Glancing around her, she noticed that the room wasn't very large. The stone floor had a single Gryffindor rug on it that ran from the doorway to her bed. Her four-poster bed was the usual twin sized bed that she'd grown accustomed to in the Girl's dorms in Gryffindor. Scarlet drapes and linens covered the bed, accented with a deep yellow stitching. Her comforter was scarlet and heavy with goose feathers and it's warmth enveloped her.
Sitting up, she noted that her side table was rather simple and made of the same light stained oak that the furniture in the common room was made of. A single drawer resided within the table, and upon opening it, she found it was empty, save for the fake red velvet material that lined it. A small oil lamp sat on top of it, which sat behind the vial of glowing amber liquid.
She picked the vial off of the table and held it in front of her face. 'How much of this am I supposed to take?' she wondered. She uncorked it and sniffed it, a small scent of vanilla and pumpkin spice filled her nostrils and embraced her senses. She tilted her head back and opened her mouth, pouring the liquid into her mouth. It's consistency reminded her of the cough syrup she used when at home, the taste however was rather extraordinary for medicine. She re-corked the vial, which was now missing a third of the liquid than it had before she'd decided to take it. She swallowed the concoction in her mouth, loving the strange flavor that the medicine had.
Her wounded arm began to tingle. She held it out and pulled back the stiff, blood encrusted sleeve to peer down at it. The scabs looked angry and inflamed. A warm, almost burning sensation ran through each of them, and she watched as the scabs slowly healed themselves until finally, no scabs remained, only silvery-pink scars that served as a reminder of yesterday's events on the train.
Hermione stood up and looked around the room for the first time. A desk that matched the one in the common room, Gryffindor symbol and all, sat under a rather large window, that almost seemed pointed at the top, but was still slightly curved. A small fire place inhabited the far wall from her bed. She walked around to the left of her bed and discovered a small book case that was stained as dark as the common room hall. Just a few inches beyond that was a doorway, that she knew lead to her lavatory. She looked around the room once more, to see if she'd missed anything and was slightly disappointed that the room was so plain. The only other things in the room were her trunk and a wide eyed Crookshanks who was eyeing her curiously.
She sighed and walked toward the lavatory door. She wasn't going to get her hopes up for anything spectacular. She opened the door, and was grateful that she hadn't expected anything. A tub sat almost to her immediate right with golden feet. A small shower head portruded from a short wall that seperated the tub from the toilet. A scarlet curtain ran on a track from the ceiling and connected to the wall for easy opening and closing access. A single sink with a small vanity mirror graced the center of the room on the left. The walls were all decorated in white tile and a small shower rug sat in front of the tub. A small rectangular window resided on the back wall and a single lamp hung down in the center of the room. She flicked a light switch, only slightly amused that this room had electricity and her own bedroom had none.
After taking a shower, dressing, and primping herself so that her hair didn't frizz up into something that resembled something Crookshanks might spit up, she set out for the great hall, her stomach growling in anticipation of food. The common room lacked a certain blonde headed Slytherin and she wondered if perhaps he'd beaten her out the door. She took the steps slowly, unconsciously counting them and thinking of other things, mainly Harry and Ron.
She'd said a lot on the train yesterday, things she regretted and had to set right. Apologizing to Harry would be a bit more simplistic than apologizing to Ron would. What she'd said to Harry was hardly much to worry about really, but Ron... she'd finally let it out about how she felt about him. Granted, she hadn't told him that everytime she'd been with Viktor Krum during fourth year that she'd been thinking of him, that when she and Viktor decided to just be great friends and write each other occasionally, she'd usually put in her feelings toward Ron within them. And she'd never let on that when they were attacked in the Ministry their fifth year that the only thing she was thinking about was how to keep him safe. It would be very hard to patch up the holes she'd ripped in the friendship she shared with him.
She reached the doors of the great hall and opened them. The tables were all in their usual place with Slytherin on the far left, Hufflepuff next, Ravenclaw, and on the far right, Gryffindor. She scouted for her fellow classmates, attempting to drown out the loud roar of happy voices and only slightly avoiding peckish first years. She caught sight of two red heads and a particularly messy black set of hair and set out toward them. She sat down next to Harry, who was engaged in a conversation with their friend Neville Longbottom in what seemed to be their frantic worrying about how hard Snape's class would be this year since N.E.W.T.S. now loomed over their heads. Ron only appeared to be half listening, and Ginny, who sat to his left was engaged in conversation with Lavender. To Ron's right sat Seamus, another of their friends, who was adding in his own bits of conversation to Harry's and Neville's. To her left sat Parvati, who was talking with Lavender and Ginny.
Hermione cleared her throat and said only slightly loudly "Good morning everyone."
She regretted it almost immediately, because everyone hushed at the sound of her voice and stared at her. Ginny was the first to speak, her face distorted in a look of fear and concern at the same time.
"Hermione... are you feeling... better today?"
She looked down at her empty plate and thought. Was she feeling better? Well, other than the giant disappointment that she felt about her rooms, she hadn't felt too bad. Her stomach growled, causing her to return back to the question that hung in the air.
Hermione smiled. "I'll feel a lot better once I've gotten a meal inside of me, but other than that, yes, I'm feeling loads better."
Ginny let out a visible sigh of relief. "I'm so glad Hermione!" She nudged Ron. "We all are."
She looked around at her friends and noted that Neville, Seamus, Lavender, and Parvati did seem relieved and glad. Ron's face was still glum however, and Harry's smile was noticeably forced. She set a hand out in front of Ron, grabbing his and Harry's attention.
"Can we talk? After breakfast I mean...?"
Harry's face fell again, but this time, it was serious with a hint of determination.
"Sure, Hermione. We can talk." He kicked Ron underneath the table. "Can't we Ron?"
"Yeah," Ron said, rubbing his leg where Harry had kicked him, his voice sad. "We can talk."
After the meal, Harry, Ron, and Hermione went to the Gryffindor common room to talk. Harry sat on the couch, while Ron sat in a wooden chair at one of the tables. Hermione was the only one still standing, pacing actually, as she thought of how to begin.
"Harry, what I said on the train yesterday... well I... I just want to say I'm so-"
"No, Hermione, you don't have to aplogize about that. You're right, I do need the help of my friends. You may not realize it, but I have... you and Ron are the only family I really have. The Dursley's, they aren't family... and Sirius..." His voice hitched. A tear rolled down his eye. "Well, that's not what I'm getting at. What I'm trying to say is that without you and Ron, I'm lost. Without you two, I'd have never made it this far, and these past years wouldn't have been nearly as great." Harry stood up and crossed the room and caught Hermione in a hug. The hug told her that not only did Harry forgive her, he also loved her dearly as a sister and was worried about her well being. He released her and a heavy silence filled the air.
She stared at Ron, who in turn stared back at her. His face seemed relax, but his eyes still seemed sad.
"Ron, I... Well, I... I..." She fumbled, her words seemed to be coming out of someone else's mouth. This couldn't be her. She never wavered with anything. Where was her confidence? Why was this so hard to say?
She took a deep breath, trying to regain the composure that she'd lost.
"Ron, I... I think I love you."
A lump formed in his throat. He hadn't expected to hear those words to come out of her mouth. He opened his mouth, let out a sound resembiling a squeak, then closed it again. If ever there was a time to confess his feelings for her, it was now. But deep down, he knew that if he did, their friendship, the golden trio, would waver and seem awkward. As much as he wanted to, he knew he couldn't allow a relationship to blossum between them.
"I'm so sorry Hermione..." he stood up, tears brimming in his eyes. "I'm sorry but I can't return those feelings."
Hermione stood there for a moment, letting his words sink in. The hollow feeling was back, and suddenly she felt as if she was drowning, her head slipping beneath dark, murky waters as she gasped for air. It was then that she ran from the Gryffindor common room, ignoring Harry's concerned shouts, through the corridors and up the moving staircases, up all two hundred and thirty-seven stairs that it took to get to the head tower. She stopped only for a moment to get the password to Sir Cadogan between gasps for air. Once the portrait had opened, she'd stumbled in and crumbled on the rug with the Hogwarts crest. Her lungs burned, her eyes stung, and she couldn't imagine a hurt worse than the hurt that she felt now.
How had she mis-read him? For years she'd thought about him, dreamt about him, yearned to be his, and she thought that his sentiments were the same. But it appeared that she was wrong. Wrong about everything. Miss know-it-all didn't really know it all, in fact, she seemed to nothing at all. Nothing about feelings, about relationships, about herself, about love, nothing.
She let out a loud sob that caused her whole body to shudder. The tears brimmed and spilled, crossing the bridge of her nose and falling onto the rug.
She laid there and allowed herself to cry until she couldn't cry anymore. Her tears left a cold, damp spot that her face laid in, and all that she felt was hollow, as if there weren't anymore substance to her.
"Are you ever going to get up, or are you going to sit there and wollow in self pity all day. You have classes tomorrow, shouldn't you be attempting to learn something before you fail your N.E.W.T.S., mudblood?"
"You know nothing about me, Malfoy." She rubbed at her eyes then sat up to face him.
"Just as you nothing about me, Granger. So, I don't see a point to where this..." he made a gesture with his hands. "Conversation, if one could call it that, is going."
"You know, after so many years of humiliation, you think you'd lose your cocky edge. Yes, everyone knows who your father is, what your father does, who your father supports, but if you're an mirror image of your father, then we have nothing to fear from him, now do we? Harry's filled us in about your fear of the forbidden forest, how you took off running at the hint of something strange happening. Second year was a new low for you, as Harry beat you on the quidditch field, proving his abilities as a seeker. I daresay I did a fairly good number on you with that slap in third year-"
Draco's face was fierce and rigid. "What are you getting at? You think you're so much better than everyone else, but you're no better than anyone. You're a muggle born, and being muggle born is nothing to be proud of."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Not everyone else, Malfoy. Just you. And blood has nothing to do with how good a witch or wizard is. No wonder Crabbe and Goyle are always around you, you're as thick as they are! And that twit Pansy? She's got about as much brains as Millicent Bulstrode! The only difference is that Pansy doesn't have the physique of a man!"
She crossed the room, getting right into his face, her nose barely an inch from his.
"Get over yourself, Malfoy. Nobody likes a pig headed prat."
Draco's anger rose and he did the first impulsive thing he could think to do, he slapped her, flat handed, across the face. The sound of it echoed throughout the head common room and caused his hand to sting. Her eyes were wide, surprised that he had actually done something physical.
He took a step back from her, clenching the hand that he'd used to slap her into a fist.
"Perhaps you should take a bit of your own advice then, mudblood."
Ending Notes and Comments for Chapter Three---
A/N: I haven't done this yet, and I figured that it'd be appropriate if I did, even though I'm sure everyone can tell that I'm not J. K. Rowling. I don't own any of the characters, if I did, I'd be attending the college of my choice this fall.
I realize this chapter is pretty boring, so I'm sorry if you're a bit put off by it. It's leading up to a grander scene though... Think of it as you would Hamlet or Titus by Shakespeare. No, I don't really intend to kill off everyone at the very end, that'd be too dramatic, but it's kind of like a short fuse, as soon as someone strikes it, all hell breaks loose.
As for my reviewers, I see so many other of my favorite fic writers do this, therefore, I shall do it as well.
mysticallove: I'm glad that you found it different and that it interests you enough to check back with my updates. Many people do try hard to make Malfoy a lot nicer and currently I haven't decided how subtle to make the change of his character, but I do know that I don't want to use the, what I believe to be, overused back story of his own father beating him. Whether this will be a love story or not, I can't rightly say just yet... I guess we'll both find out as my muse opens itself to me. Thanks for being my first reviewer!
CoolChick0506: I'm so glad you like it. I don't know about you, but I hate it with a passion when writers put more into the characters than they do into the setting. The setting is just, if not more important, as the characters in a story. I wanted to make them stand out in your mind, and I'm glad that I was able to do so. And if you are ever inspired enough to draw what I've written, I'd love to see your work!
malfille: Don't worry, I'm not in the slightest discouraged and I'm glad that you like the way I'm writing this story. Your constructive criticism is welcome at any point, and I'm glad that you have offered it, but in all reality, well the reality of the books, I doubt that Hermione would ever allow herself to get to the point of self mutilation. In fact, she'd probably give the person responsible a few slaps across the face before resorting to hurting herself. I know that seems a bit contradictory considering what I've written so far, but that's the wonderful thing about fan fiction, you can take something that someone else has created and spin it your own way. As far as how I've played out the blood... with one simple cut it would be rather hard to make a cut deep enough so that a torrent of blood would come rushing out of your body, especially with a pin. However, I didn't really say how many cuts that she made on her arm, only that she repeatedly cut herself, going harder, deeper, and faster with each stroke. Something like that in quick succession in the same area could do quite a bit of damage. Though I did over exaggerate a bit, I think that if I changed the fic to reflect that, it'd lose a bit of the dark feel that I want it to have. Do continue to give me pointers though, after all, in writing, there is always something that could be improved. Thank you!