CHAPTER 33: FEAR

With a groan, Hermione let her head fall back against her headboard. She had been on her bed for hours now, going over yet another scroll from the Library of Alexandria, comparing it to the enchanted scroll she and Malfoy had found in the alcove. The last thing she wanted was to give up on this project, her inquisitive nature would never allow it. It wasn't the same without him though. This was something they had started together, it felt wrong to continue without his input.

A knock at the door startled her out of her dejected thoughts. She quickly packed away her things, still unwilling to share the secret of the scroll with another. With the scrolls secured and out of sight, she lifted her wand and lowered her wards, before unlocking the door with a simple Alohomora.

"Come in!"

The door creaked open a fraction and Harry's head of unruly black hair peaked out from behind the timber. "Hey Hermione. Mind if I come in?"

"Not at all," she replied, shuffling to the side to make room for him on her mattress.

"So," Harry said as he reclined against the headboard. "Ginny and I just broke up."

"What!" Hermione exclaimed, shifting by his side to face him. "What happened? Are you okay?"

"Yeah, I- Er, honestly… I'm fine. Things had been different between us for a while. This didn't really come as a shock." Harry sighed and shifted his glasses up to pinch the bridge of his nose before he continued. "We both realised we weren't in love, not really. We cared for each other, still do. But it's not the same, you know? But we had both needed something after the war, something normal. That, and the sex was really good."

"Oh Merlin, Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, shoving at his shoulder. "I did not need to know that!"

Harry laughed, ducking out of the way as Hermione swung a pillow at his head. "Alright! Alright!" he said, holding his hands up in surrender.

"Seriously though, we weren't good for each other," Harry continued, his tone sobering. "We both realised what we had – our relationship – it had become toxic. We tried so hard to cling to each other, to hold onto what we thought we had. But, uh- we were hurting people, and we were hurting ourselves in the process."

Hermione couldn't help but agree that Harry and Ginny had been hurting those around them. In fact, she had been one of those people Ginny had hurt in her attempt to hold onto her failing relationship. It made sense now, in some sort of twisted way, that the redhead had projected her own insecurities.

"I'd wondered why Ginny had seemed different over Christmas. She hasn't really spoken to me much since then, you know? But she hasn't tried to force distance between you and I either."

"Uh- Yeah, well," Harry began, scratching at the back of his scalp nervously. "I'd sort of had a word with her before we left for the Burrow. I wasn't happy with how she was treating you. I'm sorry it took me so bloody long to say anything."

"I appreciate that you said something, Harry. I'm sorry if I caused an issue between the two of you though."

"Don't apologise, Hermione. It wasn't your fault. None of it. She knew what she was doing. I was blind to it for far too long, and… uh- I was a right git, what with how it took me so long to say anything once I did notice. I'm sorry."

"I forgive you," said Hermione. Honestly, she had forgiven him for this behaviour long ago, but it was wonderful to hear him acknowledge his own fault in the situation.

Harry tipped his head back against the headboard and exhaled deeply. "I think she might already have another date lined up. Some bloke she met at tryouts."

"That's a bit sudden, isn't it? Are you okay with that?" she asked, her brows pulling into a deep furrow.

Harry released a deep sigh as he removed his glasses from his face and lowered them to wipe the glass on the material of his t-shirt. He remained silent as he lifted the glasses to inspect the lenses before placing them back on his face. With a shrug, he at last replied, "Yeah, I'm fine."

Knowing her friend as well as she did, Hermione realised Harry would simply deal with the smudged lenses he had returned to his face. Picking her wand up from her bedside table, she cast a quick charm to cleanse the lenses thoroughly.

Harry flinched. "I really need to remember that spell. Old habits and all that."

"Are you sure you're alright, Harry?"

"Surprisingly, yes," he replied. "I thought it would bother me. But honestly, it doesn't. Not even a little. I guess that's how I know we really did the right thing, ending it and all."

She could tell he was telling her the truth. After all their years of friendship, she had learned his tells, and so she was confident that the wizard by her side was not lying when he said all was well. Still, she felt for him. Hermione lowered her head to the side, resting it on his shoulder in a comforting gesture. "For what it's worth, I'm sorry things didn't work out between the two of you."

"Thanks, Hermione."

They remained in comfortable silence for some time, before the creeping melancholy began to take hold once more. Unable to avoid the topic any longer she sat up straight, her gaze fixed on the far wall, she confessed, "I need your help, Harry."

"Anything," Harry replied, his tone serious.

"I, uh- will you… it's getting easier, it is. I don't think I can trust myself though, not yet," she rambled. She inhaled a deep breath, steadying herself before she continued, "Could you please take my Dreamless Sleep off me once I collect it from Madam Pomfrey tomorrow? I hate to ask again, but I need help rationing it still."

Harry angled his body to face her, his head tilted slightly to one side as he asked, "Is Malfoy really still not talking to you?"

Hermione groaned in exasperation, clambering off her bed before she began to pace back and forth by the foot of her bed. "It's been a month, Harry. A month! I don't think he's said more than ten words to me. We're still partners in class, but it's like when we first came back to Hogwarts. He isn't horrible to me, just… indifferent. Somehow, that's almost worse."

"I don't understand what happened between you two. That night, when you, er… He looked after you. He obviously cares about you."

"Well, apparently he doesn't! Parkinson made it clear that he regrets the-" Hermione snapped her mouth closed, choking down the confession she had almost let slip.

She hadn't told Harry – hadn't told anyone – about the kiss she and Malfoy had shared. She couldn't bring herself to confess the truth of what had occured between them, nor the level of rejection she had faced in its wake. It was easier to pretend that it was merely their friendship that had ended, and not something else, something more.

Realising that her friend was staring at her, his brows pulled together in concern, she belatedly finished, "She knew things, Harry. Things she couldn't have possibly known unless Malfoy had confided them in her."

Harry opened his mouth, then swiftly snapped it shut once more, evidently having changed his mind about whatever he had been about to say.

"I'm meeting Neville and Luna down in Hogsmeade for dinner," he began, steering the conversation away from the awkward topic of Malfoy. "Would you like to join us?"

"Don't fancy being the third wheel?" she joked.

"Not in the slightest," Harry replied with a chuckle. "But that's not why I'm inviting you. I just want you to come with us."

Hermione glanced over to where she had placed her small beaded bag, her Library of Alexandria scrolls hidden within. The thought of spending a night with friends certainly felt more appealing than yet another night of seemingly pointless translations.

"Sure. I'll come with you."

"Brilliant," Harry replied, a genuine smile pulling at his features. "I've still got to finish that Potions essay for tomorrow. How about we meet in the Entrance Hall. Say, half six?"

"I'll be there."

"Shit," Hermione mumbled to herself as she raced down the fourth floor corridor.

She was late. Harry was likely already waiting for her in the Entrance Hall. Enthralled by one particular runic text, she had neglected to pay attention to the hour. Unfortunately, her tardiness had not even come with the benefit of a breakthrough, the scroll she had been translating resulting in a dead end, just as the countless scrolls before it.

"Granger," Parkinson's saccharine voice called as she rounded the corner. "Just the witch I've been looking for."

"What do you want, Parkinson? I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"Oh, don't let me keep you," she said, inspecting her perfectly manicured nails. "I just thought you might want to know that Draco is looking for you."

That caused Hermione to pause, her brows furrowing. Even if Malfoy had wanted to see her – which she doubted – surely he wouldn't have sent Parkinson to find her. She knew she should walk away, let her curiosity die. However, Hermione could not silence the voice within her that wondered, hoped even, that Malfoy was seeking her out.

"What does he want?" Hermione asked at last.

Parkinson turned and began walking down the corridor from which she had come. Her tone almost bored, she replied, "It would probably be best if I let him tell you. We said we would meet up in a classroom not too far from here. In fact, I'm sure he's probably already waiting."

Squashing down the scepticism she felt, she made her way down the corridor on Parkinson's heels. Her desire to speak with Malfoy smothered her better judgement as she followed the Slytherin witch. She needed to do this, to find out the truth of what had broken between them. At the very least, she thought, she deserved that chance to berate the wizard for the way he had treated her.

Parkinson came to a halt before a disused and dust strewn door and gestured for Hermione to step forward. She did so, her hand reaching out to grasp the tarnished brass handle.

"Actually, no!" she exclaimed, her hand falling to her side. "You can tell Malfoy if he wants to speak to me he knows where my room is. He can come find me."

Turning away from the door, Hermione inhaled a sharp breath. Parkinson's wand was raised, her grip tight and features cruel. Hermione reached for her own wand. However, she had been unprepared, unguarded. Her response to the threat was slow. Far too slow.

"Confundo!" Parkinson shrieked.

Hermione shuddered as a sense of confusion washed over her. Her brows pulled together as she tried desperately to hold onto some semblance of rationality.

Parkinson grasped her shoulders and Hermione was distantly aware of the sting of the witch's sharp nails as they dug into her flesh. She allowed the Slytherin witch to turn her once more towards the door. As she stared into the depths of the dark room, she struggled to remember if the door had been open before now.

"He's in there," she heard Parkinson utter, her voice distant, obscured.

Hermione stepped forward, crossing the threshold into the disused classroom. The door clicked shut behind her and plunged the room into darkness. She stood there, her eyes blinking rapidly as her vision struggled to adjust to low lighting that seeped into the room from a single high window. She could not recall why she was there, alone in the dark.

He's in there.

A low growl shattered the silence of the room.

Him.

She forced herself to lift her shaking arm, brandishing her wand in the direction from which the noise had emanated.

"Lumos!"

The enveloping darkness of the room inexplicably swallowed the feeble light her wand produced. She cast the spell again, this time brighter, yet still unable to illuminate her surroundings thoroughly. She stepped forward reluctantly, searching the darkness for some trace of the beast that haunted her. He couldn't be here.

She swept her wand in a wide arc before her. Her breath seized in her lungs, her body paralyzed by crippling fear. The reflective amber irises of a beast peered out at her from the oppressive darkness. The eyes of a werewolf. Her vision focused and she saw his yellow, pointed teeth as his mouth twisted into a snarl. Greyback crouched low, his limbs tense, muscles coiling as he readied to pounce.

A fierce scream ripped from her throat as she turned on her heel and fled. Her body collided with the solid stone wall, but the door from which she entered was nowhere to be found. Her fists pounded against the stone as she shrieked for help, pleading for someone – anyone – to save her. She dropped to her knees as her body wracked with heaving sobs.

She could hear each of his foul, rattling breaths as Greyback closed in on her from behind. Pulling herself to her feet she listened to the way the werewolf paced behind her, the way he toyed with her, his approach slow and deliberate. She knew he thrived on the fear he evoked in his victims. It invigorated him, aroused his baser urges.

Move, she needed to move. To buy herself time. To survive. She turned from the wall and sprinted into the depths of the room. The sound of her hammering heart pounded in her ears, drowning out all other sound. She turned in a circle, her wand held out before her, slashing through the darkness, as she searched frantically for the beast who stalked her.

There. Her body stiffened as she caught a glimpse of him, his not quite human form hunched forward as if ready to drop to all fours at any moment. He was circling her, she realised. A hunter herding its prey.

Suddenly, he lunged at her. In her haste to retreat from the werewolf, Hermione stumbled, her body twisting awkwardly as her feet left the ground. The adrenaline that coursed through her veins, scorched a path down her limbs as she braced herself for the inevitable impact.

Pain. All she was aware of was the pain. Her limbs ached and her head stung. Face down on the hard stone floor, she could not be certain she hadn't lost consciousness for a time. For a brief moment she wondered why the werewolf had not finished her, then her gut churned as the realisation settled in. He wanted her awake, reactive to the end.

Hermione forced herself to roll onto her back, a groan ripping from her throat as she did so. She heaved herself up into some semblance of a sitting position, fighting back the bile that rose as the room spun violently. Her hand flew to her head and instantly she felt the warm liquid coat her fingers. Pulling her hand away from the wound, she hissed through clenched teeth. Even through the darkness there was no mistaking the worrisome volume of blood that now stained her palm.

A sick, appreciative sound snapped her attention back to Greyback. He was scenting her, scenting her freshly spilled blood. Move, she thought. Escape. Survive.

Fuck. A sense of all encompassing dread sank into her bones as Hermione realised she had dropped her wand. Her hands searched the floor around her desperately, praying to deities she had never believed in, that she would find the slender piece of wood.

Suddenly, blinding light bathed the room with its brilliance. Hermione brought her hand up hastily to shield her eyes from the harsh onslaught. Peering out from between her fingers, she saw the silhouette of a man race forward, taking a stand between her and the beast. Slowly, Hermione's sight adjusted to the room's lighting. She lowered her hand and gaped in surprise as she recognised the wizard before her.

Greyback snarled at Malfoy, the Slytherin unflinching. The werewolf tilted his head to one side inquisitively, as if surveying the man who dared to stand before him. Hermione blinked and Greyback was gone, a tall, masked Death Eater now stood in his stead.

Her brows furrowed as her eyes screwed tightly shut. She brought her hand up, the heel of her palm pressing firmly into her forehead as her body began to rock back and forth. None of this made any sense. Perhaps her head injury had caused her lapse. Was she missing time? Surely she had not lost consciousness? Not while she remained sitting upright, at least. It was possible, she thought, that the stress of the encounter had caused her to temporarily dissociate. She shook her head as if to clear it of thought. There would be time, later, to piece together the fractured remnants of her memory. Now, in this moment, she needed to focus.

Malfoy stood before her, his tension evident in the way his taut muscles bunched, visible through the dark cloth of this long sleeved t-shirt. The Death Eater shifted his weight and Hermione's attention was drawn immediately to the ornate signet ring that adorned his left hand as the silver caught the light. She squinted, if only she could make out the sigil, perhaps then she could identify the masked wizard. Alas, the distance was too great and the lighting far from favorable.

To her surprise however, it would appear that the Death Eater held no desire to hide his identity from the pair. His hand rose, fingers splayed wide as he covered the ostentatious mask. Simultaneously, the wizard removed the covering from his face as his free hand moved to lower the hood of his robes.

The wizard's appearance only served to further compound her confusion. Before her stood two Malfoys. At first it would appear they were a mirror image of one another, though as she stared up in disbelief she began to note the distinct differences. They were the same, yet vastly different. A strange sense of familiarity caused her gut to twist as the Death Eater Malfoy sneered down at her, his hair slicked back, grey eyes dull and lifeless.

Hermione inhaled a sharp breath as the veil that had clouded her mind lifted. With the clarity of hindsight she could identify the lingering after effects of a Confundus charm. She blinked once – a slow and deliberate action – before opening her eyes wide in an effort to clear the remnants of the haze that had obscured her thoughts. Exhaustion washed over her, yet the adrenaline that still pulsed through her veins reminded her that she could not rest. Not yet.

With her thoughts now coherent, it was glaringly obvious that Malfoy's doppelgänger was in fact a Boggart. While that knowledge provided logical answers to many of the queries her mind had formulated, it also raised many more questions. It was curious, she thought, that the wizard's greatest fear would be himself. However, before she could begin to unpack that fact, the Boggart Malfoy's sneer twisted upward, his lips shifting into a manic grin.

The real Malfoy – her Malfoy – twisted his torso so he could look over his shoulder and down at her. The wizard's appearance stood in stark contrast to his duplicate, his platinum hair draped loose across his forehead, his gaze unguarded. The softest of smiles pulled at the corner of his mouth before he turned back to face the Boggart.

"I no longer fear you. No longer fear what I may have become. She has shown me I am not that man, that I'll never be that monster," he scoffed, before training his wand on the creature. "Riddikulus!"

An audible crack reverberated off the stone walls as the doppelgänger disintegrated into wisps of smoke. How curious, Hermione thought, that Malfoy had banished the Boggart by conquering the fear with which he had been presented. She wondered if perhaps there would be other documented cases of such an occurrence.

That thought was swiftly forgotten however, as Malfoy turned and closed the distance between them with two long strides and fell to his knees before her. Without hesitation his hands were on her, carefully assessing her for any sign of serious injury. His hands travelled from her shoulders upward, one tenderly caressing the column of her neck before shifting to gently cradle the back of her head. The other hand moved to sweep her hair back from her face, his brows pulling into a deep furrow as his fingers met the blood drenched lock.

"Are you okay?" he asked, voice laced with concern.

She could not find the words in that moment to respond to his question. So rather than speak, she inclined her head the best his hold would allow and hoped it would convey her response. His eyes flicked between hers, whether searching for signs of trauma or something else entirely, she could not be certain. As if finding the answer he had sought, the wizard shifted forward, his lips finding hers in a tender kiss.

It was so different to the fierce, passionate encounter they had shared in their alcove. Yet so much was the same. The way her body responded, growing supple and melding forward into his as she wrapped her arms around him as if on instinct alone. The scorching fire of arousal that ignited low in her core and flooded her veins with warmth.

This time however, the kiss conveyed something the last had lacked. A sense of vulnerability. Malfoy was no longer guarded, no longer shielding his emotions. He was giving himself, willingly and wholly, to her.

His lips left hers, but he made no move to release his hold of her. A contented sigh fell from her lips as Malfoy's head lolled forward, his forehead gently resting against her own. Too soon, the wizard pulled away from her, her arms slipping from his shoulders as he sat back on his haunches. Her gaze was drawn instantly to the dark blood that now marred the pale skin of his forehead. She brought her hand up, dragging the pad of her thumb across his skin in an attempt to clear away the smear. Her brows furrowed as she stared down at her own blood.

"I truly thought you had changed your mind," she confessed. "That you considered me less than you because of my blood, my dirty blood."

Malfoy reached out and took her hand in his. "Your blood is no different than my own. It's been years since I believed a single word of that bullshit my father preached. I cannot apologise enough that my recent behaviour caused you to doubt that. To doubt me."

With a wave of his wand, Malfoy vanished the drying blood from her hand, before turning his attention to her head wound.

"Parkinson knew about us, about the kiss," she said.

Hermione felt the way the wizard stiffened upon hearing her words, but when he showed no sign of interjecting, she continued, "I couldn't think of any way to reasonably explain how she could have known, not unless you had told her yourself. So when she told me you regretted what happened between us, stupidly, I believed her."

"I didn't tell her a thing. I would never-" He lowered his wand, his free hand moving to tilt her chin upward, forcing her gaze to meet his. "I would never, could never, betray your trust like that."

His expression was open, pleading. She saw no note of dishonesty and wanted nothing more than to believe his words.

"How then?" she asked. "How did she know?"

"That witch," Malfoy sneered. "She is, unfortunately, just as cunning as any other Slytherin. Not only that, she was raised by her mother to be the perfect Pureblood wife. Despite what you may believe, that training was not limited to glamour charms and extravagant event planning. Parkinson is surprisingly adept at manipulation. Not unlike my own mother, she can extract a wealth of information with a few well placed, leading questions."

Hermione considered his words for a moment as she thought back on her brief interaction she had shared with the Slytherin witch after Potions. In retrospect, she was forced to admit that it was likely she herself had revealed the truth of their kiss to Parkinson.

"But," Hermione began, unable to silence the question that was left in the wake of her realisation. "If you didn't regret it, why did you avoid me?"

"I-" Malfoy looked away, his long fingers combing through his platinum strands. "I was afraid. A coward. I couldn't face you, not after I had lost control like that."

"You'd let your Occlumency walls down for the first time in your adult life, Malfoy. Your reaction, the anger, that was entirely justified, given the situation."

"That-" he tilted his head back to gaze up at the ceiling and she saw the way his Adam's apple moved as he swallowed. He exhaled a deep breath, before he lowered his head and met her gaze once more. "That's not what I meant. I was ashamed, not that I'd kissed you, but that I'd done so without your consent."

"Oh."

"I was afraid, convinced even, that my affections would be rejected, that our friendship would end. I hadn't meant to avoid you so long, I swear."

Unable to keep the hurt from her voice, she replied, "It was a month, Malfoy."

"When I didn't see you that night, when you didn't follow me, I convinced myself of the worst. Then, when I saw you next, that day in Potions, it was obvious you were furious with me. It only reinforced in my mind that I'd fucked everything up. I'd snapped, frightened you and then proceeded to snog you without your permission. I thought I'd ruined everything. When you confronted me in the hall after class, I couldn't face you. I wasn't ready to hear it was over, this thing between us. So like a coward, I ran."

She sat there in silence, processing everything he had confessed. She could understand now why he had avoided her, at least at first. Though she wished he hadn't, that he had come to her instead.

"I was mad," she confessed at last. "When you left me in the Library, I tried to follow you. Another student needed my help though, I couldn't just leave them. By the time I made it back to the common room it was late. I thought it best to give you some space, that you would need your rest. I thought we would speak in the morning. I never thought that you would avoid me all weekend, or that you would go to the extent of lying to our Professors to avoid seeing me in class."

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about?" Malfoy asked, evidently confused.

"The Hospital Wing? You skived off two classes!" she exclaimed with indignation. Folding her arms across her chest, she raised a single brow in challenge as she continued, "You lied to not one, but two Professors that you were ill."

"Granger," Malfoy smirked, a gesture that only caused her to grow irate. "I was in the Hospital Wing."

"Oh," she responded weakly. The burning anger she had felt a moment prior dowsed by his statement. "But-"

He chuckled softly at her stunned expression, before his own sombred and he added "I wasn't dealing too well, with my walls coming down. I could have just constructed them all again, buried the emotions, the memories. I didn't want to regress though, not after I'd come so far. But I was struggling, Madam Pomfrey had me on a calming draft until the voices stopped."

Hermione couldn't stifle the abrupt laughter that escaped her. Her hand snapping too slow to her mouth to silence the sound as her body shook.

"What exactly is so funny?"

Hermione wiped a tear away from her eye. "This month, this whole last month was just one giant fucking misunderstanding."

"When you put it like that, we really did waste quite a bit of time, didn't we?" He asked, before leaning forward and placing a chaste kiss to her lips.

As he pulled back from her, Hermione's brows furrowed as something occurred to her. "How did you know to find me here?"

The rare, soft quality of his features disappeared in an instant as his lip curled into a sneer. "I was heading to the Great Hall for dinner when I overheard Parkinson gloating to some younger Slytherins. She was laughing about how the Boggart would be the thing to send you over the edge. That fucking bint is so narrow minded. She assumed every witch's worst fear would be the same as her own pathetic insecurity, to be rejected by the boy she fancied."

"You're actually telling me that that bitch locked me in here because she thought that Boggart would turn into you?"

"She's gone too fucking far this time," Malfoy growled. "I had to find you, when I heard what she'd done. But now that I know you're safe, I will make her regret this."

There was no chance she would allow Malfoy to risk his probation, despite the way his protective sentiment caused her stomach to flutter in a new and entirely too enticing way. However, she knew without a doubt that Parkinson could not be allowed to get away with this. This time, the witch had gone too far.

"We need to go to McGonagall."