CHAPTER TWELVE

"Well, if you're like most people, you'll hide behind a flimsy belief that everything will sort itself out. Then you'll spend the rest of your life looking over your shoulder, waiting for everything to go wrong again, all the while becoming crusty and cynical…until you get so depressed that you lie down and beg the earth to swallow you up. Or even worse, become addicted to Billy Joel songs."

Bradley Trevor Grieve, THE BLUE DAY BOOK

They patched things up with a few letters and a few heartfelt hugs and a few discussions from either side with Harry. But neither of them really addressed what had been brought up in the fight, though they both knew it should have been, and neither of them felt exactly comfortable, like they were treading on glass in an effort not to start another row. So they both knew that the patch was only temporary, rather like an old rubber patch on a bicycle tyre that slowly lets out air not matter how much adhesive is on the other side. An unfixable puncture had been poked through their relationship, which they grew to accept with weary admittance, rather like the bicycle owner gradually becoming used to the constant hissss of air slowly being released through the hole.

The love that they had for each other was still aching away underneath all their problems was there- but neither of them really wanted to put in the effort to dig through all of it and find that ember. Slowly, but surely, their relationship was falling apart. And the both of them knew it. Stepping on glass became a bore, and before long the two of them were pecking at each other like bad tempered gulls. They made up, but it wouldn't hold, and thus they prolonged the agony by pretending nothing was wrong, and avoiding being alone together as much as possible. The cold was settling in fast as the middle of October sped up on them. And then one day, this fragile façade collapsed altogether.

On this particular gusty October day- a Friday- Hermione found herself looking forward to seeing Draco that night. A few weeks had passed since their truce, and she found life a lot more comfortable for it, for the pity she held for Draco now came without a cost, and she found talking to him surprisingly easy. She had even- after some persuasion- recounted the story to Draco of how she and Ron first kissed in the kitchen of the Burrow, which he listened to with quiet fascination, and the shy grin of his which slipped onto his face more often every time she saw him. Gone were the days of the permanent smirk- nowadays Draco was more likely to be found frowning to himself, or with a perfect expression of loneliness in his blue eyes. He'd lost friends, power, money, and face at Hogwarts- he'd even lost enemies. "I don't even need to bother with Malfoy anymore, he's done everything he can to himself," Ron laughed unkindly, once, causing Hermione to not speak to him for the rest of the day- though of course she didn't give a reason why.

On this particular Friday, Hermione convinced herself that there was nothing shameful in looking forward to seeing Draco. He'd be a nice change from present company, she thought, glancing over at Ron, who sat stonily picking at his breakfast and not saying a word. "I'm going for a walk," she decided. Ron grunted, and Seamus and Dean both looked up quickly.

"You'd better not," Lavender breathed, clutching Hermione's wrist. "At least, not alone." She looked pointedly at Ron, who was focusing on mashing as much of his cereal up with a spoon as possible.

"Oh, please, nothing's going to happen to me in broad daylight."

"That first year was attacked in broad daylight," reminded Seamus.

"I'm not a first year!" said Hermione, ruffled.

"We know," said Dean, gently, "but you're not Albus Dumbledore yet either."

Hermione had to admit she thought they had a point. After the first attack on Janice Smart, her mysterious attackers had gotten bolder and more brutal. They came to be known as the Muggle-Bashers- already rumours were circulating that they were Death Eaters that a You-Know-Who supporter had smuggled into the school- and even Hermione had to admit she was just a tiny bit afraid of them, considering what they had done to the unlucky Hogwarts students that had crossed their paths.

A few weeks following the first attack, Angelina Johnsons's little sister, Abigail- a Gryffindor and Muggle born, just as her sister was- had been found behind the Quidditch pitch sheds by Oliver Wood. Apparently she had gotten up early to go flying- but upon reaching the pitch found she wasn't alone. She didn't even have enough time to pull out her wand. "It was still quite dark," she had told Hermione, "and suddenly I felt someone grab me from behind, and then my head really started hurting, and then I passed out."

The third incident was by far the most revolting- a first year beaten and then hexed unconscious in broad daylight on the edge of the lake. The Muggle born boy had managed to catch a glimpse of three tall assailants before falling unconscious. Dumbledore had had to address the school very seriously about it.

"There has always been division, and sometimes violence, inside the Hogwarts walls," he had said gravely, with none of his sparkle or benevolence- in fact the whole speech was said with a shockingly bitter tone to it, a weary hatred of the war and of Voldemort's power- "But nothing has ever sickened me as much as these attacks do. Outside the war is raging and the young witches and wizards who claim to be the future of our nation cannot even bring themselves to be united. Now is the time more than ever to forgive each other, to look past heritage and parents and background and see the witch or wizard behind that. I cannot lie to you all- nowhere is safe, not even Hogwarts. But I had been hoping the only danger would come from outside the walls, not within…" He had sighed, oh so painfully. "The Dark Lord's poison infects even the most beautiful minds, and blinds the truth…" had been the final words, before he abruptly stopped talking and left the Great Hall while Professor McGonagall read out rules and conducts pending the attacks. "No one is to go anywhere by themselves- try to go in groups of more than three people. The culprits will be caught and dealt with appropriately, I assure you…"

"I'll go," Harry said, standing up, and snapping Hermione back to the present. "Come on, you," he said with affection, taking her arm. Ron didn't even look up as they headed to the Entrance Hall, and the grounds beyond. Harry and Hermione settled into a comfortable silence, as only best friends can do, and walked arm in arm along the rose bushes. (Hermione couldn't help remembering her truce with Draco and felt an involuntarily shiver run up her back. But not a bad shiver- a good one that left her tingling.)

Harry sighed eventually, and Hermione looked at him and waited, knowing that he had something to say. Harry's hair, still wet from his morning shower, had fashioned itself into a mop of black curls that flopped into his eyelashes. He ran a hand up his forehead, pushing it out of the way, in a manner that told Hermione he was perturbed about something.

"What is it?" she said presently. Harry bit his lip as he looked down at her.

"If you don't tell him," he said, "I will."

It only took a few moments for Hermione to realise who and what Harry was referring to. "Ah," she said. "Will you really?"

"Yes," he answered, without hesitation. "He deserves to know. Especially in light of what's been happening and…" another sigh. "He just deserves to know."

Harry was unfortunately telling Hermione what she least wanted to hear. "I can't," she said, knowing with a feeling of dread that if Ron found out she'd been lying to him, all this time, that would be the end of it. The end- something which was inevitable but could be put off for any length of time, for both of them were stubborn and neither of them brave when it came to dealing with the other. Harry stopped her and fixed her with a look.

"You've got to. I can't keep lying to him anymore, Hermione, even being affiliated with it makes me feel guilty. I hate to be selfish, but it'll be better in the long run."

"No it won't," said Hermione, with utter conviction. She was right, and she fancied Harry knew it, for he looked uneasy as he insisted, yet again.

"It will- I promise," he faltered. "Come on, Herm- you know it's not right. It's gotten easier to keep from him, hasn't it?" Hermione sickened herself when she nodded. It had been easier to lie to Ron as the days went by. She hated the fact. "You've never been afraid of hard work as long as I've known you," Harry said, with a sad smile. "I know you can do this."

Hermione shook her head, bowing at the neck so her wouldn't see her eyes begin to fill. Oh my God, I'm really going to lose him, she thought, When I tell him that'll be it…

But not even her curtain of hair could hide her tears. Harry sighed and did what he always did- he patted her shoulder and told her everything was going to be okay. But not even he believed it this time. "Do you hate me because I'm not telling him?" she asked in a tiny voice that she didn't recognise.

Another sigh. "Of course not, don't be stupid." He paused. "I hate the situation, and I hate the fact that you don't think you can tell him, and I hate myself for being part of it, and I hate the fact that Ron's in the dark about all of this. He's my best friend along with you, and it's not right to keep this from him."

"Oh, God, I'm so sorry I brought you into this," said Hermione forlornly. Harry shook his mop.

"No, it's my fault for blundering into the situation… To tell you the truth," he said sheepishly, "when I came into the library that night it wasn't by coincidence. I, um, was really worried about you. The library is quiet on Friday nights, and you know so much and you're so vulnerable, and I didn't like to think of you sitting in some dark corner with a Slytherin who we didn't know, and who could try anything…" He paused. "And then I found out it was Malfoy." He looked down at her thoughtfully. Hermione spoke up, feeling wretched.

"Do you really think he'll try something?" she asked. "Honestly?" She could still imagine Malfoy suddenly turning on her, forcing a truth serum down her throat and getting her to talk- but it was an unrealistic picture, like imagining Professor Snape bursting into a rendition of "Oklahoma, OK!" Now that she had gotten to know the boy, his cruel streak seemed nothing more than a figment of her imagination.

"I don't." Harry said finally. "I don't know what it is about him, but…I just…don't think he cares enough to do anything."

"Neither do I."

Harry looked at her shrewdly, pushing a few hobbity curls out of his eyes. "You've gotten to like him, haven't you?"

"Wh-what?" Hermione cried. "Like him- I most certainly do not-"

"Not that way," said Harry impatiently. "You don't hate him anymore, do you?"

No, I don't. "Uh…" Hermione said uncertainly.

"I wouldn't feel so bad about this if it wasn't Malfoy," said Harry. "Ron's always hated him so much, and the longer you keep it from him, the more dishonest it's going to look. I know he's not going to be happy about it-"

"That's putting it mildly," Hermione broke in sourly. "He's in a permanent bad mood lately, it's not as though I've done anything to him."

"That he knows about?" finished Harry. "Well, to be honest, I think part of why he's in such a bad mood is because he knows there's a reason you're keeping this from him other than your code thingy."

"I know," Hermione admitted, "but Harry…I can't tell him, I just can't…"

A frown flickered across Harry's face. He was finally getting angry. "It'll be hard," he predicted, with an air of finality, "and Ron will be angry- but if you don't have enough faith in yourselves that you'll be able to stand it, maybe you just shouldn't bother."

Harry's words hit home, and though he apologised for it and spent the rest of the day trying to make up for his harshness, Hermione couldn't shake the feeling of doom in her stomach that plagued her.

We can't be very in love, she decided, during Transfiguration, as she watched Ron impatiently push his fringe out of his eyes as he wrestled with equations, for something as little as me tutoring Malfoy to be the breaking point.

Hermione wondered when things had got so complicated.

And when she got up from her chair at dinner and said, "Well, I'm off to the library," Ron also rose, to give her the usual goodbye-you're-going-for-a-little-while hug.

"Come back soon," he murmured into her hair. A sudden wave of affection arrested her as she breathed in his scent and felt his familiar embrace envelop her. So she hugged him back with all her heart, as they were given to do. But if she had known it would be their last embrace of that sort, she probably would have kissed him as well.

Draco knew something was wrong the moment she sat down next to him. He puckered mouth, her full eyes, and trembling hands were a dead giveaway.

"What's wrong?' he said before anything else.

"Nothing," she said, with a tremble in her voice, and without looking at him.

"Hermione…" said Draco, placing a hand on her shoulder. It was like breaking a dam. "Hermione!" he said again, with alarm, as her full eyes overflowed. She couldn't speak, but laid her curly head in her arms and let the tears flow. Draco had a feeling she'd wanted to do it for some time, she cried with such passion, such misery. His heart ached for her. For all her fire and spirit, Hermione had a sensitivity that was seldom betrayed- but there, none the less. She sobbed on, trying forlonly to speak but failing- and, when he could stand it no longer and put his arms around her for comfort, his green and grey school tie was quickly soaked with her tears.

At first, he though nothing of it- she was crying, and he felt compelled to comfort her. But then he realised the last time he'd been confronted with tears (in that uncomfortable scene with Pansy on the train) he'd felt absolutely nothing. Hermione's Granger's tears, however, tugged on his heartstrings enough to compel him to hold her close and stroke her mane of hair, which was much softer than he'd always imagined it to be. Her little hands clutched at his robes long after her convulsive sobs had subsided, and Draco mumbled words of comfort into her curly head much longer than was necessary.

She drew away from him with doe-like uncertainty in her lovely eyes. "Oh…my God, I'm- oh, I'm so sorry…oh Draco-"

"Not at all," he said gently, quietly registering the fact that she'd used his first name. (When had she started doing that? How had he not noticed?). Her cheeks were flushed, and still wet with tears, and she used the sleeve of her robes to dry her face. Draco offered her his blue handkerchief, which she accepted after only a moment's hesitation.

"I'm sorry," she said again, humbly. "It's been a long day, and I've been really tired lately, everything is so worrying with the attacks around school and all-"

"Sometimes you just need to have a good cry," Draco agreed softly. She met his eyes, and Draco wondered if she he knew. He knew those tears- they were tears of loneliness, of heartbreak. He wanted to ask- surprisingly desperately- if Weasley had something to do with her outburst, but he wouldn't. If only for her sake.

"I feel stupid," she ventured, after a silence.

"Hermione, don't." And he put his hand on top of hers, resting on her lap with the blue handkerchief. It struck him that he'd wanted to do it, for a very long time. For a moment, she just looked at him, letting her hand rest under his, warm and soft, and there. Something funny was happening to him, because he wanted to put his arms around her again- even though she wasn't crying. Am I ill? he wondered, as his heart sped up. "Do you want to do this?"

She was still looking at him, her mouth slightly open, and deep within those chocolate coloured eyes something was curling awake, arching its back, and blinking its eyes open. A realisation. There was a moment between them then- their eyes locked, as she began to struggle with a realisation that Draco recognised too- a stirring creature inside him that made his heart ache. The world was all around them but he wouldn't have noticed it, not even if the library burnt down, not even if the school exploded- not even if Weasley walked in on them right then and there. "I can't." Hermione said jerking her hand away, breaking the spell. She sighed. "I mean…I will if you think you really need it."

In his heart if hearts Draco wanted her to stay, but that wouldn't be fair to her. Her mind was probably with Weasley in the Gryffindor common room- which he had never seen the interior of but wouldn't admit wanting to. "Tell you what," he said, standing up, "we'll skip the lessons today. You're tired, you should go to bed and have a good rest."

"Oh- are you sure?" she said.

"It wouldn't be fair to keep you here, I think." She nodded, gratefully, and got to her feet without much persuasion, packing up her things as she went. "Are you all right?"

"Oh, yes, fine," she said, avoiding his eyes, piling her things together willy nilly.

"You want to get away quickly," Draco observed, before he could stop himself. She paused and looked at him. There passed between them a long moment, with their eyes locked. Draco felt he might have given too much away with that look though, for she sighed impatiently and finally began to speak softly.

"I feel bad, Draco…I-I'm not supposed to talk to you, let alone spend hours alone with you. Ron doesn't…Ron doesn't know, and when he finds out…" She shook her head, as if the prospect was too awful. Draco stared.

"You're not doing anything wrong. It's not like you're…cheating on him."

"I know!" she exclaimed, in rather a high pitched voice, "but I am- doing something wrong, I mean! I lied to him, and he doesn't think it's anyone he knows, and when he finds out it's you…someone he…he…" She looked guilty.

"Hates?" Draco suggested bitterly.

"Yes," came the heavy reply.

"You think I don't know?" he laughed. "A lot of people hate me."

"Yes," she whispered. "A lot of people do." She hesitated, as though she wanted to say something else, but then turned on her heel and walked away, quickly.

Draco stood confused. What just happened…? "Hermione- wait!" he jogged after her, earning a frown from Madame Pince.

"What?" she said, turning bewildered before she went out the heavy library door.

"I know you don't hate me."

"What?!"

"I know you don't hate me," he repeated, more breathless than was necessary. She stopped, opened her mouth to say something- then smile.

"I…can't." she said finally.

They grinned at each other, and Draco let her go with a squeeze to her shoulder. It occurred to him as he leant against the oak door that something felt right about their friendship- something about her soft hand in his own made him feel contented. He felt much happier than he had in a long, long while.

Of course, that was until he heard the scream outside that made his blood curdle.

"Hermione!" he cried, bursting outside of the library door.