About half an hour after Hedwig departed, the bedroom door opened and shut,
seemingly by itself. Hermione knew better. She sat up and shoved her
homework to one side.
The Invisibility Cloak puddled around Harry's feet as he undid the clasp. "What's up?"
Hermione smiled. "You came. I wasn't sure." She lifted her chin, motioning him over to sit beside her on the bed.
"Of course I came." Harry looked indignant. "You cheated, signing 'Love from Hermione.' You haven't done that in years."
Hermione ducked her head. "If Ron finds it, he might think I've come to my senses."
"Sod Ron. He needs to sort out his priorities. Come to his own senses a bit." But he looked oddly wistful.
Hermione, who had been able to read that open face since both of them were twelve, covered Harry's hand with her own. "I do love you, Harry. I always have, really. It's just-" she paused struggling for the words.
"Draco," Harry mumbled. "'S just him."
"No. What I feel for Draco is different. He's not going to save the wizarding world for us all. But he might help you a great deal."
"From Durmstrang?" Harry's voice was tired, but skeptical.
"Harry," Hermione said gently, not sure how to begin, "he's not going to be at Durmstrang much longer." She pulled the note from her pocket, unfolding it so that Harry could read the few lines.
He scanned them in silence. "'We are coming.' Who's we?"
"I don't know, really. In the letter before this one it appeared that there were some at Durmstrang, most likely students, shall we say, less than sympathetic toward Voldemort's cause."
"That's Draco, 'Mione. That was straight up Malfoy; I can hear him in your voice." Hermione couldn't tell from Harry's tone if that was good or bad.
"Well-" She swallowed painfully. "The bit that's in me happens to be all I have left of him. And Draco's changed, Harry."
"I know. But so have you." Harry ran a hand through his hair, making the already tousled black mop look like it'd been dragged through a gorse bush.
"And you haven't?"
"Yes. No. 'Mione!"
"Can you or can you not work with Draco Malfoy, Harry?"
"Yes. But I don't have to like it."
"Ooh, you're just as bad as Ron. Can't you see that if we allow our prejudices to divide us, we're helping Voldemort? Remember what Dumbledore said fourth year?"
"I remember, 'Mione, and I am not prejudiced against Draco Malfoy. My feelings for him spring from the dozens of threats, insults, and hexes he's thrown my way since I met him." Harry wilted slightly under Hermione's glare. "But if he comes back, and he's inclined to direct the hexes at Voldemort, then yeah, I'll work with him."
Hermione grinned, supposing that was the best she was going to get. "All right. Now go to bed." She stood up with him, and pecked him on the cheek before he turned to go.
The Invisibility Cloak puddled around Harry's feet as he undid the clasp. "What's up?"
Hermione smiled. "You came. I wasn't sure." She lifted her chin, motioning him over to sit beside her on the bed.
"Of course I came." Harry looked indignant. "You cheated, signing 'Love from Hermione.' You haven't done that in years."
Hermione ducked her head. "If Ron finds it, he might think I've come to my senses."
"Sod Ron. He needs to sort out his priorities. Come to his own senses a bit." But he looked oddly wistful.
Hermione, who had been able to read that open face since both of them were twelve, covered Harry's hand with her own. "I do love you, Harry. I always have, really. It's just-" she paused struggling for the words.
"Draco," Harry mumbled. "'S just him."
"No. What I feel for Draco is different. He's not going to save the wizarding world for us all. But he might help you a great deal."
"From Durmstrang?" Harry's voice was tired, but skeptical.
"Harry," Hermione said gently, not sure how to begin, "he's not going to be at Durmstrang much longer." She pulled the note from her pocket, unfolding it so that Harry could read the few lines.
He scanned them in silence. "'We are coming.' Who's we?"
"I don't know, really. In the letter before this one it appeared that there were some at Durmstrang, most likely students, shall we say, less than sympathetic toward Voldemort's cause."
"That's Draco, 'Mione. That was straight up Malfoy; I can hear him in your voice." Hermione couldn't tell from Harry's tone if that was good or bad.
"Well-" She swallowed painfully. "The bit that's in me happens to be all I have left of him. And Draco's changed, Harry."
"I know. But so have you." Harry ran a hand through his hair, making the already tousled black mop look like it'd been dragged through a gorse bush.
"And you haven't?"
"Yes. No. 'Mione!"
"Can you or can you not work with Draco Malfoy, Harry?"
"Yes. But I don't have to like it."
"Ooh, you're just as bad as Ron. Can't you see that if we allow our prejudices to divide us, we're helping Voldemort? Remember what Dumbledore said fourth year?"
"I remember, 'Mione, and I am not prejudiced against Draco Malfoy. My feelings for him spring from the dozens of threats, insults, and hexes he's thrown my way since I met him." Harry wilted slightly under Hermione's glare. "But if he comes back, and he's inclined to direct the hexes at Voldemort, then yeah, I'll work with him."
Hermione grinned, supposing that was the best she was going to get. "All right. Now go to bed." She stood up with him, and pecked him on the cheek before he turned to go.