Hermione had been walking on a cloud ever since the Yule Ball. She had been angry at Ron's outburst, but she had received a sort of flattering comment from none other than Draco Malfoy. Perhaps it was a little childish of her, but Hermione had chosen to interpret his snide remark as a compliment rather than what she had assumed it was upon first hearing it. How many girls in the school would kill for Malfoy to speak to them like that?
As she sat in the library with her friends, poring over books for the second task, Hermione mused about being less than rude to Malfoy. What would he do if I was nice to him? Hermione almost laughed aloud at the idea. She knew he would show no sign at all of mercy, not in the least. That's what made him relentless; he was a Malfoy and a Slytherin.
Oh please, you know you don't believe that rubbish, she thought, and it was true. Some part of her felt guilty for marking Malfoy as bad simply because of his blood and his house, when he marked her as worthless because of her blood and house. She knew she wasn't worthless, so perhaps she was wrong about him being bad. He's under pressure, a thoughtful voice whispered in her head. Hermione also felt guilty about this, because she knew that it was also telling the truth. Malfoy's family and friends would, no doubt, be pressuring him to act on their beliefs, when he had no chance to figure out his beliefs for himself. He was, essentially, the able-bodied puppet of ex-Death Eaters.
She tried to shoo him out of her thoughts as Fred and George retrieved her and Ron to meet with Professor McGonagall. She concentrated instead on Harry's task tomorrow, as his chances were looking slim. Hermione could hear Ron fumbling next to her nervously, wondering why they were being called away during Harry's most urgent time of need.
In McGonagall's office stood Professor McGonagall, of course, Professor Dumbledore, Professor Moody, Cho Chang, and a petite blonde girl, who couldn't have been older than eight or nine.
Dumbledore smiled at Hermione and Ron as they entered apprehensively, and started to speak, but Hermione heard none of what he said. Her mind was again with Malfoy, wondering what he thought of the future that had already been planned for him, wondering if that was what made him so disagreeable. She wondered if he would ever try to break free of his father's grasp and figure things out for himself, make up his mind about the direction his own life is headed in.
Before she had time to ask Dumbledore to repeat what he had said, Ron looked nervously at her and she was overcome by a blissfully suffocating sleep.
She dreamt of him at the Quidditch World Cup, telling her and her friends they'd better go farther into the forest so she wasn't hurt by the Death Eaters, parading around the campsite with the muggles dangling awkwardly above them. She dreamt of him cursing Harry, and instead hitting her right in the mouth, and saw his look of satisfaction as her teeth grew to resemble enormous white tablets rather than teeth. She dreamt of him telling her he hadn't expected periwinkle to look nice on her...
And then her head broke the surface of the frigid water, and from the middle of the lake she could see him staring at her, an expression that almost resembled concern plastered across his aristocratic visage. Something was tugging around her waist and she turned to see Viktor, his head shrinking from that of a shark's to his own head again, and then she understood: this was the second task.
She continued to glance at him occasionally as she made her way back to the shore, and noted with the slightest of smiles that the concern on his face was gone, replaced why what was unmistakably relief. Hermione blushed as this registered and Madam Pomfrey wrapped a great wooly blanket around her shoulders. She felt warmer instantly, but something told her it wasn't because of the blanket.
Viktor pulled her aside again and spoke to her about the summer holidays and Bulgaria, but Hermione's mind was much farther away than Europe and the future. She was suddenly disappointed by the fact that Malfoy was Malfoy, and risked another glance in his direction. Perhaps she had imagined the relief on his face, because it was contorted into the characteristically Malfoy grimace. Hermione sighed and thanked Viktor as he pulled a beetle from her tangle of hair.