THE SANDMAN Interview | Neil Gaiman, Tom Sturridge and Cast Talk Netflix Series AKA Tom Sturridge ready to fight everyone for The Sandman bless him.
“Heya, mate. Is Hermione Granger around?”
Draco leaned over the counter, giving the pathetic, gap-toothed wanker sporting a Flourish & Blotts t-shirt a bored look. “Hermione Granger?” he intoned as if he had never heard that name before.
Gap-Tooth shuffled uneasily. “Yeah. She works here. Doesn’t she?”
“Does she?” Draco inspected his nails.
Gap-Tooth wandered off awkwardly, pretending to scan the shelves.
Draco’s eyes narrowed when he paused at the Love Potions, kept under strict lock and key.
Gap-Tooth asked, “Erm are you able to—?”
“No,” said Draco, point-blank.
Something about Draco’s expression made him pale, and he was out the door less than ten seconds later.
When Gap-Tooth was gone, Draco glanced down and said, “You’re all clear.”
Dusting off her trousers, Granger rose to her feet and picked up the inventory scroll again. “I’ve told him I’m not interested,” she said, purposely avoiding Draco’s eye.
“You didn’t drive the point. He probably thinks he’s being cute stalking you everywhere.”
“It’s fine.”
“You don’t even visit Flourish and Blotts anymore.”
“Ordering books in the mail is more efficient.”
He might have believed her if it weren’t for the countless times she’d returned late from her lunch break, carrying teetering piles of new books. But ever since Gap-Tooth started working there, lunchtimes were reduced to eating soggy sandwiches in the lab.
Gap-Tooth returned two days later.
Granger didn’t see him coming through the shopfront window and he caught her unaware, shelving cloud-shaped vials of Dreamless Sleep. His voice made her jump, a couple of bottles flying out of her hands and shattering.
Draco groaned, enchanting the mop and pail to clean up the mess but keeping his distance while Granger attempted to dodge Gap-Tooth’s advances.
Gap-Tooth: Something, something “…thought you worked here but…” gesturing to Draco.
Granger, giggling awkwardly: “Did he? Draco’s such a…” Something.
Draco raised a brow, wondering what she’d called him because it almost sounded affectionate.
Gap-Tooth: Mumble, mumble “…go out sometime?”
Granger more awkward giggling, cheeks pink: “…so busy… not really dating… you’re nice but…”
Gap-Tooth, realising he was losing his chance: “…just one date… promise I…” Stepping closer.
Granger, nearly tripping over the oscillating mop in her retreat: “…it’s just that I’m not… I don’t…”
Gap-Tooth, even closer, grinning impishly, hideous teeth on full display: Something, something “…casual? You look like you could use some fun.”
Draco bristled. The audacity of this wanker.
Having had enough, he rounded the counter and stepped in between Gap-Tooth and Granger. “Did you ask her out?”
Gap-Tooth frowned, looking a little afraid. “Yeah, so?”
“Did she say yes?”
“She was just about to—”
Draco turned to Granger. “Were you about to say yes?”
“No,” she mumbled, dropping her gaze. She was too bloody nice for her own good.
Lucky for her, Draco wasn’t.
“There’s your answer,” said Draco, shooing Gap-Tooth towards the door. “Stop harassing her.”
Gap-Tooth looked at Granger, but she refused to look back. Disheartened, he made his way to the door.
Draco called out, “Oh, and if you bother her at Flourish and Blotts again, I’ll turn you into a rat and dump you in our lab cage.”
“Malfoy!” Hermione swatted Draco’s arm once Gap-Tooth was gone, but her eyes were bright with laughter. “That was so unkind.”
“Yes. And?” He waited.
She sighed as if it physically pained her to say, “Thank you.”
He grinned, pleased. Then tugged at a curl that had come loose from her clip. “And?”
She stepped closer, looking up at him with large brown eyes. “And you were right.”
“And?” Draco’s stomach fluttered. He was usually so composed, but nothing about Granger made him feel ordinary.
“And…” She rose to her tiptoes and locked her hands behind his neck, parting her lips in anticipation as they met halfway. “…maybe we should start telling people about us.”
(638 words, prompt: Yes. And? from Twitter)
Cody Christian by Jonny Marlow for VULKAN (2017)
Hermione is alone on the porch when he arrives.
Everyone is asleep inside, drowsy after Molly’s Sunday roast and countless bottles of celebratory champagne.
Her stomach twists into a thousand tiny knots.
“Congratulations.”
“Don’t,” she says sharply, another knot welling up in her throat.
Beneath the amber lantern, his eyes are bloodshot. The last time they saw one another, they were bright and melting, burning holes into her skin that she wished to fill with him.
He stuffs his hands into his pockets and stands there, looking at her.
She can’t stand the weight of his gaze, so she stares at her knee. At her hand on her knee. At the sparkling jewel nestled around the finger of her hand on her knee.
“I still read Muggle literature,” he says, sitting beside her.
They used to discuss Muggle books for hours, far past curfew, hiding in empty classrooms where nobody could find them.
She notices he’s holding a slip of parchment.
“Different material, though,” he resumes. “Poetry. You know how you would look at the oil landscape on the fourth-floor corridor and say a storm was brewing, but I envisioned it as the end of one?”
“It was literally titled ‘Brewing Tempest’.”
“Not,” he taps her knee with his, “the point.”
She smiles.
“Poetry is kind of like that. Imaginative. Inclusive. Even a stranger can read a few lines and feel at home.”
“Why haven’t you written to me?”
“I was giving you time to be with your friends. You missed them.”
“I miss you.”
The parchment rustles in his hands. It’s folded eight times over. He folds and unfolds it restlessly. “I’m not a writer.”
“I know that.”
“Neither are you,” he adds, insulted by how quickly she agreed.
She breathes a laugh. “I never claimed to be.”
“Do you know what a haiku is?”
“Did you write me one?” she asks, amused.
“No. But I found one that expresses how I’ve felt these last few weeks, watching you slip away. It’s by an American poet. Billy Collins. Maybe it’s too late to give it to you, but I knew I’d regret if I didn’t at least try—”
Hermione snatches it from his hands.
Draco rebukes her impatience, but he rambles when he’s nervous and she's brimming with curiosity.
“Where are you going?” she calls after him.
But he’s already halfway gone, shaking his head like he can’t stand to be there anymore.
Heart in her throat, Hermione reads:
He may compare you
to the dawn, but I
stayed up all night to watch it.
She reads it again.
Twice more.
And then she’s running.
“Draco!” she cries, afraid the pop of Apparation will go off before she can stop him. “Draco!”
It’s too dark and she hasn’t cast a Lumos spell and she can hardly see where she’s—
“Oof!” he gasps as she barrels into him.
It’s the sweetest sound she’s ever heard.
Hermione throws her arms around his neck.
“I made a mistake! I never should have said yes. You didn’t write, so I thought you didn’t want me. You never said anything at school. But I’ve felt this awful regret since the moment he put the ring on my finger and I know it’s because of you. I know—”
He cuts her off with a bruising kiss, pressing into her with such conviction, a thousand knots come undone. Hermione buoys.
The next day, Ron awakes, groggy and hungover.
Alone.
A letter sits on his bedside table. Hermione’s engagement ring sparkles on top.
(588 words, prompt: it's a poem, I read this haiku by Billy Collins and remembered this prompt and had to do something with it.)
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