Chapter Twenty-One: Almost

Hermione couldn't even tell it was Slughorn's office. The party was stunning. The whole room was draped in crimson, gold, and emerald hangings that shimmered when someone walked by them. Music was a simple, soft choir over acoustic accompaniment. Professors, scholars, businessmen, accomplished past students, and current students alike wore their best clothes, ate the best food, and drank the best mead in celebration for the upcoming holiday.

Most people seemed to be enjoying themselves, though the two Carrow sisters seemed to be avoiding a confident Cormac McLaggen, who was standing under the mistletoe, at all costs. Harry seemed rather bored in his newest conversation with a group of old warlocks who were doting on the Boy Who Lived.

Thankfully, he had invited Luna. And as uncomfortable as Hermione got at the airy comments Luna made normally, she now conceded that Luna's presence was perfect for this event. For Harry.

And while Hermione knew he'd rather be here with Ginny, Harry seemed to be enjoying himself with Luna if his smile was any indication. She was glad one of them could find real happiness despite their similar situations.

Her gaze turned to Ginny, who was only a few steps away, carefully tucked into Dean's arm.

The couple was getting along extremely well tonight, Ginny looked radiant in the blue dress she'd decided on those two weeks ago in Hogsmeade, and Dean couldn't take his eyes - nor his hands - off of her. Hermione noticed that Harry had been avoiding the two whenever he could. As much as Ginny had complained back in that dress shop, the couple did not show any evidence of strain. In fact, Ginny shined the opposite. She looked happy. Really happy. Dean looked it, too. Hermione noticed his arm wrapped around his girlfriend's waist as he leaned in to whisper something in her ear, so comfortably.

It reminded Hermione of her date with Draco in Hogsmeade and, without warning, she felt exceptionally lonely.

She felt a hand on her back, bringing her back from almost-dangerous thoughts.

Turning her head, Hermione was greeted by the warm smile of Seamus Finnegan. "Does that mind of yours ever stop working?" He teased, lifting a flute of something that sparkled in front of her, offering.

She took the glass with a polite smile. "Six years, Seamus. That's how long you've known me. You shouldn't have to ask that question," she quipped on autopilot, urging his smile to widen.

"Drink up then," he suggested with a nod to her drink. "It will help."

Bless his patience, she thought.

He seemed to understand so well. He understood that she wasn't ready to completely move on. That wasn't why she brought him, and he was fine with that.

He didn't mind the moments when her mind clearly slipped somewhere else, where she pictured blonde hair and stone benches and clouds full of rain.

She looked down at her dress and absentmindedly smoothed our nonexistent wrinkles in her dark gray skirt. Ginny has done an incredible job mending it, transfiguring it.

But it still reminded her of Draco.

How many colours could one pair of eyes possess? If it wasn't silver- like Slytherin, like kisses- it was gray- like storm clouds and regret.

It really wasn't fair.

"Where is your merry Christmas spirit?" Seamus joked again as he pulled a second glass from a nearby tray. He raised his drink to hers, continuing cheerfully, "it may not shut off that brilliant mind of yours, but it might make being around these two lovebirds a little more bearable."

Ahhh, she thought after glancing at Dean and Ginny. Only for a moment. They're snogging.

At that, she smiled for real. Briefly.

The flutes made soft tings as they bumped together.

"Cheers," he exclaimed.

She took a sip and found that the bubbly drink was not half bad.

Pleased, Seamus smiled at her once again before gently tugging her in a different direction, toward Neville, Luna, and Harry.

This almost felt normal.

Ginny had been right.

Inviting Seamus to Slughorn's Christmas party had not been a bad idea at all. In fact, it was almost perfect.

He was almost perfect.

He was ever the gentleman: prompt, polite, and present.

While she fully anticipated he would spend most of his time talking with Dean, she was pleasantly surprised that he was completely attentive to her and all of her needs.

He offered her his hand as they walked down to the dungeons without hesitation. He kept a drink in her hand, but she never felt pressured to drink it. He kept his hands at very appropriate places on her body. Wrapped around her hip, the middle of her back, across her shoulders, or simply her hand.

He seemed content to stick by her side or content to socialize off on his own. But even when they were visiting with different groups, he was still paying attention to her. He still looked over to her every few minutes, made eye contact.

He quickly learned which eye movements said "save me" and she learned which looks he gave her were meant to poke fun at the people he was with.

And while Hermione found a subtle comfort in the way Seamus was handling their casual date, Hermione still felt the constant pull of pain. He was only almost perfect.

There was the single, incredible fault that he was not Draco Malfoy.

Seamus could be the most attentive, most attractive, most gentlemanly, most perfect date at the party, but he was not the boy she almost loved.

He didn't have that perfectly arrogant smirk, nor the pristinely fitted shirt. He was the opposite of controlled and collected. His jokes were loud and his personality demanded your attention. He didn't compliment her in puzzles or tease her in just the right ways...

She should have been here with Draco.

Maybe he would have placed his arm around her waist, maybe he would have teased the fabric of her skirt, or maybe he would have tried to get her underneath the mistletoe.

NO! I can't be thinking this, she scolded herself mentally. I can't be wishing, imagining something that is never going to happen. He chose his side and it wasn't with me.

Hermione cursed herself, downing the rest of her champagne and grabbing another glass from a nearby tray before downing that, too.

She thought about him so hard, she was starting to imagine things; imagine him, standing there in a handsome, perfectly tailored black suit.

"This boy was found lurking in the corridor!" boomed the old caretaker's voice from beside him. "He claims to have been invited to your party."

Draco barely heard the man who was strongly gripping his arm, wrinkling his grossly expensive new suit. His eyes found Hermione from across the room as soon as he'd been pushed through. His eyes seemed to be doing that a lot the last few weeks; they always seem to know where she is the moment he steps into a room.

That Irishman had his arm around her again, and the implication made his bruised heart sink. She couldn't possibly–

"I can't say that he was, Argus, unless Mr. Malfoy's been invited as a date." Professor Slughorn's voice drew half of his mind back into his current situation, but the better half of him remained focused on Hermione.

She was an angel in a gray satin dress.

The way her eyes were locked on only him, how she didn't seem to notice Finnegan's nervous expression, gave him hope.

Draco Malfoy was not going to back down.

Not this time.

"I was, sir," he assured the professor.

"By whom, Mr. Malfoy?"

"Hermione Granger, sir." Merlin, it felt right to say her name aloud.

Across the room, Hermione was thinking something very similar, though the thought ached. Merlin, it feels good when he says it.

It was then, Hermione realized all eyes in the room were focused on her, but she only felt the sharp gaze from Draco.

Maybe somewhere else there was another boy. One whose eyes were blue and who's hair was thick and brown and whose arm had just stiffened around her waist.

"I did invite him, professor," the Gryffindor confessed. Technically.

That arm fell, but Hermione barely noticed.

"Very well then. Let the boy go, if you please, Argus. Let the party continue!"

Draco was released as music and conversation returned to its original volume. Seamus and Harry exchanged looks from where they stood, silently agreeing that this was probably not good. Harry took a step closer to Hermione while Seamus shifted his weight from one foot to the other. Both Gryffindor boys were thinking the same things, thinking through the potential outcomes of a confrontation between the broken-hearted couple.

But neither Hermione nor Draco moved an inch. They simply stared at each other from their places on each end of the festively decorated hall.

For Hermione, seeing Draco this close, him looking at her and her looking back, sent panic and comfort throughout her body at the same time. She'd been doing so well at avoiding him. And now that he was here, looking for her, she felt so shaken.

She hadn't realized broken hearts could still feel so much.

A voice sounded beside her, startling the witch from her staring contest. "Would you like me to get him out of here?" asked a very attentive Harry, who had stepped closer to her side.

"I don't know."

"Want me to hex him?" offered Seamus, an uncharacteristic serious expression on his face.

"I don't know." Hermione let out a nervous breath.

"I know a really good one," Seamus continued excitedly. "When you fire sparks at a bloke's–

"Do you want to talk to him?" Harry tried again, cutting Seamus off.

"I don't know," Hermione whispered again, looking at the floor between herself and her two incredible friends.

She was nervous, panicked because Draco was right there and embarrassed because her mind seemed to bloody stop working and awkward because her date was wanting to injure the Slytherin she'd been thinking about all night.

"I think you need to decide quickly," noted Harry. "He's coming this way."

When Hermione looked up, Draco was already ten feet away from where she stood. Seamus' arm snaked around her waist once again and she found that Harry had drawn his wand, threateningly, unnecessarily.

Silence hung as Draco drew closer until he was standing right in front of them.

"Potter," he nodded respectfully.

"Malfoy," he bit back.

"Finnegan," he acknowledged, eyes narrowing, probably confused by the new arm that held Hermione where his own should be.

She could see the faint traces of swollen bruises around his eye. Her heartstrings twitched.

Seamus' arm tightened around her. "Malfoy," he sneered.

Gray eyes met hers and again, time seemed to forget to continue.

"Hermione." She was stunned by the amount of raw emotion that leaked in the way he sighed her name. He was nothing arrogant, nothing proud.

"Why are you here?" Hermione questioned, voice faltering.

Draco glanced painfully from Hermione to Potter to Finnegan and back again, noting the way the Irishman seemed to pull her in closer to him with every word that was said. "Can we talk?" he hesitated. "Privately, perhaps?"

The next four seconds were the longest, most agonizing moments of his life as he waited for a response.

"Okay," that sweet voice volunteered. Hermione stepped a half-step away from Seamus, "I'm going to go. I'll meet you after, okay?" She looked hesitantly between the two boys, unsure.

Harry tilted his head with narrow eyes, sending suspicious yet somehow threatening looks Draco's way over Hermione's shoulder. "Are you sure you don't want me to come?"

"Yes, I'm sure. Stay, party, and give us some privacy?" she assured him with a meaningful glance that told him that following in the invisibility cloak would not be acceptable.

"Alright," he agreed.

She sent an apologetic look to her date, who seemed to be tense, but not angry with her. "I'll be here," he promised.

She wasn't totally sure why she'd agreed to speak with him. It probably wasn't a good idea. It was almost certainly a terrible idea to go anywhere alone with him. But as he stood there feet away from her, she could almost smell the familiar pine scent that was his.

So she caved for her broken heart, and she went.

Awkwardly, Hermione followed a nervous Draco into the cold hallway. Silence consumed them once again, both drowning in nerves and discomfort.

"What are you doing here, Draco?" Hermione finally started.

She was more beautiful up close than he'd remembered. Or maybe, he just loved her more. He'd thought about seeing her, here, at the party for three days. But he hadn't given any thought to what he would say when he did.

"Well, I wasn't sure if you still needed a date," he shrugged, looking at his shoes. He felt so small, so much like when he was a child and had broken his mother's favourite crystal vase.

He stayed quiet. "Well, I have one. I'm here with Seamus," she explained with as much confidence as she could muster.

Sort of ironic, wasn't it, that now she was trying to make Draco jealous. The way his breathing paused told her that it had.

"Seamus," he mumbled.

She almost felt bad, then, at the mess of emotions she saw in his eyes. They were stormy again. Tormented, much like her dress.

Her fabricated confidence had not lasted very long and now, she felt small. "So, if that's all, I guess you can go now." She rubbed up and down her arm with the other hand as if she were cold.

He wished he had a cloak to offer her.

"That's not really why I came," Draco confessed. He sighed, silver eyes finding hers. "I miss you." The awkwardness started to melt with his honesty. Part of her (most of her) was extremely glad he wasn't leaving.

"You miss me?"

"I can't escape it. I know I've hurt you. I wish I hadn't. I wish I wasn't–" he trailed off, sighing.

"Draco-

"You're seeing someone?" he asked, a desperate, searching look in those steely eyes. She didn't respond, letting him sit in the silence that was no answer at all. Saying no would comfort him too much; saying yes would be a lie. "I just- I don't understand, Hermione. It's killing me here, missing you. And you're just avoiding me and- and moving on as if- as if nothing happened."

His hands dragged heavy paths down his face, stressing. That's when she noticed the slight crookedness to his nose. It had set well, but at some point, he had broken it. Unconsciously, she took a half-step forward, closer to him.

"I see you getting on with school work and friendships and dating, I guess, and I'm- I- I can't eat and- and I can't sleep. And, really, I'm- I can barely get through the day without you."

His breathing was hard, pained, and his eyes were on the floor between them. She could see his calloused hands fidgeting with his pockets in a way she had never seen before on him. She knew that it was difficult for him to show her this vulnerability so she dropped her eyes, too.

The discovery that it wasn't all a lie did weird things to her body. The combination of being so close to him and hearing his voice say those words made her heart race. She couldn't look up at him. She just couldn't. She took a breath to calm herself down.

Draco chuckled softly at his admission, maybe the awkwardness of the situation, frustrated and stressed, no doubt, but embarrassed, too. "How does none of this bother you?" he questioned sounding hopeless, the emotionless Malfoy Mask discarded entirely. "Was I mistaken? Did I read it wrong? Did you not want it, too? You kissed me back on that tower, I know you did, but now, you don't look at me, you don't think about me—

He'd been interrupted by her fire-lit eyes flashing to his as that last accusation ran off his tongue, but only for a moment. She looked away again.

"You've been thinking about me too," he exclaimed. His grey eyes remained harshly focused on her, daring her to look at him.

"No, I haven't," she insisted, her voice breaking a bit at the lie. Her gaze got away from her; she looked into his eyes. "I haven't given you much thought at all, really."

But he knew it wasn't true. The way her eyes flicked away at the end. He'd spent months studying Hermione and those eyes, he knew them well now.

She had been thinking about him.

The corner of his mouth rose briefly before his lips crashed into hers without warning. She could feel the untamed electricity that coursed through his veins. It shocked her when he kissed her, the warm feeling spreading quickly from her lips to her toes making them curl in the way only he can make them. She refused to respond at first, knowing she shouldn't give in, but he gently brushed his tongue over her lips and the spot tingled, and she was lost.

His hands found her hair and her fingers were tightly gripping his coat's lapel, pulling his body closer. She should have known, and maybe she did, maybe she could feel the fragility of what they were by the way they clung so tightly to each other. It could never last.

You shouldn't be doing this, she scolded herself despite the incredible way he was making her feel. You shouldn't want him anymore. You can't do this. He still lied to you! He's still a Death Eater!

She pushed him away suddenly, her cheeks blazing, lips tingling, and heart racing in circles around them. "We shouldn't. I shouldn't be doing this. We can't," she insisted rather weakly.

He sighed desperately but let her keep her space. "And why not Hermione? I told you on that tower and I'll tell you again: I love you! And I think you—"

"Stop saying that!" she shrieked, a wave of emotional anger taking over. "You- you can't!" Tears were forming in the corners of her eyes, but she would never let him see.

"Wasn't that real? That kiss on the tower? It was more than our fake relationship. If we're honest with ourselves, I think it hadn't been fake for a while," his gray eyes were fiercely challenging in the way she could feel them piercing the side of her face.

Too much was happening. Those pesky butterflies came fluttering back almost instantly. It hadn't all been a lie like she'd worried. He felt it, too. He meant it, at least in some capacity. Maybe he couldn't all be summed up by his mark. Maybe there was more to his story. She still wasn't sure what to trust, or how much, but maybe he deserved to be listened to. Maybe.

"I don't know what you did, Hermione, but I can't seem to get you out of my head. I don't know when or how you crept slowly into my world, but you're everywhere. I see you in my mind. Every time my thoughts or my eyes wander, they always find their way to you. And then I seem to get lost in your smile or the faint sounds of your laugh from across the room and it reminds me of memories by the lake and how your nose scrunches up when you're happy. I don't know how or why this started, but I miss you, Hermione. I miss you all the time." He let out an exasperated breath as his hands clenched at his side.

Her breath caught in her throat, her mind almost forfeiting at the thought of making more memories by the lake. She'd been practicing every day, pretending not to feel, but it never got any easier.

Hermione crossed her arms, hugging herself, desperately in need. Of what? She wasn't sure. Comfort, maybe. Understanding. Clarity.

Her mind was at war with her heart. Her voice, shakily betraying her best efforts to remain calm, could not determine which side was winning.

"Why are you saying all of this?" she asked, almost meeting his eyes, but afraid to. His pools of silver-gray have always been her weakness.

"Because I have to," he breathed. "Because it's true," he added more confidently. "Because-"

He shook his head in frustration and stepped closer to her, his pine scent immediately filling her nose and she had to fight the urge to breathe it all in. She was looking at him again. Couldn't help it. His developing agitation, his smell, the feel of his magic reaching out toward her was so familiar.

"Damnit, because I love you, Hermione!" he bellowed, passion filling his eyes. "I love you, and I'm sorry if that scares you. I'm sorry if you wish I didn't say it, but the feeling is not something I can shake so easily."

He let out a sharp breath and took a few steps away, tormented and thinking, as he ran his hands through his hair.

Just like Hermione. Thinking, thinking, thinking.

I'm not sure what love feels like, she remembered, thoughts back to a conversation with Ginny. But I think I have read enough books to know that it would be something spectacular.

At the time, she had imagined spectacular romances like Scarlett O'Hara and Rhett Butler, or Gatsby and his Daisy, those stories that make your heart pound as you read them. But maybe spectacular meant more than that romantic goodness. Maybe the only thing that is required for something to be spectacular is that relentless heart pounding.

Maybe it was like Fred and George's fireworks that day she'd sat her OWL's, the glorious sight of the sparkling creatures chasing Umbridge about the castle, a frantic McGonagall firing spells trying to remedy the situation. But she'd never before thought about the professor's perspective of that day; surely McGonagall was rather impressed by the fireworks, too. Upset, angry, and annoyed with them, disapproving of their methods, but still stricken with the breathtaking expression of magic. Still, she would have thought that the sight of the twins mounting their brooms and soaring into a cloud of glittering magic, away from Hogwarts forever, was a spectacular one.

Maybe, Hermione thought, spectacular isn't always the fireworks. Maybe, spectacular is the magic. The feeling. This moment. Now.

The way he looked at her with those silver eyes made her feel something, his words made her heart race, and when she kissed him, Merlin, it was pure magic. And she knew then, that what she felt for Draco was real, spectacular love.

No almost.

When she looked up a moment later, her eyes betrayed how hard she was trying to stay calm, for they showed the gloss of Almost tears.

He took a step toward her. He lifted his hand to rub down her arm, starting at her shoulder before taking her hand in his. She looked sadly at their hands and didn't grip his back like she might have in the past, but she also didn't move away. That made Draco smile the tiniest smile on the inside.

His eyes were pleading with her as his next words were whispered and desperate. "Please don't pretend this didn't mean anything to you. Hermione, I was there. I saw the way you looked at me."

She wanted to say something.

I'm sorry, or perhaps, fuck you. She wanted to say, It did mean something. I let you in and you abused that position of trust. But no no no. She wanted to say, kiss me please, please, again, we can forget everything.

Or maybe, maybe she just wanted to say, I love you, too. You don't deserve it but I still love you.

"Why won't you look at me?" Draco asked.

She did and, Godric, it almost broke her. His eyes were sad and the way they pleaded with her made her ever-fragile heart stop.

"We were almost there, Hermione. We were almost something real. They say that Almosts are the worst kind of pain because it's close, but not enough. Almost is something you can touch with your fingertips, but can never really reach. It's living constantly in the high of anticipation. But for me, I don't know, it's more than that."

Hermione's voice was barely above a whisper. Weak. "What do you mean?"

"I- I keep thinking about that night on the Astronomy Tower," he sighed. "Everything was coming together so perfectly, you and me. And then we weren't. The Almost hurts. The ending hurts. You just left, without asking questions, without explaining–

Hermione sharply pulled her hand from his, eyes angry. "I hardly thought I needed to explain myself–

"And you didn't!" He threw his hands up in a placating gesture, recognizing his mistake, and raised his voice more at himself than her. "I understand! I get it, I know. I don't deserve you in the slightest, but that makes it even more searing. I get why you left, but we never said goodbye. We just kind of... ended... without ever really beginning"

Ended. So much information hung in that one word. It implied that something had been started. It gave off a feeling of finality, but not one that was welcome.

"Maybe that's all we'll ever be– an Almost, an incomplete sentence, a half-written story. Finished, without an ending."

The words cut him like a knife. "It doesn't have to be like that. We can add to our story, however we want," he suggested, a pleading, frantic tone creeping back into his voice.

"No we can't!" she bellowed in response.

He reached out for her again but this time, she flinched from his touch. "Hermione, why don't you see that we don't have to be an Almost! We can be whatever we want!"

"Don't you understand why this doesn't work, why this can never work? I shouldn't be associating with you at all. I should have let Filch throw you out." Frustration grew in her until she was shouting at him with things she hated to say. She wanted him so badly, she wanted everything to work out like he thought it could. But it couldn't. She wouldn't. Not a Death Eater.

"Don't say that Hermione, please." He reached out as he spoke, aching to touch her, hold her hand once again. But she stepped away, avoiding his hands and he grimaced. "I had to see you. I've been a mess. Don't you see this is driving me mad? Don't you see that it's killing me to miss you when you don't even care? I can't go another day like this, watching you move on like it was nothing. We weren't nothing. We aren't nothing!"

"I love you," Draco professed again, taking a deep breath. He moved closer to her, Hermione retreating, matching each step, her thoughts running wild with questions. But Draco was growing annoyed with her continued attempts to avoid it.

"I love you with adoration, with fertile tears, with groans that thunder love, with sighs of fire," he quoted, making her pause to look at him carefully.

Shakespeare, Twelfth Night, of all things.

She was rather annoyed that he had to go and quote that book in particular, and she rolled her eyes, mouth pressing into a thin line. She saw traces of an almost smirk on his face as he saw the way his words threw her, and that turned her annoyance into pure anger.

"You love me?" she asked fiercely, showing her fury. "Which is it then? Was it that you loved me enough to let me go, or you didn't love me enough to hold on, to fight, to fix it?"

"I wanted to hold on. I wanted that, but I needed to know that you cared enough to fight with me! I was right there. I was ready to leave the entire world behind, every obligation, if it meant I could be with you." He took a step forward but it wasn't predatory. It was pleading. "I wanted you to love me back! I wanted you to say, 'you're so stupid but I believe in you and there's got to be a way to fix it.' Isn't that what you always give Potter and Weasley? Don't you always stick by them?" Hermione looked at her feet before meeting his stormy eyes once again.

She usually liked the raw Draco, the one who left his Malfoy Mask at home. But not now. Not when he was yelling at her. Not when he was making her think about such difficult things.

"Hermione, I wanted that. I needed that. But you left. Telling someone I love them isn't easy for me. But with you, it felt so right, so simple and clear and perfect. I hardly even realized the sacrifice that was. I gave you the power to destroy me and that's exactly what you did. You left. And It kills me because I understand! I don't deserve you, but I was hopeful. Then I hoped that you leaving meant that these feelings I had for you would wither away, but they didn't. They're still around and growing, even.

"It hurts, Hermione. It hurts to want you so badly- to fall deeper into love with you- when I see the way you ignore me. I see how you avoid me all the time. I don't understand how you can go on like nothing ever happened, like none of this matters," he stressed, gesturing between their two bodies.

She looked up from the floor finally, noting the pained expression on his face. "It's so much easier to act like none of this matters. It's so much easier to pretend, to wear a smile, to hide behind my books than it is to confess my heart is nearly broken from losing someone who was never even mine."

"Then let me be yours," he pleaded.

"It's not that easy, Draco."

"Why not?"

"Are you still working for Voldemort?" the power and confidence in her question startled them both. He looked down and away, giving his silent answer.

"I think you answered your own question." She turned away from him with a harsh look that masked her internal agony. Silent tears traced long, lonely paths down her blush-covered cheeks.

They hadn't made it far from the entrance to the party, but she had to consciously force herself to take each step. There were so many things she still wanted to say: How they could have worked it out, how she thought she might have loved him, how he could make things right.

She wanted to tell him that she wanted him to change his mind, to switch sides, to leave his world behind like he offered. YES, it was what she wanted. YES, she believed there could be another way out, another way that would allow them to be together. But telling him that would have defeated the purpose.

She could see the contemplation, the doubt, the uncertainty in his eyes; he didn't want the life he had signed himself into. For Hermione, that was the Almost that hurt her the most. He was almost there. She needed him to make the decision for himself, completely.

No Almost.

After all, love sought is good, but given unsought is better.

.

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A/N: HI READERS! AHHHH I love this chapter. I really do. And I'm sorry they didn't get together here (not really, because it is all for the purpose of plot!). As always, I promise it will work out in the end and I appreciate your patience! There were too many kind reviews this week to give shoutouts. I love you all and my heart is happy! THANK YOU!

Credit to the great (but slightly overrated) William Shakespeare for Draco's love quote and "love sought is good, but given unsought is better." Both are from Twelfth Night!

Questions: What is running through your head right now? What is your favourite line this week?

Big Beta Love for Rachelletwin2 for her generous help with this story. BTR would not be what it is without her!

Follow me on Tumblr at OxfordElise for chapter updates, previews, or general discussions! :) Ask me questions, let me know what you think of each chapter or the story in general. Or want to talk Dramione? The greater Harry Potter universe? I'm your girl. Tumblr. Seriously. Let's be friends.

Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.

Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise

Update May 3, 2019

It pains me to announce that I need to take a break from Better Than Revenge. This break will last about three months, but I PROMISE I WILL BE BACK. As I prepare to graduate college and finish my teaching credential program, I'm bombarded with assignments, final exams, moving across the state, party planning, job hunting, and the crippling anxiety about it all. I graduate at the end of the month, then will be backpacking across Spain along the Camino de Santiago until late June and I will not have a computer for that trip.

It was my original plan to post every week, and I timed it to post the last chapter on the Friday before I graduated, but my original outline somehow found a few extra scenes and chapter got long and split up, and here we are with like… Seven-ish more chapters and there is no possible way I'm going to finish them all before the end of this month. I rather take the time to create quality chapters than rush through the ending just to meet my imagined deadline.

I sincerely apologize for this brief hiatus, but I hope the rough estimate of when I will be back will keep you from completely hating me. I will be reunited with my computer on June 25th! You can expect a chapter a week or two following that. Thank you for your understanding and patience and support as I deal with all of these big life changes. I promise with my whole heart, THIS FIC WILL BE FINISHED. I recommend subscribing and/or following so you receive an update when the next chapter is posted. I may post an almost-finished one shot in the next few weeks so follow me as an author to receive those updates, too!

Thank you for your patience and understanding, OxfordElise