CHAPTER SEVEN

"In and out, up and down, that's what makes the world go round…."
Merlin, THE SWORD AND THE STONE

*

AN: Dammit, I just uploaded the previous chapter and realised there's a bunch of mistakes in it! (For instance, I made a point of saying that Ron had neglected to take his coat, and then when he storms off, it says "taking his coat from the back of Hermione's chair.") Dammit, dammit, buggery bollocks. Anyway, I'm doing my first set of university exams, presently (although I'm not doing an exam right now, obviously, otherwise I'd be slightly failed. And odd-looking.) and it's rather a depressing experience. It reminds me far too much of the Tertiary Entrance Exams last year, and THAT was a bizatch and a half. Anyway, just thought I'd share.
Meanwhile, I'd like some feedback on my Ron in this story. I have tried as much as possible, to make him a plausible matured version of the Ron we know and love from the canon but I'm not sure how it's going and I want all your deliciously informed opinions, dammit. I find it a lot easier to talk through Hermione, and I thought that since the prequel to this story is mostly Hermione's point of view I'd try and talk through Ron more in this one, but it's so much easier to talk through Hermione. I don't know why, I just find it a lot harder to get a grip on Ron's character- probably because I'm so blindly in love with him. (Now we must all pause to sigh and go "Oh, Ron." Because that's what I'm doing. Oh, Ron.) Anyway, I'll leave you to it. And you must leave me OPINIONS. And your first born child.) Cheerio.

*

Draco was outside the library at seven thirty sharp, as Professor McGonagall had requested. "She's agreed to tutor you," she had told him at the end of his Transfiguration lesson on Wednesday, "and not to worry, she won't say a word to anyone."

"Oh, good. You're, um…sure?"

"She's very trustworthy," the professor had assured him.

So here he was, waiting for his mysterious trustworthy Transfigs whizz. He whistled tunelessly as he leant against the smooth wooden doorframe, capping and uncapping his quill with his books tucked under his arm. He was in a good mood. Pansy seemed to have given up trying to get his attention by shoving past him in the hallways and glaring at him pointedly, and had chosen the much more mature option of just ignoring him. It was a relief, not just that she was leaving him alone, but to know that she wasn't so immature and fixated on him to continue her childish behaviour. It actually upset him to think that a normal, healthy sixteen-year-old girl could behave like that. "Girls, hah!" he said with a grin, and then looked up and down the corridor to make sure no one had heard him talking to himself.

It used to be that the girls chased Draco. Draco knew he had certain attributes that girls would find attractive. He was rich, his family was well-established, and he knew he was relatively handsome. Sometimes he would look in the mirror and the light would catch his eyes and his chin and Draco would see his father- on those days, he couldn't look at his reflection. Other times the angles of his cheekbones and his delicate ears reminded him of his mother, and he would shiver with fear. And other times he'd look in the mirror and see someone who was neither here, nor there, and had the potential for anything. And on those days, he was Draco Malfoy, Prefect, Quidditch captain, heir to a fortune, resident of the largest country manor in Kent. Things were different now- all his attributes didn't amount to the fact that yes, his father was a Death eater, and yes the Malfoy family was aligned with evil, Black Magick, Voldemort….

"Stay away from that Malfoy in sixth year," the girls would warn their friends. "His family, you know- pure blood, totally anti-Muggle…"

"Oh, yes, I've heard. Is it true that his father's a death Eater?"

"Absolutely. In fact, I heard that he's a death Eater, himself!"

"Wow, stay away from those genes, girls!" And they'd giggle away. Draco disliked gigglers. The type that would while away the hours in front of the mirror upstairs, glossing their lips and painting their nails, talking about boys, boys, boys and how nice it was going to be when all this Voldemort trouble was over. And they would giggle- giggle at a glance from their crush, and the merest brush in the corridors with the shoulders of someone of the opposite sex, hitching up their school skirts in the summer, revealing their lacy garters and squealing indignantly when boys leered at them. They asked for it, but they didn't want it. They talked about it, but they wouldn't dream of doing it. Not until they were marr-eeed. Not until they'd found the right guy, the special guy who was going to take care of them for the rest of their life, someone who could see themselves having children with. And oh, what a coincidence, it happened to be that seventh year Ravenclaw who smiled at them in the corridor that time.

The few girls that Draco had actually ever been out with- and indeed, these "relationships" had never lasted terribly long- had been the sort who were fun and flirty. Those who knew what they want- the determined kind. They could be rebellious but pull it off with class. And they had to be beautiful. A large pair of dark eyes and long buttery hair, with slim thighs and straight teeth. They were in control of themselves and their emotions, and they never mistook Draco's intentions for anything other than a few passionate fumbles behind the Quidditch sheds and -once- a rather passionate encounter in the Prefect's bathroom with a girl two years older than him. Oh, he'd been nervous, terribly nervous…but she'd seemed to know what she was doing, and she'd been fun and beautiful. Rainline, had been her name, she was a Slytherin like him, and she was definitely the longest fixation Draco had enjoyed. A Prefect, like him, she had flirted with him for weeks before the bathroom incident at meetings and when working together, eventually making her intentions clear when she pulled him into the restricted section of the library and kissed him. They'd made out in every possible secluded spot in the school, and some places that weren't so secluded, but never really behaved like a boyfriend and girlfriend did- holding hands, long conversations, that sort of thing.

"It's a pity you're so young," she'd laughed in their final, most passionate encounter in the bathroom as she buttoned up his school shirt. "You could really be someone I'd think seriously about, you know." Draco, too dazed by what they had just done to speak, had only the presence of mind to kiss her. But they'd never enjoyed their passionate fumbles around the school again.

He thought about her often but had no way of contacting her. In any case, he wasn't sure he wanted to. Despite his experience with girls he had never had what anyone would call a serious relationship, despite what Pansy Parkinson claimed.

"Ah, well…" he sighed, looking at his watch, His mysterious tutor was late, more than five minutes so. "Trustworthy?" he said, with a snort.

"Talking to yourself?" came a disdainful jeer to his right. Draco turned his gaze from the ceiling to the person who had spoken- who happened to be Hermione Granger. For a moment he was startled- not just by her presence, but by her…eyes. Her large dark eyes.

"And why not?" he drawled finally, "I might actually be able to get some intelligent conversation in this school."

Granger rolled her (large, dark, thickly lashed) eyes at him. "Very droll."

"You'd know," he retorted. "So, Granger," he said, trying as hard as possible to make it sound like an insult, "where's your pet giraffe?"

"If you're talking about Ron-"

"Oh, isn't that cute, you gave it a name like it's a real person!" Draco crooned. For a few moments, Hermione stared at him, (large, dark, thickly lashed) eyes ablaze, then threw her books down onto the floor, with a clatter that reverberated around corridor.

"If you must know, Malfoy," she said, furiously, spitting out his name as though it were poison, "I'm supposed to be tutoring someone in Transfiguration here but I'm five minutes late and the bastards have obviously already left; I had a huge fight with Ron at lunchtime and now he's refusing to talk to me; Harry got another death threat in the mail and he knows more than he's letting on which means once again he's shouldering all this worry on his own; I'm just about to start my period; and all I wanted to do tonight was play a game of bloody Quidditch with my friends, and now I can't because I'm supposed to be meeting someone here for a tute and instead I found you, and really, if you say one-more-sodding-word, I'm going to take out my wand and hex you all the way to Siberia, where you'll hopefully be eaten by a polar bear and then thrown back up into the Atlantic Ocean!"

Perspiration had broken out on her forehead, strands of hair had come loose from her plait, her face was flushed, her voice hoarse from screaming, and her large dark thickly lashed vibrant eyes were practically on fire. If she had been a fully trained witch, she would most certainly be shooting sparks from those eyes. "Wow," Draco said, without meaning to.

"What?!" she snapped in a hoarse screech. "One more word, Malfoy, I mean it."

Amazing, the way she could make his name sound as bad an insult as "son of a bitch", or "mudblood". "Well, I think I might have to tell you something."

"Is it about a terminal disease you've contracted? If not, I don't want to-"

"It's me."

"You're a terminal disease? Well, that's not really a surprise I'm afraid-"

"No, I mean the person you're supposed to be tutoring is me."

She froze. For a few furious seconds he just opened and shut her mouth, staring at him. "Is this your idea of a joke?"

"Not mine- Professor McGonagall's obviously," Draco said. He was feeling something like dread creep into his stomach lining. He'd thought the Professor looked awfully amused when she'd been writing that letter. It must have been to Hermione. Possibly the worst person she could have chosen. McGonagall knew he and Granger couldn't stand each other, and that granger and her Gryffindor friends would rip him apart for wanting to improve in Transfiguration. Hell, they'd rip him apart for breathing in and out.

Granger certainly looked as horrified as he felt. "You went to professor McGonagall- you organised this?"

"Not me," he said, noting the way Granger's right hand had dived into her pocket for her wand, "I did go and ask he for Transfiguration tutes- but if I thought for one moment it would be you…" he shook his head. "She obviously finds this very amusing…"

"Well, I don't," came the furious answer. "Do you realise how much trouble you've caused- no," she said suddenly, holding out her hands. She took a deep, steadying breath. "No. No. You're not going to bother me, Malfoy. Anyway, to go into how much trouble you cause would take more than a week, seeing as you've been causing trouble since you came out of the womb."

"Well, I'm not especially delighted about this either," Draco said, shifting his books from one arm to the other.

"I wouldn't have it any other way," she said, with a twisted smile. "If I'm going to have to suffer through this, so are you."

"You mean…" said Draco, taken by surprise for the second time in as many minutes, "you still…want to? Tutor me, I mean?"

"I might as well, I've already paid for it," she said bitterly. "Come on, then. After you." she added, shoving the library door open.

"No, ladies first-"

"Just get into the bloody library, Malfoy," she said through gritted teeth. Draco started to pass her but stopped, and turned. Suddenly, everything seemed neither here nor there. Where did Granger get off, abusing him in the corridor like that?

"You needn't make my name sound like an insult," he said, coldly.

She laughed, harshly. Draco was brought dizzyingly back to the scene on Platform Nine and Three Quarters. "Draco, where have you been?" she said, "your name is an insult."

*

The next day dawned beautiful. Leaves skidded gently across their path, flashing autumn colours as the sun struggled gently across the sky. The smell of rain was still in the air from the previous night's showers, and the grass underneath the golden trees shimmered gently in the breeze. It was enough to turn any young couple's thoughts to romance.

But Ron and Hermione walked awkwardly side by side in silence, hardly able to look at each other. Apart from the occasional sideways glance, Hermione kept her gaze fixed firmly ahead, and made no sound except for the occasional sigh.

Ron felt awful. He had met her in the common room that morning and suggested they go for a walk before breakfast while Harry was meeting with Dumbledore. She had agreed, but things were so tense between them Ron wished she hadn't. It was depressingly uncomfortable, especially since Ron knew it was his fault. After their fight yesterday they had pretty much ignored each other- well, she certainly hadn't appeared to want to talk to him, anyway. He couldn't blame her, either- it wasn't her fault that she wasn't able to play Quidditch with them, and he had no right to take out his frustration on her. Guilt had practically been gnawing away at his insides since their fight last night, and he could hardly bring himself to look at her, let alone apolgise. He had hoped the morning would serve him some sort of inner strength. Which was why he had invited her out on the walk. But that was hopeless as well.

Hopeless just about sums me up, Ron thought, furious with himself. He chanced another look at her. She was so beautiful, with her hair loose and free, and her eyes warm and loving despite the awful tense situation. It was a Saturday so school uniforms were not compulsory and she was clad in jeans and a warm red sweater. Her boots rustled softly in the grass next to his own. Ron wanted more than anything to put his arm around her, but it wouldn't be right. He couldn't behave like things were normal- whatever "normal" was for them- when they clearly weren't. Quite simply, Ron felt like an idiot. He had become so preoccupied with was wrong with the relationship, he had been blocking out all the good stuff.

Like the way her eyes glistened underneath her thick lashes when she looked up at him, the way her hand automatically raised to meet his arm as he put his hand on her shoulder, the better to turn her to face him. The way the wind trailed wisps of hair across her face, and her soft face was freshened by the rain in the air. Say it, he willed himself, tell her. She's got a right to know how you really feel about her. Sometimes Ron wasn't even sure he could put his feelings into words. Sometimes he couldn't quite wrap his head around the word "love": it seemed a bit little, a bit overused, to describe what he felt for Hermione.

"Okay," he said, taking a deep breath. "I'm sorry. About yesterday…you know?"

She looked at him as though she were waiting for something else. But Ron didn't know what else to say. His throat was stuck. Then she smiled in a way that wasn't quite forgiving and left Ron feeling unsatisfied. "That's okay," she said, softly, "I forgive you." There was an awkward pause.

"Good," said Ron, after a bit. He leant down to hug her, and it was a surprisingly warm and affectionate embrace, considering the awkwardness of their conversation. He held her as tight as possible, trying to gauge how she felt, what she was thinking, did she love him still? Could she ever love him as much as he loved her? "Hermione…" he sighed, into her ear, practically aching with unsaid words. She pulled away to look at his face.

"Yes, Ron?"

And, as usual, he became convulsed with fear. The words dried up in his mouth, his heart began beating like a jackhammer, and his palms started to sweat. He pulled them away so he could stick them in his pockets, feeling gross. Hermione's downcast eyes could hardly be missed though.

"Ron…" She was breathy and grave when she spoke, and Ron was compelled to look at her again. "This doesn't feel like nothing to me." She turned her velvety eyes up to his. "I was just wondering," she said, very quietly, '"if you felt like it was."

The breath practically froze in Ron's throat. "No!" he blurted out hoarsely. "No, never- how can you- I mean, why did you even think-"

"I'm sorry," she said immediately. "No, that was a dumb question…"

"Yeah, it was actually!" Ron cried, feeling colour leap to his face. Something like guilt was bubbling up in his stomach but he wouldn't figure out why until later. So to do something- anything- he leant down and kissed her, without taking his hands out of his pockets. Her hands briefly touched his chin, but the kiss was too short for her to do much else.

"Look," he said, when they broke apart and she looked up at him with (beautiful) confused eyes. "Hermione-" and then he said something which was very honest, but would haunt him later on. "Hermione. I think that there's always going to be…something between us. Whether we like it or not."

"You're right…you're right. I'm sorry. I'm being stupid, aren't I?"

"Sometimes, you are," Ron said, with a grin. "But don't worry, I won't tell anyone."

They laughed, and when they walked onwards the air felt a little easier to breathe. But both were holding onto the other's hand tightly as though they were afraid the other was about to walk away.