act like all is forgiven in the interest of moving forward and reconciliation and all that tripe that the Ministry is trying to peddle these days. But you don’t have to lie about this when it’s just us.”
“But it’s the truth. I forgive you, Malfoy.”
He winced at the words and sucked in a large breath. “Don’t. You don’t have to do that. I know, Granger, I know how much you must despise me. And while it’s no surprise that you are once again being the bigger person, you don’t have to say those things. Or anything really, to placate me. I certainly would never be able to forgive someone who-”
“Malfoy,” Hermione interjected a little louder, “I do forgive. I really do. We were both children when all this began. We were weaponised and pit against each other, as children. I hold no resentment to someone who fought on the opposing side simply to protect his loved ones from torture or death. Or who held misguided beliefs because that was all he was ever taught to know. I’m not feigning my forgiveness for anyone’s sake. I just forgive you.”
He looked crushed by her words. And also somewhat flummoxed. As if kindness were a foreign concept to him. As if he were undeserving.
“But- how could you… I’m vile, Granger. Truly vile. I’ve done things that should have me locked away for good.”
“You’re not vile you’re so much more than your past, Malfoy! Your clever and loyal to your family and friends, and decidedly better at Potions than I am - though if you ever repeat those words to anyone, I will hex your hair green - and you were able to be brave” – he scoffed but she ploughed on- “yes, brave. Brave enough to lie when it mattered and deceive Voldemort and his followers. And you’re a talented wizard and duellist in your own right. And you’re beautiful and accomplished and witty when you want to be. There’s no need to flagellate yourself over things that are in the past-”
His brows quirked, “Hold on. Did you just say I was beautiful, Granger?”
Hermione stopped herself mid speech. And felt all the blood drain from her face.
Did she really just let that cat out of the bag? She had meant to tell him that there was no need to let his past dictate his future. That he had so much potential to grow and change after all this tragedy. More so now that he didn’t have his family looming over his shoulder.
But instead of saying anything remotely intelligible as that, she had gone ahead and complimented the ever-loving crap out of him (To Malfoy, of all people) and in doing so confessed her real feelings.
She was never going to drink butterbeer. Ever again.
“Why I- don’t…” she trailed off helpless.
Really what was the point of having the moniker ‘brightest witch of her age’ if she couldn’t come up with a lie on the fly. She’d told whoppers in her time. Convinced Umbridge that Dumbledore had a secret weapon hidden in the forbidden forest. Told her professors in her first year point blank, that she went after dungeon trolls to prove her magical genius. Merlin, she’d even impersonated her own torturer to break into Gringotts. She could do all of that but not think of one convincing thing to say to save face right now.
Malfoy was looking properly horrified by these revelations. As she suspected, was she.
Lord, there was no helping it. She would just have to tell him.
“Here’s the thing,” she began, levelling her gaze at him. His eyes were silver and uncommonly bright. “I’ve sort of been… distracted this term.”
“Distracted?”
“Yes… by you, in fact. Not your fault, of course. It’s just that I… Oh, there really isn’t any delicate way of saying this. Malfoy, I didn’t realise how attractive you were until you stopped being such a prat.”
Smooth, Hermione. Smooth.
Although admittedly it could have been a lot worse. Hermione had to stop herself from adding ‘And if you could please stop brushing your teeth and start wearing bin bags so I could finish my mid-terms in peace without being distracted by your devastatingly good looks that would be really good of you. Cheers Malfoy.’
Malfoy seemed dumbstruck for a moment. As if unbelieving the words she had just spoken had just come out her own mouth. And then his face broke out into a wide, smug grin.
Oh Merlin, he was going to be insufferable about this.
And- Hermione’s not sure who started laughing first but once they got going it took them both several minutes to stop. Every time their giggles seemed to fade another wave would rise, and they’d be keeled over with laughter, wiping away a few stray tears from their eyes. Because this whole situation was just- absurd. Utterly absurd.
When the last of their laughter died out, Hermione chanced a look up at Malfoy – because the ball was well and truly in his court now – and was surprised to see that his expression was not one of conceit or pride or disdain or anything of the like she was used to seeing on him after all these years.
But one of joy.
He was wearing a sincere and contented smile, one that reached his eyes and made the corners crinkle. A smile the likes of which Hermione had never seen him wear before. That it occurred to her, in this moment, out of all the ways she considered Draco Malfoy to be beautiful. Him smiling as he was now, was the most beautiful of all.