Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter nor any related thematic elements written by JK Rowling.

I'll Never Tell

The week following was one of the most stressful that Hermione ever remembered, unless you counted exam weeks. This was surprising, too, because it was also one of the most uneventful. The only reason that it was so emotionally draining was because she had constantly been uptight and uncomfortable. The reason? Almost every single one of her classes was with Malfoy.

Hermione felt exceptionally relieved when she found Casey, Ron's girlfriend, to be not the least bit unfriendly or annoying, as many other fifth year girls were. In fact, they had practically become friends due to the fact that she had joined Ron at the Gryffindor dining table for lunch each day. The two of them came across as extremely pleased with one another, and to nobody's knowledge had they had a fight yet. Hermione wondered, cynically of course, how long that would last. Many of her thoughts were negative and pessimistic that week. Perhaps it had been the gloomy weather or...something else.

The two lessons that she had taught had been especially nerve-wracking. Draco had been painfully indifferent towards her, and it was a miracle that the lesson-plans had been pulled off so cleanly. During Thursday's lesson, McGonagall had come and pulled them into the corridor for a minute to tell them of the date, time, and place they could have their planning session. Every Thursday night, immediately after their class, in the fourth library study chamber. Hermione absolutely dreaded it. A sickening knot of anticipation writhed in her stomach every time she thought of spending an hour alone with Malfoy. She couldn't even talk to him during their classes without feeling like her throat was immediately drying up.

On Friday, a second year student of hers came up to her in the hallway and actually asked when the lessons were going to start getting interesting. It made her feel absolutely terrible, having to lie about not even properly planning any future lessons so far. She had promised him that they would get immensely better, but the most difficult part was convincing herself of that...

"Hermione!" a bright and faintly urgent voice called. Hermione spun around, recognizing the voice. A grin grew her face, because it belonged to her friend, Casey.

"Hey! What's up?" Hermione asked, as Casey walked quickly to catch up to her. They both walked in the direction of the Great Hall, and because it was around six thirty, dinner was nearly over. Hermione noticed a slightly distraught look on Casey's face immediately, because it made a stark contrast with the perpetually bubbly look she usually wore. Their walking pace considerably slowed as she finally joined the other girl.

"Hey, actually, I was wondering if I could talk to you for a minute. Do you mind?" she asked, arching one eyebrow uncertainly.

"No, no. Not at all," Hermione said. She was about to suggest she wait to talk to her until they were at dinner, but she sensed that Casey was more in the mood to speak privately. "Why don't we go down there," she suggested, jerking her chin in the direction of a staircase leading to a dead-end hallway that was seldom used. Casey nodded, and they wandered over to it, and slowly descended the stairs. Hermione felt the atmosphere begin to grow tense, like she had many other times the previous week. Casey and she were friends, but she didn't think that they knew each other well enough or felt comfortable enough with one another yet to speak this seriously. "So...what about?" Hermione asked.

Casey leaned up against the wall and crossed her arms over her chest, making herself look uncomfortable. She looked as if she had been debating whether or not to talk to her all day, and was still unsure of the decision she had made. "It's about Ron," she said, and paused. "Is there something going on between you two?"

Silence pounded in her ears, and Hermione gasped shortly, taken aback. She had no idea what to say, and stared off to the side, mouth dry and partly open, trying to find something to say. She muttered a pathetic "no," in order to buy herself more time to think. What is going on? She wondered. Have I done something to make her think that Ron and I are or were together? Does that mean that the whole school knows?

"What's that?"

"No! What are you talking about? I think I'm more surprised by this than you are," Hermione said. She interlocked her fingers and rested them on her head for a moment, terrified at what Casey might say next. But she only sighed, and looked relieved.

"Oh, thank Merlin," she said. "I'm really sorry Hermione, I didn't mean to be rude or jump to any conclusion, but I just couldn't hold it in any more. It was really silly of me, really. I'm so sorry." She apologized emphatically, and then turned away quickly; shoulders visibly stiff, to go off to the feast.

"Wait!" Hermione called. She was disappointed that Casey failed to even offer an explanation as to why she had come to think such a thing. "No! Don't be sorry, Casey, tell me what's going on! What did I do?" she pleaded, exasperated.

Casey sighed again, deeper this time. "It's not you, it's Ron. Have you seen it?" she asked.

She was baffled. "Seen what?"

To Hermione's complete surprise, Casey's eyes started to well with tears. "Oh, Hermione," she said. "Have you seen the way he looks at you?"

Silence.

Casey went on. "Have you ever noticed the way he talks to you when he doesn't know I'm around?" A single tear slid down her cheek as she bent over slightly, her hands in her long brown hair which was falling over her thin shoulders. "Have you heard what he says about you?" The corridor seemed to get immediately hotter, as Casey choked out words she sounded like she despised. "Haven't you noticed?"

Everything seemed to disappear in that moment and all Hermione could see was this girl in front of her, helplessly torn between friendship and love. "I've liked him for years, Hermione," she said softly. "I could barely believe it when he asked me out, that he actually liked me too. But maybe, that's not true. Maybe I just imagined it." Casey slowly started to walk backwards, her palm against the cold stone wall to guide her.

"I..." Hermione began, but then realized that she did not know what to say.

"I don't mean to say that you're—"

"Casey!" A new voice shouted from the top of the stairs. Hermione jumped, slightly startled. She looked up to see who was calling, and then gasped loudly. The voice had belonged to Ron Weasley, who was grinning. He began to walk down the stairs, surveying the situation. "Casey, I've been looking all over for you," he said, walking over to her, his hands out. But his gaze was not on Casey, it was on Hermione. She suddenly felt as if she were betraying Casey, and the warm copper eyes lingered on her farther than she would have liked. Torn between rage and sympathy that one of her best friends had created a heartbreaking situation like this, Hermione wanted desperately to run away.

Hermione looked over at Casey to see that she had turned herself away from Ron, trying to hide her face. It was obvious that she did not want him to see that she had been crying, and she was frantically rubbing all the water off her eyes. They no doubt were going to become irritated.

"Casey...what's going on?" Ron asked uncertainly, breaking the deadly silence. He was looking at her for the first time, absent-mindedly rocking, with a worried expression on his paling face.

Hermione watched as Casey straightened up, and they locked sparkling eyes for a moment. She felt out of place, unable to help her, and looked away, eyes darting to the floor. Out of the corner of her eye she saw Casey take her bag, swing it over her shoulder, and turn around to face Ron, glaring. Silence rung softly as she walked out, looking as dignified as she could with her hair waving about and her cheeks bright. Hermione tried not to smile because inside, she was cheering.

Ron stood in place, but his head turned and followed her up the stairs, around the corner, and out of sight. He turned back to face Hermione with a shocked look on his face, but she had begun to leave too, not wanting to face him. Before she left though, she stopped directly in front of him, and stared directly into his eyes. He began to smile...

And then she slapped him. His shocked look was priceless, but Hermione wasted no time in walking as far away from him as she could.

I'm on a roll, she thought as she walked. A roll of ruining other peoples lives, in addition to my own.

Hermione found herself in the library, because her feet seemed to know the path there the best. Somehow, she managed not to look too distraught or, God forbid, cry. She wouldn't have been able to bare the humiliation, anyway. People would have thought, What the hell is up with HER? And they would have stared at her without even bothering to be subtle about it. This was one thing that Hermione absolutely couldn't stand about Hogwarts—everybody thinking that everyone else's business was their own.

She walked over to her usual spot, and laid her books down on the antique desk that was almost completely hidden from view behind various shelves. A loud growl from below her reminded her suddenly of her hunger, and she cursed the bad timing of everything. Then there was a second sound.

It was the sound of rubber hitting metal, dull but just audible enough to be noticed. She whipped her head around, but saw nothing. A third sound. This was the unmistakable sound of a book being closed too quickly. Hermione stood up, and slowly approached the bookcase behind which the noises were coming from.

She leaned over towards the shelf, her nose tickled by all the dust. Finding a small hole in between wood and paper, she squinted and looked through the books. Expecting to see another person, or a house elf or something, she was confused when all she saw was...yellow? She sighed, and put her hands on her hips, walking around to the other side of the bookshelf. There he was, leaning over, scanning book titles. "Malfoy, what are you doing?"

"Oh, I didn't see you," he said looking startled and standing up straight again. "I'm looking for a book on the Loss of Substance Potion." His tone was very polite.

"I'm sure," Hermione answered sarcastically. They both stared at each other uncertainly for a while, not knowing what to say.

"Well I found it," he said, smiling the "I really don't want to talk to you right now" smile. He grasped a tall book with long fingers and yanked it out of the shelf. "See you tomorrow, Hermione," he said, and walked away.

Frustrated, Hermione let out an exasperated yell. "Why won't he leave me alone?" she said to herself, automatically assuming that he had only been there to watch her and not really to find some old book.

Madame Pince shot her a reprimanding look. "Miss Granger," she said, "I'm afraid that's not a very appropriate volume for a library."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "But I—"

"Sorry Miss Granger, but I need to ask you to leave," she interrupted. In response to the horrified look on Hermione's face she said, "I'm sorry, but rules are rules," and tapped her finger on the Library Guidelines sheet. She shook her head and watched Hermione (who happened to be her favorite student) pick up her bag, and walk out through the doors, her shoulders tense and hitched up towards her neck nervously.

Hermione Granger...kicked out of the library. It was a sentence that had never even been imagined by any of the Hogwarts population, and now it was a reality.

It's all Malfoy's fault. If he hadn't have been spying on me, the foul lying bastard, I wouldn't have gotten so mad, she thought angrily. In part, this was true. Hermione, under any other circumstances, would have never raised her voice in the library. Only...it was very strange that all it had taken this time was a small encounter with an enemy to get her so worked up.

She had walked out of the library in a daze, not exactly sure where to go. Dinner had still been in session, and Hermione had absolutely no desire to face Casey or Ron at the moment. Ironically, she no longer felt hungry. Most of her homework was finished, and there were nothing else she could think of to do. What was there? After mentally sifting through possibilities, Hermione settled on sending an owl to her parents, who were probably eagerly waiting for a letter by now, for she had not sent one in two weeks.

Hermione began the lonely trek up to the owlery, all the way down the history wing, up three flights of thin stair cases, and through a hall that led to a fourth. Aside from the sound of light rain and the annoying sticky feeling of humidity, the only things keeping her company were her thoughts.

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A/N: Sorry I haven't updated in a while! More chapters will be coming soon... And seriously people, remember... I LIKE CRITICISM. wink