Chapter 22

Hermione closed her eyes briefly, enjoying the feeling of the warm evening breeze as it blew gently across her face. She was sitting underneath one of the massive Oak trees that scattered about the Hogwarts grounds, a book in her lap but her eyes anywhere but its pages. Instead, her gaze kept drifting to the right, where she could see tiny figures zooming around in the air, high above the Quidditch pitch. He would be up there right now, Draco Malfoy, putting his athletic skills to good use. Her gaze dropped to her lap for a moment, sliding across the neatly written, if somewhat rambling, note that she intended to send to one of those specs high in the sky. She traced the words with a fingertip before sliding the piece of parchment back into her pocket. She knew what it said by heart anyway.

Dear Draco, (she still felt a strange tingle, even as her quill had neatly inscribed the letters in her small, elegant, cursive script)

I hope your practice went well tonight. Thank you for inviting me, unfortunately something came up and I was unable to make it out. Thank you for earlier today too. You were there for me in a way that I could never have expected you to be, and I just want you to know how much it meant to me. (It really had meant a lot to her, how kind and gentle he'd been, when he really would have been well within his rights, and personality, to have just let her run out when she'd tried.)

I've been thinking about the Charm and what you said about Conversion experimentation. There was an article recently in the Prophet that talked about hot spots around Britain, which I imagine you've probably read, and I know there's one near here. However, before you get reckless and jump on a broom, it would probably be wise to start smaller. The Forest on the grounds has always had areas of mostly diluted dark magic that I've heard seventh year DADA students sometimes use in practical classes (nothing too strong or you know Dumbledore or one of the other teachers would have seen to their destruction), and I was thinking maybe we could investigate one of them for a controlled experiment first. I know you don't want to involve too many other people in your project, as groundbreaking as I think it will be, but if you'll insist on doing things on our own, then being close to help if we should need it would be a compromise I'd be willing to accept.

She knew she sounded rather formal in this last bit, but she was still on edge about working with dark magic in any form, despite the fact that she expected Draco was familiar enough with the stuff to adequately defend them against a lot of it—or perhaps even in spite of that. But she'd seen how he'd seemed to chafe against her suggestion that they would need a more experienced witch or wizard to help them with this complicated attempt at magic, and, though she was nervous to make the concession, Hermione figured that in the Forest at least Hagrid, or possibly Professor Sprout, might happen by, in case whatever they attempted got to be too much for them.

In the distance she heard a faint cheer, and noted the Slytherins leaving the air and circling up at one end of the pitch. Their captain was apparently giving some sort of speech, as Hermione could hear one voice louder than the rest, though still too far away to make out what was being said from where she was sitting. She had been surprised, yet pleased, when Malfoy had invited her to watch his practice. It wasn't that she was particularly interested in Quidditch itself, though she had to admit she did get caught up in excitement of the crowd now and then during school matches, it was more so that Draco had specifically put it out there that he wanted her to come by. Somehow, it had felt different than when Harry or Ron invited her, which in itself was a rare occurrence, as both boys knew how much Hermione really cared about the sport. She'd actually intended to put in an appearance in the stands, that is, until she'd been waylaid by a pair of Slytherins on their way to the same place.

Pansy Parkinson's chicly cut dark hair had swished against her narrow chin, gleaming in the dull gold light of the low-hanging sun. There was probably only an hour or two of daylight left, the sky a clear, crisp arc overhead, dusk slowly creeping in as as the Slytherin girl strolled along next to a tall, lean, dark skinned boy. Hermione had stumbled to a halt when she'd spied the pair walking next to the outer wall of the Castle grounds, clearly on their own way to the Quidditch stands to watch their house practice. Hermione was surprised Blaise wasn't already at the practice, actually. She'd seen him fly at the midnight match, and he'd been a decent flyer—before he'd had so much spiked punch he'd nearly dragged her off the the top of the stands. She shuddered, recalling the strong grip he'd had on her wrist, the vertigo that had swirled in her stomach, until Malfoy had pulled her back.

This was a bad idea. She'd been stupid to think she could just go sit in the stands without drawing attention, especially with those two there. But before she could pretend she was on her way anywhere else, Blaise glanced her way, saw her, and came to an abrupt stop, dragging Pansy to a halt beside him. His eyes narrowed as he took in the possible destinations she might be headed, but Hagrid's Hut was in the opposite direction, the Greenhouses were too far to the right of the pitch for Hermione to pretend she was on her way to see Professor Sprout, and the entrance to the grounds from the Castle walls was clearly the spot she'd just come from, so it wasn't hard for the cunning boy to make the mental leap. His mouth tipped up in cold smirk as he eyed Hermione, and she swallowed, trying to think up a believable lie.

"Alright, Granger?" Blaise said smoothly, his voice carrying across the grass as he nodded at her.

Pansy looked around, confused, then, spying Hermione, her thin lips curled into a malicious sneer. "I'm surprised to see you out, Granger," she said snidely, "Aren't you supposed to be up in your Tower nursing a broken heart right now?"

Hermione stared at Pansy, wondering how on earth she already knew, as Blaise's eyes narrowed and he looked at Hermione with growing interest. "A broken heart, Parkinson?" he queried, raising one eyebrow in curiosity, eyes flickering between Pansy and Hermione. Pansy turned back to Blaise with a smirk.

"Oh, didn't you know?" she asked sweetly, clearly enjoying that fact that, for once, she'd obtained a piece of gossip before he had. For all he tried to deny it, Blaise Zabini prided himself on knowing things, knowledge was power after all, and no one could deny the currency of a good secret. Pansy went on, the cruel smile on her face widening as she spoke. "Granger and Weasley had a horrendous argument in the middle of the courtyard yesterday afternoon. There were some simply awful accusations made against Granger's character." She paused to smirk at Hermione, who could feel her face both burning with embarrassment that they'd been overheard, and draining of colour as Blaise stared her down. "In the end, Granger kicked Weasley to the curb. It was possibly the only truly clever thing she's done at school," Pansy added conversationally, glancing back at Hermione as she finished speaking.

For his part, Blaise looked intrigued at this news. A tiny smile played about his lips and Hermione could practically see the wheels turning in his head as he mulled over this new information. She knew that Blaise enjoyed needling Draco over their growing friendship, and hoped that he wouldn't say anything too terrible to his friend about her breakup—especially, she thought with dawning horror, since she had refused to share what had happened that afternoon when he'd been witness to her shameful breakdown in the kitchens.

"Now what possible reason could you have had to break it off with that ginger-headed prat, Granger?" Blaise asked curiously, a glint in his dark eyes. "I mean, as Parkinson says, you were right to do it, of course, but whyyy?" He drew out the last word thoughtfully, as if he was really pondering the mechanics of her love life, and Pansy glanced up at him as he paused, her gossip radar pinging.

"Do you know something, Zabini?" she demanded, pouncing on the leading way with which Blaise was speaking, her eyes alight with possible drama. "Spill it."

"Hmm?" Blaise said, glancing down at the petite Slytherin girl, almost as if he'd forgotten she was beside him. "Oh, nothing," he said mildly, "Just that it only seems natural that after everything she's been through the past few years, Granger might be looking for someone with a little more fire in him than that jealous sop she's somehow been shackled to for the past two years."

Pansy narrowed her eyes, glancing between Blaise and Hermione. "And you're just the man to light Granger's fire, is that what you're saying?" Pansy retorted with a smirk. "What would Sylvia have to say about that?"

"My relationship with Melville is, shall we say, open-ended?" Blaise replied, not moving his eyes from Hermione's face as he spoke. "Keeping the home fires burning requires lots of tinder, as they say." Hermione shuddered at the suggestive look in Blaise's eyes and hoped she was far enough away from him that he wouldn't notice.

Pansy raised a delicate eyebrow at this. "I'm not entirely sure Sylvia would agree with that," she murmured, though Blaise choose to ignore this. "Anyway, we should get going. I promised Vaisey I'd come support him in the stands during tryouts and the practice is practically over already." Pansy, abruptly bored with the conversation when Blaise hadn't divulged anything exciting, grabbed Blaise's arm and started tugging him toward the pitch. Blaise allowed himself to be propelled across the grass, but not without a parting comment to Hermione.

"Were you planning to go support Vaisey, too, Granger?" he called over his shoulder as Pansy dragged him away. "Or was there some other Quidditch player you were interested in?" His darkly amused chuckles seemed to trail Hermione as she turned her back on the pair of them and hurried in the opposite direction.

So now she sat under this tree, trying to sort out her feelings and figure out how to write a non-confusing note to Malfoy—that is, Draco. She wanted to talk to him about what had happened, but was still unsure how he'd react to everything. She knew that now she couldn't simply keep things to herself, there was no way Blaise wouldn't use what he'd just learned to torment Draco in some form or other, but she had no idea how to bring up the topic without sounding insane. "Yes, Ron and I broke up yesterday and that's why I was such a mess. But I couldn't tell you because I was too emotionally confused over exactly why we didn't work anymore, especially since Ron accused me of you of being the reason I didn't love him anymore and I think that maybe he might be right?" That would not go over well.

With a little sigh, she pulled the parchment back out of her robes and spread it open on her lap again. Pulling her ink bottle and quill from out of her book bag she added,

If you think this is something you'd be willing to try, maybe we could investigate the Forest tomorrow evening after supper. There's a Gryffindor team practice that night so no one should be around to bother us. The Gryffindor tryouts had been a few days earlier, with Ravenclaw's taking place the previous evening, and Hufflepuff team tryouts scheduled for two days from then. 'No one', of course, meant Ron, and by extension, Harry. Ginny wouldn't have been a problem, exactly, but she'd be at the the practice too, so there was little chance of any of her friends coming looking for her. She signed the note with a flourishing "H", the tail of the right leg trailing into a tiny heart, as she often signed notes to her friends, then rolled the parchment back up and gave it a smart tap with her wand, sealing it firmly.

As she gathered up her things and began to trek toward the Owlery, Hermione thought back to her afternoon classes that day. She'd managed to be on time for Muggle Studies, though she'd only barely made it, having stopped in the girl's toilets to do damage control to her flushed face and red eyes. She'd stopped by the Hospital Wing first, and convinced the student minding the room over the lunch hour that she was suffering from late-season allergies and needed a Pepper-up Potion, then had ducked into an empty loo to look herself over. Convinced that she didn't look like she'd spent the last half hour in a state of great distress, Hermione had gone to class, and though Ginny had eyed her beadily when she'd taken a seat beside her, she'd said nothing, apparently having decided that Hermione had been telling the truth when she'd insisted that Malfoy wouldn't do anything to her if they were alone together (or maybe Ginny had decided that the Hogwarts House Elves would have rushed to Hermione's aid if she'd needed help).

As she neared the round tower, however, Hermione was pulled out of her thoughts by the sight of a tall, lanky, redheaded boy ascending the stone stairs to the Owlerly. Hermione managed to spot Ron's form just before he disappeared inside and diverted her own course. She did not want to run into Ron just then. Instead, she decided she'd return to the castle and see if Hedwig came by to visit Harry, as she often did, hoping for a nibble of whatever the boy might be snacking on at the moment, on her way out to hunt later that night. She could ask to borrow the beautiful white owl for a quick errand then; Harry never minded.

Hermione strode through the castle halls with a new feeling of conspicuousness surrounding her. Ever since Pansy had brought up her fight and subsequent breakup with Ron, Hermione felt like everyone who so much as glanced in her direction, or turned to murmur something to the person they were with, was talking about her. It was ridiculously arrogant to think that her relationship troubles would mean that much to the Hogwarts populous at large, she knew, but nevertheless Hermione found herself speeding up her pace until she was practically running down the final corridor toward the portrait of the Fat Lady. Upon arrival, she was so scatter-minded that she couldn't remember the current password.

"Fizzing Wizzbee," said a male voice behind her, and Hermione spun around in alarm before remembering that Ron was halfway across the grounds. Neville Longbotton pulled up short at her abrupt about-face, looking startled. "Er, at least it was this morning."

Behind Hermione the portrait swung wide, the now-hidden face of the Fat Lady calling after them, "It still is, young man; though I find it quite impertinent to make passwords food-related when it's well known that Portraits cannot eat."

Deciding not to point out that whatever laws the Fat Lady seemed to think governed painted foods didn't seem to also govern painted drinks, in particular painted alcohol, Hermione thanked Neville for his help and climbed through the portrait hole. Her mind was buzzing with who Ron was writing to, wondering if he was sending a nasty note to his mother about her or just sending off to Zonko's for their latest catalogue. She also wondered if she should really be encouraging Draco in his quest to test their tentative work on dark magic alone. Students weren't supposed to enter the Forest without proper supervision, and despite the leniency given to senior students post-war, Hermione knew that they could get in a lot of trouble if they got caught. Still, she had to admit that she was curious to see if they were actually heading in the right direction with their work, and knew a practical component would be necessary sooner than later.

"Hey, Hermione," called a cheerful, slightly breathless, voice from the squashy red velvet couch stationed in front of the great stone fireplace on the far side of the common room. She turned toward the sound of her name and saw Harry's black hair pressed up against Ginny's shinning copper locks at one end of the couch; both of the owners of these fine heads of hair turned toward her, their faces slightly flushed, presenting rather starkly to the newcomers that they hadn't been simply talking before other people had entered the common room.

Hermione lifted her hand in a small wave, not interested in making conversation just then, and was almost to the stairs up to the dormitories when Ginny caught up to her. Hermione stopped and turned back around. The common room was nearly empty, Neville having taken Ginny's vacated seat on the couch, though noticeably further back from Harry than she had been, Hermione saw, and was trying to engage him in a game of Wizard's Chess. Harry was glancing across the room at the pair of girls, his eyes hopeful that his girlfriend would be returning shortly for more interesting pursuits than Chess could provide. Ginny, on the other hand, had finally gotten close enough to Hermione to properly read her expression, and without another word she turned her back on Harry, Neville, and the world at large, and bustled Hermione up the winding stone staircase to their dorm.

Hermione allowed herself to be steered over to Ginny's bed, and crawled up onto the comfy, overstuffed mattress, trying to make herself comfortable for the conversation she knew was coming. Lavender was still out, probably with the Hufflepuff Quidditch Captain she'd been eyeing earlier that week, and Hermione was grateful. The dorm's only other occupant aside from Ginny was Crookshanks, the fluffy ginger cat curled up at the foot of Hermione's own bed. Despite this, Ginny closed their door firmly, then joined Hermione on her bed and flicked her wand at the hangings so they fell gently closed around the girls, leaving them in cave of red velvet, lit only by a small, enclosed, yellow fireball Ginny conjured into the air above them. For good measure, Ginny also pointed her wand at the hangings and murmured a quick "Muffliato" charm; then she met Hermione's eyes.

"You don't have to say it, I can see it in your eyes," Ginny said softly. "It was bad, wasn't it." She phrased this statement matter of factly, for she knew as well as Hermione did the temper her brother had. "I knew something must have happened," she continued before Hermione could comment, "Ron's been in a mood since yesterday, and he nearly got into three fights between lunch and dinner." Hermione had skipped dinner, not wanting a repeat of breakfast with Ron shooting lethal glares across the table at her. Luckily the lunch the house elves had provided in the kitchen had been filling. "When did it happen?" Ginny finally asked, forcing Hermione to meet her eyes at last.

"Yesterday evening," Hermione acknowledged, feeling the pain of the conversation anew as she ran through it all in her mind. "I told him it wasn't working out," she continued, "and he accused me of…" She broke off, feeling her face heat with shame and anger once more as Ron's words echoed around her as if he was hissing them in her ear all over again. "He insinuated that I had other reasons than just thinking we weren't a good match any more. He decided that I was too busy throwing myself at someone else to put work into our relationship."

"Because of your spending time with…other people," Ginny clarified, her voice diplomatic as she carefully avoided specifics. "I never thought I'd say this, and I'm not implying you were doing anything improper," she went on, her words slightly rushed, as if she was worried Hermione would misunderstand what she was saying, "but even if that had been the reason, people change, Hermione. What once was something you thought was perfect and would last forever… it shifts, alters, and you realize that you're both different people; you're meant to be with different people. It was like that with me and Dean. And now I'm with Harry and couldn't be happier." Her voice softened as she spoke of her boyfriend, and Hermione could hear the true devotion in her friend's voice. Harry had been Ginny's perfect match.

"I wasn't looking for someone else," Hermione said quietly, her voice soft, but certain. "And I'm not entirely sure that I've found someone, but I do know that Ron and I don't fit any more. He doesn't challenge me in the ways that…that other people do," Hermione too stepped around any names. "Or make me feel…" She trailed off, unsure how to put the swirling emotions Draco enticed in her into words. "…well, make me feel," she reiterated, placing emphasis on the word. "With Ron the emotion in our relationship always ran hot or cold, and in the end it was just too much work to try and maintain a balance."

Ginny nodded. "I love my brother, but you're not wrong. And you should be with a person who not only excites you, but also lets you be yourself, the good and the bad." Her serious expression shifted just slightly toward mischievous, "Even if your friends try and interfere and tell you you're crazy to even consider—"

Hermione didn't know wether to vehemently deny Ginny's teasing insinuation before she finished speaking or finally admit out loud to someone that they were right, and she was maybe, actually—

TAP. TAP. TAP.

Both girls looked round at the sharp sounds coming from the far side of the dorm, then back at each other in confusion.

TAP. TAP. TAP. came insistently again, and this time Hermione realized the sound was that of a hard object banging on the glass panes of their window. She crawled across the bed and pulled back one of the hangings to see what was outside at this hour. At the third set of increasingly annoyed-sounding TAP. TAP. TAPs, Hermione had come close enough to the window to see that Malfoy's Eagle owl was flapping outside. She glanced back at Ginny, who's look of confusion said she didn't recognize who the bird belonged to, and then unlatched the window and pulled it wide. The owl fluttered down onto the wide, stone ledge and favoured Hermione with a loud, indignant hoot, before sticking out its leg for her to retrieve a scroll.

The note was only one line, a reminder that she'd been supposed to go watch Draco play Quidditch that evening, and though it was probably intended to come off as a casual observation, the fact that Malfoy—that is, Draco—had specifically written that he hadn't seen her at the practice meant that he had really expected her to come, that he had been watching for her in the stands, that, maybe, he was hurt she hadn't shown up and thought she'd snubbed him. Maybe that was a lot to read into a single line of text though.

And then she saw the sign-off: Yours, D.

'Yours'? As in he was hers? Did he know about Ron already? Did he mean something deeper with that word choice than simply a more friendly way to end a note than 'sincerely'? The word sounded suspiciously intimate, though surely Hermione was again reading way too much into five letters of what was probably nothing more than a polite ending to the missive.

"You're staring hard enough at that note that either it's directions to the lost city of El Dorado, or it's from a certain person who shall remain nameless."

Hermione jumped at the gentle sarcasm in Ginny's teasing voice, having halfway forgotten that she was not alone as she usually was when receiving mail from Draco. She turned around, slipping the scroll into her pocket, and felt her fingers brush her own letter, sealed and awaiting an owl, such as the one that was still perched haughtily on her window. Blushing slightly at the knowing look Ginny was giving her, Hermione turned back to the owl and quickly tied the letter to its leg, knowing it was late and hoping Malfoy's owl didn't wake him up. Unless he was out with one of his many other female friends, perhaps staying over in some pretty Slytherin girl's room, whiling away the dark hours all cozied up together—Hermione gave her head a shake, annoyed. She was letting Blaise get in her head, though she knew that nothing he'd implied about Draco's romantic entanglements was likely to be that far from the truth.

Ginny was giving Hermione a knowing look, her eyebrow raised slightly. "You had a reply ready awfully fast, considering you didn't seem to be expecting any owls tonight."

Hermione strove to keep her own face neutral, though Ginny's expression was kind underneath her sharp eyes. "I meant to go to the Owlery this evening but…well, Ron was there and…well, I decided I'd rather borrow Hedwig later on, except now—" Hermione broke off, meaning to address the owl then having realized she didn't know what Draco called his pet, or if it even had a name. She should ask him the next time they met up. "Well, it's easier to send it this way since he's already here and all," she finished somewhat lamely. Ginny looked amused.

"It's kind of fun to see you lost for words, Hermione," she teased, and Hermione bit her lip to stop her own rambling. She'd never been like this around Ron, even when she'd fist started liking him. Ginny's smile was genuine though and she didn't look like she entirely thought Hermione was making a huge mistake with her life choices.

"We're just friends, Gin," Hermione said, because she had to say something to try and stop Ginny from looking at her like she knew exactly what was going on. Ginny smirked slightly as she turned to walk back to her bed.

"You and Mr. Feathers?" she called over her shoulder, nodding her chin at the owl, "or his owner?"

"Yes!" Hermione snapped, feeling vaguely irritated with Ginny's comment and her own inability to formulate a logical response to things tonight. "I mean, no, I mean, we're figuring things out."

A laugh sounded from beyond the hangings as Ginny climbed into bed. "I hope you and Mr. Feathers work things out," she called, and then clapped her hands in the direction of her yellow fireball and it winked out, leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts.

xXx

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