The Dueling Duo

Hermione pretended not to notice Draco's approach. She was in the library, reading Conflict Resolution for Your Pre-Teen, a book she'd asked her mother to send her. She suspected its advice wasn't as easy to follow as it sounded.

"Wake up, Granger!" said Draco.

"Good evening, Malfoy," said Hermione bitterly. "I hope you're well."

Draco was taken aback. "What?"

"It's called politeness," replied Hermione. "That's when—"

"I know what politeness is! Why the devil are you using it on me?"

"Everyone deserves politeness. Even albino freaks."

Draco looked infuriated and bewildered at the same time. "Not here," he whispered. "Meet at the nook." He walked off in the wrong direction. Hermione gathered her books and walked off in a different wrong direction.

Draco was already there when she arrived. She set down her books and faced him. "I'm angry with you." And she was.

Draco looked baffled. "Why?"

"Very funny, staying home from the duel and sending Filch instead."

Draco smirked. "It was, a bit."

"I went with Ron and Harry to the trophy room, you know."

Draco looked alarmed. "But ... but no harm done, right?"

"We found a hidden passage and got away, but we ended up in the Forbidden Corridor. It's every bit as dangerous as Professor Dumbledore says it is. I could have been killed!"

Draco paled, something she wouldn't have thought possible. He reached for her, but he was too late. She slapped him as hard as she could across the face.

The blow rocked him. His expression became blank, empty. Perhaps without willing it, he touched his cheek gingerly with his fingertips. A red handprint was appearing where she'd struck him. His blankness faded as he met her eyes, his eyebrows rising in inquiry.

She didn't know what she expected from him, but this wasn't it. She snarled, "And you fled from an affair of honor. Fled like a coward. Shame on you, Malfoy!"

Draco turned red in sudden fury. Through gritted teeth, he said, "Damn you, Granger!" He clenched and unclenched his fists.

She realized she didn't know the first thing about defending herself if he attacked her. And she'd never turn him in. She looked at him in wide-eyed fear.

He had closed his eyes and was struggling to get himself under control. It took him a long time. Eventually his color and breathing returned almost to normal. He opened his eyes again but avoided meeting hers, his gaze flitting about the room. Suddenly he said, "What? Conflict Resolution for Your Pre-Teen? You can't be serious."

"It's a good book!"

"Clearly." He touched his cheek again. "Ow." He looked at her and shook his head sadly. "Fisticuffs. Really, Granger."

"Don't be an idiot. Fisticuffs means fists. I didn't use fists; I slapped you."

"Well, what conflict resolution shall we try next? Brass knuckles, perhaps?"

"I ... is your face all right, Malfoy?"

He scowled. "We're not going to risk a moment of honesty, are we?"

"Um ... yes."

He met her gaze. "I'm sorry, Granger."

She felt ... strange. "Thank you."

"It makes me feel quite sick to think that I put you in danger. You, of all people."

"It should. It was terrifying. And mean. And—"

"Yes. And you know, Granger, I've dreamed about the time you would reach out your hand and touch me."

Hermione felt herself blush. "Are we still having a moment of honesty?"

"Yes."

She reached out her left hand and stroked his uninjured cheek, just once, with her fingertips. "Me, too."

He sighed happily. "Conflict resolution for your pre-teen. Well, well. Lend me that book when you're through with it, will you, Granger?"

"Of course."

"And never call me a coward again."

"How about 'albino'?"

He made a face. "Only on special occasions."

"And Malfoy, don't ever call me ugly or cruel."

He looked surprised, but said, "I won't."

"You can insult my hair if you like."

"That's kind of you. And never say a word against my mother, ever."

"Is our moment of honesty over yet?"

"Not quite."

"I ... Malfoy, I …" she struggled to form the words she'd been longing to say.

"Time's up! Granger, close your mouth, you look like a fish. I don't know why I put up with you. Not that I do: these meetings aren't happening."

Hermione sighed. Maybe he was right. "Just think, Malfoy, that a wonderful woman like your mother could produce a negligible son like you."

"Isn't negligible a kind of nightgown?"

"That's 'negligee.' 'Negligible' means practically nothing."

"They still sound like the same thing to me. I wear pajamas. I'll leave the negligibles to you."

She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Are you flirting with me, Malfoy?"

"I have no idea."

"I'll lend you a couple of books."

[Next: Troll Hunter]

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