Chapter Twenty

Transfiguration went exactly as expected, though Hermione arrived to the lesson well before even the instructor did. Professor Merryweather gave them the "surprise" pop quiz Ginny had mentioned, earlier than anyone had been expecting it, making it a true 'surprise', and Hermione wrote in her answers with a mechanical hand, undeterred by their difficulty, or the gasps and moans of her fellow classmates who were not as constantly prepared for such things, and for whom the fact that they hadn't been able to properly study for the quiz meant a scramble to recall knowledge from classes during which they had probably not paid nearly enough attention to warrant a decent grade.

Though Hermione knew the wand movements and spell pronunciations by heart, she kept thinking back to breakfast and the dark look Ron had given her. Hermione'd always known Ron had a temper, had indeed fought passionately with him many times over the years, but the fact that she knew that she—not just something mundane, such as Ron being frustrated over her knowing more about something than him, but her as a person—was the reason he was so angry and hurt now, twisted her heart painfully. Yes, she knew that her relationship with Ron had reached an unmanageable point, that as good a heart as Ron had, and as much as he honestly meant well most of the time, her heart just wasn't in it any more. She'd been feeling this way for months now, if she had been truly honest with herself, but had kept giving in because of the history she had with Ron; kept making excuses for why things were the way they were. And now, with Malfoy…

Hermione's quill skidded across her parchment when the thought of Draco Malfoy entered her mind, and she quickly picked up her wand from the table next to her parchment and flicked it across the blotted ink, syphoning it back into her ink well and wiping the paper clean so she could rewrite the word she'd messed up.

Malfoy. He made her feel… uncomfortable. That seemed an apt word to describe things. Not uncomfortable in a way where she was afraid to be around him, even when his friends were with him—or maybe despite when his friends were with him, not in a way where she was nervous to talk with him or share things with him. Not really.

Or maybe exactly those ways. She was afraid to be alone with him, though only because she'd started to become so hyper aware of every movement he made, from the way the muscles in his forearms stood out when he stretched his arms, or the casual way he ran long fingers through his fine blond hair, to the way he held his body with a self-contained grace that spoke of a jungle cat ready to spring or stretch out lazily in the sun, depending on which mood struck him. And the fact that she was so very aware of these things scared her as much as it also wrapped her in the warm flush of something, that maybe, if they were both willing to let it, might become something more than friendship.

After Transfiguration ended, Hermione hurried out of the classroom, Ginny at her heels. She kept her eyes on the door, not looking left or right for fear of accidentally catching Ron's eye as the rest of the Gryffindor's trooped out behind them. They had Flying next, Hermione's least favourite class. Sure, the thing many muggle-born students looked forward to the most after getting their wands was getting on their first broom, but Hermione Granger had never been one of them. She could fly, if forced, but as demonstrated to Malfoy and Zabini during the recent midnight Quidditch match, Hermione was not good with heights, and as such performed far below standard in flying lessons. Harry, Ginny, and Ron, did not have this problem, which, of course, was lucky, considering they were top flyers on the Gryffindor Quidditch team.

"Come on, Hermione," Ginny said, tugging at her arm and trying to hurry Hermione through the masses of Hogwarts students streaming through the crowded halls between classes. "You know how Professor Spinnet gets when he has to start class late."

Hermione did know, in fact, and had been subject to more than one 'extended lesson' that went into the lunch hour because of this. Of course, for her, the reason for the extra fly time was due to poor performance in class, something Harry, and especially Ron, had loved to tease her about; it was rare for either of them to outshine Hermione academically, and rarer still for either boy to skip a chance to torment her good-naturedly about her lack of skill in class. As Ginny and Hermione managed to shove their way through the crowds and out a side door that lead into the central courtyard of the castle, Hermione chanced a glance over her shoulder, brown eyes searching unconsciously for green and blue.

Ron and Harry were striding along in their usual pack of Gryffindor boys, Seamus, Dean, and even Neville following along behind them. Neville was the only one who performed almost as badly as Hermione did in Flying lessons. He much preferred to spend his time in the Greenhouses, working for extra credit with Professor Sprout. Neville smiled when Hermione caught his eye, and gave her a little wave. She was just lifting her hand to give him a wave back when Ron turned his head and speared her with his icy blue gaze. Hermione dropped her hand at once, turning away and pretending that she had been intent on nothing more than the equipment shed situated just beyond Ron's shoulder.

Students were allowed use of their own brooms if they desired, and Hermione could see Harry and Ron hefting their Quidditch brooms: a Firebolt 3000 (the latest model in the Firebolt broom class, just out that summer, and the subject of much longing adoration from all Jr. members of the Weasley clan since Harry had purchased it to replace the broom he'd lost during his escape from Privet Drive) and Cleansweep Eleven respectively, over their shoulders, though Neville, Dean and Seamus followed Ginny and Hermione toward the broom shed to pick out a school model to use in class.

"Hermione!" called a feminine voice somewhere to her right, and Hermione turned to look over her shoulder, one hand held out in front of her, waiting for the broom Ginny was passing toward her. Lavender was waving at them from a spot off to the side of the sectioned off practice zone, and Hermione and Ginny shouldered their brooms as they made their way toward her. Lavender had perched herself sidesaddle on her broom and was hovering three feet in the air as she waited for their professor to call the class to order. "How are you, sweetie?" she asked in a concerned voice, once Hermione and Ginny had come to a stop in front of her.

Hermione frowned at the look Lavender was giving her, something keen and knowing in her blue eyes. "Hi, Lavender," she said, cautiously, lowering her broom so that the twigged end rested on the ground.

Ginny, apparently noticing the anxious set to Hermione's shoulders, headed Lavender off before she could subtly or not hint at the drama from breakfast. "Ready to hit the skies, Lav?" Ginny asked, dropping her own broom and hopping onto it so that she balanced somewhat precariously on the thin handle, as if she were riding a surf board. "I overheard Seamus telling Dean that we're doing speed tests this morning. Dean suggested the class make it into a contest, boys against girls, to prove who the better fliers are, and Professor Spinnet heard him and said that he thought it was a wonderful idea." With an expert shift of her weight, Ginny nudged the broom into a smooth arc, lifting into the air and guiding it in a circle around the space where Lavender was floating, perched like the Lady of the Manor ready for a horseback riding lesson.

Lavender looked a little annoyed at being interrupted in her quest for a good piece of gossip, and tried to lean around Ginny to catch Hermione's eye again. "That's nice, Gin," she muttered absently. "Hermione, I was wondering if you could tell me what was going on with Ron this morning. He was acting awfully strange—"

"Oh, speaking of my git brother," Ginny interrupted cheerfully, noticing Lavender's attempt to coerce Hermione into divulging details, and speeding up her circling so that Lavender had to sit back on her broom or else risk getting accidentally-on-purpose knocked off it by Ginny. "He said that there was no way the girls would be able to beat the boys in any test that involved skill in the air. He seems to think that the old adage of women being poor drivers applies to witches too. Naturally, I told him where he could stick his outdated, sexist, remarks, but he didn't seem inclined to give any ground. I think we should teach him a lesson, don't you?"

Lavender's attention finally diverted from Hermione to Ginny, then past them both to where Ron was standing, laughing, with a cluster of Gryffindor boys. "Oh he does, does he?" she muttered lowly, her voice sliding an octave lower with annoyance; like most girls, Lavender did not take kindly to being told she could not do something simply because of her gender; and that went doubly when it was her ex-boyfriend doing the talking. "He's going to be sorry he said that."

Ron's boasting was nothing new to Hermione, and she'd never paid him much mind when Ron bragged about being a better flyer than she was—it was true in her case, after all—but now the words seemed to hold a nasty undertone. Hermione wished she was as good on a broom as Ginny and the other female Gryffindor Quidditch players were. Just then, she'd have loved to leave Ron behind, blown back in the sky by the hurricane that was her excellent flying skills. Her fingers clenched around the smooth handle of her broom and Hermione turned her eyes from Ron and company up to the gloriously deep blue sky arcing overhead like an overturned china bowl. It was a beautiful fall morning and she was glad to be outside enjoying it, even if it was with Ron only a few strides away.

"Alright people, gather up!" came the magically magnified voice of Professor Spinnet, as he waved an arm in the air to gesture the remaining students over to where he was standing.

Professor Spinnet reminded Hermione much of the average muggle gym teacher: receding hairline which he was attempting to conceal under a hat, a marked pot belly protruding from beneath his robes, and a whistle around his neck—which he used too often for her ears' general comfort. Hermione, Ginny, and Lavender all made their way toward the professor, Ginny in the lead with a cool, determined look in her eyes.

"I want you all to mount up and take three laps around the courtyard. Then split off into two teams for a timed relay race. It's been suggested we have a bit of fun and pit boys against girls for the race; I'm not opposed if the class wishes to split this way. I know that we have excellent fliers all across the board." He gave the class a look that said if they were anything less than excellent it was no fault of his.

There was an excited murmur of ascent from the Gryffindor students following this speech, mixed in with a bit of good-natured ribbing, including Dean insinuating that the girls wouldn't want to fly too fast in case it messed up their hair, followed by Ginny sweetly promising that her hair wouldn't be the only thing messed up if he didn't keep out of her air space, and a series of laughter and bets on which of the two would come out on top in the race. Hermione stood off to the side while the two groups continued to tease and holler at each other. She didn't want to get into a shouting match with Ron—who was busy taunting Lavender about her insistence on riding side-saddle—over the linguistics of broomstick handling. Instead, she mounted her broom next to Ginny, waving Neville over to where she hovered a few feet off the ground. He trotted over with a grateful smile.

"They had to make it a race," he moaned, trying to put on a brave face. "At least you know you won't be the last one back." Neville grinned ruefully as he swung a leg clumsily over his broomstick handle and nearly fell over the other side. He'd grown up a lot over the past seven or so years, but clumsiness was something that seemed to cling on to Neville despite everything. Righting himself, he cast a quick glance around to see if anyone other than Hermione had seen his stumble.

"I wouldn't bet on it, Neville," Hermione returned with a grim look. "If anything, letting the class compete like this is only to going make people act recklessly in their rush to win. I plan to keep out of the fray, even if I have to fly like a snail to do it."

Professor Spinnet blew his whistle then, and Hermione and Neville kicked off, keeping to the back of crowd as the other students zoomed off all around them. It was their custom in this lesson to stick together and keep out of the way of any shenanigans the rest of the class might decide to engage in.

As her broom rose into the air, Hermione's fingers tightened to a white-knuckled grip on her handle. Logically, she knew that the school brooms had safety charms on them to prevent accidental slipping off, but they were mostly precautionary and wouldn't protect you if you were knocked off course by a reckless flyer or ran into something and damaged the broom too badly. Don't look down. Don't look down. Don't look down. Hermione ordered herself, trying to keep her eyes on the back of Ginny's head and imitate the other girl's confidence in the sky.

Most of the class had shot into the air and zoomed off around the tips of the towers surrounding the courtyard, paying no mind to their cruising altitude of at least one hundred feet. Hermione and Neville hovered around thirty feet, their pace markedly slower. They were the last to return to the ground after the warm-up and Hermione could see Ron's sneer from across the greensward with uncomfortable clarity. He leaned over to whisper something in Seamus's ear and then both boys turned to look over at her, laughing. Seamus's expression was vaguely condescending, in the way that a boy might think he was better than a girl at something—but Hermione knew that underneath it all Seamus still respected her as a person and an intellect. But the look on Ron's face was just mean—as if he was relishing her poor performance, and not in the way that he and Harry had just last week, in which they'd teased and mocked Hermione but she'd let them have their fun, knowing that it was only fair, after all she so vastly out-stripped them in practically everything else. Harry was across the yard, his head bent toward a group of boys, talking animatedly—probably about race strategies—and he hadn't seen the look pass between his two best friends. If he had, he would have done something about it. As it stood then, Hermione was on her own.

"Alright, gather up!" Ginny shouted, jumping back up on her broom and gliding through the crowd of Gryffindor girls, much in the same fashion as she'd been doing earlier with Lavender. She seemed to have appointed herself Captain of the girl's team. "Hands up if you can handle a broom." Several girls raised their hands eagerly, and Ginny grinned at them, directing them to a line along the side of the courtyard. "The rest of you think you're not great fliers," There was a murmur of agreement mingled with awkward shuffling by the remaining Gryffindor girls, and Ginny met their gazes sternly. "That's ok, we're all good at different things. I'm going to interspace you all between the strong fliers, so that they can catch us up if we start lagging due to lack of speed. Just do your best and fly safely. The boys are much more likely to be reckless in the air and we've all seen how that can turn out." There was a scattering of laughter as the group looked past Ginny at a pair of boys who'd been messing around during the warm-up laps, then run into each other while both were looking the opposite direction. Professor Spinnet was waving his wand over the second boy and fixing his bloody nose with an irritated look on his face. "Just concentrate on the course and keep your eyes fixed on the girl you're tagging out," Ginny said firmly, her eyes ablaze with the spirit of the coming competition. " We're going to make those idiot boys admit who really rules the skies at Hogwarts!" There was a chorus of cheers as the girls moved to their spots in line.

Hermione was second from the end of the line, with Ginny behind her. She could see the boys lining up in a similar fashion across the grass. For fairness's sake, all personal brooms had been put to the side and a stack of school brooms laid out between the two groups. Each flier was to grab a broom from the pile, make a loop around the courtyard, then tag out the next person in line who would then repeat the process until everyone had gone once. Hermione scanned the boys' line to see who was matched with her, and blanched when she found Ron's cold gaze glaring across the grass. Actually, he wasn't exactly glaring, his expression was more mockingly disdainful, as if he found the fact that they had been paired up so ridiculous he could barely be bothered to take the competition seriously.

On a regular day this look would have irritated Hermione, but she would have done nothing more than roll her eyes and concentrate on keeping her broom level. Today, was another story. Feeling nettled at Ron's scorn, Hermione turned away, pressing her lips into a tight line to both prevent herself from saying anything, as well as to try and stop their anxious trembling. If it had been any other boy, even Seamus, who was of the opinion that boys were better fliers, or Neville, who at least would make her look less terrible in the air, Hermione thought she would be able to do ok in the race; but it was Ron, and that fact made Hermione want to win, as unlikely and dangerous as attempting such a thing might be.

"Mount your brooms!" shouted Professor Spinnet, blowing his whistle and raising one hand in the air. "On your marks, get set…FLY!"

The first students shot into the air, rising quickly to flying height and zooming around the courtyard at top speed. As they completed their loop around the yard and neared their respective teams, the next set of students prepared to push off, hands raised high so that they could be tagged in. Hermione bit her lip anxiously, trying not to consider all the ways she could horribly mess up this simple game, not the least of which included having her broom refuse to rise when she raised her hand over it, like it did in her very first flying lesson with Madam Hooch, and the worst of which involving her crashing her broom into either a castle tower, or Ron, and then slamming back to earth with the force of a missile.

"Get ready for a new hairdo—the eat my dust torna-do!" shouted Seamus over his shoulder as he bumped fists with a blond boy who'd just landed in front of him. He kicked off seconds before a pretty Hispanic girl with bright turquoise coloured glasses skidded down next to Lavender, slapping her hand hard as she passed. Lavender shouted something back that would likely have lost her several house points if Professor Spinnet had heard her, though most of her curses were lost to the wind as she pelted after Seamus, eyes narrowed.

Hermione found herself with her hands curled into fists under her chin, her body tense with anticipation as she watched the pair race. She'd seen both Gryffindors fly before, and though Seamus was good, he was over-confident in his skills and a bit too wrapped up in mocking Lavender's flying style, such that he very nearly ran into a turret because he wasn't looking where he was going. He caught himself and corrected his course, but it was too late, Lavender had passed him, laughing merrily as Seamus spit curses into her tailwind, and she glided to a swift and smooth stop in front of Hermione with seconds to spare.

"Get going, Granger!" Lavender shouted, when Hermione didn't instantly kick off the ground. "I've only bought you about ten seconds, and if Ron beats you we'll never hear the end of it!"

Startled out of her thoughts, Hermione quickly straddled the broom Lavender had dismounted and kicked off hard. The wind rushed up around her as her broom shot into the air, her robes billowing about her legs and arms, and her long, curly hair whipping into her face. She gripped the broom's handle with white-knuckled fierceness, her eyes narrowed and laser-focused on the first of the three turrets she had to round in her circuit. As she drew near the first tower she could hear the displaced air of a second rider closing in on her, and knew that Ron was coming in fast.

"Give up, Hermione," came Ron's voice, his words thrown directly into her face by the wind as Hermione angled her broom around the first tower and sped toward the second. "You know you manage a broomstick about as well as you manage relationships!"

Hermione sucked in a gasp at Ron's words, barely managing to keep her broom level at the cruelty in his voice. She knew Ron was hurting and that his lashing out at her was something that he'd regret later, but that didn't lessen the sting any just then. Trying to ignore Ron as he drew level with her around the second tower, Hermione bent forward on her broom, telling herself that the tears in her eyes were caused by the harsh wind in her face and nothing else. Suddenly, Ron angled his broom toward Hermione's school-issued Cleansweep 5, startling her and causing her to swing wide to avoid crashing into him, then he sneered at her, as if she'd just proved his point. On any other day Ron would never have done something so reckless and dangerous, especially when he knew how tentative Hermione was when flying, but just then he didn't seem to care.

"I can handle a broomstick just fine, Ronald," Hermione snapped, irritated at the look on Ron's face even as her stomach clenched with the near miss. "But clearly you've forgotten everything they taught in first year!" They were nearing the third tower, still flying nearly side by side, when Ron replied.

"Obviously you can," Ron sneered back, ignoring her comment in favour of shooting Hermione a truly ugly look, "otherwise I'm sure Malfoy wouldn't deign to give you the time of day." His words were laced with heavy and unsavoury implications, and Hermione felt herself blush with anger and embarrassment.

The third turret was coming up fast and Ron was starting to pull away. Hermione had been flying hard, letting herself give in to the desire not to give Ron anything else to mock her with, but as they whipped around the last tower and sped back toward their waving and cheering Gryffindor classmates, Hermione felt her stomach give a lurch that had nothing to with the snide comments Ron had made. Vertigo rose up in her with a sudden and almost-over powering wave, and it took everything in her for Hermione to manage to keep control of her broom. She pulled up hard, slowing her speed markedly, and Ron shot ahead, waving one hand in the air and shouting jovially at the clustered Gryffindor boys as he swooped down toward them, landing a good fifteen seconds before Hermione did. Harry and Ginny were the last to take off, but even with Hermione's delay in tagging her in, Ginny caught up to Harry easily and the two were soon matching blurs in the sky over Hermione's head, making it difficult to see in advance which might win in the end.

xXx

"Way to go, Weasley!" cried a chorus of Gryffindor girls as Hermione, Lavender, and Ginny were heading into lunch after class. Ginny grinned and gave a modest little wave to her surrounding admirers as the girls passed them by.

"It was a great race," Hermione said, not for the first time, as the girls neared the Great Hall.

Ginny bumped hips with her and grinned. "Yours too. You were doing really good up until the end. I actually thought you might beat Ron!"

Hermione looked away. She was still feeling a mix of anger, hurt, and disappointment. She'd actually thought she might beat Ron too, until he'd opened his mouth and started taunting her. She hadn't told Ginny what Ron had said, only that she'd become dizzy at the end of the race due to flying much higher than she usually did and that it had thrown off her game. Ginny had accepted this without argument, not pressing for further details, only lamenting that she hadn't been paired against her brother so that she could really stick it to him. The race between Ginny and Harry had been extremely close in the end. Hermione wasn't entirely sure if Harry had pulled back at the last second to let Ginny claim the victory or not, but both had handled the results with grace and only a minor amount of trash talk. Ron had looked furious when he'd seen his kid sister skid to a halt on the grass moments before Harry had, but Hermione had put his poor sportsmanship out of her mind, instead concentrating on congratulating her friend.

"Personally," Hermione said, turning to smile at Lavender who was walking on her other side, in an attempt to divert further scrutiny of her own race, "I enjoyed the way you made Seamus eat his words."

Lavender's own smile was dazzling, and more than a little gleeful as she cut her eyes over to where Seamus and Dean were walking. Seamus's hair was sticking up in several odd directions from the blast of wind Lavender's broom had whipped into his face as she'd passed him in the air. "Do give me the name of your hairdresser, Finnigan," she called sweetly over the din of the crowd, laughing at the sour look he returned. A moment later the laughter died on her lips and Lavender's pace slowed, her eyes now on a different boy making his way determinedly through the crowd in their direction.

Hermione's own gaze drifted across the milling students too, curious to see what had pulled Lavender's attention away from taking her pound of well earned flesh out Seamus' hide. Her gait faltered momentarily when she realized Lavender was gaping at one Draco Malfoy, and that his own clear grey eyes were fixed on her. Ginny's attention, drawn by Hermione's misstep, was soon on Malfoy as well, and her hand gripped Hermione's arm, not hard, but in a way that was both a warning and reassurance of her presence there next to her friend.

Malfoy came to a stop in front of their little group, standing straight and looking for all the world as if he didn't care what anyone thought of him seeking Hermione Granger out in the middle of a crowd. He greeted her friends cordially, and Hermione noted the softening of Lavender's features as a small smile tugged at her lips. Lavender had confessed before to thinking that Malfoy was attractive, even if he was a git. Ginny remained unmoved, her brown eyes locked on Malfoy as if waiting for him to spring at Hermione, wand drawn. Hermione supposed that old habits were hard to break.

When Malfoy asked to speak with her, Hermione felt Ginny's fingers tighten on her arm, and in truth, Hermione wasn't sure if she was ready to see him. Yesterday had been a whirlwind of drama straight out of a muggle soap opera, and if her heart wasn't still wound so tightly with emotion, Hermione was sure the wave of embarrassment at her behaviour that was hovering in the background would crush her. She tried to demure, citing the fact that she was on her way to lunch, and noted the way Malfoy's eyes narrowed. He looked frustrated with her answer, and it was clear that he had to really want to speak with her, especially considering the fact that he'd actually approached her in person, not just sent her an owl and asked her to meet him. He probably expected—and rightly so—that she'd have put him off with a hazy return owl if he'd done that. Cornering her in person guaranteed she'd have to talk to him, at least briefly. Yet, as Hermione searched his face, it was clear that Malfoy was determined not to back down until they'd had words, despite the warning looks Ginny was shooting him over Hermione's shoulder.

With a thumping heart, Hermione stepped away from her friends, promising to be back for classes as she began to follow Malfoy in the direction of the kitchens. Neither of them spoke until they turned a corner and were halfway down a corridor empty of students heading for the Great Hall. Hermione could feel her heart beat faster and faster in her chest, a faint buzzing in her ears as she tried to swallow back the anxiety that threatened to overwhelm her. She knew he was going to ask about her abrupt departure the previous night, but saw no way to deter him from doing so.

It seemed Malfoy was unsure how to begin now that he had her to himself, and Hermione walked half a step behind him, her fingers knotting themselves together in front of her as she split her gaze between them and the flagstone floor she was walking along. Malfoy started, then stopped, then started again, his voice coming out hesitantly, as if he couldn't quite formulate the words he needed to express himself. It was an odd thing for her, to see Malfoy unsure, and Hermione looked up as he finally got his sentence out.

"Last night… last night you were really upset, and you left before I could find out why."

His words were low and intense, and laced with such a startlingly deep concern that she almost stopped walking. Having this conversation with Malfoy in previous years would have enticed a sharp, sarcastic response, especially as he would likely have been the reason for her upset. But now, Hermione found her throat closed, her voice locked tight within. She couldn't tell him. She couldn't. He pressed on, now watching her closely.

"I tried to find you in the library but it was as if you had disappeared." He paused, and Hermione tore her gaze away. So she had heard footsteps. She was grateful that Malfoy hadn't been able to find her. She didn't think she'd have been able to bare him seeing her so broken. Malfoy was still talking, and, was it her imagination, or had his voice shaken just the faintest bit just now? "Where did you go?"

"Not far," she managed, though it was a lie. She'd run until her lungs ached, a rabbit fleeing into the darkness of its burrow, desperate and afraid and vulnerable.

They had passed the portrait to the kitchens, Malfoy tickling the pear and then standing aside to let Hermione enter first. The room was a abuzz with scurrying house elves in their Hogwarts togas, nearly all of them holding wooden spoons or zipping around with huge platters balanced on their heads. A heavy hand dropped onto Hermione's shoulder and tugged her out of the way of an elf running by with a pungent-smelling soup, and Hermione stumbled, but quickly righted herself, turning to look over her shoulder. Malfoy was already pulling his hand back, his gaze sliding from hers toward a small table and chairs set up off to one side.

Hermione perched on the edge of one of the chairs, unable to relax into it, even as mentally and physically exhausted as she was from the past evening and her recent sparing with Ron before lunch. Malfoy sat himself in the chair opposite her, and Hermione found some relief in having the table between them; somehow, with that small piece of furniture separating them, she felt less exposed. It wasn't until Malfoy let out a heavy sigh, a sound so world-weary and somehow "lost" sounding, that Hermione looked up from her hands and into his eyes.

"I'm not Potter," he began, listing off her closest friends as he held her eyes with a sure and unwavering gaze, "…but I'd like to think that I could be someone you could trust."

No, Draco Malfoy was not Harry Potter. He was as unlike Harry Potter as night was the day. But then, Hermione had never feared the dark. She found the night enchanting and mysterious, even if it still hid dangers; much like the boy sitting across from her. And, she realized, as Malfoy faltered over his next words, a startlingly raw emotion seeming to steal his eloquence from him, she thought that she might actually trust him. Trust was a hard thing to earn from Hermione Granger, especially after the War, but Draco Malfoy had been constant in his determination to be a friend to her these past few weeks, despite opposition from what seemed like all sides—including herself.

"I just want to know that you're alright, Granger."

Hermione felt her lips part at these words. He'd said them with such seriousness, such heartfelt honesty, that she could feel a flush rising in her cheeks. She wanted to ask him why it was that he cared so much, demand that Malfoy stop staring at her with such intensity that she felt naked sitting there before him, alone and vulnerable despite the hubbub of the house elves racing around squeaking and clanging pots in the background.

"I'm not alright, Draco," she heard herself whisper around the lump in her throat. Would she ever be alright again? Ron had been such an integral part of her life since coming to Hogwarts, she felt as if half her soul had been ripped away and burned to ashes. Though she wasn't looking at him directly, Malfoy seemed to straighten slightly when she spoke; he didn't interrupt her however. "I just can't talk about it right now." Hermione forced the words out, feeling a sob rising in her chest and beating it back with force of will. "It's too fresh." She heard her voice tremble and hastened to make an excuse, any excuse, to leave the room before she lost control completely.

Words tumbling in an incoherent jumble from her lips, Hermione stood quickly, wove around a pair of house elves that had just popped back into existence in the kitchen, and darted for the door at the far side of the room, tears already clouding her vision. It had been a mistake to come here. She'd known that Malfoy would demand answers of her after last night, even if he'd been gentle in his way of going about seeking them, but she'd still allowed herself to go with him. She should have allowed Ginny and Lavender to take her to lunch in the Great Hall, where they'd be a staunch and immoveable shield between Hermione and anyone she didn't wish to speak with.

WHAM.

Hermione let out watery squeak of surprise when she ran into something hard, recoiling off it and tensing as she felt her body begin to tumble backwards. Hands caught her arms as she squeezed her eyes shut against the sensation of falling, gripping firmly and dragging her up and forward until she was pressed almost roughly against whatever it was she'd run into. She struggled automatically against the trapped feeling that surged up within her, trying to shove away from whatever she was being held against, but the same arms that had caught her seconds before were now wrapped tightly around her, refusing to release Hermione despite her half-terrified, half-resigned whimpers, and the realization that Malfoy had cut off her retreat and was now hugging her tightly against him forced its way to her rational mind.

All the fight seemed to drain out of her then. The sensation of Malfoy's arms, unrelenting but gentle as they held her against him, was suddenly the only thing she could feel. As if his holding her was permission for the rest of Hermione's body to let go of the grief and tension that had been gripping it, she sagged against him, slumping against Malfoy's chest and clutching at his robes with numb hands as the sob she'd been fighting broke free. His chest was warm and firm, and Hermione could feel the way his heart was racing within it as she buried her face in the folds of his robes and cried.

To his credit, Malfoy held her easily, his body stoic and unmoving as he took her weight against him without seeming to falter at all. It was a mark of the physical strength of him, Hermione knew, but the tenderness with which she could feel him rub her back in slow, soothing strokes, also spoke of a wealth of emotional strength that he must have cultivated at some point, even if he rarely showed it in public.

It felt like hours, though it was probably only a couple of minutes, before Hermione managed to get herself back under control. Feeling grateful but embarrassed, she tried to push away from Malfoy's chest. He loosened his arms but didn't let her step away completely. Unable to meet his eyes, Hermione twitched her head awkwardly from side to side, trying to think of something to say. But before she could formulate a sentence, strong fingers slid under her chin, tugging her face gently, but firmly toward the light.

Malfoy was looking down at her, his grey eyes burning with a fierce protectiveness that she'd never seen before. For a long moment they both stared at each other, something electric buzzing in the air between them. Hermione found herself so lost in trying to figure out the look Malfoy was giving her, that she nearly flinched when he removed his fingers from beneath her chin to thumb a tear from her cheek with all the gentleness of a moth's wing brushing against her face. The intimacy of such an action was not lost on her.

"When you're ready," he murmured lowly, though they were close enough that she could have heard him even if he'd whispered the words, "I'll be here."

Hermione felt her heart, which had finally slowed its frantic beating as she'd dried her tears, trip into high gear once more at Malfoy's promise. He stepped back from her then, and Hermione almost slumped back to the floor as the growing tension seeped away along with the loss of Malfoy's body heat. She wanted to say something, to thank him for not letting her run off, even though she'd so desperately wanted to flee only minutes earlier, and for not pushing her to talk more than she was able, even though it was clear how distressed she was. Malfoy had turned back to the little table, seeming to strive to return their conversation to a sense of normalcy as he did so, waving a house elf toward them as he turned the subject to the food he'd promised her if she'd speak alone with him.

Moving from where he'd left her, a few feet from the table, Hermione returned awkwardly to the chair she'd so recently abandoned, trying to get the words out. "Malfoy—" she began, and he broke off in the middle of the set of lunch instructions he'd been giving the elf who'd run over at his signal.

"Call me Draco," he said, looking almost as surprised as Hermione felt to hear the words coming out of his mouth. She blinked at him, unsure how to respond to this sudden request, and he hurried on. "At least when it's just us." He went on to explain how he felt they were familiar enough with each other at this point that it really seemed proper, though at her continued shocked silence he seemed to falter, his words trailing off as he waited to see what she'd say to this.

"Draco," Hermione said slowly, the name feeling at once foreign and familiar in her mouth. Across the table from her Malfoy's eyes seemed to light up, his lips curving into an actual smile—not a smirk as was his normal inclination. Feeling emboldened at this, Hermione responded in kind, hurrying her words before she could chicken out. "I suppose you should call me Hermione then. It's only right."

"Hermione," Malfoy returned, and her name in his mouth was somehow sensual despite the casual way he said it. He looked pleased, and Hermione could feel a smile pulling at her lips.

Feeling suddenly shy in the silence that followed this exchange, she ducked her head slightly, glancing over at Malfoy through her lashes. This boy was so different than the one she'd grown up with at school. He was kind, and thoughtful, and mature. Draco Malfoy was by no means perfect, but she had begun to see that there was a lot more to him than the persona he displayed amongst his peers in his everyday life. She felt a stab of guilt for judging him against the old standard so many of her friends still stubbornly clung to.

"Thank-you," Hermione said softly, when Malfoy finished speaking to the house elf he'd interrupted earlier, and it had scurried off to fill a platter with food for them. Malfoy turned to look at her, his eyes questioning. "For staying—for not letting me—" She couldn't seem to get the words out properly and forced herself to stop talking and take a deep breath before starting again. "You're so different than I thought you were," she said finally, meeting Malfoy's eyes once more. His expression was careful now, guarded, as if he were awaiting her judgement on something. "I know it sounds horribly snobbish to say so, but I thought I was so much better than you through most of my time at school. Of course," she added, with a little self-deprecating laugh that fell flat even as it passed her lips, "I thought I was better than most people at Hogwarts, at least among the student body; but you, I always thought I was on such a different moral level. Black and white. Good and evil."

"Phoenix and Death Eater?" Malfoy supplied with twisted little smile on his face. His tone was light but all his attention was fixed on her now. Hermione nodded, flushing with the admission.

"But you're just human like the rest of us," she said quietly. "Just trying to get by. I mean, I'm nobody special. If I hadn't stumbled into an accidental friendship with the Chosen One and ended up dating his best friend, no one would even know my name."

"They'd know you," Malfoy said from across the table, his tone quiet but confident, and Hermione found her eyes drawn back to his. "Even without Potter and his sidekick dragging you into their ridiculous schemes every other Tuesday, somehow I doubt Hermione Granger has ever been destined for a life in the shadows." He said these words with such a calm and natural surety that she looked away, both pleased and embarrassed by his praise.

"Yes, well, that might not be so bad these days," she muttered, remembering the way Ron had looked at her during breakfast, and the ugly things he'd said to her when they'd been flying.

The house elf returned then, sliding a wooden platter laden with crusty French bread, thickly sliced cheeses, and a selection of bright berries onto the table between them. A second elf scurried up behind him and placed two goblets and a flagon of dark liquid next to the food, before bobbing a happy little curtsy to them both and squeaking, "Blinky hopes this is satisfactory, Sir and Miss. If Sir and Miss desire anything else, please tell Blinky right away!"

Hermione gave the elf a smile and thanked her—she thought it was a 'her' anyway—turning to help herself to some berries as Malfoy—Draco, she reminded herself, and felt a strange, warm feeling in her stomach as she did so—did the same. Somehow, despite the rollercoaster of emotions she'd been on that morning, talking with Malfoy had helped calm her. Feeling ravenous—the first berry hitting her empty stomach had reminded Hermione's body abruptly that she'd eaten next to nothing for breakfast—she reached for a slice of bread and cheese, the knot in her chest loosening the tiniest bit since she'd watched Ron stalk away from her in the courtyard the previous afternoon. Maybe she'd get through this after all.

xXx

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