A/N: I own nothing.

Thank you, likethegaiaphage, for the most excellent beta.

Here is part two. This will be in three parts. And I know, I really need to finish my Series story. It's coming, it's coming! Thanks to all who reviewed. I'm going to go and reply to them all right now!

The Skeleton in the Closet

Part Two

The bathroom. Now! But where was it? Hermione frantically searched for some kind of sign, then remembered she'd passed one just after she'd entered the restaurant. Clutching her purse to her chest, she made a beeline to the washroom. Out of the corner of her eye, the patrons' heads swivelled as she passed. She set her jaw and stared straight ahead, refusing to betray a single emotion to the nosy gawkers.

First she'd pull herself together, then she'd slip out of the restaurant and deal with whatever waited her outside the doors. Undoubtedly someone would spread the word to the Wizard Press, and more than one journalist had a score to settle with Hermione. They were probably waiting outside The Melting Cauldron right now, their Quick-Quotes Quills sharp as claws and ready to tear her to shreds.

Upon entering, Hermione checked the bottom of the stalls for any feet. Mercifully, she was alone. But just in case someone joined her, she hid in the one farthest from the door. Free from intrusive stares, the walls she'd built to protect herself turned to ash. She jammed her fists into her eyes, trying to staunch the memories and emotions that attacked her. Every attempt met with failure. And these failures made her recall other failures, including the one that had started it all.

It had been nearly five months ago…

Hermione scribbled furiously on her parchment, ignoring the way the ink from previous sentences had smeared across the page and her hand. She'd fix it later. All that mattered was penning her ingenious ideas on house elf reform to paper before any of her brilliance seeped out into the space around her, never to be thought of again.

Mid-sentence her quill broke. Cursing her horrid luck, Hermione repaired it as quickly as possible, fearful that she would lose even one iota of her latest Best Idea Ever. Not a minute had passed before it broke again. Another hasty repair followed, and another break followed that. Hurling the defective quill against the wall, she desperately scrambled through her drawers, but could not find another quill. And she'd only gotten half of her newest Best Idea Ever onto parchment.

Trying not to panic lest her anxiety leech away her inspiration, she dashed to the nearest supply closet. A seemingly endless row of shelves stood before her, an immobile army bent on her destruction and the eternal enslavement of house elves the world over. Not on her watch! Hermione attacked, methodically searching every box for a particular kind of quill, the one with the extra fine point nibs. Just when it seemed all had been lost, she opened her eleventh box and grasped soft-feathered triumph. She had hardly celebrated her victory when someone ran into the supply closet, slamming the door shut and turning off the lights. The room and her extra fine point quill, which she still held aloft in conquest, were plunged into darkness.

Before Hermione could yell at the intruder to turn the lights back on, the most creative and seemingly endless stream of expletives rent the air. Truly, the most impressive command of English swear words she'd ever had the privilege of hearing. Every now and then, the intruder named one of their co-workers, and from the bits of decent language spliced into the curse words, she figured out what had led to this violent outburst in the supply closet. In awe she listened as he continued to spout his grievances, completely unaware of her presence. Only the jarring sound of fleshing punching metal cut short her enjoyment.

'Shit!'

Hermione cringed at the intruder's muffled shouts of pain, biting her lip to keep silent. Her conscience poked at her with all the heat of a branding iron, but she reasoned the stirrings of compassion away. If he caught her, all hell would break loose. And while she admired his colorful way with words, she had no wish for Malfoy's vitriol to be directed at her.

This closet behavior was entirely at odds with his actions during the past six months, and if she hadn't recognized his voice, she would never have known it was him. Since his first day with the ministry, Draco Malfoy's behavior actually resembled his appearance—that was to say, he had been an absolute angel. Which was saying a lot, considering the abuse he endured from some of his coworkers. No more than he deserved, she heard whispered in the hallways; karma, they called it. And yet, Hermione had never participated in his debasement, had actually felt badly for him.

Hoping to spare his dignity, Hermione silently bided her time, keeping herself occupied by repeating the bits of The Best Idea Ever she'd yet to transcribe. But it seemed Malfoy had no immediate plans of leaving. After ten minutes and nary a word from her fellow closet occupant, she had to speak up or the Best Idea Ever would be lost forever.

'Excuse me. I hate to interrupt, but I really need to leave.'

Having expected a torrent of Malfoy curses, the quiet that met her ears unsettled her.

Finally, he managed a disbelieving, 'Granger?' She did not miss the hopeful note in his voice. Too bad she had to ruin it by actually being real and not a figment of his imagination.

'Yes, it's me,' she confirmed.

'You have got to be kidding me,' Malfoy uttered below his breath, then let out a strangled groan. 'Of course it's Granger. And now my day is complete.'

'It could be worse. I could be one of those coworkers you just consigned to the ninth circle of hell.'

Malfoy made no reply.

Ugh. How damnably awkward. Setting the quill aside, she pulled out her wand and cast a quick Lumos charm, then cautiously made her way over to him. In the silvery light, she could just discern the crimson stains across his knuckles.

'Your hand, it's bleeding,' she whispered. The air around them hung heavily, thick with tension, and she willingly chose to speak in hushed tones. If a little inconvenience on her part fended off another of his fits, she'd gladly sacrifice.

Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose with one hand, leaned against a supply shelf with the other. 'Yes, you're very observant.'

'Aren't you going to heal it?'

'No.' After a few seconds, he let out an exasperated sigh. 'I'm wandless for another six months.'

Part of his probation as a convicted felon, she figured. He'd only served a month in Azkaban after the Battle of Hogwarts, but the reminder of his wandlessness—a continual mark that he was a felon—must have stung. Not knowing what to say, she shifted from foot to foot, trying to decide whether she could just walk away from the situation. In the end, her conscience wouldn't allow it.

Drawing near him, she waved her wand as she uttered a healing spell. The magic worked its way across his pale skin, knitting the broken pieces back together seamlessly. Without thinking, Hermione brushed the tops of his knuckles. A shock of static crackled between them, setting off a chain of events: Hermione jumped, which caused her shoulder to hit a nearby shelf, which made a box fall to the ground, which then scattered its contents across the floor, which in turn amused Malfoy. Or so she assumed. His smirk seemed most easily explained by her klutziness. The smile she gave him in return, though, defied explanation.

With a wave of her wand, the folders were piled neatly back on the shelf. 'There, all better,' she said proudly.

'Thanks,' he mumbled.

'What was that? I couldn't hear you.'

'Don't push your luck.'

But she always did. Hermione set her wand on the shelf between them, eyeing him in the soft glow. Crossing her arms, she leaned against the shelf, deciding to offer Malfoy some of her sage advice. Not for Malfoy's sake, she told herself, but in order to take down the great evil of Charles Pigeon, office bully. The curly-headed ginger took up space in the office next to hers, poisoning the air with his boorishness and incessant mouth-breathing. As a member of the Golden Trio, the beady-eyed troll gave Hermione a wide berth, but Malfoy had no such protection. And given his less than stellar reputation, everyone looked the other way when Pigeon picked on the ex-Death Eater. Including Hermione, much to her shame.

'I know Pigeon can be infuriating, but you should just ignore him. Otherwise, it's like he gets the better of you a second time. And Pigeon does not merit that kind of satisfaction.'

'Duly noted.'

'I'm serious, Malfoy. No matter how much he insults you or your job performance, Pigeon is a dullard of the first order. He only got his job because his mother Polyjuiced herself and did the interview for him.'

'You don't say.'

'I do. The man is as dumb as a rock and twice as lumpy. You shouldn't trouble yourself by giving his comments any consideration.'

'I don't.'

Hermione barely suppressed the urge to poke him in the chest. 'Then how do you explain your little outburst just now?'

'Nothing more than a long and complicated locating spell.'

The skin between her eyes crinkled in confusion. 'Was that a joke?'

'No, I was actually trying to locate these,' Malfoy touched the stack of folders Hermione had recently knocked to the ground. 'And here they are.'

Hermione couldn't help herself. She giggled. Then, inexplicably, she touched her neck, tracing along the hollow of her throat. Malfoy followed the delicate movements of her fingers, intent as Crookshanks had ever eyed Scabbers. Was she attempting to flirt with Malfoy? And succeeding?

'Er, anyway, I hope Pigeon gets the axe. Then neither of us will ever have to think of him again.'

Malfoy's eyebrows rose. 'Since when do you say harsh words against anyone unless it's me? My childhood image of Gryffindor's Princess is shattered.'

'Please. Pigeon deserves it. He's a lazy, undeserving arse that gripes about the work ethic of everyone else in the department to our boss. And then he has the nerve to dump all of his work on the very same people about whom he complained. If I ever get into any position of power, he is the second one I'm firing, right after Sha—' Hermione stopped mid-rant, recalling that she and Malfoy weren't exactly on friendly terms. Her 'To Be Fired' list would need to remain under wraps. 'Sorry. I got a bit carried away there,' she noted wryly.

'Don't apologize. I hate him.'

Their shared animosity of Pigeon warmed Hermione's insides. Overcome by a sudden rush of goodwill, Hermione did something very foolish: she slipped her hand into Malfoy's large one.

Her hand firmly in his, she told him, 'I see the way Pigeon and his goons insult you, and how you just sit there and take it even though you are smarter and more hard-working than all of them combined. In my opinion, that makes you twice the wizard any of them can ever hope to be, even without your wand.' The grip on his fingers tightened with every word of her passionate tirade. And Merlin help her, but her eyes had misted over at the injustice of it all.

Malfoy blinked, and Hermione instantly dropped his hand as if it were covered with Bubotuber Pus. 'Er, sorry. I sometimes get carried away…'

'I know. You already said that.'

Prat. He was trying to distract her with an argument, but she wouldn't allow it. 'If you want, I will say something to the Human Resources department. It's not fair how they treat you, and it should be reported.'

'Don't worry about it,' he said gruffly.

Hermione grabbed her wand, lest she take his hand again. 'Are you sure?'

'If I let you help me, where would it end? Today it's reports to Human Resources, which sounds innocent enough. But the next thing I know, you'll be forcing your ugly knitted creations on me and handing out memberships to some inappropriately named society, like Draco Abraxas Malfoy's Network for Emancipation and Development.'

Hermione stared at him, her mouth open.

'D.A.M.N.E.D., Granger, ' Malfoy clarified. 'Damned.'

Well, no duh. And if she started it, technically it would be Hermione Jean Granger's Network for Emancipation and Development, which spelled absolutely nothing. But that wasn't what had left her agog. 'Your middle name's Abraxas?'

'Granger, are you even listening? I am not one of your stupid house elves,' he groused, thinly disguised the amusement in his voice. 'I can take care of myself.'

'Really, it would be no trouble for me to—'

He pressed his lips to her cheek. 'Thank you, Granger, but I'll handle it,' he said close to her ear.

The instant his lips made contact with her cheek, a tremor shot down her arm. Her wand clattered to the floor, where it rolled under a shelf and gave up its light. Even more distressing, Hermione forgot how to breathe. Fortunately, her lungs operated independently of her brain and demanded she inhale. But her efforts to appease the starved organ were foiled by Malfoy's chest. The solid mass pushed against her fluffy one, barely permitting the shallow and unsatisfying breaths she took.

Slightly calloused fingers caught her chin, tilting it upward, but he did not lean down any closer.

Feeling faint, Hermione closed her eyes and rested her palms on his chest. Now would be the perfect time to push him away. Nothing had happened yet. There was still time to walk away.

'What are you doing?' she asked.

'I don't know.'

Malfoy brushed his lips against hers. Once, twice. Before he could draw back a third time, she fisted the material of his sweater.

They stumbled into one of the shelves, sending a box of spellotape crashing to the ground. The shelf dug into Hermione's back, and she arched away from it, bringing her body flush with Malfoy's. Her lips parted in a gasp, equal parts pain and pleasure. His grip around her waist tightened, and he hauled her against him, crushing her against his chest.

Sadly, the mind of The Brightest Witch of Her Age could only handle so much stimulation. Faced with the choice of retaining The Best Idea Ever or giving herself over completely to Malfoy's sensual assault, Hermione wavered indecisively.

Until he tugged on her ear. With his teeth.

Her once Best Idea Ever floated away into the ether like an escaped balloon. Hermione did not miss it; she'd already found something to distract her, namely handfuls of Draco's hair. The beautiful moonbeam strands were softer than the cashmere of his sweater, and she wrapped her fingers around it jealously, earning a bite from Malfoy to her lower lip.

Hermione stood on her tiptoes, unconsciously lifting her foot off the ground every now and again. After the fourth time, Malfoy caught her leg behind the knee, hitching it up on one of the lower shelves behind him. Ah! That was…just what she'd wanted. She shifted restlessly against him, never stopping to wonder how he'd understood her desires before she had.

Only the need for oxygen made her push him away, and only far enough so she wouldn't pass out. Her forehead rested against his as she caught her breath. It took longer than usual since he kept running his fingers along her hips, tickling the skin that peeked out where her shirt and skirt had parted ways.

'This is so irresponsible,' she groaned as his lips caressed her neck.

'I thought Gryffindors liked being reckless.'

'Not on company time.'

'Good point. And I still need to pass my probation.'

'Yes, you do.'

'Though, to be fair, we've been in here less than half an hour. And I haven't used either of my breaks today.'

'Neither have I…I suppose this could serve as my two breaks for the day.'

Malfoy must have thought it a praiseworthy idea because he lavished more attention to the juncture of her neck and shoulder, making Hermione feel as if her stomach had disapparated to regions unknown. Merciful Morgana, he was like a vampire. Good thing she still had her wand, because she'd need a concealment charm for the love bite that was undoubtedly purpling her skin.

'See, this isn't irresponsible after all.'

'Yes, we're model employees,' she said, striving for sarcasm, but only achieving an embarrassing breathlessness.

Pulling away, he smiled down at her.

'What?' Hermione asked, mystified by the fondness in his gaze.

'Your hair. It's atrocious.'

'What's wrong with my hair?' she squawked, shoving him away from her. As he still had her pinned against the wall, she didn't have much leverage. Malfoy didn't budge. The infuriating git actually reached for her head. Self-consciously, she ducked, but his fingers grazed her shoulders where her once neat chignon hung in clumps.

'It looks like you've gone several rounds with a breathtaking wizard.'

'Oh.' Well…

His fingers inched up her neck and into her hair. Finding her clip, he released the remains of her chignon from its hold, sending it tumbling around her shoulders. Mollified that he hadn't really been insulting her, she allowed him to pat down the poofy strands.

'You don't look that much better,' she pointed out.

'That's because I've gone several rounds with a breathtaking witch.'

Ooh, good answer! But when had Malfoy become so charming? Certainly not at Hogwarts. Still, he was Malfoy and one marvelous snog in the closet did not a relationship make.

Hermione took his tie, which had moved around his collar like a misbehaving necklace. Her fingers ran down the strip of purple silk, pulling it straight when she came to the end.

'Malfoy, we, um, probably shouldn't tell anyone about this.'

'Agreed.'

Hermione sighed in relief, releasing his tie. 'I don't know what came over me.'

'Does it matter? We're both adults, and neither of us is in a relationship, right?'

Hermione laughed. Only if you counted the nightly foursome she had with Crookshanks, her television, and a frozen dinner.

'No, I'm most decidedly not in a relationship.'

'Then I see no problem. Do you?'

Plenty. But she shook her head.

Malfoy knelt down and located her lost wand. As he handed it over to her, he pronounced, 'Good, because we should do this again. Now would you rather leave first?'

Her brows knit in confusion. Leave? Hadn't he just extended an invitation to repeat their activities?

'What?' she asked, needing clarification.

'I see you've never done this before.'

Hermione frowned, not liking his implication. Did he think she was some tart who regularly allowed men liberties with her person? And was he the type of man that would take these liberties from tarts? If he noticed her distress, he didn't let on.

'Think about it, Granger. If we left the closet at the same time and someone were outside, it would arouse suspicion. Especially with your clothes rumpled and that satisfied look on your face.'

'Right,' she agreed tonelessly.

'So, who leaves first?' he prompted impatiently.

'You can.' She needed a few minutes to collect herself and her hair. And she still hadn't gotten her quill.

'Alright. I'll see you later.'

He had already closed the door behind him when she'd uttered a bewildered, 'Bye.'

Three minutes later, she walked out of that supply closet quill in hand, vowing to never let it happen again.

They were back in another closet less than a week later. She had been walking down the hall, not paying attention to anything but the document in her hand and bumped into him. Despite it being her fault, she nearly bit his head off. His eyes narrowed, and she stared back unapologetically, ready for a return of his bratty Hogwarts self. Malfoy looked up and down the hall, and when he saw that no one was there, pulled her into the supply closet. Granted, a different supply closet than the last one, but it ended the same way—her pushed up against the wall, her fingers buried in his hair, and his hands wrapped around her waist. Whispers and hurried breathing the only sounds except for the rustling of their clothes against each other.

Hermione blamed the random nature of it. If he hadn't accidentally chosen that supply closet. If she hadn't accidentally bumped into him. But then, four days later, he'd sent her an inter-office memo, his elegant scrawl bold against the lavender paper: Supply Closet. Noon. She checked to see if the memo had actually been misdirected, but he had clearly written out her name on the outside. So, no accident. Hermione had shown up five minutes early only to find him waiting for her with lasagna. They'd hastily eaten it after spending the majority of their lunch break snogging on top of a crate of parchment.

At first, Hermione hated herself for these little rendezvous. She'd always looked down on those Hogwarts girls who settled for guys mauling them in broom closets. Now she was one of them, and she didn't even have the excuse of teenage hormones. The idea that she was just another random girl who Malfoy used to indulge his lust wore at her pride and self-worth. So what if she was lonely? That was no excuse to engage in…whatever with Malfoy. And what must he think of her? That she was nothing more than a cheap floozy? Or worse yet, a heartsick girl so desperate for male attention, she'd accept it from anyone, even her childhood enemy.

But all her recriminations were not enough to put an end to their meetings. She told herself, once Malfoy crossed the line, did something indecent, she'd stop him, probably with a slap. Only he never tried to sleep with her, never slid his hands too far down or too far up. Just kissed her in that mind-altering, knee-collapsing way of his.

As their meetings multiplied and she heard no reports of Malfoy dating anyone else, her view of their encounters changed. Every other day, he'd send her memos about the where and when, and she'd dutifully meet him, always leaving the closet or office feeling better than when she'd entered it. It was hard to feel worthless when Malfoy made her seem like she was his entire world. As she scurried back to her office, she'd think of the way he tucked her curls behind her ear or cradled her face in his hands. Or how he whispered her name, always her first name, into the top of her head. Or how they'd sit on the ground, backs against the wall and just hold each other's hands as she rested her head on his shoulder.

If it had been up to her, their meetings would have been every day, but she always let him initiate, too worried that she'd overstep the bounds of whatever it was they had. In her weaker moments, though, she fancied it a courtship. Right up until the day they'd almost been caught.

They'd been in Perpetua Banks's office, vacant due to Perpetua's bout with the flu. It had happened so fast, it had been a blur. From what she could piece together there had been some sound that she had not heard, perhaps the jiggling of a doorknob. Malfoy had pushed her away, causing a painful collision with Perpetua's desk. Putting a finger to his mouth, he quickly straightened his clothes and approached the door. Without looking back to see if she was alright, he opened the door and informed the person on the other side to hang on a second, then slipped outside.

They'd never addressed how to handle a near discovery, but Hermione thought it best to stick to the established protocol. As she counted to 180 she noticed he'd left his tie behind. With a sigh of fond exasperation she picked up the cloth and stuffed it in her pocket. Exiting Perpetua's office, she looked down the hallway, debating on what to do with the scrap of clothing. She decided to return it to him immediately; otherwise, she ran the risk of keeping it forever.

Hermione had just turned the corner, strolling purposefully down the hallway that housed Malfoy's work space. One step before she would have entered his office, the cultured tones of Sharon Vernus assaulted her ear drums.

'You are aware that dating a co-worker is against Ministry policy, aren't you, Malfoy?'

'Very funny.'

'Yes, I know.' Hermione heard a shuffling of papers, and while unable to look through walls, she pictured Sharon Vernus settling on Malfoy's desk, leaning forward and winking conspiratorially at him. 'Now tell the truth. Is there something going on with you and Granger? I know she was in that office with you.'

Hermione held her breath, anxious that she would miss any of his reply. Part of her hoped, well, she didn't know what. She moved closer to the door; close enough to hear Malfoy bark with laughter loud and clear. 'Granger? You couldn't pay me to touch her. No, we were just talking about some project we've been collaborating on.'

'In Perpetua's office?'

'I had given Perpetua a form that I needed to answer one of Granger's incessant questions. After I found it, she started in with her usual…antics. I would still be there now if you hadn't interrupted. I suppose I should be thanking you.'

'It was nothing. I'll gladly come to your assistance anytime.' Sharon clucked her tongue sympathetically. 'You poor thing. To be stuck with the likes of her. She's so uptight and frigid. I've had the displeasure of speaking with her on a few occasions, and all she thinks about is work, work, work. It's so pathetic, it's sad. She can't have much of a social life.'

'One of these days I'll make sure to ask her about it.'

'Oh, Malfoy, you're so cheeky. But don't trouble yourself with another encounter with the Office Bore. It doesn't take much imagination to guess what she does in her free time. She goes home, feeds her many cats, heats up a frozen dinner, and curls up with a book. Or something equally pathetic.'

'You never know, there might be a guy. Perhaps she's still pining for that Weasley chap.'

'Which one?'

'Does it matter? They all look the same to me.'

'Ha, you're right. And it's not like any of them would like her,' Sharon cackled. 'Can you even picture her with a guy?'

'Not really.'

'Neither can I. If she ever managed to get a guy to like her, she wouldn't know what to do with him. Probably ask him to read to her. Or take him to a wizarding convention on the treatment of house elves.'

'Naturally.'

There was more shuffling of papers. Hermione noticed the tie she had been holding had fallen to the floor. She picked it up and put it in her robes.

Sharon broke the brief lull in their conversation with a loud sigh. 'A perfectly unoccupied office gone to waste. I'm sure we could have found something better to do with our time than bicker and argue.'

'Perhaps I should ask my boss to work with you instead of Granger. Our meetings would be much more productive.'

Then a series of giggles and inaudible whispers commenced, and Hermione stopped listening.

So that's what Malfoy thought of her. A funny little ache sprang up in her chest, radiating outwards. Well, what did she expect? Hadn't she warned herself that she was only one of many in a long line of Ministry girls? Somewhere along the way she stopped believing it, but here was proof that she'd been right all along. She never should have doubted herself. Or overestimated her strength. Obviously she couldn't deal with the pain of not being important to him. Well, time to give him up before he hurt her in a way from which she'd never recover.

Hermione stalked into his office, all smiles. 'Good afternoon, Sharon. Malfoy.'

Sharon jumped off Malfoy's desk, tugging down at the hem of her skirt. 'Hermione! How are you?'

'Busy,' she said with a shrug of her shoulders. 'But that's to be expected. You know me. All I think about is work, work, work.'

Sharon's face paled, while Hermione's cheeks flushed with the excitement of confrontation. The heat of Malfoy's gaze contributed to her glow; his eyes burned her skin like the sun on a hot day. But she refused to believe what she saw there. After all, she hardly knew him. They only made out in closets, and a look of disgust could easily be mistaken for regret.

'We were just discussing Perpetua,' Sharon said, attempting to lie, but Hermione would have none of it.

'I didn't ask, but thanks for the update.' Hermione tapped her finger against her chin. 'Now why did I come here again? Oh, that's right. Just a friendly reminder that the next time you two wish to indulge in office gossip, consider using a silencing charm.'

Hermione pivoted on her heel and flounced away. She'd taken five steps out of the office when Malfoy grabbed her by the elbow and hurried her down the hall. When they'd turned the corner and were out of earshot of Sharon, he said, 'Granger, we need to talk.'

She inclined her head as if puzzled and removed her arm from his grip. 'Why?'

With a agitated jerk of his head he gestured back to his office.

'Oh, that,' Hermione said flatly. 'I don't think any discussion is necessary.' Hermione tucked her hand inside her robe, pulling out his wrinkled tie. 'Here you go. Try not to leave your personal effects lying about. I hate having to clean up after my coworkers.'

'Hermione,' he whispered, probably still worried about the bint in his office. 'Don't be like this.'

'I have no idea what you're talking about. Now take this so I can leave.'

Malfoy refused to do anything of the sort, so she dropped the tie on the ground then walked back to her office, quietly closing the door behind her. Pulling out her case file, she set to work on the piece of house elf legislation she'd been drafting the day she first ran into Malfoy in the supply closet. The Wizarding Body would begin debating it later in the week, and since she'd so stupidly neglected it in favor of trysts with Malfoy, she had plenty of work to do.

And if her vision grew blurry, or a spot of water fell on her parchment, she paid no heed.

…

The door to the women's bathroom slammed open, breaking the memory's thrall, but not lessening any of Hermione's regret. For a second, she contemplated charming a cover for one of the toilets, sitting on it and pulling her legs up, but what was the point? They'd have to have this conversation sooner or later. Might as well make it now.

'Ginny, I'm sorry I ruined your dinner, but I didn't leave because I don't like Blaise.' Hermione laughed humourlessly. 'As you can see, I have no right to disapprove of your relationship considering what I did with Malfoy…' Hermione trailed off, her throat tightening. But the bathroom was not the place to have a breakdown. Merlin forbid Ginny discovered how much Malfoy had hurt Hermione. Ginny would think it her duty to tell Zabini. Or worse, play matchmaker.

Hermione took a deep breath, wiping away the dampness that made her view of the tiled floor fuzzy. 'I'm sorry I never told you about Malfoy, but it never seemed that important. Just a series of stupid, foolish mistakes I won't be repeating.'

There was no answer. Ginny's silence ate at her, more terribly than any words of condemnation or anger ever could. In a small, contrite voice Hermione begged, 'Please say something.'

'Is that all that it was for you? A mistake?'

Expecting to hear Ginny explode, the quiet answer Hermione received was most disturbing. Especially considering it hadn't been Ginny answering her at all, but Malfoy.

All the blood in Hermione's face rushed to her feet, and she swayed into the side of the stall.

To Be Continued

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