Note 1: Yes, I had to block anonymous reviewers. It was something that I did not want to do, but I simply got sick of the anonymous wank I was receiving. I know there are nice anons out there who would like to review, but you'll just have to sign in, sign up, or send me happy thoughts instead.
Note 2: Thank you for all the congratulations and the continued support.
Note 3: A lot of people have asked me for links to where I will post. Let me assure you that Bracelet still has far to go and at some point when I have better time/less fatigue, I will update my info (purge it, really) and include the links to the sites where my fics are/will be, and I will let you know in an A/N when that happens.
On with it...
Hermione just stared. She didn't quite know what to make of this.
"Well, come on, then," Pansy said, grabbing Hermione and literally dragging her off.
"Wait… just… wait a minute!" Hermione sputtered, digging in her heels, but Pansy, in spite of her petite frame and girlish looks, was actually quite strong, so she was dragged several steps before she managed to stop the other girl.
"You want to do this out here where everyone can see or in there?" Pansy coolly asked, motioning towards an empty room. "Because I honestly could do without the audience."
Hermione groaned in defeat and went past Pansy into the room. Great. Just what she needed to make this day better – a private session with Malfoy's jealous ex-girlfriend.
"What do you want, Parkinson?" she asked as Pansy followed her in and closed the door behind them.
"I told you – I want to get that bracelet off you."
"And how do you propose to do that?" Hermione asked, crossing her arms. Telling Pansy that she didn't want it off would only result in another conflict, something that Hermione definitely could do without.
"Well, my first choice would obviously be to cut off your hand, but I'm thinking that that wouldn't go unnoticed, so I abandoned that idea… for now."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Forget it. The only way you're getting it off is by persuading Malfoy to take it off me."
Pansy raised one perfectly plucked eyebrow. "So formal you are. What? He could snog you but not give you leave to use his first name?"
"I don't want leave to do anything. I just want all you damn Slytherins to leave me alone!"
"Oh, I think I speak on behalf of most of us when I say: We really don't want anything more to do with you either. But I want this thing off you."
She had walked closer to Hermione and now her well-manicured hand grabbed her wrist quite forcefully to inspect the bracelet. Hermione let her, knowing that there was nothing to be done, and figuring it would be easier to just allow Pansy to figure that out for herself.
While waiting for the Slytherin girl to reach some sort of conclusion, Hermione took her time in studying her. Really studying her. She hadn't actually done that before. This had always just been the unpleasant blonde girl, who was a part of Malfoy's crowd.
She was actually pretty. Really pretty.
Her hair was smooth, and a pretty blonde color, and looked to be soft to the touch. She probably used conditioner and a hundred other products to make it so agreeable. Her ears were pierced and she wore tiny diamond studs… was that silver or platinum? Hermione narrowed her eyes, trying to work it out. She still couldn't see the difference, really. She even wore make-up of the discreet kind that you didn't really notice, which only served to enhance her own looks. Hermione could also just barely catch the scent of what was undoubtedly a very expensive perfume.
She did a quick comparison with herself in her head. She really only washed and tamed her own – dull, brownish and hopelessly wild – hair, often failing miserably in the taming. She didn't use conditioner. She didn't have her ears pierced. She didn't pluck her brows. Her manicure consisted of keeping her nails at a manageable length. She never wore make-up. She never wore perfume.
Why the hell was Parkinson feeling threatened? Obviously, she was the one that any boy would want. Pretty and well-groomed and well-scented and… girly. Hermione was just some sort of lump filled with bookish knowledge. The only way that any boy would ever want her was through liking her as a friend first.
Not that she minded, she reminded herself. Relationships based on friendships were better, deeper, more stable, less shallow… but she would always be in the shadow of prettier girls. Girls like Lavender Brown and Pansy Parkinson.
"I think I got this," Pansy suddenly said, drawing out her wand.
Hermione barely had time to shoot her a wary glance, before Pansy mumbled something, lightly tapping the bracelet, causing it to spark and jolt Hermione quite painfully, leaving an angry red mark.
She jerked her hand out of Pansy's grip with a hiss.
"Ok, I hadn't got it," Pansy said, withdrawing a piece of parchment from her pocket. "But I have a few more ideas…"
"No!" Hermione said quite emphatically. "No more ideas!"
"Don't be such a wuss," Pansy scolded. "You want this off as well, don't you?" Her voice turned sharp at the end, leaving no question about the hidden warning.
"No, I don't! I made a deal. Whatever issues you have with Malfoy, you work them out with him. But unless he's the one to free me, I'm keeping this on!"
Pansy narrowed her eyes. "So it's true then? You're delusional enough to want to wear it?"
"Delusional?" Hermione asked, slightly confused.
"Listen to me," Pansy hissed in a low voice. "You may be good enough for Draco to snog; you have this whole forbidden thing going for you, I suppose. But at the end of the day you're still just some average-looking Mudblood commoner. He will never settle for any of that, let alone the whole package."
Hermione crossed her arms again, this time feeling not only angry but also a bit stung at Pansy's assessment of her, which eerily mirrored her own. So what if she didn't have the same kind of looks that Pansy had? She had brains. And she didn't care whether Malfoy or any other boy wanted her. Especially not if their reasoning would be so shallow.
"I think you misunderstood something," she coolly said. "I do not want your ex."
At this Pansy snorted. "Of course you don't. That's what I saw. You not wanting him."
Hermione's cheeks reddened. She hadn't actually been aware that Pansy had seen them. "I was plastered. I would probably have snogged you given the right incentive."
Pansy wrinkled her nose. "Yeah, sorry, not into that."
"I wasn't offering," Hermione growled. "Just saying… well… get over it! And if you can't? Take it out on Malfoy. He is the cheating bastard, not me!"
Having had quite enough, she pushed past Pansy and back into the hallway.
She was about to go back to the Gryffindor Tower, when she changed her mind. She wanted to be alone. She would be alone in her room, but before that she had to brave the common room, which potentially held Harry, Ginny, Ron, or any combination thereof. She wasn't in the mood for it. She couldn't handle it right now. She couldn't handle any more of those looks, judging her for her mistake, assessing her motives, and measuring her, finding her wanting.
She was just so tired.
So instead, she went back to the closing library and found a quiet corner, where nobody would bother her as she was hiding behind a big, dusty, old tome.
How Hermione had managed to make his homework seem so easy, Draco couldn't fathom. He was staring at his books and groaning. He just didn't see it. He bent down over his bag to find the parchment she had made for him with a comprehensive overview. Fine, she was better at this than he was. That didn't mean he was stupid. It just meant that he didn't care about the 99 uses of salamander blood or any other nitpicky knowledge that everyone else in their year had already forgotten.
As he yanked out the parchment, a small pouch followed and fell to the floor.
"What the…?" He narrowed his eyes. What cheek! Did she honestly think she would win their little discussion so easily?
Homework forgotten, he grabbed the pouch and left his room and the dungeons, making his way back up to the library. He knew she was there. She had briefly left it at some point – and he needed to confront her about what the hell she thought she had been doing then – but now she had returned and was feeling as gloomy as ever.
She hadn't felt gloomy earlier. Not until Weasley interrupted.
He shouldn't have allowed it. It was annoying when she was gloomy.
He found her all but hiding at a table in the far corner of the library, her back to him, and her nose, of course, buried in a huge volume on who-knew-what.
"Oi, Granger!" he said before reaching her side. "What do you think this is?"
She started at the sound of her name and then, as he reached her, she turned her face away from him. He frowned. She couldn't even look at him now?
"What do you want now, Malfoy?" she asked in a slightly thick voice.
His frown deepened. Something was definitely off.
He dropped the pouch on the table and bent over her shoulder to growl, "What is this supposed to mean?"
She stiffened and turned a bit more away from him. "Oh, that." It was hardly more than a mumble. "Right. Won't happen again. Sorry."
Just like that? She wasn't going to argue with him? He straightened and slowly went around the table, until he had her at an angle, where she couldn't hide behind her mop of hair.
And then he stared.
It wasn't that the change was all that big, but she had clearly been crying.
"What happened?" he demanded. Granger did not cry… did she?
She glared back defiantly. "You happened," she replied.
"I've been happening for weeks; you've been blubbering all this time?" he haughtily asked.
She glared at him. "As always, you're the epitome of everything that is compassion."
He crossed his arms. "So… what? You're disappointed that Weasley failed in getting the bracelet off you?"
Her mouth fell open. "H-how did you know about that?"
He showed her his hand, moving the ring slightly so she could see the angry red mark that looked like her own. "I felt the fucking backlash, Granger. Am I supposed to just ignore this?"
"It wasn't Ron," she said. "Leave him out of it."
"So it was just you, then?" he asked, feeling unaccountably disappointed.
She didn't reply, but lowered her gaze to the book in front of her.
"Answer me, Granger! Did you do this on your own?" It made him extremely angry that he had to order her.
"No!" she replied through gritted teeth. "It was Parkinson."
This took him by surprise. Pansy had remained passive for so long that he hadn't considered she might start acting now.
"What else did she do?" he asked.
Hermione shrugged. "Nothing much. Insulted me, mostly."
"And this brought you into this… state?" He wrinkled his nose.
She shot him a condescending look. "Of course not. Since when do I care what that… girl… thinks?"
The way she said the word 'girl' clearly indicated that she was thinking of any number of other – less flattering – nouns to describe Pansy with. Pretty brave of her, all things considered.
He scowled at her. "Watch it," he warned. "I like her a hell of a lot better than I like you – even in spite of what she tried to pull."
"Don't tell me that you're actually going to believe that I wasn't interested in Parkinson taking the bracelet off me?" she scoffed. "I might die from the shock."
"Somehow I find that easier to believe than you working with Pansy," he muttered.
"Could you leave me alone, then?" she asked in a weary voice.
She clearly didn't want to tell him what was going on. Since it had nothing to do with Pansy – provided she wasn't lying on that account – it had to be something to do with the Weasel.
He could, of course, force her to tell him the truth. He could make her tell him whatever it was that had upset her by ruthlessly ordering her to tell him exactly what was going on.
It would cure his curiosity.
And it would probably upset her more.
He would have to endure more of her gloominess.
In the end, he just left her alone. Again.
Friday. Day 21. Also the 14th of November, if one had to be specific about it. It was a grey and dreary day that matched Hermione's mood perfectly.
Three weeks of this would depress anyone.
Draco had actually left her alone for most of the day, only briefly telling her she needn't meet him today. This was new. Perhaps he truly was getting sick of the whole thing.
She had seen him fighting with Pansy.
He apparently didn't appreciate someone trying to take his toys from him – even if he were done playing with them. She would really have loved to have heard what was said between the two of them, but alas, it wasn't possible for her to get close enough to eavesdrop.
She just hoped it was nasty on both parts.
A girl could dream.
Ron was avoiding her. Ginny was glaring at her during mealtimes. Harry tried to act normal, but it was clearly forced.
She was in Hell.
After classes, she dumped her bag back at her room, before leaving the tower again. She simply wasn't in the mood to be where she could be found. This unfortunately also left out the library. Instead, she found some rarely used corridor on the back of the castle's third floor. The windowsills were low, wide, and carved out of the sturdy castle wall itself, so she took a seat in one of those, looking at the cloudy sky and just… not thinking.
It was nice to not think for once.
Her peace lasted for all of an hour before Draco sought her out.
"What is it now?" she quietly asked.
"I wasn't aware that you were going to spend your free time sulking," he calmly replied.
"Does it matter how I spend it? If you had special requirements, then you should have let me know."
He narrowed his eyes at her. "I'm letting you know now. Get your cloak."
She slowly stood. "You're sending me outside? Why?"
"I have practice. If you're going to sulk, I'm going to make it fun for me."
She shook her head, not really understanding. "I hate Quidditch and it's cold outside."
"Which is why I recommend getting your cloak."
"Can't you just leave me alone?"
"I tried that and you just sulked anyway. Now we're doing this my way."
"What? By making sure I keep hating your guts?"
He smiled tightly. "Exactly. Now, get your cloak."
It wasn't cold. It was freezing. Hermione's face felt like someone was pricking at it with tiny ice needles – that was, in the parts that hadn't gone numb. The constant wind didn't help. Or the drizzle. Did it always drizzle when they were practising? She seemed to remember that it had the last time he'd made her watch too.
She looked up at the rapidly darkening sky. She could hardly see anything. How could they? And it must be at least three times as cold up there. She shivered at the thought, drawing her cloak tighter around her.
Slytherins must really be cold-blooded.
She wasn't sitting in the stands, but rather standing right in front of them. This wasn't actually Malfoy's doing. She just found that being in the stands brought back some pretty unpleasant memories of the Gryffindor-Slytherin match. Besides, this way she could move a bit when she got too cold, and lean against the stands when she got bored. She got bored a lot.
Suddenly someone cried out loud enough that Hermione could hear it over the wind. She looked up, narrowing her eyes to see what was going on. The Bludger came out of nowhere and hit her squarely in the chest, stealing her breath and knocking her back against the stands with enough force to break the boards.
She felt a sharp pain in her chest and shoulder before there was nothing.
Up next...
"You need to go to the Hospital wing," Blaise quietly said.
"N-no," Draco gasped. "I'm fine, really. Just a little… winded…"
"This is 'fine'?" Blaise asked, showing Draco his hand. It was bloody.