The potions lab seemed more charming the longer Hermione spent in it. Its scent reminded her of burning incense at Sunday Mass. When the lab was empty, the air felt refreshingly cool and damp, like a cave. The dim lanterns made it feel even more like a grotto or a chapel. The only sound was of the metronomic clink, clink, clink of her spoon against the edge of the cauldron as she stirred her latest potion.
Malfoy arrived. He nodded in her direction, then began unpacking his parchments, quills, and ingredients at the station across the room.
"Thank you for yesterday." She didn't look at him as she spoke. "You didn't have to tamp down Zabini."
"He was being an arsehole," Malfoy replied matter-of-factly.
"Well, you didn't have to say anything, so thanks."
"If he'd taken you on, he'd probably have ended up castrated. The Slytherin Quidditch team would've been down our best beater," he said with an artificial nonchalance to his voice. "It was completely selfish, Granger."
She watched him as he shrugged just a bit too offhandedly; as he pretended to organize his papers; as he schooled his mouth into a detached, cool smirk.
"You're a bad liar," she finally replied, then turned back to her potion.
She could feel eyes on her back, and avoided turning around. But she could feel him keep staring for several minutes, and finally, she turned to look.
"What?"
"You're remarkably honest with me, Granger, given our past history."
She rolled her eyes. "I have past history with nearly every Slytherin in this school."
He shot her an exaggerated frown. "I rather thought I held a special place in your heart. You never punched anyone else in the school."
She stared thoughtfully into her cauldron for a moment before replying. "I once punched Ron. But he had really bothered me."
Again she could feel his eyes linger on her, the silence of his unspoken questions hanging between them. After a few minutes, she could sense his eyes leave her, but she was still acutely aware of his presence just a few metres away; the faint smell of fresh grass clinging to his clothes from the Quidditch pitch; the rhythmic sound of his knife slicing through ingredients; the sound of pages being turned in his book.
Neither looked at each other. Neither spoke. When he left an hour later, he didn't say good-bye.
Hermione had owled Ron about the Valentine Ball on January 27th, the day the sign had gone up in the Great Hall.
Ron, there's a Valentine's Ball on the 14th. Can you come as my date? It'll be from 7 in the evening. Let me know. H.
It had taken him four full days to respond; the owl had arrived at the girls' dormitory window at four in the afternoon, right after classes finished for the day.
Only if you're FINALLY apologizing to me for getting annoyed over those pens. I thought they were a pretty good gift and I got in quite a lot of trouble from Mum for re-gifting your Christmas present. I'll go, but I'll probably duck out early - the ball is the same night as the Cannons - Kestrels quarter-final, and a load of the Auror trainees are meeting up at my training partner Susan's match party. It won't be any fun for you though, lots of Quidditch talk and scrumpy, so you may as well stay at the school after I go. Ron.
Ginny could tell something was off by the face Hermione made as she read the letter.
"This can't be good," Ginny murmured.
"Read this." Hermione handed the letter over the table.
"Oh Ron." Ginny frowned across the table. "Shall I have a word with him?"
"Don't bother." She toyed with the letter, then cast a quick banishing spell on it.
"You don't seem that angry," Ginny said quietly.
Hermione didn't feel angry. She just felt - tired. Tired of making the effort. Tired of Ron half-arsing it. Relationships weren't supposed to feel this way, not at eighteen years old. She felt like she and Ron were an old married couple whose spark had long since died, but kept flogging the dead horse because everyone else expected them to. What would it be like in two months, if they kept it up? In two years?
She pulled out a sheet of paper and a quill, scrawled a response, and attached it to the owl's leg. Ginny looked at her expectantly.
"I'm done," Hermione said softly, watching the owl fly off into the distance.
"Did you break it off?"
Hermione nodded. She felt tears prickle in her eyes - first, for the uncertainty it wrought. Was her friendship with Ron finished? How would Ginny now treat her? How would Harry?
But far worse, there was something heartbreaking about knowing that her first genuine love, the one that had seemed so innocent and fated at the beginning, hadn't made it. That her stupid little ideas of a charming townhouse in London, a golden retriever and two pretty redheaded children was never going to be more than a teenage fantasy. Her eyes prickled.
She glanced over at Ginny with uncertainty, but Ginny just smiled sympathetically.
"I think you'd have had to be blind not to see the problems between you and my brother. If you're meant to be, you two will work it out." She sighed and gently rubbed Hermione's arm. "Come on, let's go down to supper and distract you for a bit. You're supposed to get your Arithmancy text back from Anthony. You wouldn't let Ron keep you from your books, would you?"
Hermione frowned.
Ginny smiled. "I didn't think so."
Supper, surprisingly, did distract Hermione.
At least for a while. Anthony Goldstein had slipped surreptitiously into the Gryffindor table across from Hermione, and they had spent most of the meal chatting about their newest Arithmancy assignment. Most of the other Gryffindors, bored by weighty academic pursuits, ignored their conversation.
"Hello, Granger," Malfoy said, sauntering toward the Gryffindor table.
He was greeted by several dozen Gryffindors muttering "Go away, Malfoy," and "Eff off, Ferret." As usual, he seemed deaf to any criticism.
Goldstein leaned closer to Hermione and whispered, "He's had it out for you lately, hasn't he? Prat."
"Yes, he seems like my shadow." Hermione sighed. "It's becoming quite annoying."
Malfoy stood behind Goldstein, his mouth set in a fakey, treacle-sweet smile, and his arms crossed over his chest. "Don't start letting Goldstein get any ideas, Granger. I'm sure he thinks the two of you would make the most precious little couple."
The Slytherins snorted; his goal, as always, was to elicit an emotional reaction for his audience. It worked, to a degree - Goldstein blushed scarlet. Hermione didn't see it; her full attention was focused on Malfoy.
"Though I'm sure you'd never let anything ruin the grand storybook romance between yourself and the heroic Ginger Weasel, would you, Granger?" Malfoy continued. "Everyone in the Wizarding World is just counting down the days until the wedding and the inevitable fourteen children."
She couldn't break the gaze between her eyes and his silver ones. There was something different about Malfoy this time. His lips smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. He schooled his voice into a teasing lilt, but it was laced with a hard, bitter edge. It cut to the quick.
I'm not going to cry, I'm not going to cry, I am absolutely positively not going to cry because of stupid, insensitive, attention-whorish Draco Malfoy, she told herself. Why does he make me feel so much worse than anyone else can?
"Congratulate me, everyone, I've done the impossible! I've rendered Granger speechless," he crowed.
She felt Ginny's hand rest on her arm - she recognized it as a silent, comforting gesture.
"You okay?" Goldstein whispered.
"Not particularly, but I will be." She stood up and collected her bag. "I'm going for some fresh air."
As she hurried out of the Great Hall, she overheard Ginny's clipped voice snap, "You're utter shite, Malfoy."
What she didn't see was the guilty expression that crossed Malfoy's face when she bolted from the room.
She heard Malfoy's footsteps long before she heard his voice, but didn't turn around to look. Once again, Malfoy had ruined her solitude - even here, next to the lake, where few ventured even on a sunny afternoon.
"I thought you'd be in the potions mixing room. I looked for you there," he said.
"Which is exactly why I avoided it," she replied.
She heard him step closer. "I looked for you in the library and at Gryffindor Tower."
"My, you're persistent." She still stared out toward the lake. "Couldn't you have found someone else to harass today? There are a dozen other seventh year Gryffindors that you could hate with equal fervor."
"I don't..." He sighed. "Never mind. I didn't come here to harass you."
"Well then go away, because I'm not interested in dispensing homework advice or chatting about the news."
He didn't leave. She could sense him standing, silently, a few metres behind her. Instead of acknowledging his presence, she kept looking out across the lake, watching as the sky darkened and the lights of Hogsmeade began to twinkle in in the sunset.
Finally, he spoke. "Is it true, then?"
"You'll have to be a bit more specific."
"Come on, Granger, don't be obtuse." She could sense he spoke through gritted teeth. "Weasley. Is it over between the two of you?"
She had no desire to chat with anyone - least of all Malfoy - about the fresh wounds of her broken relationship. Had he really ventured all around the school just to rub salt into it? Even Malfoy didn't usually seem that malicious.
But in the past day, he'd surprised her with his bitterness.
"Not that it's any of your fucking business, Malfoy, but yes. You and your Slytherin pals can rejoice, because one more pureblood male's been spared from the fate of a mixed marriage and is free to date any of the inbred halfwits you're all related to." Her anger flowed freely now. "Are you happy? You finally got a reaction from me. It's just a pity that your friends weren't here to get a lark out of it, too. Maybe you can pensieve it, and you can all laugh together..."
"Shit, Granger." His voice was almost a whisper; she was startled into silence. "I'm sorry."
There was a long, awkward silence. He walked into her field of vision and knelt a few metres in front of her. His long, spidery fingers raked through the grass, and his gray eyes stayed locked on the ground.
"For what?" she finally asked.
"Huh?" He looked up at her as if she'd surprised him out of deep thought.
"What. Are. You. Sorry. For."
His face flushed; she could see it even in the dim light. "Erm... well, Weasley. I'm sorry you broke up with him, but these things happen..."
His voice had taken on that artificial nonchalance she'd heard so many times before, and he tossed his blond hair back nonchalantly. Fake, she thought.
"You know what I've realized, Malfoy? You're constantly lying." She spat it out. "Why? Why can't you ever be honest? You even lie when your friends aren't around to impress. I don't think you're even capable of honesty anymore. That's why all of your so-called friends are complete tossers."
She had angered him - she could see the hardening of his jaw and the narrowing of his eyes. Malfoy looked like his father when he was angry, but she felt no fear, even as he tore a handful of grass out of the ground and clenched his fist around the blades and dirt.
"Honesty isn't always a virtue, Granger." His voice was low. "You want me to be honest? Fine. I think Weasley's pathetic. I have no idea why you ever thought he was worth your attention. You should be glad you got rid of him before he tied you down with his stupidity and fecundity."
Her jaw dropped. Malfoy's voice was laced with complete revulsion. Their eyes locked. She couldn't look away. The air between them felt like an elastic band pulled to its breaking point, as if something had to happen; a fluttering, unfamiliar tension unfurled in her abdomen.
She could only logically explain it away as an odd type of anger that only Malfoy could elicit.
His hand stretched out, as if he intended to touch her arm, but then he froze. The hand darted back. He broke eye contact. Instead, he stared past her, toward the castle in the distance. He stood, still refusing to meet her gaze.
His voice was quiet now, and held no more anger. "I hate Weasley, but I don't hate you, Granger."
And he left.
She sat next to the lake well into the night.
After several hours, she had come to the conclusion that she no longer hated him, either.
AN: Two more chapters to go! I might even post them faster if I get a review or two... (yes, I'm resorting to blatant bribery).