Hmmm... What about secret relationship drarry being terrible about keeping secrets?
Hermione watches as Harry leaves the common room, slow, creeping like an animal in the night, as if he thinks in the brightly lit loud full banging of the common room that this slow pace will keep him hidden. Knowing Harry he probably does.
This has been happening for months now; at least, this secretive crawl of an exit has been. Harry has never tried to hide his night time wanderings from her, even in her disapproval. He had told her once that the knowledge that she always knows where he is makes him feel safe, in the relatively familiar and stable lack of safety in the castle.
This new routine of going to bed early and then casually going out for a walk an hour later is startling in its difference to all of Harry’s habits, and out of any of the changes, the least suspicious.
Harry, being who he is, loving, warm, remarkably kind, and exceedingly oblivious, fails to realize that the rest of the world, somehow, is not completely preoccupied with their own thoughts. Draco Malfoy, like always, orbits around Harry’s innate gravitation force until, unsurprisingly, he is the one exception to the rule. Neither of them seems to realize just how completely, totally obvious they are.
Hermione has only very recently increased her perception of the size of a teaspoon. Ron had realized within a week that something was up, Harry Potter does not miss bangers and mash for breakfast he had said, completely serious as if it was a matter of the utmost importance. Hermione had fallen in love just a little bit more in that moment.
Harry though, she’s thinking about reassigning her teaspoon intelligence measuring levels to him because she swears he gets more oblivious by the day, to every look of exasperation, ever cleared throat of their professors in class, every paint peeling glare from Ginny, wrapped around her own new girlfriend, in no way jealous, just completely and totally over Harry’s shit.
It’s a little hilarious if she’s honest; in a completely heart-wrenchingly painful kind of way.
She’s even seen them together, curled up on the far shore of the lake, Draco’s hair a blindingly bright beacon even in the diluted Scottish springtime sun. Sitting together in alcoves as if no one can see them as long as they’re encircled by the weak shadows cast from hanging sconces. Harry acts as if the hickeys are invisible, every mussed hairdo, crinkled tie and hastily tucked shirt is no different from his usual appearance. She’s long known that he has almost no perception of what he looks like, but she hadn’t realized until then that it extended even to his own perfectly pressed and tied ties.
He doesn’t look up when he reenters the common room, nearly an hour later and just before curfew. He looks just as neat as he had when he left, but the deep blush on his cheeks, visible only in the dim light through his winter pale skin, and the wide smile on his face, shy and improbably happy, tells Hermione everything she needs to know.
She’ll leave him be for just a little while longer, she thinks he deserves that much, after everything.
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