A/N: This is a work in progress, so I will occasionally update already-posted chapters for spelling, grammar, or flow. The main storyline will not change.
September 1998—
The first week had passed. Hermione and Ginny were so overloaded with work that both girls started spending their evenings in the library. Ginny would be holding quidditch tryouts soon, and her mounting anxiety was plain on her face.
"How in the bloody hell am I supposed to do all this work, hold tryouts, and fit in enough practices to get a brand-new team in shape?" Ginny half-yelled and slammed shut her book.
"Ginny, it's okay! I'll help you!" Hermione whispered. "Tomorrow's Saturday; spend the morning mapping out your tryouts and practice times. I'll finish my remaining work, so Sunday we can go through yours. It'll be easy."
"Easy is not the word I'd use," Ginny spat. Hermione stared at her pointedly, but didn't speak. "Okay, okay, you're right. It's just first week jitters. Sorry," she caved in.
Hermione smiled. "Have you gotten any letters from Harry?" she asked. She knew this was just the thing to distract Ginny, who recounted the last few letters with Harry, their plans to meet soon, and then moved on to the latest news from the other Weasleys and the status of the nearly finished reconstruction of the Burrow. This earned them both numerous glares from Madam Pince, and Hermione's face gradually turned as red as Ginny's long, fiery hair.
They made their way slowly back to the Gryffindor common room and settled in front of the fire. The armchairs were warm and familiar, though admittedly not as comfortable as the ones in the Head common room. Nonetheless, Hermione felt her muscles relax against the soft cushions as the heat from the fire flicked delicately over her skin.
"Have you heard at all from Ron?" Ginny asked casually, as if this topic of conversation were the most normal thing in the world.
"No," Hermione admitted, failing to reach the same level of ease in her voice as Ginny, "not yet. But I haven't sent him or Harry any letters myself yet either. This week has been such a blur."
"You didn't write to tell them about being Head Girl? Or about sharing quarters with Malfoy?" Ginny now looked a bit aghast.
"No..." Hermione began to squirm under her friend's gaze. "Look, to be perfectly honest, I haven't written to anyone except Viktor."
This was exactly the wrong thing to say. Ginny's eyes lit up, and she began firing off a hundred new questions in rapid succession that left Hermione feeling dizzy. What did the letter say? Do you think he'll start writing to you often again? Does he still have feelings for you? Do you think he'll come to visit you? Would you kiss him again if he did?
It was far later than Hermione liked when she finally made it back to her room. Neither Ernie nor Padma had waited up for her, or perhaps they weren't yet back themselves, but a little paper butterfly was floating lazily around her room when she entered. It was high out of Crookshanks' reach, so he was pointedly ignoring it. As soon as she set down her bag it alighted into her outstretched hand and unfolded.
Did you finish Ancient Runes homework for this week?
She immediately scrawled back, No. What do you want, Malfoy?
Hermione's wand was poised, ready to send the note zooming back, but she paused. She muttered "Incendio," and the note burst into flames. She took out a clean slip and instead wrote, Almost, I'll finish it tomorrow. She frowned, and burned that note as well. On her third strip of parchment she wrote, Not yet. Why? She bewitched it into a horned beetle and sent it flying on its way. The beetle returned quickly.
Just a simple question. Don't get you wand in a knot, Granger.
Hermione scowled. She neither knew nor cared why Malfoy kept sending her these stupid notes. Instead, she started writing her overdue letter to Harry.
Dear Harry,
First week back has been a bit mental. I should've written you straight away, though you'll hardly be surprised—I'm Gryffindor Head Girl! It's a bit different this year. McGonagall selected one Head Student from each house, so there are four of us. Ernie and Padma and, you'll be shocked at this, Malfoy are the other heads. We've each got our own rooms and a shared common room. Aside from the ferret, it's actually really nice!
We've got loads of work already, and Ginny is a bit overwhelmed with everything, I think. She'd probably love to see you soon, as would I. One other thing, not a big deal. Does your scar still hurt ever? I know you said it didn't, but just wanted to check. Mine does sometimes, but I'm sure that's normal from magical injuries. Ginny sends her love, though I'm sure she writes you all the time. Neville and Luna both send their hellos.
Write back soon!
Hermione
P.S. I got a letter from Viktor. Luna ran into him on holiday, and he's doing okay. Don't tell Ron; you know how he gets.
Hermione carefully rolled and sealed the letter, then took out a fresh sheet for her letter to Ron. Dear Ron, she wrote at the top, then her mind drew a complete blank. Surely there were things she wanted to tell him. At that precise moment, though, Hermione's head felt emptier than the Black Lake in the dead of winter. She threw down her quill and buried her face in her hands. Her mind was overstretched like old elastic just on the point of snapping in two. Barely registering what she was doing, she stripped off the bottom inch of her parchment and wrote, What's with the notes, Malfoy? Haven't you got any friends? She charmed the strip into an arrow that zipped out her door at an alarming speed. She heard a faint "Oof!" through the walls and imagined the arrow colliding with Malfoy's face. She laughed out loud, but then clamped her hands over her mouth when she heard a muffled, "Very funny," filter through the walls in an unmistakable drawl.
It took a few minutes for the arrow to come flying back. Crookshanks intercepted it and attacked it viciously as soon as it slipped under her door. It took Hermione several scratch-filled minutes to wrestle the note from the ginger beast, and she immediately wished hadn't bothered when she read the reply: It's fun to hear you squirm.
Hermione stormed into her bathroom and got ready for bed. There would be no more responding to that stupid ferret's notes from now on, she told herself decidedly. Enough is enough! When she came out, though, she saw a black rose resting on her pillow. She grabbed the rose and moved to chuck it in the fire when it bloomed in her hand rather than unfolding. Hidden in the center was a tightly folded letter. She pulled it out, her curiosity peaked, and the rose finally unfolded.
I'm trying, okay? it said in that neat, angular script.
Hermione unfolded the letter and saw an elaborate, flowing script that she didn't recognize. She immediately began to read.
Dearest Draco,
I've sent along some sweets for you with this owl, and I hope the package arrives intact. The weather hasn't been the best for parcels, but I don't want to delay sending them while they're fresh. They're all your favorites, and I hope they cheer you up.
I am so proud of you, son, as I always have been. Head Boy is such an achievement, and I'm glad that Minerva McGonagall has enough wits to see all the good you've done. You spent the whole summer rebuilding that school, brick by brick, and Merlin knows we paid for at least half of it. You deserve some recognition. How are you getting on with the other Head Students? How is that Granger girl? I know you two don't get on, but you should really try. Do it for me. I can't speak of it—I won't—but you know how I feel.
How are your classes going? My last year at Hogwarts was the busiest for me, but it's also the year I remember the best. I wish things were different for you. We've done you no favors, but what choice did we have? I know I've said it a hundred times, but I am so sorry for everything you've been through. Things will be different now, you'll see. You come from a great line of wizards; never forget that.
You are so thoughtful to write and ask after me. I can only take solace in knowing that I must've done something right to have such a wonderful son. I am doing as well as I can manage, though it's lonely here. I'm thinking of retiring to the summer house for a while. This place is just so big and dark. Even the house elves make me jump lately. I've received no letters, not that I expect any, and there's no news yet about him. He loves us, Draco. Please don't lose sight of that.
All my love,
Mum
Hermione stared at the letter for a long while after she finished. She felt like an intruder in a world that had turned topsy-turvy. Malfoy had a doting, albeit depressed, mother who was encouraging him to get along with others, and Malfoy was actually trying. He apparently spent his summer rebuilding Hogwarts, too. The last bit she could only guess was about his father, Lucius Malfoy, whom Hermione knew was currently locked in Azkaban awaiting trial. She knew his family was fractured, but reading it in this way made her feel sick. She imagined, with great effort, Malfoy writing to his mother about being elected Slytherin Head Boy, and telling her about his dorm mates.
Hermione grimaced through the bitter taste in her mouth. Malfoy got to send home the exact letter she would've sent to her parents had they not been living completely different lives half way across the world. Hermione dropped the letter and clenched her fists, crumpling the paper that had been the black rose. She collapsed into a heap on her rug and sobbed, shoulders wracking and the unfairness of life too much for her to take. Her breath wheezed, in and out in ragged bursts, and she choked with the effort of suppressing her screams. Hermione's vision blurred, and she pulled at her hair in great fistfuls until exhaustion overcame her.
Several hours later, Hermione awoke to cramped muscles, a sore throat, and very bleary eyes. She dragged herself up off the floor and into her four-post bed, then fell immediately back into a dreamless sleep.
On the other side of the wall, Draco Malfoy lay perfectly still staring at his ceiling. His brow was furrowed, his lips locked in a frown, and faint sobbing echoed in his ears, even though the tortured girl in the adjacent room had fallen silent several hours ago.
Hermione and Ginny worked side by side in the library for most of the day on Saturday. Hermione on her homework, and Ginny on her quidditch plans. After dinner in the Great Hall, they decided to call it an early night and parted ways. Hermione was still exhausted from her disrupted sleep the night before, and Ginny was eager to write yet another letter to Harry.
On the way into her room, Hermione kicked and nearly tripped over a small package that had been left at her door, the dim red lighting making it difficult for her to see properly. She picked it up and, in the full light of her room, immediately recognized the size and shape as a quill box. This was rather odd, as Hermione rarely ordered quills via post, and there was no owl accompanying the small package. Plus, this box was wrapped more like a gift than a parcel. Then it hit her. Ernie had promised to buy her a quill, and it seemed he was more than true to his word.
The wrapping was a shimmering blue paper that reflected in the light. Hermione tore through the paper to reveal a sturdy black box that reminded Hermione of an oversized ring box, except this ring would have to be as long as a wand and thick as her fist to fill the box properly. She carefully pried open the lid, and a gasp escaped her lips. With a shaking hand, she pulled out a long feather quill that had been dyed a very deep blue. Inset into the grip were a series of light blue gems. The tip was bright silver, which Hermione had the sinking feeling was genuine Goblin silver, and an ink bottle with matching deep blue ink was nestled beside it. The ink label read, "Everlasting Ink—Each draw guaranteed to last 77 times longer than standard ink!" Hermione had only dreamed of owning a quill this fine.
As the reality of the gift settled in, Hermione's mind went into overdrive. She lifted the quill experimentally in her hand and wrote a few imaginary words in the air. Her eyes flickered from her desk to the quill and back to the desk again. Could she use it and still return it? The gift was clearly too much, and she couldn't keep it, but would it be wrong to test it first? Was it rude to refuse the gift? There were too many questions to work through.
Hermione returned the quill to the box and laid it down on the desk in front of her. She drew out her usual quill and parchment and began to write.
Pros
The quill is gorgeous.
It's a thoughtful gift.
I would never spend so much money on myself.
Cons
It's probably very expensive.
I'll feel guilty if I keep it.
I'm unsure what Ernie might be expecting in return.
Hermione set down her quill and considered that last line. She'd had a great time working with Ernie in Potions. They shared a lot of laughs in the evening, too, albeit Padma was a big part of that. Ernie was also a lot better looking now that he'd grown taller and slimmed out. In fact, he was rather agreeable too, now that he lost some of his pompous, self-righteous heir. Being completely honest, Hermione wasn't at all horrified by the idea of Ernie liking her, not that she was entirely convinced he did. Her mind kept coming back to the same thought, though. What about Ron?
After a few more minutes of mental gymnastics and uncertainty, Hermione cried out, "What about him! He's barely looked at me for months. I can't wait around forever." And with that, she got ready for bed.