Difficult
By: Provocative Envy
OOO
CHAPTER FIVE
"—I just can't believe her. Why would she be doing this? It's not like her, right? Right, Harry?" Ron was babbling, and I had to intervene.
"No, it absolutely isn't 'like me'," I interrupted, sinking into the nearest armchair and gazing at the fire. They blinked in surprise.
"Are you…talking to us again?" Harry ventured cautiously, glancing at Ron.
I sighed.
"I suppose," I replied tiredly. "It's just—this Malfoy thing..."
Harry flinched.
"It's not true, then?" Ron asked hopefully.
"Of course it's not true," I snapped, glaring at him.
Harry visibly relaxed.
They believe me, I thought, dazed.
"Thank God," Harry exclaimed, relieved. "We were there, in the courtyard the other day, and, well, from a distance, it looked kind of…well, it looked pretty real, if you know what I mean."
"Very real," Ron grunted.
"He's doing it to torment me," I said, picking at my fingernails.
"If you ask me, Parkinson'sthe one who's being tormented," Ron chuckled. "Should've seen her, 'Mione, she turned bright red, and screamed—sort of like a bird, really, you know, the ones that Sirius would send Harry, the tropical ones?—well, she screamed, right, and then stormed off, and—"
I watched him talk, his face animated, and heard Harry laugh; and just like that, I felt thirteen again, snuggled in the Common Room past midnight, listening to my two best friends make a mockery of the Slytherins. It was before Ron and I had kissed, before we'd ruined everything, before he'd tried to seduce me on Christmas Eve, with his cold, clumsy hands fumbling around my underwear—I winced at the memory.
"—should we do to him, then, Hermione?" Harry was saying.
"What?" I blurted.
"What should we do to Malfoy? To get revenge," he clarified expectantly.
I eyed him thoughtfully, wondering how to respond.
"Harry," I said softly, "this isn't your responsibility."
"What are you talking about, 'Mione, of course it is," Ron interjected, throwing me a grin. "Reckon it'll be like old times, plotting against him."
I pressed my lips together.
"And you're going to tell Lavender? That you're going to, what, rescue me, or something? How's she going to take that?" I asked crossly.
They both went quiet; Ron looked away guiltily.
"Thank you for believing me, both of you, but…this isn't your battle anymore," I said.
"Well—what are you going to do, then?" Harry inquired.
"I'm not sure," I replied honestly, standing up.
"You can't let him get away with this," they said simultaneously.
"Why not?" I asked.
"Because—because the whole school thinks you're—well—" Ron stammered.
"A tramp?" I finished for him, shaking my head. "I don't think I care about that anymore."
I was halfway up the stairs before I allowed myself a smile.
OOO
I woke up the next morning to an empty dormitory. Yawning, I climbed out of bed and pulled on a chunky red sweater, twisting my hair into a careless knot as I glanced at the clock above the door.
11:34.
I'd missed breakfast, so I might as well get to the library. It was a Hogsmeade weekend—I'd have it to myself.
Not like anyone would bother me, anyway, I thought sardonically. The edgy, muffled whispers that had followed me around for weeks had erupted into something bigger, something more sinister—they had proof now, they didn't have to guess or question or wonder: he'd kissed me, confirmed it, and there wasn't another side to the story anymore.
Before all of this had happened, I'd been alone by choice; but now I was a pariah, an outcast, banished to a peculiar sort of adolescent hell.
I grimaced. No, no one would bother me.
I traipsed through the castle, drumming my fingers against the leather strap of my book bag. It was a remarkably pretty day outside for March, a rather lovely end to winter, and I couldn't wait until it was warm enough to study outside.
"—a Mudblood, Draco," a low female voice echoed in the empty hallway.
I stopped walking, falling back around the corner as I strained my ears to listen.
"What's your point, Pansy?" Draco Malfoy sounded bored.
"You know what my point is," she whispered furiously. "Or did you forget?"
There was a tense silence.
"Of course I didn't forget," Malfoy replied distantly, his tone muted. "How could I, with you here to remind me?"
"If I told your father he would be so embarrassed—"
"Embarrassed? My father? You've met the man, Pansy, and he doesn't do embarrassed," he said coldly.
"Draco. In a few months everything's going to change, you know that, and you can't keep running around with a fucking muggle. He won't allow it."
"Exactly. In a few months. Let me have my fun, Pansy."
"Granger? Fun? Are you serious?" she sputtered.
"Granger has nothing to do with it," he snorted. "I promise."
"Draco," she pleaded. "What are you doing? You're going to ruin everything, don't you see that? She can't be worth it, not after—"
"Piss off, Pansy," he sneered, cutting her off.
And then he was striding towards me, his shirt wrinkled and his tie undone, and I took a quick step backwards, pretending to rifle through my bag.
"This is just too convenient," he snickered as he rounded the corner and saw me.
I looked up at him, feigning irritation, my heart beating a quick, thunderous staccato against my ribs. What had they been talking about?
"Why do you seem to be everywhere lately?" I complained. "It's so…unpleasant."
"I like to annoy you," he replied coolly. "But it also serves the dual purpose of promoting our ferociously dramatic love story. The first years think it's all very romantic."
"It's not a love story," I spat, feeling a traitorous blush creep up my neck. "As far as they're concerned, it's nothing more than—than cheap, meaningless sex in a broom closet."
He gawked at me for a moment before roaring with laughter.
"A broom closet?" he repeated, smirking.
I shrugged, swallowing, not wanting to admit that I had no idea where an amorous tryst might conceivably occur.
"Excuse me," I muttered, moving past him.
He let me go, his amusement palpable.
"You're not going to stop me?" I called out, halfway down the hall.
"Of course not," he sneered. "We don't have an audience. No point in torturing myself."
I deliberately walked back to him.
"I heard you, you know," I remarked, hoping that I sounded nonchalant. "You and Pansy."
He folded his arms over his chest.
"Yeah?"
"Yeah," I answered, suddenly uncomfortable. "Why are you letting her believe all of it? Why do that to her?"
His expression flickered for a second.
"Maybe she'll mention something to my father," he said casually, refusing to look at me. "You never know, right?"
I felt my lips part with surprise.
"You want—this is about your father?"
He clenched his jaw, his gaze inscrutable.
"What does it matter to you, Granger?"
I studied him, feeling rage begin to slowly simmer in my stomach.
"You know what they're saying at me, don't you? You know what I'm being called?"
He leaned against the wall, finally meeting my eyes.
"I've heard a few things," he admitted, cocking his head to the side.
"And you know that this could have all just—just gone away if you hadn't—done what you did the other day?" I stammered.
"You mean if I hadn't kissed you? Is that what you mean?" he demanded cruelly.
I flinched, turning my back.
"That wasn't a kiss," I said fiercely, whipping around to face him. "Oh, it may have physically qualified as one, and our mouths might have touched—but it wasn't a real kiss."
He stared at me for what felt like forever—the seconds stretched, melded together, interminable, and I suddenly wanted him to say something, anything, to stop the silence, because I wasn't sure what was happening, why my feet felt glued to the floor, why I couldn't look away.
"You're right," he finally said. "It wasn't."
And then his palm was cupping my face, his thumb brushing across my skin with feather-soft precision, and I stopped breathing. His eyes were narrowed, hard and gray, and his brow was crumpled, and he appeared to be concentrating very, very hard—and then the spell was broken, shattered, and his arm dropped.
"What—" I started to say, swallowing nervously.
"I don't know," he said, exhaling loudly. "But you're right."
"Right about what?" I asked, confused.
He shook his head, shoving his hands in his pockets.
"The other day," he clarified, starting to walk away. "It wasn't a real kiss."
OOO