Chapter 20

Hermione took a deep, readying breath and adjusted her body into position. Raising her wand arm slowly, she pointed her wand in forward direction, feeling and relishing the steady flow of magic at the vital connection around her fingertips, testament to the power she held at her disposal and on her command.

At the back of her mind, however, the whole thing was quite hilarious, really. Here she was, in duelling stance, standing opposite a defenceless tree, preparing to most likely blow it to bits since she had no duelling partner. Maybe, she should be up in the library, reading up on Horcruxes like she was supposed to. Maybe the physical thing wasn't really her scene.

Like a glowing beacon of light, Malfoy's pasty face swam in front of her eyes…reminding her how he thought her to be nothing but an insecure little girl, never sure of herself, always wavering. She'd switched her timings to six in the morning instead of evening, and all because he'd somehow gotten wind of her sessions.

"Go to hell, you pale git," she muttered.

Defodio, she recited in her mind.

Large chunks of wood erupted from the tree and began to get deposited at her feet. She maintained the connection till there was nothing left but the reddened stump rising above its hollowed roots.

Her feet were surrounded by bits of wood, yet the outcome was much cleaner than it would have been had she used Bombarda.

She completely missed the pale-faced figure standing behind where the tree had been, until they spoke.

"What have you done?"

She looked up to find a girl standing a few feet away, staring blankly at her.

Hermione wracked her brains to recall where she'd seen her before, and it came to her suddenly. She was one of the Prefects always present during their meetings, staring expressionlessly at the opposite wall yet somehow Hermione had been positive she was paying attention to every word spoken. In fact, it was the first time she'd spoken to her directly at all.

"What's your name?," she countered, gently.

"Ariana," she said, a tad accusingly, "You're Hermione Granger, and you killed that tree."

Hermione took a few steps in her direction.

"I did," she began, placating, "but it was dying anyway. See that? Those reddish rusty spots all across the stump? The tree was diseased."

Ariana raised her jaw so imperceptibly that she might have missed it.

"You should have reported it."

Hermione smiled slightly at her Hufflepuff show of dedication to the school.

"I know, but it could have infected others of its kind in the meantime, and this tree has served as fine target practice over the last few days so it was only fair that I get to do away with it…besides, I haven't broken any rules."

The girl scoffed.

"Trust me, I would know. I've read Hogwarts, A history more times than I can count."

Now, she looked at her, accusation beginning to fade from her eyes. These Hufflepuffs, she mentally shook her head, only hard work impresses them. She couldn't fault her that. But she couldn't help but be impressed in return. Here was a girl who was completely unaffected by her Head Girl status, or the fact that she was Harry Potter's best friend.

An idea popped into her mind.

"Ariana, isn't it? I have a proposition for you. You seem like a sensible girl and I want to know your thoughts on something before we go any further."

She didn't respond in any way, but her blue eyes brightened just a little behind those wire-rimmed glasses.

"What do you think of Voldemort?"

She glanced away, a faraway look in her eyes as she stared at the space over her shoulder, silent for a long time. Hermione was beginning to wonder if she had offended her in some way by asking such a direct question, before she began speaking, in the flattest, most emotionless voice she had ever heard.

"He's a madman, a fanatic and a power hungry zealot…the kind of men that you find at every corner – a dime-a-dozen, really. But he's different. He actually has an impressive arsenal of lethal skills and genuine talent to back him up, which is why he's managed to reach to this point. If he were not so much of a threat to my life, or if he hadn't put every family in the magical world at danger, I would pity him."

Hermione nodded slowly, respectful of her opinion, before she questioned her again, offhandedly.

"What do you think of Dumbledore?"

"I do not think of him at all," she said, in the same flat voice.

What a strange girl.

"Okay, then. Ariana, you're a Prefect, so I must be safe in assuming that you're magically talented to an extent which is greater than the average scope of your Housemates."

It satisfied her somewhat to see a faint blush spread over her face, though she wasn't sure why. This girl was far too interesting to let go of so easily.

"I come here several days in a week, have been coming here for quite some time, as I felt like I needed to train. I want to gear up, both magically and physically. So, what I'm proposing is – in simple words – why don't you join me? We can do this together, as a team."

"What do you mean 'training'? Some sort of one-on-one combat?"

"Not really. I meant duelling. Flying. Running, building stamina. I usually run twenty laps on some days, thirty laps on others. I've tried flying but those efforts have been questionable, to say the least. So you could help me with that and I could fill you in with handy spells. If you want, that is."

"What kind of spells?"

"Haven't you ever wondered what your Patronus might look like?"

She was silent again.

"I'm really flattered Hermione Granger, but why me?"

"Frankly, you're the only one who's ever come up here to watch. Less than a handful of students know of this, and they think me crazy." She shrugged. "So, are you interested?"

"Okay."

Hermione waited patiently to hear what else she had to say, but that seemed to be about it.

She gave her a wide smile, grateful for her easy compliance.

"Well, I think I'm done for today, so I'll write up a schedule for us to follow. I'll owl you the details."

Still not getting any response from the other girl, Hermione put her hand forward to seal the deal.

It took some time for her to move, but shake her hand she did, her grip firm and warm.

"It was nice talking to you, Ariana. I look forward to our days ahead."

She gave her the subtlest of little smiles, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder if she was just shy.

Hermione walked briskly towards the Defence Against Dark Arts classroom. Lunch had been a drag, and she had only a few minutes to spare for the class. A familiar citrusy smell tinged with a hint of mint tickled her nostrils just as someone brushed hurriedly past her. Gritting her teeth, she quickened her steps.

They entered through the door, and Malfoy decided to throw an uncharacteristic gallant fit by allowing her to enter first. She gave him a dull look as she passed – she'd had it up to here with his mind games – but he merely smirked.

They reached the seat at the same time, coming to an awkward stop as they digested the situation at hand. Standing at opposite ends of the two-seater wooden bench, they glared at each other.

The git was still smirking, an obvious challenge in his eyes as he waited for her to make a move, or a scene. Their staring contest was none-too-gently interrupted by the Headmaster himself.

"I kindly request our esteemed Head students to please do us the honour of taking their seats, though I can't begin to imagine how fascinating a discourse they must be currently engaged in, given their reluctance to show an interest in the art of defence today, so critical in these times."

The mood of the class lightened.

She blushed, hastily taking her seat. Malfoy slipped in fluidly beside her, suddenly taking up more space than he ever had. There was a steady stream of five feet...five feet…five feet…going on relentlessly inside her mind, and Malfoy, perversely enough, closed the gap between their bodies as much as it was possible without them actually touching.

The whole thing was completely bizarre, and Hermione thought back to their first lesson together, when he couldn't wait to get away from her.

Snape had begun a lesson on Ebublio Jinxes, and she turned her attention over at him.

It wasn't any easy feat, but she tried her best.

Ten minutes into the lesson, as she took her notes (substandard), a piece of parchment slid into her line of vision which caused her to nearly fall out of her seat from surprise. She'd spent over two months staring at this closed-lettered handwriting, so there was no question about who it was from.

What have you been up to? Carpentering around the castle?

She tapped her wand, Vanishing the note.

Another appeared in no time.

You've got splinters in your hair.

She looked up to make sure Snape's attention was elsewhere, before scrawling a quick reply.

None of your business, ferret. Quit bugging me.

He half chuckled, and dug out another piece of parchment.

No, seriously. Some of them are the size of my thumbnail.

She ignored it, but another appeared.

What happened? Beaver genes finally kicked in?

She Vanished it again, mentally counting to ten.

Was only a matter of time, if you ask me. All the stress you're subjecting your body to these days.

Tap and Vanish.

Don't nibble on your wand, Granger. A very bad habit.

She had a sudden stroke of genius, and she Vanished his quill.

"Bitch."

She smirked, still not looking at him.

Hermione made her way slowly through the aisles, enjoying the familiar quiet of the dimly lit library. She'd signed out nearly all the books on Horcruxes from the Restricted Section, had made magical, significantly less harmless copies for each of them in her dormitory, but here she was again, looking for further inspiration on the subject.

Maybe she should just give up in that area, and begin researching about Voldemort instead. Unfortunately, there weren't many books dedicated to his name, and the few of which were written had been safely disposed off. The richest source of information about Voldemort in the entire castle was Harry himself, but he was so lost in Ginny these days that she'd stopped looking up to him for help.

Her brain took a detour, and she decided to begin looking for a book on flying instead.

She'd just made up her mind about that and made a quick turn, before she was briskly pushed from behind and unceremoniously shoved between two shelves.

Her brain registered a crop of pale blond hair and she felt a wave of magic descend over the place, and she knew he'd cast some sort of diversion charm so they won't be disturbed for a while.

He turned to face her, stopping a few feet away from her.

"Malfoy, I'm warning you…" she began.

"Shh." He made the noise sound like a quick reprimand, and strangely enough, her mouth snapped shut.

"I must admit, Granger. I'm beginning to like this. I enjoy your willing silence." He stated, cryptically.

She didn't say anything to prove him wrong, just watched him advance on her with a sinking feeling in her gut.

Well, let him try, her inner voice reasoned, finally a chance to show him he can't push me around anymore.

His green tie hung loosely from his neck, cuffs were folded up to his elbows, his shirttails were untucked and as her eyes slowly lowered to that intricate-looking belt, she blushed. Of all the stupid things!

"Expelliarmus." She blurted suddenly, angry at herself. His wand shot out from his pocket and into her outstretched fingers.

He raised his eyebrows lazily, still unconcerned.

This was different. He was different. The entire joking demeanour from the afternoon had vanished, now there was a touch of danger glinting in those eyes. And although his body language was harmless, doubts were continuously swarming into her mind.

"All you had to do was settle my curiosity in the class. You have only yourself to blame for this."

Really, now?

"I have no idea what you're talking about, ferret, and at this point I'm not sure I even want to know, but like I said – it's none of your business."

He continued like she hadn't even spoken, still intent on closing the distance between them, thoughtless of the two wands clutched in her hands.

"I really, really hate your hair, Granger. It's a humongous eyesore. I spent all day looking at it, going crazy over the junk you're still carrying around in it. Why can't you be a normal girl and brush it out like a sane person?"

"My hair is none of your business." She parroted. "Don't sweat over it."

He reached out with a hand outstretched in her direction. She threw her head back on reflex, bracing herself for the collision with the shelf that didn't come. He'd put a hand behind her head to cushion the impact, now standing directly in front of her and well into her space.

Within seconds, the situation had spiralled out of her control. In the background of her thought process, she was aware that she should do something, anything – push him away, conk him in the head, knee him in the groin – but she did none of those things. She only watched as his hand brushed over the hair at her temple, and extracted something from its depths before holding it in front of his eyes to examine it: a sizable splinter of wood.

He looked at the sorry object for a time far more than it deserved, but then he pulled his eyes from it to stare directly into hers. The sight of his face so close to her had frozen her brain, making her quite incapable of speech. She looked away instantly, her gaze sticking on every possible object other than him, staying on none.

He spent the following minutes doing the same thing, extracting each of the wooden splinters from her hair with excruciating slowness. Now and then, their skins would touch, but Hermione had long since closed her eyes; her Gryffindor courage laying a forgotten pool of molten heat in her stomach. She felt every dig, every push, every bittersweet pull, every absent touch. Her heart revelled in the sensations.

She put up barriers and he tore them down like they meant nothing; did he even know what he was reaching at?

Her eyes drifted open when he stopped. He was looking at her with the strangest look on his face, she didn't know what to make of it.

"All done."

She nodded, like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Not knowing what else to do, she quickly made her way past him and he made no move to stop her. Just as she was about to turn into the aisle, he called out.

"Granger."

She stilled, facing away from him.

"My wand."

She pulled it from her sweaty palm, and placed it on one of the shelves nearest to her, not wanting any further contact.

As she made her way to her dorm, she knew the world as she knew it had just shifted from its axis.

Sleep seemed to be a luxury well out of her reach tonight. She lay staring at the enchanted ceiling, which was a rich, clear star-studded blue, but tonight they appeared to be mocking her.

Shaking her head, she sat up and pulled out her wand from beneath her pillow. With a wave and a flick, she recited the Reconjuring spell.

All his notes slow feathered down on her bed one after the other, followed by the elegant quill.

She stared helplessly at the individual letters, the way he wrote Granger.

Opening one of the bedside drawers she transferred them all inside it, and promised silently to herself that she'd burn them as soon as she could.

Of course she would.

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