After a long awaited 2 years… I have for you… Chapter 8. *nod But this chapter is shit. It's that crappy in-between chapter. And I had to finish it before going to work… so stfu. Just read it. I'll have chapter 9 soon enough. You can deal with ONE crappy chapter before another good one. You already had 7 good ones.
D/C: I don't own any of this glory except for Draco's rage… And other things too… but HP/Hogwarts… Well.. You all know this already. :D
P.S. Who can catch the AVPM/AVPS references?
A few days had passed and she was surrounded by things. Not specific things. Just… things. Notmeaningful things, special things, important things… Things.
A stack of books was seated neatly atop the night table beside her, but it wasn't a stack of books she wanted. Instead of her Ancient Runes, Defense Against the Dark Arts, and Potions text book, she had a pile of books by authors that she barely knew. They were all assorted novels that Draco had brought her that he thought she may enjoy. She wasn't.
On the chair beside the table was a pile of candy. Chocolate frogs, Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans, and Pumpkin Pasties, none of which she wanted. None of which she even ate. That was more Ron's cup of tea. And Harry. There was some sort of chocolate covered… something. What? She had no idea.
On the other side of her bed, the night table contained a few more essential things: clothing, her wand, a glass of pumpkin juice and a glass of water. Beyond that, however, was a miniature Quidditch Pitch, fully equipped with fourteen players, fourteen brooms, and four balls. Oh, and a cheering crowd. Hermione knew why this was here. Draco would play out Quidditch plays to see how they would work against Gryffindor while she sat there pretending to be fully enthralled by one of the novels he had brought her.
She sighed, head lolling back onto the pillows behind her, holding a book lightly in her hand. She knew he would be coming to see her soon and that he would be upset had she not advanced further in "The Wizard's Pendulum." She assumed he stole this book from Pansy Parkinson, judging by the witch and wizard going at it on the cover. She'd flipped through a few pages and discovered that the reason the title was so horribly cliché was because this particular wizard, Alan, had an issue of the heart and was going back and forth between two witches, Gisella and Rachelle.
And, like clockwork, there he was. The door to the Hospital Wing flew open and his footsteps echoed through the otherwise empty room. She sat up quickly and opened the book to some random page. Alan was with Rachelle, working his magic. She rolled her eyes, but kept them on the page as Draco came around the curtain to her bed, a broad smile on his face.
"And how are we this morning?" he asked, cheerful, but calm.
Hermione pretended to be finishing a paragraph before she looked up at him. "Hmm?" she asked, blinking a few times.
"How are you?" he asked again, taking a seat beside the miniature Quidditch Pitch.
'Great. An afternoon of Malfoy playing Quidditch. Again.' She folded the corner of the page she randomly picked and shut the book quietly. "Just fine. Much better. My insides no longer hurt." She hadn't said this in an attempt at making his feel bad, but she had done a good job.
Draco's eyes dropped to the floor immediately. He didn't say anything for a moment, and Hermione was quick to keep up the silence. She didn't particularly want him there.
Every day since the incident, as she liked to refer to it, Draco had spent almost the entire day at her bedside. And it bothered her. It made her feel like she was an actress up on stage. She supposed that that was what she was, really. He was waiting to see how it all turned out. Waiting to see how the scene ended each and every day. He didn't really know that he had an effect on that ending, though.
Ever since the night that he had put her where she is, ever since the night that he said that he… She couldn't even think the words to herself. She pushed away the mental replay of that night. He hadn't said it again, but each night that passed, slowly, he lingered for a few moments longer, staring at her as if he had something else to say. She refused to say it back to him. It was asinine, insane, and downright wrong. It wasn't even a concept that she could wrap her brain around. And she wasn't about to try and do so, either. She'd get an instant headache.
"I think I'm going to go. I just wanted to see how you were, Granger." Draco stood from his place, having only sat there a moment, and turned his back. "See you later," he added, not waiting for her protest or her call for his return. She watched as he retreated, slightly puzzled at his behavior.
Draco moved at a quick pace through the school, determined to put as much distance between the two of them as he possibly could. He had been so happy to go see her, but she remained just as quiet, not even attempting to break the awkward silence that she had created. Well, really, he had created it, but he wouldn't admit that. He made a quick turn up another flight of stairs and down a hall to their dorm where he grabbed a winter cloak. He needed to get out. Get some air. Maybe he'd slip off to Hogsmeade and have a drink.
Yes. That was what he would do. Surely that would take his mind off of Granger.
She had been alone for just over an hour before Madame Pomfrey came bustling into the room. Harmione had actually been sitting there reading "The Wizard's Pendulum" and had been slightly caught off guard when the older witch appeared at her bedside.
"Miss Granger," she greeted, and Hermione nodded in response. "You are free to go."
Hermione sat there for a moment, not particularly wanting to be free to go. She wanted to stay there and only have to endure a few hours of dealing with Draco's stares and bad attempts at small talk. Not to mention that she was sure there would be some conversation about what he said after… the incident.
Nodding once again, she threw the blankets off and was hit with the sudden shock of cold air. She stood shakily and dressed slowly, again trying to prolong her time away from her common room. She wasn't really sure what to do with any of the piles of… stuff that had accumulated, but none of it was hers. She glanced around, pocketed her wand, and left, thanking the medi-witch for all of her troubles as she walked through the doors.
For a moment, she just stood there, looking down the hall, observing the portraits on the walls, the staircase as it decided to move a bit, the ghosts floating through the walls and waving towards her. She didn't know where to go or what to do, but a rumble in her stomach told her that she was still hungry and the Great Hall would be a wonderful place to visit for lunch. With a small nod to herself, she took off at a slow pace and took the numerous flights of stairs to the entrance hall.
She took a deep breath before heading through the doors and towards the Gryffindor table. Her eyes stayed glued to the seat she was headed for and ensuring herself that she would NOT look towards the Slytherin table for the blond hair she was growing used to seeing. After greeting the few other Gryffindor students around her that had stayed at the school for the holidays, Hermione Granger took a seat with their small group. She couldn't help but feel at home with them, but she had no idea what to sa when they all asked her the inevitable question.
And then it came.
"Where have you been for the last few days, Hermione?" Seamus Finnigan asked, food practically falling out of his mouth as he leaned over to look at her.
Hermione quickly stuffed a forkful of potato salad into her mouth and held up a finger to tell her friends, all of their eyes on her, to just hold on one second. After all, Hermione wasn't going to speak with her food in her mouth. But the food only lasts so long. She swallowed slowly.
"I've been studying. And doing homework. Most of my meals, I've just been getting from the kitchens," she said, hoping that her voice was convincing enough for them. The older students would know better, but the younger ones quickly stopped any attempt they made at calling her bluff.
"You know how to get into the kitchens?" a young boy asked. Hermione didn't even k now what year he was, but she assumed first, since she didn't really know him.
She just nodded and stuffed more potato salad into her mouth. The young wizard continued to ask her questions about the kitchens and house elves, after which Hermione swallowed too much un-chewed food, choked, and then went on a rant about the rights of the unpaid elves. This caused the effect she had desired originally of the older students going back into their conversations about Quidditch and those cute Ravenclaw girls at the other table.
A few hours had gone by and Draco was noticeably tipsy when he returned to Hogwarts. He would skip dinner and go straight back to his common room to avoid any humiliation. After eight glasses of firewhisky, he had lost count, but continued to drown himself in the amber liquid anyway. On his walk home, he had only lost his footing twice, but by the time he had regained it, he had already forgotten about it. He had also only slammed into about fifteen people. His mind seemed to be elsewhere.
Where it was, he wasn't exactly happy about. His thoughts were on one particular little Gryffindor: the girl who had angered him for so long, but he had grown so accustomed to being around…. That Hermione Granger. He could draw out a clear picture of her in his mind, even in the sorry state that he currently found himself in. He wanted to go see her. But he couldn't let her see him like this. He would just return to his common room, sleep off that alcohol, and then see her in the morning.
The fire crackled warmly in the fireplace as Hermione entered the dorms that she hadn't seem for almost a week. The flames roared to life, inviting her to take a seat and have a good read. A quick glance around told her that she was alone, mostly because she noticed that Draco's winter cloak was not in its usual place hanging by the portrait hole. She took a seat and picked up a book that she would actually enjoy reading, verses the ones that had been left with her in the hospital wing. She snuggled in, losing herself in Ancient Runes.
It was only about a half hour after she had settled herself that a thump against the portrait outside of her dorm had made her alert once again. She stared into the entry way for a moment before she heard it again. Cocking an eyebrow, she set her book to the side and cautiously made her way to the doorway, wand at the ready in her hand. She pushed on it lightly and it cracked open, revealing a very drunken Draco Malfoy who had been unable to get back into the common room.
Without warning, the git fell right into her arms. Hermione barely caught him, but as she did her insides roared with pain. Apparently, she was only okay when her body wasn't stressed. She let out a small yelp and squeezed her eyes shut as she let her body relax enough to stop hurting.
"Malfoy! What in Merlin's name do you think you're doing?" she asked through clenched teeth as she drug his half limp body through the doorway.
"Hermonnninnee… Hermmminnie!" Draco exclaimed, suddenly alert, as he pushed himself away from her. "Don tush me!" he added as he stumbled backwards into the wall.
Eyebrow back to raised position, Hermione backed away, hands held in front of her as if her were a wild beast. She was hit with a wave of firewhisky on his breath. "Merlin, how much have you had to drink?" she asked, waving a hand in front of her face to clear the air.
"Not uhnuff!" he proclaimed, holding a hand up into the air, index finger pointing to the left.
Hermione rested her forehead in her palm and sighed before she shook her head and walked away. Somehow, Draco managed to follow her to the sofa and take the seat beside her at an awkwardly close proximity.
"You know Hermmoninnie? You are jus' soooo nice to me!" He smiled up at her, so drunk that his eyes were crossing at strange angles. "I love you!" he added, leaning against her.
Hermione took a moment of silence as she thought of something intellectual to say, but when she finally decided that trying to rationalize with a drunken idiot was pointless, he was already asleep on her shoulder. She sat there for a few seconds before she stood up, watching him fall lifelessly onto the couch. "I hate everything about you," she whispered as she began to walk away. But her mind was telling her that she didn't. Her mind was telling her that she in fact felt the complete opposite. She loved him.
