A/N:

Firnoviel--Hermione didn't collapse this last time for any particular reason. It was just her shock at Malfoy being there so much, and her being overwhelmed by how different he was acting. Nobody else had really let her have a cry on their shoulder, and she needed it badly. Is that the time you were asking about? Draco is mad because Angylin almost interrupted his moment with Hermione; he is a very extreme person, and he gets angry easily. Angylin just was very intimidated by the look in his eyes, like he was going to kill her, and she had never really dealt with such a strong hate so she was scared to go near him again. And Draco would think Hermione was a baby for crying in his arms in chap 12, so she didn't want to face him again. Hope I cleared that up for you!

Everyone else, thanks for the reviews and I looove them and keep them coming!


Never Lose Strength

Chapter 14

Harry groaned when he saw Malfoy coming towards him. "Come on, let's go," He said, ushering Ginny, Ron, and Angylin away from the willow tree.

"Hey, Potty!" Malfoy yelled. "Where do you think you're going?"

Harry bared his teeth. What did the little dirt bag want?

"Get lost, Malfoy," He told him.

Malfoy raised an eyebrow. "What, I'm not good enough for you? You'd like me to grovel at your feet?"

"Malfoy…." Harry said warningly.

"What?" Malfoy mocked him. "Are you going to hex me? Your little muddy friend isn't here to help you."

"Don't say that," Harry hissed.

Malfoy's smirk widened. "Do you know where she was last night?"

Harry shook his head, wondering where this was leading.

"She was with—"

Angylin lifted her wind and yelled the first thing that came to her mind—she had seen Harry practicing it on Ron, and vice versa. Malfoy was lifted by his ankle by an invisible rope, and was suspended in the air, dangling. Ginny, Ron, and Harry burst out laughing, while Angylin tried to calm her racing heart.

Angylin's eyes caught Malfoy's again, and once again she almost took a step backwards from the sheer power of it. But she was slightly prepared this time: she shot back her own gaze, full of everything that she thought of him, which included words like two-faced and dirty lying cheater.

Ron, Harry, and Ginny were headed off to the Ravenclaw vs. Hufflepuff Quidditch game, but Angylin quickly said that she didn't feel good and headed back into the castle. She took all the stairs two or three at a time, and when she finally stopped outside the Heads' portrait, she was gasping for breath and barely managed to choke out the password.

The portrait wouldn't open for her.

Angylin swore. Malfoy must have changed the password so she couldn't get inside and tell Hermione that he was going to tell everyone she had cried in his arms. She couldn't even find words vile enough to describe him. She wheeled around again and headed to the Quidditch pitch, searching for Malfoy. Her anger was growing with every step: why did people like him even exist? She took a flying whack at a nearby tree, and the pain didn't even register. Good. The demon was about to be released. You messed with the wrong person, she thought, anger fueling her adrenaline. This was why she had been expelled from her old school, but it didn't even matter anymore. Nothing mattered, except her fist and Malfoy's face.

She was the lone Gryffindor squishing through the Slytherin stands; they sneered at her and pushed her, asking why she dared to come there. But she didn't answer. She had her gaze fixed on that one, silver-haired boy, forever flanked by those two thugs of his. But they were dumber than doorknobs, and she wouldn't have a problem with them.

Malfoy turned just as her fist sailed, and they collided in a single, perfect, crunching instant, in which Angylin felt her heart soar and her adrenaline peak. And then Malfoy was falling, and she stood with an air of triumph, and the first pain hit.

Lobster—was that his name?—had punched her in the stomach almost instantly. But she didn't crumple, like she wanted to; she refused to sink to Malfoy's level on any terms. Instead she fought back, landing a well-thought-out blow to each that had them down in seconds, rolling around like babies and whining.

"Don't you ever, ever mess with her again. Ever! Got it?" She demanded, putting her boot on Malfoy's head. And then she whipped around and walked straight into Professor Dumbledore.

--

Hermione heard the portrait yelling, and knew someone was trying to get in—Pansy Parkinson, no doubt. She had tried to fight her way into the Heads' dorm so many times that it wasn't even entertaining anymore.

The window was open in the common room, and she could hear the cheering and opening commentary coming from the Quidditch field. She wanted to be there so badly—and yet, she was still so confused, so awestruck, so jumbled. She was lonely, and yet she felt like she just needed to be alone for a while.

She got up and wandered to the window, wondering if she could see the match from her window. No luck; the window was facing the wrong direction. She went up the stairs to her room, but still, no luck. Wonderingly she went through the attached bathroom to Malfoy's room, and glanced out his window. She gasped. There was a perfect view of the Quidditch field, and she could almost see the expressions on the players' faces as they whizzed around. She reckoned she probably had a better view than most of the spectators down at the pitch.

"Is there a problem?" A familiar voice drawled, and Hermione jumped a mile. She hadn't seen him since that morning.

"I was watching the Quidditch game," Hermione told him, gesturing out the window.

Malfoy sneered at her. "Get out."

"But I—"

"Get out, Mudblood."

Hermione's mouth dropped open, and she turned around, and gasped. His whole face was bloody, and his nose looked broken. He looked terrible.

Even then, what was his problem? Why was he having such sudden mood swings? Just when she thought maybe they could be friends, or anything better than enemies, he had to go and insult her in the worst way.

And then her jaw tightened. She wouldn't let herself be pushed around like that: either he wanted to be civil towards her, or he didn't. If he didn't, he had that night against her now…but she refused to think of it. She would find a moment of vulnerability on his part, and then they would be equally dangerous to each other. But until then, no matter how nice he was, she vowed to never, ever trust him, and absolutely never put down her exterior in front of him.

--

"That was a bloody well-placed blow!" Ron said incredulously. They were at dinner in the Great Hall, after the match had finished, and after Angylin had gone into Dumbledore's office for a bit.

Harry nodded in agreement. "Where'd you learn to hit like that?"

Angylin shrugged, smirking a little. "I have three older brothers." As if that explained everything.

Ron stared at her. She was so…so…different. She definitely wasn't perfect to look at, but she was cute, and wild, and spontaneous, and…even Hermione wouldn't have gone and punched Malfoy like that, in front of the whole entire school. They couldn't even get a reason out of her.

"So tell me," Ron tried again, "Why'd you do it?"

"I felt like it." She looked back down, and grew aware that everyone was still staring at her. She glanced back up. "He bothers me," She elaborated in a low voice, as if it was a deep, dark secret of hers.

"Great, let's all go punch him silly," Lavender said sarcastically. She and Parvati didn't hate her so much anymore, not since Hermione had cleared everything up for them, but they definitely didn't like her and didn't make any attempt to hide it. Well, it was more like Lavender; Parvati was neutral; but she and Lavender were too good of friends for Parvati to not dislike Angylin at least just a little.

Angylin angrily got up. "If you think it's a joke, then you're no good of a friend to Hermione!" She yelled, and left as quickly as she could. She stopped outside the Great Hall, her heart beating hard; sometimes her anger scared her. It ate up everything good inside her, and she couldn't force it to spit it back out.

She remembered when she had gone into Dumbledore's office, and recalled spilling everything to him. He had been super sympathetic—he had agreed to let it slide if nothing like that ever happened again. I can't promise that, Angylin had thought, but she had nodded and left. Nothing like that could have ever happened at her old school(s). She was beyond grateful that Dumbledore was Headmaster here.

Maybe Hermione was still in the Heads' common room, and if Angylin yelled loud enough, she would hear her—nobody else would be disturbed, because all the other students were at dinner. She quickly retraced the now-familiar route to the Heads' dorm, and halted outside the portrait.

"Yes?" Today, it was the kind old lady that was dressed like something out of the Renaissance. The object of the portrait was ever-changing; the Heads probably had to memorize what the password was for each character. This lady was the most frequent, though, and Angylin felt her heart soar: maybe Malfoy hadn't changed the password—maybe it was just different for each person.

She quickly said the password that Hermione had given her, because the Renaissance lady had been the person that was there when she had gotten in. The lady swung forward, smiling, and Angylin scrambled through, afraid it would swing back shut before she could get through.

"'Moine?" Angylin called tentatively. "Are you here?"

"Up here!" Came the voice.

Angylin ran up the stairs that led to Hermione's room. "Hermione, why are you still here? Aren't you hungry for—" She paused as she saw the tray of food sitting on Hermione's bed.

"Malfoy's been bringing me meals," Hermione admitted softly. "He's been so nice…but…he came in here with a bloodied up face and he got mean again."

Angylin's mouth dropped open. How could she be so oblivious? "Do you know why his face was messed up?" She asked cautiously.

Hermione shook her head. "I'm puzzled, frankly, but he looked like he was ready to murder when he came here."

"I punched him." Angylin told her friend softly.

Hermione's face showed confusion as she looked up, but not anger, as Angylin had almost expected. "Why?"

Simple question. But how should she answer? She didn't want to say for real…but…she couldn't just let Hermione go on thinking Malfoy was actually okay because he brought her meals. Any of her friends would have done that for her, had she asked…hell, Angylin would gladly bring her sixteen meals a day rather than let Malfoy do it. He might poison it or something equally bad. She finally opted for the truth—Hermione wasn't a girl that took a lot of bullshit, she knew. "He was about to tell everyone about what…uh…happened between you and him that one night. I saw you guys. I came around the corner and he was looking at me like he wanted to kill me, so I turned and ran before you saw me. And today he was about to tell Harry and Ron and Ginny what had happened…."

Hermione's mouth dropped open. It closed quickly, though. She nodded once. "I knew he would do something like this. I could only expect it, right? And I've already decided I'm not going to ever, ever break down to him again, no matter how nice he may seem. I can't believe he—he—why…." She looked down at the food, then back up at her. "Why would he keep bringing me meals?"

"To gain your trust," Angylin replied immediately. "Don't let him fool you, 'Mione."

"Isn't that what I just said wouldn't happen?" Hermione reminded her.

Angylin sighed. "I know, I just…I'm still worried."

Hermione nodded. "It's okay, though," She said, grinning, "Because if he pulls anything, you can beat him up for me."

Angylin shook her head, still serious. "If I get expelled from one more school—" And then she stopped dead, her face horrified. "I'm so sorry—I thought you were someone else for a second—and I…."

Hermione tilted her head to the side. "Ang…you can tell me anything, you know."

Angylin bit her lip and shook her head. "I'm sorry…I just…I'll see you later, okay?" And then she turned and fled, without waiting for an answer.

Hermione's "All right, bye," echoed in the now-empty room.