Hermione was too stubborn to admit that the Forbidden Forest was an intolerable temperature. Even through her spellwork, the bitter wind lapped at her flushed cheeks, a feat she thought impossible after all of the time she spent perfecting a half-dozen charms of the warming variety. It was this that had led her to pull her scarf over her face, and while the subtle movement should not have been noticeable, a rare smirk adorned Malfoy's lips.
"Did I not tell you that it was too cold?"
The words were precisely what she expected. Hoping to avoid another one of his monologues, she shifted her attention back to the parchment she had been examining; it was but a feeble distraction from his penetrating gaze.
"It's not too cold," she insisted. "It'll be fine once the wind stops."
"And if it doesn't stop?"
Hermione did not have an answer to the inevitable question, so she passed the parchment back to Malfoy and said, "I circled the numbers that need redoing. You should've known your destiny number was off when the meaning was 'to be helpful to others' and not 'to be a haughty little dunderhead'."
"Awfully rude for someone that is only passing Potions because of my helpfulness." He pointed at a number with his quill. "And how exactly is this one wrong?"
"Because you were supposed to subtract rather than add—and regarding your self-proclaimed helpfulness, you're only helping me because Slughorn is making you. That hardly counts."
Malfoy, who had not bothered to open his book, fixed his error and said nothing more than: "It's twenty-two, then."
His calm nature surprised Hermione. Draco Malfoy had been defensive since their first year, and if she had not been glad to dodge confrontation, she might have felt a bit melancholy that he let that bit of himself go. Whatever fire he once possessed had been stomped into mere ashes.
It was a strange tragedy indeed.
"That's right," she said, still verging on inner conflict. "'Your destiny number aligns with that of Hobartus Wuppet, and thusly, finding your true self lies in your future, much like Hobartus Wuppet had to find himself in his patch of poisonous daisies.'"
"Poisonous daisies?" Malfoy echoed. "If I find myself in a patch of poisonous daisies, I'm most certainly not going to stick around to find much of anything."
Hermione smiled, a little relieved to see his spark again. "Don't tell Professor Vector that."
With a light chuckle, Malfoy finished correcting his number chart without needing so much as another hint. Hermione, as she watched him, wondered how it was that she was making harmless jokes with her childhood bully while Ron could not even find time to send her an owl.
The war was responsible for a world of many changes, but she never thought losing Ron's friendship would be one of them.
"What's the look for, Granger? Starting to get frostbite?"
"No."
"What's your problem, then?"
She shook her head. "Nothing. Are you finished?"
"Yeah," he replied, passing the number chart to her. "I still think it's a load of rubbish, though. Bloody poisonous daisies."
Hermione checked it once more. "I'm inclined to agree with you, but it's worlds better than Divination with Trelawney. At least numbers have some kind of merit." Satisfied with his answers, she handed the parchment back to him and added, "We can head back now if you want."
Malfoy was still watching her with the utmost skepticism, but apparently he decided against pestering her, because he simply said, "Yeah, alright. Let me pack my things."
They walked back together quietly, which Hermione believed took a lot of effort on Malfoy's behalf, yet it had become their distorted form of normalcy, nonetheless.
In a way, Hermione felt guilty for sequestering their sessions into the most dangerous place she possibly could. Studying there had been her idea, and so far, the two of them had faced frigid temperatures, cursed vegetation, hungry Acromantulas, and each other. Malfoy tended to complain, but in that instance, she had given him good reason to.
Festering in her remorse, she blurted, "I am sorry about the Acromantulas."
"That took you long enough," he retorted.
"Right—erm—sorry. They should be wintering soon, though," she went on, recalling a Care of Magical Creatures lesson from the week prior. "They hibernate from the middle of December until the end of March. That's why Hagrid's been feeding them. They'd likely die, otherwise, since there aren't many animals in the forest anymore..."
Hagrid's hut was looming over them from the crest of the hill.
"If he had any sense, he would let them."
"Malfoy! That's terrible!"
"And those things aren't?"
"Well, they might be, but they still are living creatures and they have to eat the same as you and I do. Hagrid's doing the right thing by caring for them."
"He's lucky they don't try to eat him."
Hermione laughed a little bit. Still, it surprised her how much more often she was laughing. When was the exact moment that they became civil? Were they civil? They certainly could not be considered friends—but they were not enemies either.
Were they?
As she pondered such things, she noticed that they were flanking the hut, which was smoking warmly as it always did. There, they would usually part ways, both to be rid of each other and to avoid the prying eyes of the judgmental student population. Alas, they kept walking towards the castle, with only a small bit of space between them.
"Are you going to the Slug Club Christmas party?" she asked, suddenly.
"Naturally," he drawled. "How could I pass up an opportunity to be lectured on toad-breeding?"
Hermione snorted, which she immediately realized was incredibly unladylike. "I doubt Slughorn invited him to the party after that, actually. You might want to prepare yourself for Imogene Fortescue, though. I'm sure she'll be giving lectures on her lineage again."
"Better hers than mine."
Hermione decided it was better not to discuss the Malfoy family, so they awkwardly trekked all the way back to the castle, where her study partner went down to the dungeons and she ascended the stairs of Gryffindor Tower. She had promised Ginny that she would help her with her Defense Against the Dark Arts homework, though she had made the promise begrudgingly. If Ginny had been paying attention in class, she would have known how truly simple the homework was.
Unfortunately, when Hermione stepped through the portrait hole, it became apparent that they would not be doing any homework that afternoon.
Orabelle Wood's dulcet Scottish accent was barely audible over the crackling fireplace, but she was certainly speaking, as Hermione could still hear her soft murmurs. The girl appeared to be comforting Ginny, who had collected a handful of the brunette's robes to sob into.
"What's going on with her?" she whispered, sitting to Ginny's right.
Orabelle ran her fingers through Ginny's red locks, a motherly gesture that Hermione might have tried if she had been there first. It was good to see Ginny confiding in someone, but somehow, she still could not help her envy. Two of her friends seemed a lifetime away, and here sat a girl she barely knew stealing her third.
"She's been like this for nearly an hour."
Ginny sniffled and dropped Orabelle's robes. "Sorry, I—I'm being silly, aren't I?"
"Absolutely not! If my brother did what yours did... Well, I'd probably go mad—or kill him..."
Of all of Ginny's brothers, there were only two that Hermione knew to cross lines that might bother Ginny, and ever since Fred's passing, George was an unlikely candidate.
Almost afraid of the answer, Hermione once again asked, "Ginny, what exactly happened?"
"My mum sent me a letter saying she knew about the engagement," Ginny said, thickly, blinking back more tears. "I'd show you but I chucked it in the fire."
"Basically, her brother opened his stupid gob."
Hermione had never been more annoyed with Orabelle Wood than she was at that moment. She wanted to have a conversation with her friend—a friend who was clearly distraught and needed her support—but Orabelle insisted on being much more involved than she needed to be.
"Obviously, she wasn't very pleased," Ginny grumbled. "She made it quite clear we'll be discussing it over the holidays, and wrote three different times about how disappointed she was in me."
"And which brother sent it?" Hermione dared to ask.
"Which one d'you think?"
Hermione groaned. "Ronald."
"That's the one." Ginny sighed and pulled her knees to her chin.
Hermione thought she was going to vomit. Ronald had time to interrupt Ginny and Harry's happiness, yet somehow, he did not have time for her. He was no longer the boy she spent so much time kissing over the course of the summer. That version of Ron would never stoop so low.
"Of course, Mum claimed she was only upset I didn't send her an owl... I know better, though. Frankly, I was a bit shocked it wasn't a Howler, but she was probably just afraid my classmates might hear how much of a ruddy embarrassment I am to the family..."
"You're not an embarrassment," Orabelle cooed, pulling Ginny into another hug. "Unless your mum's a Death Eater, I imagine she'd be proper proud you're marrying Harry bloody Potter."
Ginny gave Orabelle's arm a halfhearted pat. "It's actually Harry's fault, really. I told him not to tell Ron, but I think he must've said something before he even proposed, because he got all twitchy like he does when he's bollocksed something up..."
Hermione could no longer control her rage. Disagreeing with Ginny's decision to get married at such a young age, she could understand, but to actually try and ruin her special news—that was unforgivable.
"He—is—just—awful!" Hermione said through gritted teeth. "I can't believe him!"
"Harry?" Ginny asked, knitting her brows together, obviously ready to come to her fiancé's defense.
"No! Ronald!"
"Oh, right." Her shoulders settled. "I thought Percy was the biggest prat of my brothers, but Ron might have him beat now."
"Oh, he definitely does," Hermione growled, suddenly feeling much more sided with Ginny than she was before. "Your mum will come around, but Ron—well, what do you plan to do about him?"
"What do you mean 'do about him'?"
"I mean, he won't learn his lesson if you don't do something."
Bias played a strong role in Hermione's perspective. As she was a bright girl, she knew this, yet she did not let stop her emotions from running wild. If she had anything to say about it, she and Ginny would both get their revenge on Ronald Weasley.
"You could use that Bat-Bogey spell you like so much," Orabelle suggested.
"It's high on my list of possibilities right now," Ginny mumbled, "but honestly, I just want my mum to accept all of this. It was meant to be good news, not the end of the world."
Hermione softened. "She'll come around, Gin. And you know she'll help with the wedding once she sees the plans you've been making. She won't be able to resist."
Ginny sighed and wiped her eyes. "I know."
"She was probably just shocked hearing it from your brother instead of you," Orabelle said, though Hermione wondered what business it was of hers, since she had never even met Mrs. Weasley. "She'll realize he was trying to stick his wand in the wrong cauldron once she finds out you wanted to tell her in person. Then, once it's all sorted with her, you'll be able to give your git of a brother a good tongue-lashing."
"I liked your Bat-Bogey idea better."
Hermione, although she did not admit it, liked it better too.
Hair-Lengthening Potion was not nearly as advanced as some potions that Hermione had made in her scholarly years. With all of the studying that she and Draco had been doing, brewing a batch of the mauve mixture should have been a simple task, but her mind was back on Ron, and when there were thoughts of Ron, there was a much stronger likelihood of failure.
She had learned that the hard way.
"Professor!" Pansy Parkinson squawked without bothering to raise her hand. "Can we keep this once we're done?"
Professor Slughorn frowned. Hermione assumed he had planned on selling it to somebody, because Madam Pomfrey certainly did not need such a potion, and there were no classes that had any use for it. There was, of course, the obvious theory that the professor wanted to use it himself, but the drinker had to have hair for the potion to work—a fact he would know better than anyone.
"I'm sorry, Miss Parkinson, but allowing a student to take home a potion for self-use would be inconceivably irresponsible of me..."
"Well, can't you look at it and tell us if they're good?"
"Of course I can, but if someone's is not good, it's hardly fair to them!"
Pansy scowled and told her redheaded friend, "He just wants them all for himself! It's not our fault he's bald."
Hermione could not imagine getting upset over something so simple—not when she was grieving the death of her summer romance.
Ron had all the time in the world to try and make Ginny's life a living hell, but he could not so much as write her back.
With his newfound fame and his new lifestyle as an Auror, perhaps he realized he never cared for her like she cared for him. Perhaps he realized he only pursued her because it was easy, because she was simply there.
"Granger!"
Malfoy was glaring at her, and when she looked down at her hands, she saw why. She had crushed the milkweed.
"You're supposed to pluck the pods!"
"I know!"
Annoyed with Ron, Malfoy, and even herself, she stomped to the cupboard to retrieve more milkweed. When she closed the door, she jumped, for a familiar blond boy was fuming over her.
"You scared me!"
"Yeah, well you should be more scared of the marks you'll receive if you can't get yourself sorted out," he muttered. "Hand me the cat hair, yeah?"
"Yeah, alright."
Hermione opened the cupboard once more, passed him a vial of cat hair, and went back to her table to finish brewing her potion. She stirred and watched and stirred and watched, mentally shaking herself whenever thoughts of Ron came to interrupt her focus. Finally, with a perfect mauve brew in front of her, she grinned.
Maybe Ron was losing his power over her after all.
Author's Note: This isn't my favorite chapter, but I hope you enjoy as there's a bit more Malfoy. Next chapter will be a reference from a long chapter in Wreck, but still please read, as it will be from a different perspective than the one portrayed in Wreck, so it will still be new content.