Chapter Ten: Confession

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, Scotland

Friday, November 1 – Saturday, November 2, 1996 (Hermione Granger's sixth year)

After what had transpired between them in the Astronomy Tower the other night, Hermione forcibly avoided looking at or talking to Draco Malfoy the next day. She buried away the tiny doubts that nagged at the back of her mind and tugged at her heart, and instead dove into the comforting familiarity of her studies. She stayed up late that Friday night reading, and awoke on Saturday feeling refreshed. Gryffindor's Quidditch match against Hufflepuff was this afternoon, and she was excited, as her House team had an excellent chance of taking the Cup again this year.

She sauntered out of her room and down to the Great Hall for breakfast, contentedly humming.

Today was going to be a great day. She could just feel it!

X~~~~~X

Damn Ronald Weasley, that hormonally-challenged moron! How could he kiss Lavender Brown - and in front of her no less?

Bitter and angry at his public rejection of her feelings (the way Hermione figured it, snogging out with her roommate in front of the whole of their House had been a clear declaration of his disinterest in her), she felt an overwhelming urge to hurt something. Sadly, the revenge she'd dished up with the magicked bird had given her no real satisfaction.

Alone after waving Harry away, afraid she'd take out the urge for violence upon him, she'd headed for the nearest exit of the castle to escape. She needed breathing space; the stone walls were too confining at that moment. Once outside, she wandered the covered walkways surrounding the courtyard, resolutely ignoring all of the happy couples she spied giggling and snogging in every corner. Heading out onto the parapet bridge, far from prying eyes, she meandered over to a favorite spot – the place where she'd once chastised Harry during fourth year – as it afforded her a gorgeous view of the Forbidden Forest far below.

How could Ron have done that to her? Surely he knew by now that she loved him… Or did she? She'd always just chalked up her feelings for her ginger boy under the umbrella of 'love,' but was that what she really felt for him? After all, it wasn't like the two of them were entirely compatible in their personalities, and there were many things he did that drove her spare.

In her mind, she began working through a pros-cons list.

The things she liked about Ron were few, but rather important: he was generous with what little he had to offer, he never put on airs and you always knew where you stood with him, as he was rather candid about his feelings and thoughts, he was very protective of and loyal to the things he cared for, and he easily laughed. He had a way about him that kept you from being too serious all the time and he encouraged you to loosen up and have fun. They had some things in common, as well: being in Gryffindor, a familial love for Harry and Ginny, close friendships with Neville, Seamus, Dean, Luna…

Actually, that pretty much summed-up the list of positives.

As for the negatives, well…

First, she didn't care for the way he constantly talked with his mouth full and shoveled food down his gullet like he was eating at a trough. Those sorts of manners disgusted her, honestly, as proper meal etiquette had been drilled into her from the time she was very little. A person's level of classiness, her grandmother had always said, was judged by how they conducted their affairs around the dinner table.

Then there was his distinct lack of motivation and enthusiasm for any subject other than Quidditch. Plainly put, Ron was lazy when it came to school work, manipulating her into doing it for him or cheating off of Harry so he could spend more time enjoying his leisure activities, such as sports. Hermione didn't care for that proclivity at all, as she was a firm believer in achieving success through your own hard, honest work. It always made her feel poorly to know she was helping him deceive the professors and swindle the educational system, but he didn't seemed bothered one bit about causing her such discomfort. That bothered her as well.

He let his mum boss him about, a trait that boded ill for any future wife of his, as Ron didn't seem the type to put his foot down and tell his mother to mind her own business when the occasion called for such drastic measures. Her father had always told her that a real man puts his wife and children first, and that his parents should both expect and respect that decision, but the idea of Ron confronting Molly was laughably ludicrous. He literally shook in his shoes whenever she put her hands to her hips and glared. Honestly, the only one of the boys that she could see standing up to the Weasley matriarch was Bill. She could never respect Ron if he allowed his mother to dictate their future together.

On a more personal note, there were also the disparaging comments Ron made on occasion about her appearance. He made no bones about the fact that he wished she'd be more 'girly' and care for her hair better, or polish her nails, or wear lip gloss. But whenever she'd done such things to try to catch his attention, he hardly seemed to notice. He outwardly expressed a dislike for the scent of her soap and shampoo. And twice over the last two years, he'd had the gall to insinuate that she wasn't attractive enough to land a boyfriend. Honestly, it wasn't as if he was a paragon of sexual magnetism or masculine charm, either…

She had to stop, realizing that she was working her blood pressure – and her resentment level - up.

And anyway, the internal arguing over Ron's appealing attributes versus his more dissuasive personality quirks hardly mattered, as apparently she simply wasn't his type. He liked his women acutely more aggressive, less intelligent, and with big blue eyes and manageable hair.

The dam came unstuck at that point. Unable to prevent the tears, she started crying again in heartbreak. The tears came harder as she grew increasingly embittered by the memory of her redheaded best friend's arms encircling Lavender's waist, of his lips passionately kissing the girl as fiercely as he was being kissed. "How could you have done that to me, Ron?" she sobbed. "You thoughtless, stupid boy!"

She rode the storm for a solid ten minutes, before she realized how pathetic and silly she was behaving. Here she was shivering now that the winter's chill was starting to seep into her very bones (she'd foolishly run out of the common room without her jacket), and she was too caught up in her own private pity-party to notice how dangerously cold the night had become. Common sense dictated that she immediately move her bum back to the castle, into the warmth before she'd caught her death. The situation with Ron and Lavender certainly would not be solved in one night, and she could just as easily consider her future options inside.

She pulled out the embroidered handkerchief she'd been carrying around with her for weeks, and dabbed at her bloodshot eyes, rouged cheeks and nose. Oh, how she hated to break down, knowing how it made her skin blotchy! Her mum had always told her true that she simply didn't have the kind of face that could pull off a pretty crying spell.

Another icy blast of wind blew through the open-arch bridge, slamming into her very marrow, making her uncontrollably shiver. Godric, she needed to get back indoors fast! Tucking the handkerchief back into her pocket, she turned to go back to her dorm…

…and stopped short.

To her utter surprise, Malfoy was leaning against one of the stone pillars a few feet away, intently staring at her, an uneasy frown upon his face. His hands rested in the pockets of his fur-trimmed, knee-length, wool coat, and he was still and silent. "What do you want?" she asked, too emotionally depleted to verbally spar with him at that exact moment.

He shrugged nonchalantly.

She sighed, hugging her torso, her teeth beginning to chatter. "I don't feel like fighting tonight. Just leave me alone." She started to move past him, back the way she had come.

"Merlin, you're such a crybaby, Granger."

Her temper provoked as much as it could take for one night, she rounded on him with irate indignation. "I am not!" Unfortunately, her ill-humored fit was short lived, as tremors wracked her body. Oh, Merlin, she was going to become an icicle at this rate! There was certainly no time for such nonsense as fighting with Slytherin's Prince, as the cold was beginning to become exceedingly painful.

As if someone had turned on a portable furnace, she was suddenly enveloped in blessed warmth. Arms came around her to enclose her inside a long, pleasantly comfy coat. "Idiot," Malfoy murmured the rebuke gentle against her ear. "You're freezing to death."

Hermione's head spun. W-w-what kind of game was this? Was he actually being nice to her? She squirmed to escape, but his arms locked around her waist, inhibiting her range of movement. "Do you want to end up in the Hospital Wing again?" he demanded.

"No, but-"

He tsk'd, cutting her off. "Then stay still for a few minutes until you heat up, dummy."

Too tired and cold to argue, Hermione did as bade.

It was an awkward few minutes intimately pressed against Draco's body, as he propped up his chin on the top of her head, and she was aware once more of just how much taller he stood. She could feel his upper body brush ever so slightly against her breasts with the soft rise and fall of his air, and hear his strong heart beating through the layers of his clothing. His cologne – bergamot and amber – persuasively drew her in until her forehead rested against his chest and her hands upon his hips. The quiet, the warmth, the lovely scent and the rhythmic pattern of his breathing worked in tandem to lull her into relaxing, and she closed her eyes.

Behind her lids the patina of a comforting red aura slowly blossomed.

Strangely, being held in a man's arms – even Malfoy's arms, and especially after the night she'd had – was comforting. Oddly, she didn't question any of it, nor did she wonder why that was. She simply let it be, feeling and not thinking for the brief moment of time that they stood together, neither speaking.

Gradually, her shivers decreased until they eventually stopped. At that point, she felt sufficiently thawed enough to make it back to the castle. With a queer pang of regret, she put some space between them, letting go of her grasp on his waist. "I'm fine now. Thank you."

His chest expanded and he expelled a deep sigh through his nose, as if he were reluctant to release her. The expelled air tickled past her hair, causing electric sparks to run the gamut of her spinal column, startling and embarrassingly arousing her.

Oh!

She clamped her thighs together in automatic response. Her heart sped up, and the blood rush roared through her body.

Malfoy dropped his arms and stepped back. Immediately, the arctic, northern wind rushed into the gap between them and bit at her again. She wrapped her arms around her torso. "Merlin's beard!" she cursed, teeth chattering again.

Her companion made a disgusted noise that escaped as a hiss, and then his jacket was draped across her shoulders. "Take it for now," he commanded as she started to argue. Before she could get a word in edge-wise, he took hold of her arm and dragged her behind him back towards the castle at a brisk pace. His fingers dug into her wrist and he jerked her around corners so hard, she thought her shoulder might pop out of its socket.

"You're hurting me," she protested, pulling at where he clasped her too tightly.

The pressure eased up, but Draco still heaved her along in tow, moving quickly towards the Clock Tower Entrance – the closest way back into the castle from the covered bridge.

When they finally crossed the cobbled back courtyard and slipped indoors, the sweltering heat instantly assailed her and within seconds, she was perspiring. She removed the heavy, woolen coat and handed it back to Malfoy, nodding in thanks. He took it with a swipe of his hand and a black look, and draped it over his arm. Clearly, he was angry again.

"Why are you always mad?" she asked, searching his face for a hint or three. "What have I done this school year to get you so riled? Every time I turn around, you're glowering at me – beyond what you normally do, I mean."

She wasn't sure why it mattered – this was Malfoy, after all, and he was always livid, irritated or exasperated about something where she was concerned – but it was very important to her that she understand the reason for his hostility towards her at right that moment. Perhaps if they talked the problem through, they could come to some sort of understanding, and then he'd stop glaring at her all the time.

A weighty frown lined his face. "Why were you out in the dead of winter without a jacket?" he countered. "Only an idiot would do that, Granger."

She felt tears sting her eyes again. She'd had an emotionally turbulent night, and the last thing she needed was to be scolded for so obvious and foolish a mistake. "I was upset. I wasn't thinking," she defended, rankling.

He ran a free hand through his hair in obvious frustration. "You're always upset. What's it this time? Did Potter or Weaslebee forget to kiss you goodnight?"

She hadn't even registered the move until her palm connected with his cheek in a stinging slap. Abruptly mortified by her action, and still stung by his words, she turned and fled down the corridor, heading back for her common room. As she ran, she began bawling again.

No, he didn't kiss me goodnight – he kissed her instead! Stupid, foolish…

Malfoy caught her in a dozen strides, grabbing her from behind and shoving her against the wall, carelessly throwing his coat to the floor at the same time. He loomed over her, teeth bared and clenched, pinning her wrists to the sides and stepping into her personal space. His breath was a hot blast on her cheek. "You ungrateful, little bitch," he snarled, shaking her once. "I should have left you to freeze out there!"

They glared at each other, she through her tears, and he through his rage.

"I wish you had!" she spit in fury. "I wish-" Her chest constricted with renewed pain as she recalled the way Ron had kissed Lavender tonight. "Oh, gods, it hurts so much!" She folded in on herself, going limp and sliding down the wall. Sobbing at her enemy's feet until her innocent heart purged itself of its crush for her best friend should have been the humiliation of her life, but just then Hermione could have cared less that her grief was being witnessed by the last person on earth she'd have wanted to know. In a way, it was almost cathartic, as it forced them both to perceive the rawness of her humanity.

Malfoy gave another deep sigh, this one sounded distinctly defeated, and crouched down to her level, gently gripping her wrists in his strong hands. "What happened, Hermione? Tell me."

Maybe it was his use of her first name, or maybe it was his compassionate tone – something so very un-Malfoy-ish - or maybe it was simply because he'd kindly shared his jacket with her when she'd had need, but Hermione suddenly felt as if she could trust this man with her confidence. As far as decisions went, it wasn't a very rational one. However, a strong feminine intuition prodded her to seize this chance, and so she took the leap of faith: she unloaded everything about her relationship with Ron to Draco right there, in the torch-lit hallway, on the floor.

She told him of their growing friendship over the first three years at Hogwarts, and how she'd first come to fully appreciate him on the day he'd played live Wizard's Chess and was gravely wounded for the sake of his friends. She imparted the details of the time she'd first realized that she had a crush on Ron at the start of fourth year, and of how she'd made a serious effort to look pretty for the Yule Ball to catch his attention, despite the fact he hadn't asked her to be his date. She even admitted that she'd gone to the dance with Viktor Krum just to bother Ron, and about how the scheme backfired on her. She reasoned that it had been a mistake to play such a game, because ever since, Ron had refused to be alone with her, whenever possible. She admitted that it also distressed her when he would only seem to declare that he liked her when he needed her to do his homework assignments for him.

Next she told him about rigging the Quidditch try-outs earlier this year so that the lecherous and obnoxious Cormac McLaggen wouldn't get the Keeper's slot that Ron so dearly coveted, and how doing so had led to him becoming the team's hero tonight. That seemingly innocent action, she realized, had ended up costing her everything, as it set up the scenario for the rather ardent snog he'd shared with one Miss Lavender Brown in front of the whole bloody House. She explained the retributive cursed birds she'd sent after him later and how that small retribution had made her feel empty, not powerful, as she'd hoped it would.

She ended her tirade by admitting how much it had hurt to see Ron touching another girl when he wouldn't even touch her, despite everything she'd done over the years to get him to do so.

In silence, Malfoy listened to her narration, and when she was done venting her soul's poison, she timidly looked up at him, suddenly feeling very foolish for involving him at all.

He was looking down at the empty space between them, lost in thought, dejection etched into the lines of his face and dulling his steel-colored eyes. As Hermione took in his countenance, she realized how much older he appeared this year. He'd aged over the summer, and she wondered what had happened to change him so. Had it been the incarceration of his father in Azkaban this past June? The press had been absolutely merciless towards the last two remaining Malfoys, she knew, dredging up every small negative detail they could about the family and its history. She'd kept abreast of the man's incarceration and trial, and how it had been reported to negatively affect Draco and his mother, through her regular subscriptions to The Daily Prophet, and by reading through Molly's Witch Weekly back issues this past summer as she'd convalesced (Dolohov's curse, which she'd been stuck with during the fight at the Department of Mysteries, had required weeks of foul-tasting potions and rest to shake off). Perhaps being hounded by the wizarding paparazzi, had taken its toll on his health?

His hold on her wrists was loose enough that she was able to remove a hand from his grasp, reach up and stroke the furrow in his chin, wondering how much sorrow it must take to create something that deep…

He jerked back at her touch, snapping to attention. Just as quickly, he let go of her, collected his coat from the floor next to him, and stood. Brushing the dust off the woolen fabric, he appeared to deliberate how best to respond to her confession. He opened his mouth, shut it, frowned and then tried again. To her chagrin, he chose the typical Draco Malfoy way out: indifferent heartlessness. "Forget that git, Granger," he pronounced. "You could do much better."

With that short and sweet verdict, he swiftly strode off.

Hermione watched him leave, stupefied. She'd just bared her soul to him, and that was the best he could come up with? Those were his pearls of wisdom for her? Where was the sympathetic commiseration? She felt terribly cheated.

But then, what on Nyx had she expected from someone like him?

Sighing, she pulled herself up off the floor, and reached for the handkerchief in her pocket again to clean up. Her fingers trailed over the embroidered letters on the hem – Draco's initials, she was sure of it now. Again, she wondered why, where and how she'd come to possess the item. Had it been the night they'd been locked in the dungeon together? Had it been like tonight with the jacket – something he'd given to her in assistance? To her immense frustration, she just couldn't remember. It seemed an important, rather pressing detail, and yet those few days in September were solidly blocked by that gray wall erected within in her memories.

Perhaps, one day, she'd find the reason and those lost seventy-eight hours would be returned to her.

She pocketed the hanky, bullied up her nerve, and made her way back to the Gryffindor common room, forcing her back ramrod straight, holding her head high. From now on, Hermione determined, Ron would not see her hurt by his stupidity. She would not let his rejection destroy her, either. She had more important things to live for – specifically, her future educational and career plans – and she would, in time, get over this first heartbreak.

As she walked, Hermione had an amusing realization: pureblood, cantankerous Draco Malfoy, had helped her out three times tonight - twice with his jacket and the final time by lending an ear and offering up his advice. Despite the crude counsel, his words had adequately done their job; in an indirect, very Slytherin-manner, they had given her the courage she needed to face tomorrow.

Thank you, she cast the thought, chuckling in wonder.

Maybe he wasn't such an insensitive little blighter after all.

TO BE CONTINUED...

AUTHOR'S NOTES FOR CHAPTER TEN:

The set map and mock-up of the entire castle grounds from "Harry Potter and the Prisoner of Azkaban" movie (from which the remaining of the movie series, as well as the "Harry Potter" theme park in Florida follows, discarding the map and set of the first two movies entirely) shows that the covered bridge is gotten to from the Clock Tower Entrance in the back of the castle. After crossing the bridge, students find themselves at the large stone monoliths overlooking Hagrid's hut (where Draco was punched by Hermione in the third movie). I have used that map for this fic, as it is the most familiar and referenced of all the official layouts of the castle and grounds.

Nyx = Greek mythological primordial Goddess of Night, daughter of Chaos.

Musical selection recommended for this chapter:

"Come Clean" by Hillary Duff (Hermione's thoughts about Ron)

"All I Need To Know" by Emma Bunton (Hermione's thoughts about Draco)