Difficult

By: Provocative Envy

OOO

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

I stared at the spot where he'd just been standing, too stunned to move.

I had to do something.

I had to tell someone.

I had to help him, I did, because he couldn't be gone, he would come back, he had to, and when he did—

I shook my head, quickly, scattering raindrops, heavy strands of hair sticking to my chin; what was wrong with me? I knew what this meant. I knew what was happening. I knew exactly what I needed to do.

Harry.

He had to know, of course he did, because—because it was here, wasn't it?

The end.

The battle.

The culmination of a lifetime's worth of fear and indecision—and it was happening, I was sure of it. There was a reason Lucius Malfoy had given in so suddenly to Draco's demands for a Mark; there was a reason that Bellatrix Lestrange hadn't killed me that day in Hogsmeade.

And it was because they'd known about this. They'd known what was coming.

Harry.

I had to find Harry. I had to tell him—warn him—that time had run out, that there wouldn't be any more wondering, waiting, watching—no, because it was here, finally, and that meant a fight, that meant danger, that meant—

Realization dawned at the same time the ground started to shake, rumble, the black sky turning blacker, the rain shifting into icy, rock-hard pellets; Draco was with them. Draco was going to be there, in a mask, practically unrecognizable. Draco was going to be on the other side, just like we'd all always thought, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

I took a deep, violent breath, squaring my shoulders, turning towards the castle.

Harry.

I had to tell him. I had to find him. He had to know.

I ran back through the trees, exposed branches scratching my skin, tearing at my clothes like grasping desperate fingers scrambling to find something, anything, to hold onto—waxy green leaves, large and wet, flapped in front of my face, shielding me, almost, from the rapidly worsening storm.

Why did Draco even take me here? I thought crossly, gritting my teeth as I slipped across a particularly treacherous patch of grass—but I was already soaked through, caked with mud, my shirt stuck to my skin, practically transparent, with small, prickly bits of earth fused to the itchy blue wool of my cardigan. And by the time I had dashed across the grounds, bursts of lightning flashing in quick succession, I was shivering.

I entered the castle, wincing as a powerful gust of wind slammed the doors shut behind me. I heard a clatter.

"Granger?" Pansy Parkinson was standing at the base of the stairs, wand out, eyes wide, wearing a hooded, patent-leather rain coat and oversized black boots.

"What are you doing here?" I demanded. "Why do you look like that?"

"None of your fucking business, Granger," she replied, her voice hard. "Why do you look like you're homeless?"

I felt my cheeks go pink.

"I was outside," I ground out, picking at the hem of my skirt. "Obviously. With Draco."

Her gaze flickered with something—was that fear?

"Oh my, God—what did you do to him?" she shrieked, the words coming in short, arresting gasps. "How did you know? Did he tell you? He would never—never be so stupid—you must've—where the fuck is he, Granger?"

I gaped at her.

"What are you talking about?" I asked, dread simmering like lukewarm water in the back of my throat.

She stared at me, her mouth open.

"You don't know, do you? You don't—of course you don't—then where is he? Did something happen? Was it—was it his Mark?"

I felt lightheaded, then, as if my brain had shrunk or my skull had grown, exponentially, and fumbled behind me for the stone wall—something, anything, to hold onto.

"How did you know that?" I whispered.

The color immediately returned to her cheeks.

"So he's gone, then," she mumbled to herself. "They took him. It's really—actually— happening."

She brushed past me, then, reaching for the door.

"No!" I shouted, grabbing her elbow. "Fucking answer me! How did you know that? That it was his Mark?"

She sighed impatiently, raising her wand.

"I don't have time for this, Granger. Get out of my way."

I eyed her in disbelief.

"Have you forgotten who's better with one of those, then?"

She froze, her expression tense.

"Fine," she snarled, wrenching up the sleeve of her coat. "You want to know how I knew? This. This is how I knew."

And there, on the inside of her left forearm, was a Mark.

"It's been getting darker—clearer—the past couple of days," she said tersely. "Hurts a bit, too. I wanted to ask Draco if—well, I wasn't sure what was happening—but he wouldn't talk to me. Kept sneaking off to see you."

I felt saliva pool under—no, around—my tongue.

"Well? Nothing to say, then?" she drawled, folding her sleeve back down. "I'm surprised—surely Draco mentioned what was going on? No?"

My lips tingled.

"Or are you not as close as you'd have liked to think?" she smirked. "I told you, Granger—you're never going to know him like I do. It's useless to try."

There was a peculiar buzzing in my ears—was she actually still talking? I couldn't tell, not really, because my brain was stuck, like a scratched record unable to get past the chorus of a song—all I could hear, over and over and over, was her smug, shrill voice: It's been getting darker—clearer—the past couple of days. Surely Draco mentioned what was going on?

No.

He hadn't.

He hadn't mentioned what was going on.

"—not that it matters," she was saying. "For you, at least."

"What?" I blurted out, remembering to focus.

She sneered.

"Well, you're not going to live long enough to ask him about it, are you?"

And before I could reply, ask her what, exactly, she had meant—she had slipped out the door, her bright blonde head bobbing up and down as she ran towards the Forest.

I blinked, dazed, considering her ominous, thinly-veiled threat—it had practically been a confirmation, hadn't it?

Harry.

I had to find him. I had to tell him. He had to know.

I bit the inside of my mouth, hard, tasted blood, metallic and thick—and hurried up the stairs, panic settling over me like a musty, unwanted blanket, soft and gritty and irritating; had Draco really known all along that this was going to happen? And if he had—why hadn't he said something? Why hadn't he told me? I remembered, vaguely, how nefarious he and Pansy had seemed several weeks ago, all those whispered, heated arguments that I'd assumed had been about their relationship…but what if they hadn't been? What if I just hadn't been listening to the right parts?

I skid to a halt in front of the Fat Lady's portrait, my breath coming in shallow, stunted spurts.

"Password?" she yawned imperiously.

Shit. It had changed this morning, hadn't it?

"Really, this is an emergency," I pleaded. "You know who I am, I'm not—"

"Banana fritters," a familiar voice said behind me.

The portrait swung upwards; Parvati held it open for me, her eyes tired.

"What are you doing out?" I asked, surprised to see her. "And—thanks, by the way. I never would have—"

"Something's happening, Hermione," she interrupted, tugging nervously at the end of her braid as we stood together in the Common Room. "My sister—Padma—well, you know how she was dating Blaise Zabini, the Slytherin?"

I nodded, glancing hurriedly at my watch.

"Parvati, I don't really—"

"Well, I just came from her room—she's a mess right now, can't stop crying—and she said that something's wrong with him. She thinks that he just broke up with her, but—I don't know, the way she tells what happened is…odd, really, and I just—I have a bad feeling about it, you know?" She stopped, blinking. "What happened to you? You look…frightful."

"I was outside," I answered automatically. "There's a storm. But—what do you mean, a bad feeling? What did he do?"

She sighed.

"Oh, I don't know—I'm probably being silly, but—she said that he's been wearing long sleeves since last weekend, and he went mental on her when she grabbed his arm today—and then tonight, right after dinner, he just told her that he couldn't see her anymore, that she'd understand soon, and ran off, towards the front of the castle. And now she can't find him. It's like he's—like he's disappeared, or something. It's just—that's strange, isn't it? The whole thing. I don't…"

"Parvati," I said, my voice urgent. "Wait here. I need—I think I know what's going on, but—I need to get Harry. I just—stay here, alright? I'll be right back."

I scurried up the boys' staircase and heaved open the Seventh Years' door, tiptoeing to Harry's four-poster and pulling back the curtains.

"Harry! Harry—wake up!" I whispered, shaking his arm.

Vivid green eyes blinked sleepily up at me.

"'Mione, is that—that you?" he asked, fumbling for his glasses. "What's going on? What time is it? Why—why are you all wet?"

"It's half past one," I said quickly. "And I was outside—it's a long story. But Harry—can you get dressed? Something's happened, and—"

"Harry? What's going on? Who's that?" a bleary voice called out.

"It's Hermione," Harry answered thickly, swinging his legs over the side of his bed. "Says something's happened."

A second of silence, and then—

"Hermione!" Ron choked out. "What are you—"

"Will—you—be—quiet?" I hissed, glaring at him over my shoulder.

"No, I won't be quiet," he snarled, glancing around the room to make sure no one else had woken up. "Do you not remember—coercing my girlfriend into starting a massive fucking fight with me? Just so you could—could run off to shag Malfoy? And now you're waking me up in the middle of the bloody night for no good reason—"

"It wasn't to shag Malfoy," I retorted furiously. "And what do you mean, waking you up? Last I checked, I wasn't even talking to you."

"Then maybe you should learn to not talk so bloody loud—" he began.

"Oh—piss off, Ron," I snapped, turning back towards Harry just as he was stuffing his feet into a pair of tartan red slippers. "Harry—please. Come with me. There's something—just—just follow me, please, so I can explain."

He stifled a yawn.

"Wish you could hear how ridiculous the two of you sound," Harry said wearily, heading for the door.

"She started it," Ron said testily, shrugging into a dark blue sweater and following us down the stairs.

"What do you think you're doing?" I demanded. "This doesn't have anything to do with you—"

"Oh, so now I'm not invited to this—this secret mysterious meeting in the Common Room?" he asked mockingly.

"No," I bit out. "You're not."

He stepped up to me, his expression challenging.

"Harry's my best friend," he informed me stoutly. "And you're acting bloody strange. So if you're about to get him involved in something stupid and—and dangerous, then I'd like to be here to stop it. Oh—er—hi, Parvati. What are you—"

Harry sighed, sinking into the nearest armchair while I looked around; at the fireplace, empty and streaked with soot, and the murky, lurking shadows plastered across the shaggy crimson rugs.

"Just let him stay, Hermione. Just—pretend it's like old times, yeah? When we used to—you know, solve mysteries and fight evil," he joked quietly, before shooting a questioning glance at Parvati. "Er—plus one, I mean."

I swallowed, suddenly conscious of how cold the air was without a roaring, blistering fire there to warm it.

"Parvati—can you tell them what you told me just now? About Blaise Zabini? No—not the bit about your sister being upset—just what she said happened. How he was acting, I mean."

She shrugged calmly, her earrings glinting in the semi-darkness, and told them.

Harry didn't bother hiding his disappointment.

"You woke me up for that?" he asked me, astonished.

"There's more," I said defensively.

"There better be," Ron mumbled.

"Draco—Malfoy, I mean—not like you don't know who I'm talking about, because of course you do—well, he got Marked," I said quickly, determined to get that part out of the way. "Last Saturday. I tried to stop him—that's what I needed Lavender for, Ronald, to distract Snape so I could get away in time—but—I…couldn't."

"Oh, Hermione—" Parvati exclaimed softly.

I ignored her.

Because saying it out loud…hurt.

Remembering that day—what had happened, how it ended—hurt.

But nothing—none of that—compared to the sting of hearing Ron sputter with laughter, the sound jarring and harsh and oh, so spiteful.

"Are you daft?" he spat. "Of course you couldn't stop him—we told you, 'Mione, he's a right bastard, isn't he, it was just a matter of time before he went and proved it. I mean, my God, he was probably using you the whole time, just to get to Harry, and you would've let him, wouldn't—"

"That's enough, Ron," Harry interrupted sharply.

I felt my chin wobble as I stared at Ron.

"Is that really what you think?" I asked, my voice low. "That I'm such a poor judge of character that I'd—what—risk Harry's life, my life—for an admittedly excellent shag? Oh—sorry, Ron, is that not what you wanted to hear?"

Ron had leapt out of his chair, his ears red, his jaw clenched; I heard Parvati giggle, the sound quickly muffled.

"I told you she'd be like this, Harry, didn't I?"

Harry held up his hand, his posture tense.

"Will you both just—stop it?" he burst out. "I get it, okay, breaking up is—messy. I understand why you might not want to be friends. Why things can't be like they used to. But—Jesus, will you listen to yourselves?"

I looked away, my throat tight.

"He's gone," I said abruptly. "That's what I needed to tell you. Draco—he's gone. Disappeared. Just like Blaise. And there's more—I ran into Pansy Parkinson on my way up here, and she was—well, first off, she was dressed for the weather. Prepared, I mean. Like she'd planned to go out there. And—she's Marked as well, before you ask. She also seems to think—she seems to think I'm not going to be alive very much longer. So—what I'm trying to get at is—I think something's about to happen, Harry. Something bad."

He shook his head, confused.

"What—what do you mean, though? Gone?"

"We were out there," I said, motioning vaguely at the window. "In the Forest. And then his Mark started to itch, I think, and then—it hurt him, he couldn't even stand up straight—"

"Serves him right," Ron muttered.

"—and then it turned black, and he said he felt odd, and then…he was gone," I finished. "I think he was—well, I think he was summoned."

"By Voldemort," Harry clarified, his face pale.

Ron and Parvati both winced.

"D'you really have to say his name like that?"

"Yeah," I answered, ignoring them. "It was almost like when your scar hurts, Harry. That's what it reminded me of, after I thought about it. Did you—feel anything?"

"No," he said slowly. "I didn't. But that doesn't mean much."

"You don't think—you don't think he's nearby, do you?" Parvati asked, alarmed. "I mean, he wouldn't be so, well, bold, would he? To hide out right by the school?"

"He must be, right?" I replied, watching Harry carefully. "Isn't that how the Mark works?"

"I don't know, Hermione," Ron retorted. "Why don't you ask your fucking boyfriend? I'd think he'd know all about them, considering."

"You know, you really shouldn't try so hard to be clever," I shot back. "You aren't particularly good at it, are you?"

"God!" Harry exploded. "You—two—are—fucking—exhausting."

I flinched, duly chastened.

"Sorry," I said stiffly. "I didn't mean to cause—problems—with you and Lavender. Although—you deserved it, you know."

Ron exhaled.

"I know," he admitted clumsily. "I just maybe felt…like you'd turned your back on us. I mean—I couldn't even believe—still can't believe—you…with Malfoy. It's…"

"Awkward," Parvati cut in.

"Bloody unbelievable is what it is," Ron said darkly.

"Right," I said, scratching my nose. "Right. It's awkward and unbelievable. Glad we've cleared that up."

We all stared at each other.

"So…what do we know, then?" Harry asked. "Voldemort's here. Nearby, at least. He—summoned—Draco Malfoy—and possibly Pansy Parkinson and Blaise Zabini—in the middle of the night, with no warning that we know of…but for what? An attack? Is this it, then? It's finally happening? What did Malfoy say, Hermione?"

"Nothing, really," I replied, frustrated. "We were—talking about something else. And it's like I said, it happened very suddenly, there wasn't time—but, wait, no—he did say something."

"What?"

I swallowed.

"He said that—he said they were going to try and kill me," I whispered.

"Just you, then?" Ron asked sarcastically; Parvati snickered.

Harry studied me, his eyes narrowed.

"And then he disappeared?"

"Yeah."

"How did he disappear, though?" he said. "Apparition—which is more or less what Voldemort uses, right?—isn't possible on school grounds."

"We were in the Forest," I explained, twisting my hair around my finger. "Just deep enough to be outside the grounds, I think."

They all exchanged glances.

"And—you said he didn't know what was happening?" Harry asked carefully.

"Yes. I mean—no, he didn't know what was happening, but yes, that's what he said."

"Hermione," he said gently. "Whose idea was it to go out there?"

I cocked my head to the side, incredulous. What?

"Surely you aren't implying—that he knew what was going to happen. That he took me there on—on purpose."

"He's one of them, 'Mione," he reminded me.

I crossed my arms over my chest, my hands shaking, my thoughts absolutely refusing to align properly—it was like one of those children's games, a picture of a pretty green park with a caption that read: What doesn't belong here? But what if it looked fine? What if everything made sense to me and I couldn't even begin to imagine what they meant when they asked that question?

"No," I seethed. "He's not. You have no idea what you're fucking talking about, Harry. You don't know him, you don't, and—and I should have known the two of you would do something like this, say something like this, because—"

"Because I don't want to fucking die, you mean?" Harry interjected fiercely.

My mouth snapped shut; I heard Parvati shuffle her feet uncomfortably.

"Look, Hermione, I know that he's your—your boyfriend—or something—but this isn't about whether or not we fucking like him, okay? This is…serious."

His voice was unsteady, and I felt a lurching, churning emptiness pulse through my stomach, the sort of tremor that precipitates something awful, something unexpected, something you don't want to hear—but wait, wait, I wasn't wrong about him, I couldn't be, I'd—I'd fucking trusted him, even after I knew better, even after everything that had gone wrong, and what Harry was saying, what he was thinking—

Stop.

No.

Stop.

Wait.

Fucking wait.

"You're right," I finally said, meeting his gaze. "It is serious. And I'm being serious when I say that you're wrong about him. I don't care what Pansy says. I don't care what you say. You're wrong."

The grandfather clock in the far corner of the room ticked loudly.

"Alright, then," he said gruffly.

"What are we—" Parvati started to say.

"You think I'm being stupid, don't you?" I asked Harry.

He looked away.

"It doesn't matter what I think."

I pressed my lips together—but there, there it was again, that feeling—like I was missing something, something important, something obvious, and no one was bothering to explain.

"You're right," I said defiantly. "It doesn't."

He cleared his throat.

"Come on, then. It's time to go wake someone up and tell them the world's about to end."

OOO