A/N: Heyhey, sorry for taking so long. My dance troupe and I have a major competition coming up, and practices are intensifying, so I have much less time to work on this. Hope you guys like this chapter :P

Chapter 11: Reconciliations

Draco looked up as his roommate all but bounced past him, skin still gleaming with perspiration "Really, Granger, must you be so buoyant? I swear you'll turn into a ball if you hop about anymore."

She halted mid-step and frowned at him. "In another pet, are we?"

He turned his back on her, scowling viciously. "Go away, Granger."

"Oh, so now it's 'Granger' again, isn't it?" She planted her hands on her hips. "What in the name of Merlin is wrong with you people? Ron hasn't been speaking to me lately, and he talks to Harry only when it is absolutely necessary, and you are avoiding the three of us like the plague!"

"That's none of your business," he replied rudely.

"It is if you are ignoring me."

He averted his eyes from hers as she came around to stand before him. "Is it me?" she asked softly. "Is it because I'm the Slayer now? I still am Hermione, you know, it doesn't change the way I am."

"You smell, Granger," he snapped, ruthlessly suppressing the lump that had risen in his throat "Go take a shower,"

She lowered her head, shoulders slumping. "Very well. If my presence repels you so, I shall relieve you of it."

Guilt made him reach out and catch her wrist just before she entered her room. "It's not you, Hermione. It's...something else."

"Then what is it? I swear I will help in any way I can."

He barked a short bitter laugh. "There's nothing you can do to help me."

"We won't know unless you tell me, will we?"

He sighed, looking up at the ceiling. She was as close to a real friend he had ever had, but he had refrained from telling her anything too intimately tied up with himself. Keeping her at arm's length, or so to speak. He told himself it was for her own good, but he knew at the very core of his being that that was far from the truth.

He feared betrayal, and above all else, exposing his vulnerabilities. In the hands of his enemies, his secrets were very, very useful weapons for blackmail.

She waited patiently for him to decide, and was rewarded when he finally met her eyes for the first time in a week. "You never do give up, do you?"

"No," she told him blithely.

He sighed again, but this time, she could hear faint affection mingled with the resignation. "Sit down, Granger. It's not going to be easy for me, or you."

She curled up in the armchair, watching him conjure up a teapot and a dish of biscuits. She did not press him, and for that he was grateful. He needed the mundane motions to calm his mind, set his thoughts in order, before he could speak of them to her.

"In short, Granger," he said slowly, picking his words carefully, "There is no reason for me to hang out with you three anymore."

"Why ever not? Harry's asking me where you are at least thrice a day, you know."

If only to insult me, his mind whispered cynically even as he studiously ignored the hope that had sparked to life within him at her words. Aloud, he snorted. "Our little truce was formed to find out the reason for your nocturnal ventures. Now that the truth is out, I don't have to keep an eye on you, and therefore I do not have to speak to them anymore. End of story." He inwardly winced at the harshness of his voice, but it was better than having it tremble from the emptiness he felt in his heart.

She was quiet after that little speech of his, and for a moment, the irrational dread that she would laugh at him for his weakness filled him. "Draco?"

"Yes?"

"Are there nobody else in this school whom you trust?"

"Besides your Watcher? No. Pathetic, isn't it?"

"No no no, listen to me. I understand the need for your not placing trust in anyone. Your father is a prominent figure in wizarding society, after all, and an ideal person to curry favour from." Here she leant forward. "You don't need a reason to hang out with us, Draco. Harry and Ron have come to the realisation that you aren't such a pain in the arse anymore—" She smiled at his faint blush. "—and they don't mind you joining us every now and then. As long as you keep your mouth off the more sensitive topics, you really are excellent company. For me, anyway."

He searched her face for sincerity, hungering, desperate for the real ties she promised in her words. "Really? They don't mind me around?"

She reached out and covered his hand with hers, the warm weight of her palm reassuring and comforting. "They understand that you acted the way your upbringing dictated, You couldn't help it any more than we can help the sun rising every morning."

He looked down at her hand. "My father taught me from birth all the beliefs he held dear, and I was too young and gullible to know for myself. But after I came here...I began to realise his teachings were rubbish. Muggleborns are definitely not inferior to purebloods." He looked up at her, the ghost of a smile playing about his lips. "I can never beat you in anything. And look at Crabbe and Goyle. The combined intelligence of the two is equivalent to a fish, much to the insult of fishes everywhere."

She gave his hand a squeeze. "I'm glad you are smart enough to tell black from white for yourself." Glancing at the clock, she added, "Get some rest. It's getting late."

"Yes, Mother." He felt bereft the minute she relinquished her touch, and scolded himself for his silliness. "Thank...you." The words felt foreign on his tongue, but he was nevertheless glad for saying them.

Gracing him with a wide smile, she turned and headed for her room.

"And Hermione?"

"Yeah?"

"Do take a shower. You really stink."

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"Ron?"

A grunt.

"Ron!"

He looked up grumpily from his textbook. "What is it, Ginny?"

She perched beside him on the armchair. "Are you okay?"

"Why would I be otherwise?"

"You haven't been speaking to Hermione these days, or Harry, for that matter."

"I did speak to Harry..."

"Ah, so you admit you've been ignoring Hermione. Did you two have a row again?"

"No."

"Then?"

He blew out a breath. "It's just that..."

"Hermione has told me about the highly secretive thing."

"Yes well." He put down his quill and ran ink-splotched fingers through his hair. "It's just that...Harry's the Boy-Who-Lived, and he's really powerful, Hermione's the brains and I am just...me. And now, Hermione's a hero in her own right, and I am still just plain old me."

"You are feeling inferior, you mean."

"No!" At her knowing look, he amended, "Well, maybe a little, just the tiniest bit."

"You see my point." She folded her arms. "There's no need to doubt yourself, Ron. They like you just the way you are. All superheroes need their own helpers too. And you are always there to make sure that they come out of it all alive."

"But I don't like being the normal guy."

She slipped off her seat and took the armchair opposite him. "Harry and Hermione are 'heroes' not because they want to. Their destinies have been thrust upon them and they have no choice but to take it. It is their choice, however, to fulfil their duty or be labelled as the one who neglected their responsibility. They will always get attention, true, but it is not always a good thing. Sometimes, I think standing just outside the spotlight, unseen, is better. You see so much more than anyone else. Besides, being in the spotlight, you have to watch yourself constantly. One little mistake, one misstep, and people like the reporters from Daily Prophet will be all over you, blowing it out of proportion and making you look bad. I think that's the price these people pay."

He sat back in his armchair and contemplated her monologue.

"Perhaps you are right," he admitted grudgingly at last. Then he looked at her suspiciously. "Who are you and what have you done with my baby sister?"

She tapped him on the tip of his nose. "It's called maturity, Ron. Just because you never grow up doesn't mean the rest of us are subject to that principle."

"I'm not—"

"Oh yes you are," she cut him off, going for the jugular. "Popularity's not everything, You three have gone through too much to allow personal feelings to get in the way. I know it's inevitable to feel jealous of the attention and recognition Harry and Hermione get, but you are gifted in your own way. You are the one who anchors the, reminds them of who they are underneath the identities they are forced to assume. You are not just 'the other one'."

He exhaled loudly and sat back in the armchair, and she knew she had got through to him, made him see the things he had been refusing to allow himself to admit.

"Have an early night, brother dear. Dark eye-circles don't look at all attractive on you." She patted his head, and he swatted her hand away irritably.

"I'm not a dog, Ginny."

Being his sister, she had the audacity to grin at him. "Go apologise to them first thing tomorrow morning, all right? I'll expect to see you three as chatty as ever at the breakfast table, or you'll get it from me."

He gave a non-committal grunt and reapplied himself to his homework.

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Jealousy, thy name is Ronald, he thought ironically to himself as he climbed the steps to the tower where Hermione lived.

More than once, he had allowed his envy to come between him and his friends. More than once they had forgiven him, and yet he had never felt grateful for their tolerance.

He supposed it was partly due to his habit of pushing away stray thoughts that felt too big for him to comprehend. It had become a subconscious reaction, and only Ginny had the guts to inform him about it.

Just because you never grow up doesn't mean the rest of us are subject to that principle. Her tart words had haunted him in his uneasy dreams, and he had woken up with the clarity that he had a great deal of making up to do.

Before his fist could make contact with the wood, the door swung open to the sight of Hermione and Harry hunched over a piece of parchment. "Hello Ron, we were expecting you." Harry tapped the surface of the parchment, and he recognised it as the Marauders' Map.

"I—"

"Good thing it's a weekend, isn't it?" Hermione cut in smoothly. "We can put in a bit of time to study for Monday's Transfiguration test."

"But what—" He was cut off once more by Harry's groan. "Guys!"

They broke off glaring at each other to look at him. "Aren't you angry at me? For...for not talking to you, and ignoring you, and...and—"

"Generally acting like a prat?" supplied Hermione helpfully.

"That, too," he admitted, feeling completely flummoxed by the way they were acting.

She fluttered her hand at him airily. "We're used to it. I was just wondering when you'd come around."

He blushed scarlet to the roots of his hair at her wicked grin. "Ah, well then, I'm sorry." There, he had done it.

Harry cocked his head and regarded him solemnly. "D'you think we should accept that, Hermione?"

His skin crawled at the look that passed between them. Any time now, he thought warily, bracing himself

At any rate, he was completely unprepared when both of them spun and pounced onto him. "Oi! What are you—"

"You didn't think we'd let you get off so easily, did you?"

Realisation dawned on him. "Oh no," he protested. "Anything but that."

"Definitely that." Hermione turned to Harry. "Shall we, Mr Potter?"

"Ladies first," he replied chivalrously.

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Draco exited his bathroom in a puff of steam, towelling his hair dry. Just as he reached for his hairbrush, a loud yelp froze him in his tracks. Racing to the door, he flung it open, only to be brought up short by the sight of the Golden Trio on the floor.

Hermione sat on Weasley's legs, while Harry was perched on him, tickling him mercilessly in the ribs. At the sound of his opening door, she looked up and smiled breathlessly at him, cheeks flushed. "We are serving Ron his just desserts."

At her words, all motion ceased and all eyes turned to him, making he wish he had a hole to hide himself in.

"Hello, ferret," Harry said at last, the grin on his face taking away any sting from his greeting. "Long time no see. How have you—ahhhh!"

Ron had taken advantage of the lapse in attention to free himself, sending his two tormentors tumbling in a very undignified way across the room. Draco couldn't help cracking a smile as he watched the two of them chase him round the room.

The redhead dodged through Hermione's partially open door and slammed it shut. "Oi!" hollered the owner in annoyance. "Alohomora!"

She stalked into the room with both Draco and Harry looking on expectantly. She soon reappeared with one very red-faced male trailing behind her. "I just saw enough female knickers to last me for the rest of my life," he murmured faintly. "Of all the times she had to forget to close her underwear drawer..."

"Watch it, Ron," drawled the Slytherin. "I wouldn't offend a Slay-er if I were you."

He smirked as the girl in question glowered at him in mock anger. "Oh dear, have I struck a raw nerve there? Do accept my humblest apologies." He bowed deeply, struggling to rein in his laughter.

Huffing loudly, as he knew she would, she turned to the other two boys with a petulant expression, causing them to collapse against each other in their mirth.

The innocence of the moment touched his heart, and for once, life felt good.

Fanfiction Dreamer: Whee! A new reviewer! (claps hands ecstatically)

Princess JB: Relax, dear, Buffy died at the end of Season Six, didn't she? And if memory serves me, every time a Slayer dies, a new one will be called to take her place, irregardless of the fact if the previous Slayer is resurrected or not (though I don't think any Slayer has ever been as hard to kill as Buffy) So, Buffy is not dead. And I'm not bringing the Ones and all that final battle stuff in as of now. :)

pip: Yesh, you naughty naughty hobbit. Pity that poor doctor of yours :P

cutekitty: Woohoo! Another new reviewer! Thanks!

Angel-wingzz: Oh yeah, silly me. Thanks for reminding me of the graveyards thing. Am working on it. Watch this space:D

Dark Me: Thanks! Hope you like this chapter too!

Hayley: Oooh yes, I do hit people. Haven't you heard of a Chinese saying which claims that hitting someone is to express affection, and to scold someone is an expression of your love? (cackles wickedly)