A bit of a longer chapter this time. Not the best chapter, but a necessary one. I promise the next ones will be better - I have a clear idea of what will happen later, I just needed to force out the stuff that happens in between.
Oh, and I feel I should mention - it's been a long time since I read the Half Blood Prince (thus I can't even remember how accurate the movie is), so this timeline is loosely based on the movie. But for the sake of the fic, Harry hasn't yet revealed the name on his potions book, or some of the dodgy things written inside it. That would provide Hermione with the distraction she needs, and then where would Draco be?
The storm that raged through the early hours of that morning had almost exhausted itself when Hermione crawled out from under her covers. She flew on autopilot for a little while, gathering her robes and her socks, brushing her cold fingers through her tangled curls. It wasn't until Lavender Brown caught her hunting for her Transfiguration book that she realised it was Saturday.
"Don't be ridiculous Hermione, it's the weekend! A Hogsmeade weekend, if this blizzard backs off." The blonde giggled, enjoying it a bit too much for Hermione's liking. So she lost track of the days of the week sometimes. Hermione had the urge to smile sweetly and inform Lavender that it was one of the things Ron loved about her (she wasn't blind to everything that went on in her classmates' lives, after all), but bit back her tongue. She wasn't sure she was ready to start a rumour. She wasn't even sure that, should a rumour about her and Ron start flying, she would ever consider it seriously (despite the looks he sometimes threw at her when she wasn't supposed to see). Not during school, anyway. Love didn't figure highly on her list of priorities.
Despite her chromosomes and her emotional insightfulness, Hermione had never been overly romantic. She was too pragmatic to believe in the notion that there was only one person meant for her in the entire world, or that she could fall in love with someone the first time they meet. She believed lust and attraction were powerful chemical reactions in the brain that may lead someone to believe themselves in love with another. It's what you feel after the initial excitement of pheromone-induced affection wears off that really counts.
She knew the other girls considered her a prude, and a bore, for her clinical approach to such matters. They smiled at her knowingly (infuriatingly) and dismissed her claims, foreseeing a dark, handsome man in her future that would change her mind about everything and hump her spectacularly, until all her silly scientific facts were mush in her sex-addled brain and she declared herself in love. Hermione would scowl and her cheeks would turn pink, which the others only took as encouragement. Nothing they said was true, of course. Who ever said she had a taste for the dark foreign types? Plus, her scientific facts (courtesy of having two parents in the medical field) would never become unimportant to her.
Also, she wasn't a prude. She appreciated the mechanics of sex. She knew all about the firing of neurones, the hormonal processes, and the chemical reactions that resulted in the feelings of physical pleasure one feels during intercourse. She didn't advertise it, but she was rather looking forward to that step in her life. Life was about learning, and if she made it through school and the War alive, she was going to find herself a nice, slightly older, experienced gentleman to show her the ropes of carnal pleasure.
If she made it through alive. She felt the familiar tightening in her chest at the thought of battlefields; both real and metaphoric. Each day she saw Harry he looked older, more distracted. His meetings with Dumbledore were happening more and more often, and Hermione just wanted to scream and shout and wrestle him away from the Headmaster's office. They weren't supposed to be making headway into killing Voldemort. They were supposed to be studying, and preparing for their NEWTS, and discussing future career paths. Each time she watched Harry leave for Dumbledore's tower time moved a little faster, a little closer to the future she might never have.
But instead of screaming and shouting and fighting, she helped him. She put on her brave face and hugged him, and pretended he was the only one feeling afraid. It only served to further her despair, further her shame. Harry was only sixteen, like her, and he too deserved a proper life. The only difference was Harry couldn't run like she could. Harry couldn't disappear into the Muggle world to wait out the storm, and emerge in a year or two to assess the damage and beg for forgiveness from his surviving friends, while trying not to be glad he didn't share their scars.
There were times she considered talking to Ron about it. But as much as she cared for him, she knew he would be a hopeless candidate. Ron was nothing if he wasn't selflessly loyal. He would follow Harry, support him fiercely and without second thought, even take an Avada for him. Because it was the right thing to do. Hermione admired that about him, and hated him for it. Brilliant as she was, Hermione was finding it more and more difficult to determine what was right, and what was wrong. To do right by Harry would be to stand at his side until she was blown to pieces or the war was won. To do right by the deepest recesses of her heart was something else entirely.
A hammering on her dormitory door woke Hermione from her reverie. Ever the gentlemen, Harry and Ron were on the other side, yelling at her to hurry up and put her clothes on so they could visit Hogsmeade before the next blizzard came along. Sighing, and with the smallest of smiles, she pulled on her boots. She was determined to spend one day with her boys in the present, enjoying what she has now rather than panicking about all she has to lose later.
xxx
And enjoy herself she did, until things began to unravel around her. If she had've know when Katie hit the ground that her life would begin to change, it's possible she would have fled the wizarding world then and there.
But the gift of foresight is something Hermione always scoffed at, so when it became apparent their friend was being beseeched by some form of powerful dark magic, she could only run ahead and watch in horror. She was flicking through possible helpful spells in her head when Hagrid came forward and gathered Katie's limp body into his arms, demanding Hermione and the boys wrap up the cursed artefact and follow him to the castle. As they walked, shocked into silence, part of the necklace slipped free of its packaging, quivering with Ron's steps. Hermione watched as it glinted, the beautiful jewels revealing nothing of the deadly magic that sprang forth to claim the souls of whoever brushed the crystalline surfaces with their bare fingers.
"Who would do that to Katie?" She whispered when they were in McGonagall's office, her eyes having remained fixed on the beautiful chain the whole way.
"I think she was just the messenger." Harry muttered back. Sure enough he was right. Katie's terrified friend had been there when she became determined to present Dumbledore with the lethal gift. Hermione knew from the set of Harry's shoulders, and the thin line of his mouth, that he was a step ahead of them already. She suspected he somehow had an idea of what was going on, as he often did before she and Ron could catch up.
"It was Malfoy. Malfoy cursed her. He wanted Dumbledore to touch the necklace."
Well, she hadn't expected that. Her mouth fell open as she looked at Harry, wondering how far he was going to take their childhood rivalry.
"I saw him in Rosmerta's, he-" Harry continued stubbornly, before Snape cut him off.
"What a serious accusation, Potter. I trust you've got proof of Mr. Malfoy's guilt?" The professor taunted in his slimy voice. Harry's mouth closed, but his jaw was set. He remained silent until they were dismissed from the room, but Hermione knew his mind hadn't changed. As soon as they were alone she grabbed his elbow, forcing him to stop and look at her.
"What was that about, Harry? You really think Malfoy is devising murderous plots now?" She found she was furious with him, furious that he would turn something so serious into an excuse to get Malfoy into trouble.
"I told you Hermione, I don't think he's changed one bit. I'm telling you, he's one of them." Harry practically spat the last word, his emerald eyes like thunder. Hermione matched his gaze, feeling fury stir hot in her stomach. She remembered the first time she saw the Slytherin in the Forest, remembered hearing his dreadful sobs. Whatever Malfoy was, he wasn't a murderer. The knowledge settled firm in her heart, and she released Harry's arm. Without another word she turned on her heel and stalked back to the Gryffindor tower.
xxx
Back in her dormitory, Hermione was restless. She glanced out her window several times, peeking down at the Forest, wondering if he was down there. Wondering if he was waiting for her. She had pulled on her thickest cloak and was refastening her boots, ready to find out, when the wind lashed her window, bringing with it a torrent of snow that blanketed the grounds. Another storm was encroaching on the castle. She dropped her cloak heavily, knowing she would be truly suicidal to venture outside this evening.
She needed to do something. She felt nervous, and she was still trembling slightly from her anger at Harry's bullheadedness. She needed a distraction, needed to gather her thoughts. Aside from her Forest, there was only one place she could think of where she could find a quiet distraction.
The library was empty, just as she'd hoped. No one else was bored or committed enough to be in the library on a Saturday evening. Rather than shake her head at the unwise choose of her classmates, Hermione sighed a breath of relief. Here she could at least find focus.
She was skimming her cold fingers over a shelf of battered history books, leaving faint patterns in the ancient dust, when she felt someone behind her. Her heart caught in her throat and she turned, ripping her wand from her robes in the same instant.
Malfoy's wand flew from its loose position in his hand and clattered on the floor on the other side of the room. An eyebrow raised in surprise, he looked from her wand, to her face, to her lips parted in a small 'o', and then back to her wand. After a long moment Hermione gasped and shoved her wand away, blushing furiously. Somewhere in her mind Mad Eye Moody was barking constant vigilance! while she stammered an apology.
"S-sorry. It's a reflex."
"Non-verbal disarming spells? That's… typical, Granger." He drawled in his usual bored tone, though she thought she saw something akin to awe flicker across his eyes briefly. But that couldn't be right.
He was speaking again, his silky voice carrying easily over the silence of the library. "I was wondering if you ever visit the Astronomy tower." He said casually, his eyes wandering over the titles behind her.
She blinked. "No… not often. Not in this weather."
"In this weather I find it's the best alternative to where you usually go. If you can manage some simple heating charms." he slid to the back of the room and retrieved his wand, before meeting her eyes.
"I imagine that wouldn't be a problem for you."
And with that he was gone, leaving Hermione with her mouth slightly open. She absentmindedly picked a book up off the floor and returned it to its place, before pulling on her cloak and heading toward the castle's highest tower.
Forget heating charms. Wait until he sees my enchanted flames, she thought with a tiny grin.
But even as she headed discreetly up the stairs leading to the Astronomy tower, feeling a sense of freedom mere yards above her head, she couldn't shake the trepidation that lurked at the back of her mind. She knew, without a doubt, that she was opening a door she might never close. And in the end she would be hurt, one way or another.
Determined, she climbed the last steps onto the landing. If she was going to fall, she'd rather it not be alone.