It was an extraordinarily sunny day when Hermione woke up that September morning. Naturally, she pulled back her curtains and immediately felt optimistic about the future, merely because of the absence of rain and the presence of shine. With this newfound positivity, she donned her casual weekend attire and hopped down the stairs with a spring in her step. She greeted the Head Boy like a friend and drank her cup of coffee like it was her first. It was only when Malfoy's proverbial inflection seeped into her ears as she placed her mug on the coaster that it dawned on her - she would be speaking to Professor McGonagall today. It was her own choice, her very own decision that she had made yesterday evening, Harry beside her but unaware of the thoughts going on in her head.
Hermione stopped and stalled; she was fully conscious of the fact she couldn't, and wouldn't, lie to him. "I'll be doing some work today, probably. What about you?" Politely, she answered back. Draco Malfoy hadn't asked for a full schedule of her day therefore, she hadn't given him one. And had missed out some specific details, but that wasn't important.
Ignoring her question, he frowned. "You won't be going to Hogsmeade? Why not? It's the weekend, Granger. You should not be doing homework." Cocking his head to the side, he leant forward and over her shoulder, very obviously invading her personal space.
Refraining from rolling her eyes, when the urge was quite sensational, Hermione tilted away so that she could see his face and his expression. He smelt like white spruce wood, she noted. "I have things to do." She did, and the prospect of Malfoy following her when she went to McGonagall's made her feel nauseous. "It's easier when no-one's around." The Head Girl had already told the Headmistress she would be visiting her office sometime in the morning, so despite the runaway contemplation she was debating, it wouldn't be possible. What if McGonagall had arranged everything around so she could fit Hermione in? Clearly, it was going to happen, and she couldn't shake the appointment off.
"I see." Draco continued reading his book, occasionally glancing at Hermione, however many times he told himself not to. "I'm going to Hogsmeade. Blaise will be arriving here soon. Do feel free to make yourself scarce."
As if by magic, there was a knock on the common room door. There were no signs of movement coming from her body apart from a raised eyebrow, so Draco sighed and got himself up from the sofa. Swinging the door open, he revealed a dark, handsome Zabini leaning against the wall. Blaise nodded and tiresomely said, "Malfoy", with a bizarrely amused look on his face.
Draco reciprocated with the same action. Turning back to Hermione, he lifted his chin. "Bye, Granger."
She fought a smile and replied with the same nonchalance and carelessness that he had spoken with.
Hermione spent the rest of the hour reading a first year textbook on how to bewitch snowballs.
Terrified would be a good adjective to describe Hermione's feelings about going to speak to the Headmistress. It wasn't the actual action required that made her cringe and think about walking back; it was more about what she had to say. The unthinkable words that would have to come out of her mouth in order for her to get the outcome she desired. Desire. A debatable definition.
It was a long walk to McGonagall's office, but met with the dearth of bustling students and clangour, it seemed to be somewhat relaxing. It was more like a peaceful stroll through the tranquil corridors of the castle. A few yards away from the entrance to her Professor's office and approaching it carefully, Hermione considered her words cautiously. McGonagall hadn't wanted to change or severely modify anything about Dumbledore's old office, so had decided she would leave it as it was, and change the situation of the Head's office to a more appropriate location. The room wasn't dissimilar from Dumbledore's, except Minerva had tailored it to suit her needs and had donned more portraits, surprisingly, on the walls.
She was greeted with a tired smile as she walked through the archway and into the Head's office. "Ah! Miss Granger. Take a seat." She felt tiny in what looked like a throne, intricately carved with golden patterns and ruby cushioning. "I assume you'd like to talk about the Halloween Ball."
Hermione began to shake her head, but paused. She decided that it would be also a good time to talk to her about dancing with Malfoy. Something she wasn't keen on participating in, any less than Malfoy himself. "There's something I need to tell you. I was hoping, however, that this whole conversation could be kept absolutely confidential. I have no doubt you have the power to do that, it's just whether you would do that for me. The only people I have told are my closest friends and immediate family, but I thought it was time for you to know. Just in case... well, I digress. Professor. I have cancer." It seemed that McGonagall could keep the calmest of faces even when one is in a situation where this seems the least possible. "I think I have 5 months left, at the least. Because I'm Head Girl, I didn't want to unexpectedly go, without anyone of... high status knowing. It's easier now. I wanted you to know so that you had time to pick a reserve Head Girl." She nodded, adding finality to her words.
"Miss. Granger. This certainly wasn't what I was expecting, I must say. However, I understand why you thought this would be appropriate. Is there anything else?" Hermione would be untruthful if she said she wasn't staggered at the lack of concern in her Headmistress' voice.
She considered this question. "No. That'll be all. Thank you, Professor." It was when she was admiring the vast expanse of books on a glass encased bookshelf that McGonagall's voice cut the silence like a knife.
"Hermione. Please don't hesitate to come by anytime you'd like. These ginger nuts won't eat themselves! Take care." That was it. That was what she was looking for.
Blaise gulped back a peal of laughter and gawped at Draco in what seemed like a somewhat mortifying manner. "I can't wait till I tell the boys. Okay, let me get this straight. You, Draco Malfoy, will be having a dance with Granger? As if dancing isn't enough, they put you with Granger? Draco, we will never let you live this down. You do realise that, don't you? Merlin. It's like McGonagall wants you to wretch all over Granger's no doubtedly ghastly dress during a rhythmic foxtrot. Say, do you think she's a talented dancer? Oh, your face will be priceless—"
"Zabini!" Draco snapped. His drink sloshed about in his mug. "Agrippa's Sake, I won't actually be dancing with her. I downright refuse. You evidently don't know me as much as I thought you did! Pass me that serviette."
Draco was convinced he was less happy about this than his Head Girl companion. He'd decided that the reason for this was, of course, that she was muggleborn. And aristocratic, high class purebloods like himself don't sway around dance floors with Mudbloods in their arms. That was simply obscene and was something he wasn't prepared to do. Conversely, when he persuaded himself that this was the rationale for feeling queasy whenever he thought about it, he also knew that this wasn't. Something else was making him feel like that.
The pair entered Zonko's. Blaise was immediately absorbed in the items that the store had to offer, but Draco wasn't entirely convinced, and wandered to the corner of the shop where they sold Frog Spawn Soap and Nose-Biting Teacups. He had heard Hermione mentioning to Ginny during their study group session that she had wanted to try out a Sugar Quill, but had never acted on it. Draco inspected the piece that was spun and shaped into a quill, making you look thoughtful when sucking on it in class. Sneering, he placed it back on the shelf and peered at Blaise, very engrossed in the various colours and flavours of Bertie Bott's Beans. Draco looked back. The internal debate was indescribable. He practically threw the quill onto the counter before he could change his mind and tapped his feet, looking anxiously at Zabini. He drummed his nails on the surface before tossing coins into the cashier's hands. "Thanks." He murmured, stuffing the quill into his pocket and stalking over the threshold, groaning at the cheery sound of the doorbell.
"I didn't know you liked Zonko's, Draco." Blaise wondered.
"What?"
"I saw you buy that Sugar Quill. Good pick, I've always liked the strawberry ones, but if blackcurrant suits—"
"I don't know what you're talking about, Blaise!" He hurried ahead, dipping his head as if to stop the snow from falling on his face.
The library was a very special place to Hermione. It held everything that was right in the world, in her mind. It smelt like aging pages and dusty shelves; the crackling of a fire in a distance corner. It helped her think. It helped her do. The touch of a textured binding could root wonder and knowledge. The flicker of yellowing parchment. A library was somewhere that held a vibration of curiosity and creativity and Hermione was drawn to this like a swan to water. She knew this library like nowhere else. Each leather bound novel; each uniform textbook. She knew this library like the back of her hand.
She set the letter down on the desk and re-read it a few hundred times to make sure she had absorbed it fully. She had mulled over asking Draco about this, but had come to a decision, of her own accord, that he wouldn't be as interested in planning the Ball as she was. So she was going to do it by herself.
Hermione spent the rest of the evening cleverly bullet-pointing her ideas onto a four foot long parchment for Draco to read through.
Draco set down the piece on the table and sighed, his eyes rolling to the back of his head. "May I ask why you did it without me?"
"You don't look like the type of person who would discuss colours of icing with a muggleborn into the dead hours of the night."
"Don't I?" He raised an eyebrow.
She leant on one leg and put her hands on her hips, biting back a smile. "Not really. Anyway, you were in Hogsmeade, I had nothing to do. It was practical."
"We have plenty of time to do it. Why do you feel the need to do everything nine years in advance?" He sat next to her on the couch. She squirmed away. He looked at her.
"That's technically incorrect, this is in two weeks."
Draco laughed. "Right then. I do not approve of the orange balloons you said here." He pointed to the list. "It's too clichéd. Everyone will be expecting that. We need something different, a colour that isn't too obvious but then, not too outlandish. Also, what in the bloody hell were you thinking when you said we could invite the House Elves. Hermione, I know you're fighting for their rights and everything but—"
Hermione gulped, and creases appeared on her forehead. He stopped. His lips parted slightly. Draco looked away. "I think I should go to bed."
She shook her head. "Please don't."
He made a move so he was leaning in towards her, a mystified expression gracing his features. "I think I should. I bought you something from Zonko's. 'Didn't want you to think I was that greedy. It's in the bag by the fridge." He got up and parted from the sofa, forcing himself out of the room.
Once he was out of sight, Hermione made her way towards the bag. Curiously, she tipped the contents onto the kitchen counter. She gasped at the large quill-shaped lollipop. He'd remembered. He had been listening. He somehow, underneath the cracking surface of his cover-up, vaguely cared.
A/N: Okay, so I guess it's obvious now that the chapters are going to come pretty late at the weekends, which I'm really sorry about, because I first intended this story to be pretty fast at updating. But I hadn't expected this amount of homework every week! Anyway, hope you liked the chapter. Any ideas/feedback/reviews/criticism/points to make? I don't know. Please speak up!
Love you all,
Eve x