"Spearmint Apologies," Chapter 7.

"You're not serious, are you?"

Hermione and Harry were seated on the floor in the Gryffindor common room, by the fire. She was watching intently as he flipped through pages of a book. Not just any book, a peculiar book. A book Hermione didn't trust. And she was keen on letting Harry know just how much she didn't trust it.

The book was a copy of a potions textbook, 'Advanced Potion-Making.' But it wasn't just any copy. It was distinct from all the copies the other students had gotten, including herself. Harry's copy was annotated, marked. Filled with directions on how to make potions that differed from the directions in the book. The annotations also included spells, spells she hadn't heard of before and was sure Harry hadn't heard of them either. Gave off the impression that there was nothing friendly about these spells. To top it all off, there was a signature, most likely belonging to the owner.

'This Book is the Property of the Half-Blood Prince.'

"Serious about what?" He lazily looked up from the book, into her worried eyes.

"The book Harry! About keeping the book." She inched closer to him, eager to take the book from his hands. He must've noticed because he abruptly closed the book and stored it inside one of his cloak's pockets. Her hand balled in a fist.

"Of course I am. Why would I give this away?"

"For starters, that book can be potentially dangerous. It contains spells, dark spells, spells we have never heard of and the Half-Blood Prince? An odd title for someone to give themselves. It can mean no good at all." She rambled, her words being not so convincing to Harry. He let out a chuckle, not paying any mind to her.

"I'm first in potions though." Harry gave her a cheeky grin. He knew it was killing her on the inside, his marks passing hers for the first time.

That was the other thing. Probably what bothered her most. Someone else was ahead of her in a class. No, it didn't just bother her. It infuriated her that someone else was taking her credit, credit she deserved. She wasn't the one cheating off a book like Harry was, following directions written in bizarre handwriting. Directions that went against the original instructions the book gave.

She didn't trust the book. Not one bit. Was it possible to be jealous over a book?

But she pondered.

Pondered about why she was stressing out so much about a book. Perhaps she wanted to devote all her time thinking about something else, anything else, in efforts to ignore what was really bothering her.

"That's cheating and you know it." Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

"No. No, I'm not. I'm just doing what the book tells me to." Harry shrugged his shoulders and Hermione inhaled a deep breath to continue.

"Yes and that book doesn't follow—"

Harry was bracing himself for another one of Hermione's lectures when she abruptly stopped talking. She figured it wasn't worth her time. Harry never really listened to her until he really needed help. Until he was really in the spot, where there was no other choice but to listen to her and her righteous chatter. But this wasn't one of those times. So, she let it be. Harry was surprised that she did so. But that wasn't really the reason she stopped talking, because Harry wasn't up for listening. No, it was something else.

"Alright, do what you please." Hermione finished.

And then there was silence. Enough silence for her to focus on the real issue that's been troubling her.

It was something that itched and wouldn't stop unless she addressed it. Itched for days on end. Distracted her from everything, even from trying to convince Harry to get rid of that disastrous book. A dreadful tingling irritation that kept gnawing at her brain, clouding her thoughts.

Her overwhelming desire to apologize to Malfoy.

That was it. That's what was really bothering her, not some book. Although she would still have to look into this book, it wasn't her priority at the moment.

Her overwhelming desire to apologize to Malfoy was, because of the events that took place in the trophy room a few days back. Once she figured that out, as much as she hadn't wanted to, her feet carried her out of the Gryffindor common room and out into the corridors, leaving Harry to wonder. She didn't know what she was planning on doing or why she wanted to do it, she just knew it had to be done. And for some reason, if she gave too much thought to it, too much reasonable thinking, it wouldn't be done. So it had to be done now.

Blame it on her 'holier-than-thou' way of reasoning, mindset, but being the reason why someone gets sent to the infirmary to wrap their hands cut and dripping with blood, wasn't exactly ideal for her, no. A punch, alright, shut him up, didn't it? They were thirteen. But this? Now? She wouldn't tolerate it. So she felt it was necessary to apologize. Even if he was the one spewing bigotry towards her and only her. Even if he was the one that would set her off at any given time, like a ticking bomb. Even if he was the one that would keep her up at night, oftentimes, wondering why he hated the blood that coursed through her veins.

Even if it was Malfoy.

Even then.

She didn't know where she was going. Or where she would find him. She just knew she was going, pushing forward, in effort to see him, and express regret for what she did. Something he wasn't capable of doing. And it made her feel better about herself, knowing she still withheld morality.

And then something lured her, directed her.

A gust of fall wind flurried around her, enveloped her, leading her somewhere. She wasn't in control. Suddenly she felt leaves, fall leaves, beneath her feet. Making a crackling sound with every step she took. She was outside the castle.

And there he was. His back against a tree, a tree decorated with leaves with a color scheme that ranged from red, orange, and yellow. The leaves rustled and few leaves fell, adorning the ground, then wilting away. The scene was alluring.

He was facing the Black Lake, playing with a leaf in his hand. Intertwining, wrapping the vibrant leaf around his fingers, until the color drained out, and he'd flick it away. Picking up another one from the ground and repeating the same actions.

Hermione sensed she had been studying him for quite some time. It was now or never. She inched closer to him, cautious of her steps. But the traitorous leaves gave her away and Malfoy knew someone was behind him as he dropped another poor leaf from his hands.

"Whoever's behind me, you aren't so guileful." His voice startled her, he hadn't turned around, still facing the Black Lake. Great. And that's when she took the initiative to finish her steps and reveal herself, standing right in front of him.

"I suppose I'm not but I can be when I want to be." She responded. Draco wasn't expecting a response, much less a response coming from her. His face scrunched up in distaste when he looked up at who was blocking his view.

"Right. Why are you here? In my presence? Infecting my air." He lifted his hands and wafted them through the air.

"I didn't know you owned air." Hermione crossed her arms, almost wanting to laugh at him for feeling entitled enough to say 'my air.' She was already questioning her choices by coming here, but it was too late. She was already there.

"Ever heard of boundaries, Granger? You're invading mine as we speak. The idea of us breathing the same air just seems so ghastly. So yes, you're tainting my fresh air. " His hands made a motion as if he wanted her to take several steps back, indicating she was too close to him.

"You sound incredibly ridiculous but I haven't come to argue." She ignored his movements, remaining where she stood.

"You've come for round two then? Or is it round three? I've lost count." The corners of his mouth lifted up into a smirk.

He seemed to love playing this game. From where she was standing, she could see how tired he looked. Like if something was draining all his energy, yet he had enough energy to quarrel with her and he looked just smitten doing it.

"No, I—"

"Want to have a go at my face next?"

"Absolutely not."

"Not that you haven't already."

"Malfoy, I've come to apologize!" She exclaimed, quickly growing irritated by going back and forth with him.

After her small outburst, there was stillness. His eyes grew muddled and he looked as if unsure on what to say next. He was surprised to say the least, that Granger, out of all people, would come looking for him to apologize.

But nothing was normal now, was it?

"Granger apologizing to the enemy? Quite shocking. What for?" He finally broke the silence.

"What for? Last I remember, we both paid a visit to the hospital wing." Hermione quirked up an eyebrow. He was obviously doing this on purpose.

"Oh, yes. I remember. How would the gryffindorks feel about that?" He chuckled as he said that last line. He'd love for one of her friends to come outside and see them together, alone, in such close proximity. Especially Weaselbee. It'd make her look bad and everyone would question her. Hermione didn't plan on telling anyone what occurred in detention nor about her apology.

"You ask a lot of questions." She almost spoke out against that childish nickname Malfoy had given her house but she decided not to, instead focusing on his never-ending questions.

"You've never apologized to me before. Can't blame me for being the least bit curious."

"I'm apologizing because what happened in that room, what I did in that room, was crude, immature, and just not right. So, I'm sorry." Hermione said hurriedly, in one breath. She wanted this interaction to be over. Because of what happened in the trophy room, she didn't trust herself around him.

Malfoy just stared at her. She felt like he was scrutinizing her. Inspecting every word that poured out from her mouth. Breaking her words apart, syllabi by syllabi, letter by letter. The idea made her uncomfortable. When he didn't respond, she decided to add to her statement.

"Although, what happened wasn't entirely my fault but you and I both know you would never own up to it so I'm doing it."

"10 points for Gryffindor." He replied, words laced with sarcasm. Always.

"That's what I figured." She scoffed and started to retrace her steps, leading to the corridor but then she heard his voice. He drew out his words, stopping her mid-way.

"But, I will admit to one thing. Maybe even own up to it." He said as he stood up, brushing off reminders of the leaves he played with from his trousers before looking back at Her.

"What?" Hermione almost flew backwards, when she spun around to look at him. Had she heard him correctly? Was he being serious? It was her turn to scrutinize him, study him.

"I apologize." Draco shrugged his shoulders, acting as if what she said wasn't of any importance. Wasn't the slightest bit shocking.

"You…? Apologize...?" It was evident. Her tone gave it away. Her words faltered, staggering.

Draco then stopped closer to her, somehow invading her boundaries. She wanted to mention it, use his words against himself, but he began to speak and she couldn't bring herself to step backwards.

She hadn't braced herself for what he said next. Wasn't quite prepared.

"I apologize for not offending you enough. Insulting you enough to the point that it wouldn't just be our hands, knees having to be wrapped up." He stepped closer, his words rolling off his tongue with ease, as if he's been wanting to say this for years. Her eyes widened but she stilled.

"I apologize for not pushing you farther. Further to the point that it wouldn't just be trophies or broken glass on the floor. No, to the point that the whole room would be utterly and completely razed." He taunted with a leer in his eyes.

"And it would all happen as a result of a filthy little mudblood not being able to grasp my words." He concluded, feeling so high of himself for it.

"You're wrong." Hermione held her chin up high. She would not let herself get affected by this. Not anymore.

Hermione hadn't realized their closeness. Until she smelled it.

Spearmint. His scent, his aroma, his essence. It was faint yet heady, and it was all her olfaction was processing. Sweet. Cool. Bitter. He was that close to her, within reach, and he was clogging up one of her five human senses. She gazed at him, head hazy, and took him in.

Everything in.

The way he stood. His posture, never crooked, always up-right, towering over her. The way his slender hands had an unsteady shake to them, knuckles cracking. The way his blonde fringe blew across his forehead, rustling. The way his eyes seemed to be in a constant battle, trying to mask secrets thrashing their way out. The way his nose was upturned, curving at the bridge, held high. The way faint lines would appear and crease the area around his sneering mouth. The way his lips were slightly parted, always clenched, like his tongue always had a sour taste to it.

It was the way he looked so unsettled, so troubled, but could manage to keep a straight face. A straight face while an internal war was loitering his mind, keeping him up at night, deep and hollow eye bags serving as proof.

And yet he made no efforts to seek out help. He thought doing so would make him inferior.

Maybe she was the only person who ever got close enough to realize.

But she wouldn't be the one to care enough.

"Am I? I'm sure that I'm not this time." He breathed out. And there it was again. That intoxicating but pleasant laden.

Then he was gone. She was left alone with just the sound of the leaves and his voice, repeating what he said. Her thought process was trying to understand his unique apology if it was even considered to be one. Trying to make sense of it.

His scent trailed behind him, becoming fainter with every gust of wind that swept by. Then the scent was gone with him.

And finally, she could breathe again.

In and out.