THE EIGHTEENTH CHAPTER
By: Scatterheart
A long time ago in a campus far, far away…Section Nine
The Quidditch field was still covered in a serene blanket of snow, but that was the condition in which Harry Potter had insisted to play. "We've never even tried playing in the snow! It'll be a great view!" he'd insisted at lunchtime to the circle of uniformed Gryffindors sitting around him at the far end of the dining hall. "And besides, we need to build up stamina for the next tournament."
"No one wants to compete now, Harry. It's bloody not the time."
"Who cares? I'll lead you in some drills. If the Gryffindor team can learn to play Quidditch any day, any time, then we will win tournaments every year for the next eighty years."
Ron had scowled, half in jest, to Hermione, as they nibbled on their roast beef sandwiches. He'd pointed, three tables over, to where Harry was gesticulating grandly to his team. "This man forgets we exist sometimes, you know? He's a Quidditch nut. I bet he's trying to convince them of that stupid idea to go and play Quidditch now. Now, in the bleeding winter! Geez."
Hermione had smiled wanly. "He's the captain, after all."
"That's right, so they follow him like sheep. But, hey, if he ever gets them to do it, will you come with me and watch?"
"Sure."
And now, two hours later, Hermione found herself bundled in a parka and sitting on a frosted bleacher bench as the Gryffindor boys soared above her through a crystal blue, snow-bordered sky.
"Wicked," Ron said from beside her, stamping his feet. "But cold."
"Very," she agreed.
They clapped as Harry veered his Nimbus in a nosedive and caught the Snitch a mere meter away from the ground.
"You're very quiet lately, 'Mione," Ron said. "Is there anything wrong?"
"No, nothing. I'm a little tired, I guess. From all the Potions homework."
Ron groaned. "Yes, our darling Professor Snape is being extra torturous – hey. Oh my God, do you see that?" He nodded his chin toward the bleachers opposite the field.
Two shapes were nuzzling and kissing each other in the winter chill, two shapes that closely resembled…
"Draco and Pansy?" Ron demanded incredulously. "They do not need to be snogging in the middle of our Quidditch practice. Disgusting."
But it wasn't disgusting.
Hermione gazed motionlessly at the couple as though she were bewitched. They were kissing, and they were gentle with each other, and for some reason it was so beautiful to her, the way Draco's hair shone like pale gold against the snow, and the way Pansy's arm embraced the young man's waist.
Hermione shivered, violently. She experienced a plummeting sensation in her stomach that left her feeling empty and hollow, and all of a sudden the winds seemed to lash out to her with their icy tendrils. She shivered again. She didn't belong here, she thought. No, not here, not now. It was so cold. So cold.
"Ron, I don't want to watch anymore," she said, getting to her feet. There was nothing more she wanted to do than to leave this place. "I'm going to study at the library."
"What! But you said you would stay!"
"I have so much work to do. I can't—"
"You promised, Hermione!" Ron whined.
She turned and started trudging down the bleacher lane that led to the entryway of the Hogwarts building. "I need to study, okay?"
"But you always study. Why don't you ever have time …"
His protests trailed off as she left him in the distance behind her. In her mind's eye, she saw the freckled boy gawking at her in confusion, and the flock of Quidditch players swooping like red and yellow angels across the sky. She remembered how, during lunchtime, Harry had practically jumped out of his seat as he'd lectured to his team, and she realized that she had not heard a word he had been saying.
He had been so far away. So far away that she could hardly even see him.
Hermione tucked her hands into the pockets of her parka and entered the Hogwarts building, alone.
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