I don't own any rights to Harry Potter, I did not creature any of the characters, place names (cept for London and Yorkshire and Kings Cross, I didn't create those either, but neither did JK Rowling) or magic spells or any other things, you all know JK Rowling did. Worship her as I do.
Another week had passed since that day in the library. Hermione wasn't really sure what was going on, but she seemed to have found a comfortable medium for herself. Harry would still talk to her, though it was always very terse and in strained voices. Ron would glance at her occasionally, for the moment forgetting everything that had happened, but something always seemed to remind him. Maybe it was that Draco had insisted she start tying her hair back, and had supplied a green ribbon for her hair, or maybe Ron noticed how she would fidget with her skirt that mysteriously had grown shorter. Or maybe that once Draco and she had settled into their little game, both seemed to almost enjoy it.
Draco loved rubbing in the fact he could have whatever he wanted. Despite that, Hermione had had her own series of small victories. Draco seemed reluctant to 'show off' infront of his fellow Slytherins, so Hermione made a habit out of clinging to his arm and whispering into his ear. Of course, she spoke nothing akin to sweet nothings, instead she would quietly mock him with a sweet smile on her face, basking in the way he would stiffen up when his 'friends' would scoff and mutter and whisper themselves. Draco had begun to loose his edge. Hermione wasn't sure why, but she seemed to gain. For the first while she had felt hopeless. But her friendship with Harry, at least, was stronger than Draco. It wasn't much of a friendship anymore, but it still hung on desperately.
And Draco. Hermione wasn't sure to make of him anymore. Because he would not stop finding her in corners, snatching her away to empty classrooms where no one was around to witness the show. He either wasn't trying as hard to get under her skin, or she had found a way to protect herself from it. Maybe, just maybe it didn't upset her because maybe, maybe she liked the gentle way his fingers would play with her hair, the way he would stand silently with his cheek against hers. He hardly ever insulted her anymore, at least not in private. They were not mortal enemies. Perhaps they were, dare she say it, lovers? Albeit not without their issues, but they did enjoy their time together, even though neither of them would admit it.
But something was beginning to nag at Hermione. Harry and Ron had always come first for her. But now, that wasn't always the case. She would gravitate towards Draco, but mostly she would pause and remember that he was only trying to hurt her, and that she had true friends. That was getting harder and harder to remember, though.
Her first real test of friendship came when the air had chilled enough so she could see her breath as she stood on the Quidditch pitch.
"Hermione?" Draco had begun to refer to her by her first name, at least when they were alone. They weren't necessarily alone right now, the stands were slowly starting to fill for the upcoming game.
Looking up from adjusting her red and gold scarf more warmly around her neck, Hermione eyed Draco. He seemed strange today. He was looking at her funny. Her eyebrows creased in reaction as he replied, "What?"
Draco felt distracted. He really didn't want to play Quidditch today, especially not against Gryffindor. But he did not have a choice. This would be the perfect opportunity to show up both Potter and Weasley, and he had the perfect thing to rub it in. Pulling his own green and silver scarf from his neck, he held it out to Hermione. She looked so pretty standing there, the tips of her ears red from the cold, and her cheeks and the tip of her nose were blushed too. Something in him wanted to pull her to him and keep her warm, but he wouldn't allow himself to, not with such a large audience. Instead, he allowed himself to step forward and touch his lips to hers, even if it was only a momentary distraction so he could tug off her scarf and replace it with his. She would wear his colours. That would be another stab to Potter and Weasley. And maybe, if she accepted it, he would feel a little more brave.
Hermione accepted his kiss, enjoying the way it made her tingle and her skin flush warm. But at the same time, she felt more than uncomfortable. He replaced her Gryffindor scarf with his Slytherin. And she didn't stop him. When he did step back again she dropped her eyes to the stiff grass. "Draco," she began, but after a moment, let drop. She didn't know what to say. From anyone else it would have been a very touching gesture, but not from him. If she wore his scarf, she could not stand with her fellow Gryffindors. She could not stand with the Slytherins either. She would be out of place no matter where she stood, or who she cheered on. Because maybe she did want to cheer on Draco, but she couldn't, because she had Harry to cheer for.
Hermione had found herself at the base of one of the audience stands, watching the players zoom around above her. It made her a little queasy, she had never really watched from this angle. But she could still keep track of who was who. She had seem both teams play so many times, she knew each person by how they moved. There was Harry, darting about on his broom, scanning for the snitch, he always was so immersed in quidditch he never thought of anything else. Until someone reminded him. A lazy green player drifted up along side Harry. She knew it was Draco. She knew he would be taunting Harry, all the while using the time to search for the snitch himself.
Then something happened Hermione didn't expect. Harry jerked around on his broom and hit Draco. No, not just hit, nailed would be a better term. Before she could blink in astonishment Draco was falling from his broom, his robes billowing out behind him as he sailed gracefully to the ground, landing with a not so elegant thump. People were screaming "Foul!" all over, but more people drowned those out with "Way to go Harry!" and the like.
Hermione was frozen, clutching Draco's scarf. Should she run to him, or should she go to Harry, who had landed with Madam Hooch's beckoning of him. He looked furious, some of his teammates had descended with him and were physically holding him back from finishing Draco off.
Draco didn't seem too badly off. He was wincing, but sitting up as some professors looked him over. He was more intent on sending murderous glares to Harry. That settled it for Hermione. With a gasp in of cold air for courage, she hurried onto the pitch and to Harry's side. Reaching her hand out, she opened her moth and spoke the first syllable of his name when he swung his head around to her.
"You," he hissed so vehemently that she actually shrank back from him, "don't ever speak to me again."His eyes darted to the scarf around her neck, and his hand tightened around the handle of his broom, the squeak of his leather gloves thundered in her ears. And with that he tossed off all the hands holding him back with a fierce shrug and stomped out of the stadium.
Hermione still had her hand out. She didn't know what to do, no commands from her brain to drop her hand would connect. Nothing would connect. Nothing was right. She vaguely saw the rest of the Gryffindors staring at her dumbly, and one mass of red hair approaching her. For the briefest moment she thought it was Ron, until something collided with the side of her face and everything flared into clarity. It was Ginny. Her face was almost as red as her hair, and she was stooped as if expecting to be struck by an oncoming train.
"How dare you!" she screeched, drawing everyone's attention, even the Slytherins hushed and turned to watch.
Hermione's hand had finally moved, though now she held it to her stinging cheek. She tried to croak out something, she didn't even know what she was going to say, but Ginny opened her rant.
"How dare you do this to Harry and Ron! They love you! How could you betray them? How could you do this to Ron? He's been in love with you for years! What the hell do you think you're doing? Is this some sick sort of revenge on him for never having the courage to tell you how he felt? I thought you were smart Hermione, but I was wrong. You're just another stupid girl falling for the bad boy charm. Hermione, you're the stupidest person I've ever known."
Hermione could see tears glistening in Ginny's eyes. Why would she cry? And then it hit her. Hermione finally understood. She had not only betrayed her best friends, she had betrayed her house, she had betrayed everyone who had ever believed in her. She had betrayed herself. She couldn't look at Ginny. Pulling her gaze off to the side, Hermione found herself looking down at a pair of boots and the bottom of green robes. Something inside of her crumbled. And a wave of pure rage swept up from behind that broken wall. She did not yell, she did not reach out with her fists or her wand. She simply removed the green and silver scarf from her neck and placed it in his hands. "I went along with this on the assumption you would hold to our deal. Our deal that if I played the part of your lover, you would not harm my friends. But now I understand. You were hurting them all along. But you were using me to do it. You were attacking them with what would hurt them most. Me. I will not stand for it anymore, Draco Malfoy. You are nothing, you thrive on hatred. You are nothing." nothing had ever come out of her like that before. Her words slid out off her tongue like liquid, but the hatred seared every ear that heard her speak, and the final admittance of the truth brought whispers and murmurs from the crowd.
Silent, steady strides carried her away from the crowd. She did not turn, even when the people finally roared with comprehension. She only knew she had to find Harry. Whatever Draco had said to him, she would somehow explain away. She had to. And maybe after she made him understand, she could find with him the strength to approach Ron.
Another week had passed since that day in the library. Hermione wasn't really sure what was going on, but she seemed to have found a comfortable medium for herself. Harry would still talk to her, though it was always very terse and in strained voices. Ron would glance at her occasionally, for the moment forgetting everything that had happened, but something always seemed to remind him. Maybe it was that Draco had insisted she start tying her hair back, and had supplied a green ribbon for her hair, or maybe Ron noticed how she would fidget with her skirt that mysteriously had grown shorter. Or maybe that once Draco and she had settled into their little game, both seemed to almost enjoy it.
Draco loved rubbing in the fact he could have whatever he wanted. Despite that, Hermione had had her own series of small victories. Draco seemed reluctant to 'show off' infront of his fellow Slytherins, so Hermione made a habit out of clinging to his arm and whispering into his ear. Of course, she spoke nothing akin to sweet nothings, instead she would quietly mock him with a sweet smile on her face, basking in the way he would stiffen up when his 'friends' would scoff and mutter and whisper themselves. Draco had begun to loose his edge. Hermione wasn't sure why, but she seemed to gain. For the first while she had felt hopeless. But her friendship with Harry, at least, was stronger than Draco. It wasn't much of a friendship anymore, but it still hung on desperately.
And Draco. Hermione wasn't sure to make of him anymore. Because he would not stop finding her in corners, snatching her away to empty classrooms where no one was around to witness the show. He either wasn't trying as hard to get under her skin, or she had found a way to protect herself from it. Maybe, just maybe it didn't upset her because maybe, maybe she liked the gentle way his fingers would play with her hair, the way he would stand silently with his cheek against hers. He hardly ever insulted her anymore, at least not in private. They were not mortal enemies. Perhaps they were, dare she say it, lovers? Albeit not without their issues, but they did enjoy their time together, even though neither of them would admit it.
But something was beginning to nag at Hermione. Harry and Ron had always come first for her. But now, that wasn't always the case. She would gravitate towards Draco, but mostly she would pause and remember that he was only trying to hurt her, and that she had true friends. That was getting harder and harder to remember, though.
Her first real test of friendship came when the air had chilled enough so she could see her breath as she stood on the Quidditch pitch.
"Hermione?" Draco had begun to refer to her by her first name, at least when they were alone. They weren't necessarily alone right now, the stands were slowly starting to fill for the upcoming game.
Looking up from adjusting her red and gold scarf more warmly around her neck, Hermione eyed Draco. He seemed strange today. He was looking at her funny. Her eyebrows creased in reaction as he replied, "What?"
Draco felt distracted. He really didn't want to play Quidditch today, especially not against Gryffindor. But he did not have a choice. This would be the perfect opportunity to show up both Potter and Weasley, and he had the perfect thing to rub it in. Pulling his own green and silver scarf from his neck, he held it out to Hermione. She looked so pretty standing there, the tips of her ears red from the cold, and her cheeks and the tip of her nose were blushed too. Something in him wanted to pull her to him and keep her warm, but he wouldn't allow himself to, not with such a large audience. Instead, he allowed himself to step forward and touch his lips to hers, even if it was only a momentary distraction so he could tug off her scarf and replace it with his. She would wear his colours. That would be another stab to Potter and Weasley. And maybe, if she accepted it, he would feel a little more brave.
Hermione accepted his kiss, enjoying the way it made her tingle and her skin flush warm. But at the same time, she felt more than uncomfortable. He replaced her Gryffindor scarf with his Slytherin. And she didn't stop him. When he did step back again she dropped her eyes to the stiff grass. "Draco," she began, but after a moment, let drop. She didn't know what to say. From anyone else it would have been a very touching gesture, but not from him. If she wore his scarf, she could not stand with her fellow Gryffindors. She could not stand with the Slytherins either. She would be out of place no matter where she stood, or who she cheered on. Because maybe she did want to cheer on Draco, but she couldn't, because she had Harry to cheer for.
Hermione had found herself at the base of one of the audience stands, watching the players zoom around above her. It made her a little queasy, she had never really watched from this angle. But she could still keep track of who was who. She had seem both teams play so many times, she knew each person by how they moved. There was Harry, darting about on his broom, scanning for the snitch, he always was so immersed in quidditch he never thought of anything else. Until someone reminded him. A lazy green player drifted up along side Harry. She knew it was Draco. She knew he would be taunting Harry, all the while using the time to search for the snitch himself.
Then something happened Hermione didn't expect. Harry jerked around on his broom and hit Draco. No, not just hit, nailed would be a better term. Before she could blink in astonishment Draco was falling from his broom, his robes billowing out behind him as he sailed gracefully to the ground, landing with a not so elegant thump. People were screaming "Foul!" all over, but more people drowned those out with "Way to go Harry!" and the like.
Hermione was frozen, clutching Draco's scarf. Should she run to him, or should she go to Harry, who had landed with Madam Hooch's beckoning of him. He looked furious, some of his teammates had descended with him and were physically holding him back from finishing Draco off.
Draco didn't seem too badly off. He was wincing, but sitting up as some professors looked him over. He was more intent on sending murderous glares to Harry. That settled it for Hermione. With a gasp in of cold air for courage, she hurried onto the pitch and to Harry's side. Reaching her hand out, she opened her moth and spoke the first syllable of his name when he swung his head around to her.
"You," he hissed so vehemently that she actually shrank back from him, "don't ever speak to me again."His eyes darted to the scarf around her neck, and his hand tightened around the handle of his broom, the squeak of his leather gloves thundered in her ears. And with that he tossed off all the hands holding him back with a fierce shrug and stomped out of the stadium.
Hermione still had her hand out. She didn't know what to do, no commands from her brain to drop her hand would connect. Nothing would connect. Nothing was right. She vaguely saw the rest of the Gryffindors staring at her dumbly, and one mass of red hair approaching her. For the briefest moment she thought it was Ron, until something collided with the side of her face and everything flared into clarity. It was Ginny. Her face was almost as red as her hair, and she was stooped as if expecting to be struck by an oncoming train.
"How dare you!" she screeched, drawing everyone's attention, even the Slytherins hushed and turned to watch.
Hermione's hand had finally moved, though now she held it to her stinging cheek. She tried to croak out something, she didn't even know what she was going to say, but Ginny opened her rant.
"How dare you do this to Harry and Ron! They love you! How could you betray them? How could you do this to Ron? He's been in love with you for years! What the hell do you think you're doing? Is this some sick sort of revenge on him for never having the courage to tell you how he felt? I thought you were smart Hermione, but I was wrong. You're just another stupid girl falling for the bad boy charm. Hermione, you're the stupidest person I've ever known."
Hermione could see tears glistening in Ginny's eyes. Why would she cry? And then it hit her. Hermione finally understood. She had not only betrayed her best friends, she had betrayed her house, she had betrayed everyone who had ever believed in her. She had betrayed herself. She couldn't look at Ginny. Pulling her gaze off to the side, Hermione found herself looking down at a pair of boots and the bottom of green robes. Something inside of her crumbled. And a wave of pure rage swept up from behind that broken wall. She did not yell, she did not reach out with her fists or her wand. She simply removed the green and silver scarf from her neck and placed it in his hands. "I went along with this on the assumption you would hold to our deal. Our deal that if I played the part of your lover, you would not harm my friends. But now I understand. You were hurting them all along. But you were using me to do it. You were attacking them with what would hurt them most. Me. I will not stand for it anymore, Draco Malfoy. You are nothing, you thrive on hatred. You are nothing." nothing had ever come out of her like that before. Her words slid out off her tongue like liquid, but the hatred seared every ear that heard her speak, and the final admittance of the truth brought whispers and murmurs from the crowd.
Silent, steady strides carried her away from the crowd. She did not turn, even when the people finally roared with comprehension. She only knew she had to find Harry. Whatever Draco had said to him, she would somehow explain away. She had to. And maybe after she made him understand, she could find with him the strength to approach Ron.
