She was sitting on the front steps with her head resting against her knees, face turned to the side, breathing in, as deeply as was possible in her admittedly constricted position, the chill, autumn-scented, end-of-October air, when Harry and Ron joined her.
She felt vaguely ashamed, as they settled themselves on either side of her, that she hadn't made it farther from the school, but the moment she had thrown open the front doors and the blast of cool, late-afternoon air had rushed over her, the urge to flee had left her and she had simply collapsed onto the steps, waiting for her composure to return.
She had felt like she was going to be waiting all night.
But then, not two minutes later, the doors had opened again, and now here they were, her oldest and closest friends. She watched Ron as he sank down beside her, merely because he happened to be on the side of her to which her head was turned. He folded his body- overlong, it appeared of late; a jumble of arms and legs he wasn't quite at home in as of yet- slightly awkwardly into a sitting position, and flashed her his tentative 'I know you're on edge right now but just remember I'm your best mate and please don't bite my head off' grin.
"Hey," she said, and realized there was a smile tugging at her reluctant lips even as she felt Harry's arm sling itself about her from the other side. She turned her head toward her other best friend as Ron's arm encircled her also, both of them leaning into her now, lending her their warmth- their strength.
She gave Harry the same cracked little smile she'd given Ron, taking in his ink-black hair, his ever-troubled eyes- the former as untidy, and the latter as intense, as she'd ever seen them. There was a moment of silence that seemed to stretch and stretch. Then-
"It's all right, you know, Hermione," Harry said quietly.
"What's all right?" she asked, rather more sharply than was usual for her, caught off guard as she was.
"This thing with Malfoy," Ron said matter-of-factly from her other side.
"What thing with Malfoy?" she demanded, not liking the way her voice sounded; defensive and high-pitched, edging dangerously close to hysteria. "There is no thing with Malfoy!"
And that was when Ron, ever tactful, blurted out, "he fancies you too, you know."
"W-what?" Hermione spluttered, now feeling more completely wrong-footed than she'd ever felt before in her life. First of all, she knew no such thing- Malfoy, fancy her? Absurd. Second of all, and more disturbing still, was the addition to Ron's sentence of that little word, "too"- a tiny little word, but oh, such very large implications!
First and foremost of which, of course, was the fact that the two people who knew her best in all the world were apparently under the impression that she was harboring some sort of- of- thing for Draco Malfoy, self-appointed resident arrogant prat- and- here was the clincher- they didn't seem to mind a bit!
What next?
She felt herself droop, the surprised indignation- false, anyway, all of it false- whooshing out of her, leaving her feeling smaller, deflated. Harry and Ron truly knew her better than she knew herself. They had seen through defenses she had erected without even being aware of doing so; defenses she had begun to buy into herself, because the alternative was just too scary.
Hermione's world was sane, logical, ordered, predictable... and she liked it that way. But a world in which she could find herself falling for a boy she had flat-out hated for the first five-and-a-half of her years at Hogwarts, and had been, at best, ambivalent toward in the time since he had crossed to the Light- that was a world in which anything could happen. It took her logical worldview and turned it right on its ear.
Which was scarier than hell.
And so she still attempted to protest... but the fight had gone out of her. "I don't know what you guys are talking about," she said, wearily.
She saw Ron and Harry exchange glances over her head.
"He almost came after you just now," Harry said. As her eyes widened, he continued, "the second he heard the doors bang, he spun around, scanned the entire hall, and was already heading for the entrance- fast- when he saw us going the same way. It was only then that he turned away again... and he was muttering something-"
"He was saying, 'I bloody well told her about bloody well going outdoors, and then she goes and picks this of all bloody days,'" Ron chimed in, then added, with his penchant for understatement, "he seemed a bit upset."
"He seemed-" Hermione echoed, then shook her head. "But why?"
"Well, I don't know exactly what would bother him so much about you getting a breath of fresh air," Harry said, looking faintly puzzled as he spoke, "but whatever his concerns actually are, they spring from- and I thought we covered this already- they spring from the fact that he clearly f-"
"No, he doesn't!" she cried almost desperately, cutting him off. "He can't! It makes no sense! I mean..." her voice dropped to a whisper. "Why would he?"
Ron actually looked personally affronted at this. "Why would he?" he echoed incredulously. "Hermione, why wouldn't he? Why wouldn't anyone, for that matter? You're..." he trailed off. Ron had never been good at phrasing compliments.
"Brilliant," Harry filled in for him.
"And... kind," Ron said, faltering just a little bit.
"And brave," Harry added.
"And stubborn," Ron said, "but, erm, in a good way. I think that's called... perseverance?"
"And generous," said Harry, raising an eyebrow at Ron; an amused look that as much as said, stubborn in a good way? That the best you can do, Weasley?
"And-" Ron paused for a second, blushed furiously, then said in a rush, "absolutely gorgeous, Hermione. He'd have to be blind not to see that. But um- don't tell Millie I said so, okay?"
Hermione looked back and forth between them, dumbfounded. She knew, of course, the deep and abiding friendship and love they both had for her, but to hear it put into words this way- tears sprang to her eyes and she shot abruptly to her feet. When Ron and Harry followed suit, looking bewildered, and increasingly worried that they had done something wrong, she threw her arms around them both, pulling them into a fierce group embrace.
They stood thus for a long, long moment, Harry and Ron's arms coming up to wrap around her, until finally Hermione, who had initiated the three-way hug, terminated it, stepping back and dabbing at her eyes.
She took a deep, steadying breath then- feeling ready, at last, to face this "thing with Malfoy" head on. With the support of her two best friends, there was no challenge too great for her, no feat too daunting. Not even admitting that yes, perhaps- just perhaps- there was a spark of interest there... and that it seemed to be mutual. It was still a scary concept for her... but exciting, too.
There was just one more thing to clarify, though, with Ron and Harry.
"You really wouldn't mind?" she asked, looking back and forth between them. "Because I know how you both hated him... what am I saying, I hated him too, but... but I want to know I have your blessings, because I'd never do anything to jeopardize..." she spread her hands, the gesture encompassing the three of them standing there on the steps, so close she could still smell them, even though the physical contact had been broken- Ron smelled like the cologne Millicent had given him on the first day of term- he'd been wearing nearly offensive amounts of it ever since. And Harry- Harry smelled like Quidditch.
"No," Harry said. "I wouldn't mind. People can change. I believe that; I have to. Life would be too bleak otherwise. Malfoy is different now. He proved that last year. And though I may not consider him quite good enough for you, I think the same could be said of just about any man. I'm always gonna be protective, so it's a moot point. Malfoy, at least, will accept that, I think. He and I may never be the best of friends, but we understand each other now."
Hermione thought back to the day Draco had sprained his ankle. He had reminded her of Harry when he'd flown that day, fast and furious, bent flat over his broom- and then again later in his reaction to pain- it's true, she thought; they are more alike than different. So many years wasted on hatred, when they could have been great friends.
Knowing where Harry stood, she next turned her attention to Ron.
"I wouldn't mind," Ron said, looking suddenly exquisitely uncomfortable. "Though I have to warn you that... that being involved with a Slytherin isn't always easy, Hermione... Malfoy feels something for you, and it's strong, and it's real. I know the look of a man in love because-" he paused and took a deep breath, blushing positively crimson- "because I am one."
Hermione just stared at him for several heartbeats, open-mouthed. Then, before she could stop herself, she was laughing- it was bubbling up out of her, sudden and genuine and uncontrollable. "Why, Ronald Weasley," she exclaimed between chuckles, her eyes now dancing with mirth and mischief, "that's positively the most adorable thing you've ever said. I'm going to tell Millicent right now!" And as his expression changed to one of shocked outrage- but only feigned outrage; beneath the thin veneer she could tell that he was about to dissolve into laughter himself- she made a dash back toward the front door.
"Don't you dare!" Ron shouted, right behind her. "Don't you even think about it, Hermione!"
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She held her head high as she reentered the Great Hall, flanked by "her boys", and met every stare that came her way head-on. There was one gaze, though- one gray-silver gaze she would no longer deny that she was searching for- that she did not catch. Draco Malfoy was nowhere to be seen in the Great Hall, and though Hermione remained for another hour or so, finalizing preparations under the enchanted ceiling, which showed Draco's ominously modified sky- (every four to five minutes all work had to come to a screeching halt for thirty seconds or so as the room was plunged into inky darkness)- he did not return.
The next time she laid eyes on him, the Haunted House was well underway.
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"Right," Hermione said, pasting a bright smile on her ghost-pale face (she'd gone ahead with the ghost costume more or less just as she'd described it Draco weeks earlier- though sans chains) and looking around at the dozen or so over-excited first-years who were clustered tightly around her, waiting their turn to be guided through the haunted house. "You've all paid the admission? Very good. We'll be inside for about ten minutes- if you could all take hold of this ribbon-" she unfurled a long, bright orange satin ribbon and the enthusiastic youngsters each seized a length of it, rearranging themselves perforce from a motley clump into a single file line- which was, of course, precisely the result Hermione had intended. As long as the jittery first-years managed to hold on, they would be kept together in an orderly fashion on their haunted tour.
The seventh-years had decided- largely at Hermione's insistence- that no students under the age of thirteen should be allowed into the haunted house unescorted. Therefore, it was she who had been assigned the role of tour guide for Hogwarts' youngest students- (the fact that she was easy to see in the dark, all decked out in white as she was, being an additional advantage)- while all those third-year and above were allowed to navigate through the seventh-years' macabre masterpiece on their own- though in groups no smaller than four.
When Hermione's current tour group had finished arranging themselves to her satisfaction, and had quieted down enough, each with a firm grip on the ribbon, to listen attentively to her last-minute instructions, she said, smiling at the excited trepidation on their small faces, "as you already know, there is only one way into and out of the Great Hall; these doors here before you. That means that we will basically walk a large circle through the room, beginning and ending with these doors. There will be a well-lit pathway that will take us past several- ah- exhibits. At intervals along the path will be stationed seventh-year students wearing bright orange vests. If at any time there comes a point where you would no longer wish to continue through the haunted house, please wait until you see one of these individuals, then- and only then- let go the ribbon and approach him or her. Through the use of specialized portkeys which Headmistress McGonagall has authorized for tonight only, you will be quickly and safely transported straight back into the entrance hall. However-" she held up a finger and grinned- "only those who finish the tour receive complimentary chocolate. Now... are we clear? All right. Well, we've worked hard on this, so... brace yourselves!"
The first-years tittered wildly, clutching onto the ribbon and in some cases each other, as the doors to the Great Hall creaked open slowly, menacingly, as they had been enchanted to do tonight, and Hermione led them into the gloom beyond.
The noise of the crowded entrance hall, with its admission booth, jostling line of students waiting their turns to enter, and butterbeer stand that was doing quite a brisk little business, faded to nothing as soon as the doors boomed shut behind them; the sound magically magnified several times over.
The group of youngsters reacted with shrieks and squeals as Hermione led them down a maze-like passageway created of huge black sheets, hanging floor-to-ceiling, and opening every so often to reveal one carefully staged exhibit of horror after another; here were Lavender, Parvati, and Susan Bones advancing on them in flowing black gowns, ruby-painted lips pulled back to reveal long, pointed fangs tipped with red- a little further on, Blaise Zabini and Ernie MacMillan were "blood splattered" mad scientists, gibbering over Padma Patil, who lay chained to a steel table (borrowed from the kitchen), covered by equally gore-stained sheets and screaming bloody murder (Hermione thought it a small miracle the girl's voice hadn't given out yet).
On her first trip through, these scenes had given Hermione quite a start herself, the fact that she had recognized most of her classmates notwithstanding- but they no longer had any real effect on her. The Haunted House had opened for business promptly at seven o'clock, and it was now nearly eight-thirty. She had been through it half a dozen times already.
This trip through, however, was destined to be different. It was right after she'd led her first-year tour group past the pack of werewolves- Dean, Seamus and Justin, howling their hearts out- that she was ambushed.
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It happened in a flash.
She was leading the group around the final corner before the pathway straight back toward the doors out to the entrance hall, and the butterbeer stand beyond. This was Hermione's favorite part of the Haunted House because this was where Harry and Ron were, along with Millicent Bulstrode, of course, she and Ron being, lately, more or less inseparable. First there would be a pair of eerie skeletons to pass- she knew one of them was Neville, because she'd seen him in his costume in the common room half-an-hour before the Haunted House had opened, but the other one she'd been unable to identify, as their faces were fully covered. Then at last they'd be passing the Haunted House's 'piece de resistance'; the giant rubber spider Ernie had been lugging around earlier, which had been enchanted into life by Harry and Millicent, who controlled it from the shadows, wearing black bodysuits- (they had come up with the idea purely as a means of tormenting Ron, of course.) It always elicited by far the loudest and most horrified screams from those passing by. And then there would be Ron himself, sitting just inside the exit wearing an orange vest that clashed quite horribly with his freckles and hair, having vehemently refused to be a part of any 'spider-related shenanigans', as he'd put it, instead handing out small chunks of complimentary chocolate to all who passed, while scarfing down at least as much as he distributed from the self-replenishing bowl he held.
But on this trip through, which was, as it happened, to be her last trip through, Hermione encountered none of this- because, just as she rounded that final corner, a pair of strong arms snaked out from behind one of the black sheets and yanked her swiftly behind it.
In that first instant she was too shocked to scream, and in the next one, when she opened her mouth and sucked in a breath to do so, a hand clamped over the lower half of her face, preventing her. She was still holding onto the front end of the ribbon, and the first-years were all still standing there, right there on the other side of the sheet- so close, she thought hysterically, they're so close to me, and yet- she could hear them jostling and tittering and whispering; they were not alarmed in the least, she realized; they thought this was a standard part of the tour. The old disappearing guide trick, sure. And why not? It had been carried off so smoothly. And then she realized that it was still in the process of being carried off, and still smoothly too- in the next instant she felt a hand- and not either of the hands that were restraining her- sharply tug the ribbon from her grasp and an orange-vested body pushed past her- there were two people waiting for me back here, she realized.
What came as a greater shock than that realization was when she caught a brief glimpse of just who that orange-vested body belonged to. She stopped for a moment, just this side of the curtain, holding the lead ribbon she'd snatched away from Hermione, turned toward her where she stood immobile, terrified, with one of her assailant's arms clamping both of hers to her sides from behind, the other still covering her mouth, preventing her from making a sound. Hermione's eyes widened to huge proportions when she realized who it was that had just usurped her tour.
Pansy dropped her a quick grin- a flash of white in the gloom- and a cheeky wink, then leaned back in toward her and whispered conspiratorially, "you're a lucky girl, Granger, but just so you know... he's my best friend, and I'll kill you if you hurt him." Then she was gone around the edge of the curtain and Hermione could hear her on the other side of it, calmly explaining to the first-years that she would be leading them through the remainder of the tour and yes, for Merlin's sake, they would still get their chocolate at the end!
Mind reeling from this entire experience, but most of all from Pansy's words, Hermione felt the hand that had been clamped over her mouth fall away... but the urge to scream had left her, as she now had a pretty good idea of who must be holding her this way. And then both hands were on her shoulders, gentle now, turning her around to face...
The other skeleton, of course. But with his mask and hood now removed- revealing hair, tousled and staticky from hours spent under cover, that glimmered more like silver than ever in the dim light. He was wearing a black bodysuit similar to Harry's, but this one had bright white bones painted onto it, in eerily glowing phosphorescent paint. It was a wonderful costume really... especially up close like this, where it allowed for a good appreciation of the lithe physique beneath it. Draco Malfoy was by no means a big, strapping boy- he was only a dozen or so centimeters taller than Hermione herself- but was possessed of a hard, wiry sort of strength that lent itself well, again just like Harry's, to swiftness and dexterity on land and in flight alike.
These thoughts flashed through her mind in what seemed like a millisecond- and then were replaced by sheer red outrage. Attractive costume or not, how dare he treat her like this and frighten her so?!? Just who in the hell did he think he was?
This time her hand was flying toward his face before she even realized she'd moved at all- but there was no satisfying thwack of palm connecting with cheek, because he caught her by the wrist only just in time and, holding her hand hostage between them, grinned down at her- he was taller, if only by a little- and said calmly, "hey, Granger... nice costume."
This caught Hermione so off-guard that she actually looked down at herself for a moment, then back up at him, feeling the anger ebb out of her... somewhat, at least, if not completely. She was still fuming, though no longer seeing red. "Draco Malfoy," she hissed, "what in God's name makes you think you have the right to manhandle me like-"
Draco seemed not to hear her at all. He let go her wrist and then raised his own hand- the one which had been clamped over her mouth- into the dim light to examine the white smudges that now covered it. He stared at it meditatively for a moment, flexing his fingers, then reached out and ran his index finger lightly down her cheek, bringing it away a moment later to examine the newest white smudge on his fingertip. "Makeup," he said, in a musing sort of voice. "Not bad." Then he raised his eyes back to hers. "I was wrong about the white hair, though. It suits the costume perfectly, of course, but it doesn't suit you. Your own color is much nicer."
Hermione stared at him in astonishment, waiting for him to go on and ruin this compliment, just as he had ruined the one he'd given her after the seventh-years' meeting all those weeks ago, with a snide remark of some sort.
But he didn't. He just kept right on looking at her, steadily, saying nothing more, as she felt a flush mounting in her cheeks and wondered if it was visible right through the white makeup. He was clearly waiting for her to speak again, and she felt completely thrown off-balance by this whole encounter. It was enough to make her snappish all over again.
"If you think, Malfoy, that you can jerk me around like this and then just patch everything over with insincere compliments-"
He leaned in toward her then, so close their noses nearly touched, so close she could smell, once again, peppermint on his breath. "I don't give insincere compliments," he said quietly. "I mean what I say, Granger. I mean everything I say. So I want you to listen very carefully right now. I-"
And then all hell broke loose.