CHAPTER ELEVEN

"I've been living to see you- dying to see you but it shouldn't be like this. This was unexpected, what do we do now? Could we start again please?"
"I've been very hopeful so far, now for the first time I think we're going wrong. Hurry up and tell me this is just a dream- or could we start again please?"
Peter and Mary Madgalene, JESUS CHRIST SUPERSTAR

"Someone's in a good mood," Draco observed finally, having had to endure nearly an hour of her humming and grinning to herself while he worked out complex differential equations. It was another Friday night tutoring session, and he and Hermione were holed up in the library once again.

"Oh- is it you?" she said airily, impatiently tapping her fingernails on the table.

"Ha ha," he said wryly, unable to come up with a really good remark. "Come on then, what's put you on Cloud Nine?"

"Lovely weather we've been having," she said with a secretive smile. "Come on, finish those questions."

Draco suspected her happiness had less to do with the weather and more to do with new Irish wedding band on her left hand, and he told her so, right after he'd finished question seven.

"Do you like it?" she asked him. She gave a sigh that was ridiculously lovestruck- the sort of ridiculous sigh that Draco never would have expected her to emit. "Ron got it for me." She graciously held out her hand for him to inspect it.

"Very nice," he said, peering at it, "but what was the occasion, did you get married?"

"No," said Hermione, drawing her hand back. "It was my birthday yesterday."

"Ah, yes, so it was," Draco remembered. That ridiculous choir of off-key elves had been one of the reasons why he had skipped breakfast. "Well," he said, digging around in his pocket for the pouch he'd put in there earlier, "happy belated birthday, Miss Granger."

"What is it?" she asked- with suspicion, of all things- taking it from him and opening it. "Oh- Draco!" she said in disgust. She chucked the pouch back at him across the table, so that a few of the Sickles and Galleons tumbled out. "I told you before I don't want any money."

"Maybe you can give it to Weasley," Draco muttered, "I'm sure that ring set him back a fair bit." It was a cruel thing to say, and he wished he hadn't let it slip off his tongue. Everytime he said something to make her angry her big dark eyes would spit fire at him. Except lately it wasn't so much intriguing as it was just plain…upsetting.

She had shifted, instinctively, away from him- since they had called their unspoken truce things had been almost comfortable between them- usually she would think nothing of it to lean across and let her shoulder brush his. But now she looked at him with hate in her eyes- hate that was becoming familiar to him since it was spat out from every pair of eyes he met in the corridor. He sighed. Losing friends was hard. Losing enemies was harder. "Sorry," he said, with as much humbleness as he could muster. Pause.

"No problem," she said finally, in a lofty manner. "You got all of these right by the way." Then she looked not at his work, but at him, with a scrutinizing eye. "You're doing really well," she said, in a McGonagalleseque way- straight and honest- "Surprisingly well."

"Why surprising?"

"Just because," she said, shrugging. "I never thought you'd be all that good at Transfigs. Just didn't seem your sort of thing."

"Why?"

"I don't know," she sounded annoyed as she wrinkled her nose, "Well- to be frank- most Slytherins just can't do it."

"That was frank," Draco admitted, and he was pleased to see a tiny grin appear on her face, which she quickly concealed.

"Don't take it personally," she said, in a manner which clearly meant she did want him to take it personally. "It's just a way of life- well, most Gryffindors aren't that good at Potions."

"Except you."

"I find it easy," she said with a shrug.

"Do you find most things easy?" he asked her. She turned to look at him.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Whatever you want it to," he said, wondering if he was getting her goat or not. He didn't seem to be.

"Well..." she said, "I've got brains. That's all."

"So do I," said Draco, "and I find most things easy as well. Except Transfiguration. But as you've said, I'm doing well. Clearly I've got more brains than you think- or is intelligence only allocated to you saintly Gryffindors?"

She narrowed her eyes at him. "Look, I didn't mean it as an insult-"

"Well, I took it as an insult," Draco said. "And I think you should know that." Pause. He was running out of words. So finally he said what he'd been dying to say for a while. "You know Granger, I don't make assumptions about you, so I don't see why I shouldn't be treated with the same courtesy."

She opened her mouth to reply, then shut it again. Then opened it again. Nothing came out. Aha, thought Draco, I've won.

Part of him wished he hadn't- he somewhat enjoyed bantering with Hermione- and it was nice to know that she wasn't a pushover like a lot of other girls he knew. But he had gotten to her, whether he liked it or not.

"I'm sorry, Draco," she said finally, sounding surprised at herself. "You're right…I do tend to make assumptions about you."

"What an epiphany," he said, trying to sound jovial. But she just looked upset, and she fiddled morosely with the ring on her finger. "Hermione?"

"Yes?" A quiet whisper. He patted her awkwardly on the shoulder.

"I forgive you," he said.

"D'you want to continue or shall I just leave?" she asked, drawing her things together. "I mean, I think we've done enough for tonight."

But Draco wasn't ready to go back to the cold common room, with its chilly stares and whispered conversations; with its green burning torches and its painted serpents on the wall. And- he realised this with a sort of jolt- he wasn't quite ready to leave her company. He was beginning to enjoy these sessions in the library…whether he liked it or not. "Let's both leave," he said decidedly, grabbing his books.

Draco employed the efforts of a passing house elf- despite Hermione's protestations- to take their books from them, which the elf was only too happy to do. They went for a walk along the outside of the castle- along the rose bushes, where he had heard that conversation between Finnigan and Thomas.

Still waters run deep…he thought, looking out at the lake, which concealed the giant squid. She was looking at the ground, visibly upset, fiddling with the ring on her left hand. It was iridescent in the moonlight, and he pointed this out to her.

She lifted the ring to her face, a small trail of golden sparks following the movement. "Ron must have put a charm on it," she said, "Probably to make it fit. You know rings react to magic like that, don't you?"

"Of course," Draco said. "But you're wearing it the wrong way."

"I am?"

"Yes," and he took her hand. She very nearly jumped back in surprise, and gave him a bewildered, wide-eyed look. Draco ignored her reaction. "When you've been given a ring like this, and you're in love, you've got to wear it so that the heart is pointing inwards, to show that your heart is taken." He demonstrated, by pulling the ring off her (soft, delicate) finger, turning it around, then slipping it back on.

"Oh…" was the soft exclamation. Draco shoved his hands in his pockets as he tried to ignore the tingling feeling in his fingertips- and when he found he couldn't, he blamed the sensation on the magic ring. Hermione clenched and unclenched her fists, as though something unpleasant had just happened to her- which, Draco reminded himself, was probably how she felt. After all, one could hardly expect the saintly Hermione Granger to let herself be manhandled by the villanous Draco Malfoy. A sudden and very unexpected feeling of shame arrested his senses as her remembered all the times he had wiped her touch off himself, saying the taboo word.

Mudblood…filthy mudblood, don't want your hands sliming me up….

Another unexpected feeling rose up in him then- remorse. It was no wonder she couldn't bear to have him touch her- the boy who had reviled her for so many years. And now I know how it feels… Draco thought. A third feeling invaded his stomach, but this time it caused an interesting lump to rise in his throat. He was reviled and despised around the school- just as Hermione had been at one point- and now he knew how lonely it felt.

A sigh escaped her throat as they paused in their walking- it was the hilltop that overlooked the lake, and for a moment they stared at the round rising moon in silence.

"Shall we sit?' Draco said, after a bit. She did so with another sigh, her hair bouncing around her shoulders as she flopped gratefully to the grassy ground. He stole a glance at her, wondering what she was possibly thinking. It had struck him how strange it was, the two of them walking around the school grounds like friends…or lovers…. Certainly not enemies. The animosity between them seemed to have lapsed into a weary acquaintanceship- the Gryffindor trio had lost their fight, including the once limitlessly argumentative Hermione Granger. Was it possible- Draco wondered- for them to perhaps…start again?

I'm sorry, he thought, looking at her with her thick lashes attractively lined with silver moonlight. For all those times I made you feel lonely…I'm sorry, Hermione…

"I'm sorry."

Draco's head jerked up. Someone had apologised, and it wasn't him. It was her- looking at him with doe eyes and a silver lining on the one side of her face.

"You're sorry?"

She nodded- hesitantly at first, then with more confidence. "Y-yes…"

"Well- what on earth for!" Draco said, losing all dignity in less than six words. She gave him an awful smile- awful because it wrung his heart with two hands, because it was so sad, so apologetic, so- so- so…lovely….

It took her a very long while to say what she said next, and Draco had a feeling it cost her a lot more than her dignity. "Well," she began, very slowly, "for what I said on…on…Platform Nine and Three Quarters, you know…about your…your family-"

"My father," he said softly. She'd turned away from him. He had a feeling she was blushing.

"Yes- I feel so bad about it, you know, and…I'm sorry."

"Th-thank-you…" Draco started, but she stopped him.

"I'm also sorry for…" she took a deep breath, "for things I've done- since I've known you. Not that you didn't deserve some things-" Here, Draco couldn't help a laugh- "and, well, what you said in the library was right. I really do make assumptions about you, and…well, I know how that feels." She finished in a rush. "So, I just want you to know that I'm sorry."

The amazement Draco felt was not enough to keep him quiet. After a pause, he said the word as well- the word that humbles even the most dignified of persons. "Sorry. I am too."

And he explained his regret, his remorse over isolating her, and using the dreaded "M" word, which he had grown up using, and never been taught it was wrong. And when it finished they both sat rather flushed, the moon high on their faces now, illuminating their identical blushes.

"I suggest a truce," Draco said with a laugh, eventually, feeling rather light headed. A truce! If only father knew… But he didn't know, and he wouldn't know either. Hermione looked at him with only slight suspicion.

"Of course, but…" she held out her hand slowly. "As long as you promise not to ask me for information, and as long as you're not secretly a spy within the walls, and as long as you don't insult Ron or Harry, and raise your wand to them ever again."

Draco smiled thinly. So that was what she thought of him. He suspected as much. But he contented himself with the fact that if she actually did suspect him of espionage, then she certainly wouldn't hold out her hand to him. The idea that he was a spy was more than likely put into her head by Potter, whose distrust for everyone in the castle walls was becoming malicious. "You have my word," he said sincerely. And, though both of them grinned, their handshake seemed as binding and solemn as any written word contract. Shaking her right hand, Draco didn't touch her Irish wedding band- and with a sinking heart he realised he was tingling again.

"I believe it's starting to clear up," murmured Hermione, looking up at the starry sky.

"What's up, English?" Seamus said, sitting astride the chair next to Ron's armchair.

"Nothing much, Irish," said Ron, returning the favour with a laugh.

"Your face is awfully long for nothing much," came the clever retort. "So what's really up?"

"Nothing, like I said," Ron said, shrugging. That was the problem, actually- nothing. Nothing had been seen of Hermione since seven thirty that evening when she wandered off for one of her bloody tutoring sessions- it was now almost midnight. She had never stayed out so late since she started this weekly ritual. It bothered him exceptionally more than he would even admit to himself. Certainly not to Seamus, anyway, whose silence was about as reliable as the weather.

Seamus twiddled with his hair, wrapping and unwrapping a sandy coloured coil around his finger- characteristic agitation. "You can tell me, Ron," he wheedled, "I promise I won't say anything to anyone." The corkscrew of hair became more and more coiled as Seamus's finger wove in and out of his fringe. He was dying to know, Ron could tell. Harry looked up from his book and caught Ron's eye with a smile. He knew what was wrong- he always did- and Ron felt safe enough in Harry's company to moan, at least once every hour, "Where is she?" in a tone that hopefully did not betray his anxiety. But something was bothering him about Harry's reaction. Instead of launching into a list of suggestions where she might be, as Harry was prone to do, he had merely shrugged and said mildly, "I'm sure she'll turn up," every time Ron complained of her absence. It wasn't normal, and it wasn't reassuring at all. And since Harry, whom Ron usually turned to for solace, was being less than comforting, Ron airily said to Seamus, "Oh, Hermione's just been gone for a bit longer than usual."

Seamus's delight was obvious as his fingers tugged a tuft of coils straight and his merry brown eyes sparkled. "That's so adorable!" he said, in a disturbingly accurate imitation of Lavender, which caused both Harry and Ron to burst out laughing. When it had subsided, Seamus gave Ron a friendly punch to his upper arm. "'Tis nice that you miss her so," he insisted. "Why don't you go out searching for her?"

Ron, who had been feeling restless to do something, leapt up. "Brilliant," he said, "Harry, do you want to come?"

Harry had shut his book with a snap and unfolded his legs as though preparing to stand up. "I don't think you should," Harry said in a peculiar tone. Ron looked at his friend, hoping Harry's expression would betray some sort of ideas of what was going on avail. Harry stared earnestly up at him with troubled eyes.

"Why?' said Ron.

Harry shrugged. "She's probably just gotten holed up in the library with some assignment or other. She'll only get irritated if you two go storming in there looking for her."

"No she won't," said Seamus, stubbornly. "Anyway," he added, with a petulant gleam at Ron, "I hate to think of her sitting all by herself with only some random Slytherin boy for company. That place is creepy, and Madame Pince can't be everywhere at once, though she tries."

Harry rolled his eyes in a not entirely convincing way. "As if Madame Pince would allow any trouble in her library. That vulture'll be onto the Slytherin quick smart if he tries anything."

"We don't even know who this guy is," Seamus argued, "I know Hermione's not supposed to tell us, but I think it would be safer if we knew who it was."

"It'd be safer for you," observed Harry critically, "seeing as you're about to die from curiosity. Don't be so nosy, Seamus, and let her be." He directed the last part of that sentence to Ron, who stood between the two undecidedly. Seamus's remarks had aroused the more worrying aspects of Hermione's burden- worries which he had been entertaining since the moment she started disappearing every Friday night. His heart turned at the corners with jealousy as he thought of Hermione spending hours at a time with some random boy- not just any boy, a Slytherin. A mind enflamed with worry, and several horrible scenarios, persuaded him to stride toward the portrait hole, with a mission in mind.

"I'm going to the library anyway," he threw over his shoulder, marching determinedly. There was a clump as Harry overturned the footstool he had been resting his feet in, in a hurry to get to his feet. "Ron, don't!"

Ron turned back for one moment to look at Harry. Something in the tone of his warning alarmed him- Harry really doesn't want me to go and find her, Ron realised, but why…? What could possibly…? And before he had time to question Harry, the portrait door squeaked slowly open, and in climbed Hermione. She looked fine, and so complacent about wandering in at midnight that a rush of rage went to Ron's head. "Where have you been?" he snapped. She turned around to stare at him in surprise.

"What are you still doing awake?" she said, bending down to pick up a quill she had dropped.

It never even crossed Ron's mind at that moment to tell her that he was waiting for her. Looking back, though, it would have been a much more sensible thing to say. "What the hell have you been doing?" he shot back at her, ignoring her question. "You've been gone since seven thirty."

Hermione was taken aback, but only momentarily. "I was tutoring. You know that's what I do on Friday nights." Her tone was frosty, but Ron didn't heed the warning sign- in fact, it only enraged him more.

"For four and a half hours?" he demanded. "You must think I'm stupid!"

Hermione had walked past him to the table where they usually set up their homework. She slammed her books down angrily and whirled back around to look at him. "I was, as a matter of fact," she snapped back, " and even if I wasn't, what right have you to question what I do?"

Ron felt his mind grow fuzzy with bad temper. Some reasonable part of him was trying to coax him to sit down, apologise, and let the anger cool. But he wouldn't. He couldn't.

"So you're admitting that you weren't tutoring all this time?" he cried.

"No! I was tutoring!" she shot back, angrily. "How dare you just assume that I would lie to you? What on earth is wrong with you anyway?" Harry had begun to cough, and Seamus took the opportunity to try and finish it.

"Simmer down, chaps," he chirped, running forward to squeeze Hermione's shoulder. "Listen, love, Ron was only concerned that you were gone for so long. You know it's not safe to go wandering around by yourself, not even in the school, so don't let's argue, and get a good night's sleep, yeah?"

Hermione's anger seemed to appease, and Ron felt a wave of hopelessness overtake him as she looked at him with intense brown eyes. "He's a funny way of showing it," Hermione said finally. Ron felt his lip curl as his mind clouded over with all of those thoughts he had been trying to suppress, She's lying, there's something she's hiding from me, where was she really, why is she doing this, what did I do to her, why does this bother me, perhaps she's cheating on me, perhaps we're breaking up, something's wrong, I can tell…

For try as he might Ron could not shake the feeling that there was something fishy about this tutoring business. "Tutorer's code"? Hah! Hermione couldn't keep a secret from them for long; even the Time Turner business in their third year had come out after a while- it probably would have been sooner, had they not had their fight. No, the only reason Hermione would keep her student's identity a secret was because she wanted to. And that made Ron ache- for he had meant it with all his heart that he wanted to be her friend, whatever happened, and their relationship seemed to be getting in the way of that. If we weren't going out, Ron thought morbidly, she'd tell me who it is…

"Who is he?" he said suddenly.

'What?"

"Your student. Tell me who it is."

"You know I can't!" came the defensive reply. Ron felt fresh waves rage bubbling up again. She stood there, cocky, confident, his ring flashing on her hand in the torchlight, deliberately keeping something from him, something that was driving a great big wedge between them both, whether Ron liked it or not.

"So much for being friends," he said, unable to keep the bitter words from slipping off his tongue. The four of them fell silent. Harry's sharp intake of breath was audible behind Ron, and Seamus was back to twiddling with his fringe, wrapping coil after coil of sandy hair around his fingertips until they were purple. Hermione took three deep breaths- something she did to control her temper, Ron knew- and then let him have it.

"Would. You. Just. Bloody. Well. Make up your mind!" she said, up to screaming volume by the time she had reached the end of her sentence.

"Hermione," Harry said warningly, always the mediator. But she wasn't listening. She had focused her rage on Ron in a way that he hadn't seen since before they were together.

"For Christs's sake, Ron, how can you expect me to live when you're constantly blowing hot and cold at me? I don't know what to think anymore! One moment you're attached to my hip, the next thing I know you looking at me as though you wish I'd disappear! I don't know what I've done- if anything!- but you can't keep treating me like this. So just make up your sodding mind and be done with it, because I don't have to put up with this anymore!" And with that, she whirled up the staircase to the girls' dorms without even a backward glance.

Ron probably would have gotten to sleep even after that had he not turned around to see Harry's eyes full of pity.