Hermione turned back to face the two Slytherins, wobbling on her feet. Her head was still spinning. No no no... This can't be happening, they all just witnessed this! My damn cowardice move.

"Now, Granger,' Blaise hissed fiercely, "you're going to tell me what you were doing on that window." Of course he knew what she was doing — or what she was about to do — but the implied question was why?

"I don't wanna talk about it," she whispered weakly, her gaze slipping away.

Draco rolled his eyes, "Of course she won't talk," and elbowed Blaise, "Granger doesn't like to talk these days. What happened when you arrived?"

He did not want to feel excluded. He still couldn't figure out the logical sequence of what had happened. Hermione had had a nightmare, and Draco had had to intervene before she destroyed the whole dorm, he had shared his alcohol with her, and they had talked together. No, they would never have done that without the power of alcohol, and Draco wasn't about to admit that to Blaise. But anyway, Hermione had appeared calmed by the time he returned to bed. The fit had been defused. Right?

Blaise replied in the same tone. "You were looking for little Granger?" he began, pointing at Hermione with his chin. "Well, I think she's been here all this time. On the edge of the window. Ready to jump. I got here in time..."

Draco's eyes widened. What? Fucking what had Blaise just said? Granger had wanted to kill herself? He turned his gaze to the Lioness, still standing in the middle of the Owlery, her arms hanging limply on either side of her body. He couldn't connect the dots. It didn't make sense. A Gryffindor would never do such a thing. Even he, who had had bad days, had never thought, or even dared, to commit such an act. She was pale as a corpse and shaking, and Draco realized that she probably hadn't eaten since the previous night's dinner. What the hell had happened, once he had left her after all those drinks? Had she just decided she was tired of her day and the alcohol magnified her emotion and drove her to do this?

"Man, your girlfriend is definitely not well— " said Blaise.

Draco glared at him. "She's not my bloody girlfriend. I know she's not well, I'm not fucking blind! But I can't do anything about it."

"Yeah, actually you can."

"How, huh?!" Draco blurted out, raising his arms in helplessness. "One minute she's talking to me and the next she's mute! One minute she's angry and the next she's calm! One minute she tells me to take care and the next she's pissing me off! And mate, she's crying a lot, I've never met someone who cry so fucking mu‑"

"Can you hear yourself talk, Malfoy? You're such a nag sometimes! Just bloody listen to her."

Draco was taken aback. Listen to her? What kind of shrink crap was that? Anyway, "listening" was exactly what he had done yesterday. They had fucking shared — shared! — a few drinks and talked like they were mates. And anyway, even if she would have confided in him, she never would have told him what she was going to do. They were Granger and Malfoy. Malfoy and Granger. They weren't telling personal stuff like that to each other. Granger and Weaslette maybe, but not him and her!

"Scarhead said he knew the story," Draco muttered. "It would be bloody easier if she just did—"

"And how was Potter earlier with her?"

"…kind of a dick."

Hermione pretended not to have heard anything. They talked like she wasn't even there. The details of their little chat over drinks escaped her, but she remembered that it had felt both awkward and easy. She remembered that no matter what Draco could have said, nothing would have made her change her mind. Her heart was pounding against her chest. Her blood was rushing to her ears, knocking at her head, causing her to have a horrible headache. She knew that the large amount of alcohol she had drunk played a large part in how she was feeling now. She felt herself blushing under the consuming shame of having been caught in the act. Ashamed that not only her best friend, but two Slytherins had witnessed her vulnerability and cowardice.

"Granger—" Draco began, taking a step forward.

"Shut up," Hermione snapped.

"Good grief!" he spat.

Hermione kept silent, just as she was used to. She lowered her eyes once again. It was the first words she addressed to him today and could not avoid a dismissive tone. Draco had always addressed her with her surname. Part of her didn't care, part of her cared. But she did the same anyway. She was tired of being caught between two eternal emotions, actions, words, intonations, and thoughts. Yes, she thought too much, even though her head felt empty at times. She shouldn't think, just act.

Draco took another hesitant step toward her. Blaise cleared his throat. Then Draco took two more sure steps forward. Hermione turned her head to the left, her gaze lost to the window.

"Granger?"

But Hermione was like... absent. Her gaze wandered to the light blue sky, dotted with cream-colored clouds. Draco ran his hand across the Lioness's eyes, but no reaction came from her. The Slytherin snapped his fingers in front of her face. She blinked, but she didn't move a muscle. Annoyance began to tickle the floor of his mind. He liked things quick, direct and clear. That a woman, no matter how bloody emotional she might be, would make him waste time like that...

Draco turned back to Blaise, not knowing what to do. The latter shrugged. Draco was about to leave when he heard Hermione take a deep breath, without releasing the air. He remained in front of her, their bodies at thirty centimeters one of the other. Slowly, ever so carefully, his own hand decided to reach up to Hermione's face and turn her chin with his thumb, forcing her to face him. It was a small gesture, a simple touch, that Draco had done without any awareness or intention, as if he had been looking at his hand while being outside of his own body. Hermione blinked three times and shook her head, now out of her trance. Draco released her.

"Gran—" he began.

"NO! Stop it!" The violence of her tone startled him. The moment of calm had been broken. Draco shook her by the shoulders to keep her from falling back into a trance. No more softness... Now he was fully damn aware of what he was doing.

"What?" Hermione spat. "What do you want? Let go of me!"

"What's got into you?" he asked without any trace of anger in his voice.

"For starters, you've called me 'Granger' for six years. I'm sick of it sometimes. Why don't you just use my name?"

Draco let his arms fall limply to his sides. Was she serious about this? Why had she not mentioned any of this yesterday, when they were drinking? He realized, perhaps for the tenth time since he'd arrived on the train, how much he had hurt her. She kept reminding him with little remarks here and there, like breadcrumbs left behind to make sure he found his way back to repentance. Yet he had already told her almost everything; what he was, what he is and what he would be. He would not change. Not like this. And he had told her. Why was she so impatient? His habits that most called "bad" had to be smashed, and he had to go back to the drawing board. Clean fucking slate.

"Hermione," he forced himself to say, teeth clenched. "Tell me why you wanted to... kill yourself... just now?"

Hermione looked into his grey eyes. Her name sounded forced but soft through his lips. Draco stared back at her with suspicion, mingled with a kind of quiet curiosity. Behind him, Blaise had started to write a letter on a table, an owl, probably his, perched on the back of the chair. He didn't seem to be paying attention to the conversation anymore.

"I don't want to talk about it," she said.

"You must."

"No, I actually don't!"

"Why not? I'm not your shrink, but this is a serious matter."

"Please, don't give me lectures."

Draco rolled his eyes but said nothing. The Gryffindor then fell silent. Psychologist or not, she didn't know if she could trust the Slytherin. Since the beginning of the year, yes, she could admit that he had more depth than what she always thought of him, but he was still not a friend. One day he was obnoxious, cold and hateful, the next he was polite, civil and even shared drinks with her. She didn't know where to turn and she had the impression that her partner was like her in that regard.

Draco was waiting for the next part. The only sentence that managed to come out between her lips was, "I... I have to deal with my life, Draco, even if I don't want to fight anymore."

The Slytherin's face dropped off its hardness. For a few seconds, his eyes showed his full attention to her. Why didn't he have this impression of her yesterday? He was probably the last person who had spoken to her before she left to do this. Why didn't she tell him? Malfoy, wake up. She never would have told you that she didn't want to live. His normally tense features relaxed. He didn't look arrogant or proud like that. For the first time in his life, he wanted to understand her. Actually really understand. What possible thing could one have experienced that would cause one to jump off a bloody tower? After all those years of madness she had lived at Hogwarts, not to mention the return of Voldemort and his rise to power and the ugly final Battle where she had lost friends, what could have finally finished her off and put her in that condition, the "great war hero"? Was this because she had fallen ill over the summer? She hadn't been specific about it, but maybe it was actually an incurable disease... Maybe Granger was dying, and she just wanted to speed up the process?

He couldn't help but ask. If his enemy was dying, he had the right to know.

"Are you… dying?" he said.

Hermione's shoulders slumped, and she massaged her forehead with one hand. She felt like she dying inside, yes, but she knew that wasn't the meaning behind Draco's question.

"No, Malfoy, I am not dying." She sighed.

No one said anything after that. The silence was getting too long for her to be comfortable. Draco suddenly thought of Daphne, an ex-girlfriend who had once blamed him for standing too far away when she needed comfort, but he thought it best not to get too close to Granger. The thought of it made him feel uneasy. And besides, he didn't have a clue of what she needed. Calling her by her first name was acceptable, but fucking petting her like a wounded animal was not.

"Just explain… please," Draco said. "Why?"

It was the first time he said please to her. The Lioness began to stammer quickly.

"Draco, I don't know if I can trust you. Can't you understand that? Besides, your behavior changes every day. I've never openly told anyone about it. Yes, Harry, Ron, Ginny and a handful of others know about it, but I haven't told anyone what it's really doing to me, inside. How does their brave Gryffindor survive it. I don't know who I am anymore, I can't find myself in all this storm. Just— please, don't push me."

It was the longest monologue Hermione had said too him in weeks. Normally, she wouldn't say more than a few words a day. Even with the alcohol she hadn't said that much.

Bloody wasting time, thought Draco. She was the one who wanted us to be civil and to act normal! Why can't she just open her bloody mouth that couldn't shut up before? Just talk, talk, talk, Granger!

"Take your time then," he said halfheartedly.

Hermione took a deep breath. What was the best choice? What if she was honest with him, and one day he decided to use this drama to hurt her? She couldn't bear that. But what if her honesty would finally allow Draco to understand her a little more and finally allow her to breathe? Why not? she thought. I know that Draco will remain arrogant, and that tomorrow he will hate me as always, but I don't care. I don't actually have to talk to him after what I'm about to say. I will suffer the consequences. Just say what's going on, and it will be over. Don't think, just act.

"It happened in July..." she began.

Blaise raised his head abruptly, but immediately plunged back into his letter. That's it, she was launched. No going back. She continued. "My uh… older brother, Samuel—" Her throat tightened and bile clogged her throat, making her quiet.

Fuck, thought Draco. Brother. Not cousin.

Her memories were painful, like a handful of screaming crows that had torn her heart apart with their beaks, and now she was letting them go free. But it hurt. It really hurt. She swallowed and continued. "He had just returned from the Ministry of Magic. He was an Auror. Anyway... He was walking towards home along Main Street. Then he was attacked and killed—"

She stopped once again, the pain growing hard and unbearable in her chest. She cleared her throat painfully, "Stabbed. He was actually stabbed. No quick killing curse—"

Draco's mind went blank. Stabbed. Muggle stabbed.

"But the investigation is leading nowhere at the moment." Hermione continued. "I was waiting for him at home... he had something to give me. I waited, thinking that he was late again because he had stopped by his girlfriend Angela. But... he just— he never came back."

She stopped and caught her breath, her breathing becoming more ragged. "And just as my father was about to go out to look for him, Minister Shacklebolt came to us. My parents are Muggles, as you already know, and even if they wanted to, they couldn't get to the Ministry. The Minister told us that he had thought it would be appropriate to tell us the news himself before the Muggle police. Sam wasn't killed by magic, so the Ministry had to share the jurisdiction of the investigation with the Muggle Chief of Police, but since Sam was employed by the Ministry of Magic... anyway, it's a little complicated. A wizard normally kills with magic, but I thought after Voldemort, murders would no longer take place—"

Her last word was broken by a sob, which she stifled by placing her hand against her mouth. She closed her eyes, chasing the tears that were beading on the tips of her lashes. She swallowed bravely before raising her head, ready to face her partner's comments.

Draco was thinking fast, his mind blurry. She had said that after Voldemort, murders should no longer take place, but Draco couldn't stop thinking about all the Death Eaters that were still roaming free, probably still killing Muggle-borns, Muggles or anybody, really. Hermione had lost her brother. Not to war like almost everyone else in this castle. Someone had killed him after the war. Draco couldn't grasp this reality. He didn't have any siblings, he couldn't fully understand how she could feel. But surely, he was not so insensitive and inhumane as everyone else thought. Hermione's behavior since they met on the train suddenly made sense. Just say you're sorry. That's what you say to someone grieving, isn't it?

"Holy hell, Granger," he said simply, disturbed. "That was your dream. I heard you say his name. I'm… sorry. Uh, for your loss."

"I don't want to talk about the nightmare. It was awful. That's why I drank so much."

She spoke at a fast, jerky pace, crossing her arms over her chest. Since the beginning of her story, Blaise had suspended his quill over his parchment and listened carefully. Something was not right. Memories flooded into his head as he jumped out of his chair, alerting the other two who turned sharply. "Granger!" he said in a breath. "I understand."

"What is it?"

"My mother had trouble with a break-in back in July."

Hermione turned pale, then swallowed. Blaise called her by her last name, but for some reason it didn't bother her as much as it did when it was Draco.

"A-All right..." Hermione stammered.

"A few months ago, we saw your brother's face in the Daily Prophet's obituaries… just like you said, stabbed. I'm so sorry, by the way. I didn't make the connection, we hardly knew him at school and we never really spoke, you and I, and me and him—"

"It's okay, Blaise." Hermione said. "I really don't blame you for that."

"I was at a bar, my mother was home alone," Blaise continued, somewhat reassured. "It was very late. She went to get ready for bed in her room and an hour later she heard noises coming from the kitchen downstairs. Then in the bathroom. She froze. She was scared to death."

Hermione was slowly beginning to understand where he might be going with this story. She held her breath as she let him continue.

"She didn't do anything, but when the door to the hallway closed, she looked out her bedroom window and saw a hooded figure running away into the darkness. She realized that many of her valuables were gone. She had been robbed by this man or woman."

"What... what did it say in the Daily Prophet? I refused to read anything about it, but I should have…"

"Well... something like 'a young man identified as Samuel Granger was found stabbed in an alley on Main Street. We have located a suspect. He or she is lurking in the area, dressed in black. Don't walk alone at night, we don't know if this is a Wizard or a Muggle matter'. Okay. I don't remember the article literally, it was more elaborate than that. Since then, I've been trying to check in with her regularly."

Hermione's head was starting to spin. She already knew that her brother had been stabbed to death, but to hear it from someone else in an official way, and then in the words of the Daily Prophet... It made her reality more horrifying and true than it had ever been. She saw a few black dots appear in front of her eyes and she grabbed the table to hold herself up. Her stomach rumbled and she remembered how hungry she was.

"Are you all right, Granger?" asked Blaise, clearly concerned.

"Blaise..." she gasped. "Tell me... please, when was your mother robbed?"

"On July 3rd. We're not the only house that was robbed after that. Why?"

But Hermione wasn't listening to him anymore after the date. She blinked, then staggered. Her ears were ringing, as if she had suddenly been put underwater and was hearing words beyond the surface. She felt like she was going to hurl. "I... I don't feel very well," she heard herself say.

"What?" tried Draco. "What's wrong with dates? Oi, Granger! You're drifting!"

Hermione blinked hard, on the verge of fainting. "July 3rd was the night that… Sam was stabbed."

Then she fell forward into the darkness. "Oi, Granger! Woah!" Draco exclaimed, catching her before her head hit the table. The owls screamed, raising a cloud of feathers, as if indignant at the sudden movement. She may have been thin, but Draco remembered her weight and it wasn't any easier now. She was dead weight. He had barely caught her and had to put a knee on the floor.

Blaise hurried over to help Draco. Draco let the girl slide slowly from his arms to the ground, keeping his hand on her head to prevent an impact, and finally he looked Blaise directly in the eyes. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"

"Yep," Blaise whistled. "It's like they're the same person... the thief and the killer."

"It seems certain, but when you think about it, it's not certain at all and it would be completely random." Draco thought for a second. "Probably a Death Eater?"

"Um… yes, but I'm not sure, mate. They don't steal. At least they didn't use to steal, I believe."

"But the world has changed, hasn't it?"

Blaise blinked. "Yes. Yes it did."

"So it could be anyone. Could be one person, could be two persons. Could be a wizard, a Death Eater, a Muggle, hell, it could be a fucking Gobelin."

Blaise sighed loudly. "Anyway, we'll have time to think about it. Go to your apartment with her. She has to sleep."

"Can you remind me again why we are being so nice?"

Blaise rolled his eyes, "Don't you think this girl deserves it, Draco?"

Draco spoke faster than he could think, his reflexes still firmly grounded. "She's a Mudblood."

"Stop saying that, damn it!" hissed Blaise. "Stop it! I'm tired of playing the bad guy. Blood, if it's a thing, is a color, not a status."

Draco felt uncomfortable, because even if his friend was right, he had a hard time convincing himself of it. Blood is a color, not a status, he repeated to himself like a line he had to copy during detention.

"I know I'm being a fucking prick," Draco said, "and I'm tired of it too, but I can't ruin my reputation just like that."

"Your reputation?" Blaise laughed sarcastically. "You're so full of it, Malfoy! You're completely filled up with pride, power and royalty bullshit. Your reputation... That I could believe in first year when you were competing with Potter, but wake. the fuck. up! Today the Dark Lord is defeated and the reputation you gave yourself, that we all gave ourselves by choosing him over our fellow Hogwarts students, is that we were cowards. For making the easy choice, not the right choice!"

"Watch your tongue, Zab," Draco growled, clenching his teeth. "We didn't all choose it! I didn't have a FUCKING say in the matter, actually!"

"I know, but you can't alter the facts. You were manipulated, and it became easier to simply obey rather than being tortured or seeing Crucio tearing our parents apart! It was the fucking same for me! I did what I had to do in order to survive the Dark Lord's grip!"

"Yes but you didn't get the Mark!"

Blaise swallowed. "I was supposed to receive it this summer. If he were to win the Battle."

Draco's eyebrows raised high. "Really? Why didn't you tell me?"

"You never asked."

Draco's lips pursed. He realized that he should pay closer attention to his friend, probably the only real friend that stuck with him since the beginning.

"Anyway, even after all this," Draco spat, "we didn't all become little bloody angels of redemption like you."

Blaise rolled his eyes again. "Look, Granger was about to jump out the window. Do you know what that means?"

Draco's face turned white. "I'm not fucking ignorant. You told me."

"Yeah well I repeat it. She wanted to kill herself. Miss know-it-all, the great war hero, the brilliant, brave and often pretentious Gryffindor princess didn't want to exist anymore. This is no laughing matter."

"She's not in her fucking right mind!" Draco stated, looking disdainfully at Hermione at his feet.

"We don't have brothers, we can't understand what she's going through, but that's why she was going to jump. I'm pretty sure. Her pain is... nameless."

Blaise stopped for an instant, stammered almost inaudibly before looking back at Draco. "Malfoy, you know… You… You were the last one, probably, to speak to her. Before she came here."

The blonde wizard felt his cheeks burn. "What are you implying, Zab?"

"Did you say something that drove her mad?"

Draco thought back to their conversation. It seemed to him that on the contrary, the conversation had gone… well. "No, I didn't," he shot back.

Draco remained silent for a moment, his gaze lowered on the Lioness. And suddenly it hit him. And hard.

"Fuck..." he breathed. "Oh, fuck... Zab..."

"What?"

"I screwed up."

"I knew you did something!"

Draco shook his head. He saw no choice but to tell Zabini. "She begged for help just last night. I just… I didn't hear it."

Blaise frowned, looking completely lost. "What happened last night?"

"Don't get mad, but Granger had a nightmare, and she went completely crazy, so I gave her a drink. Quite a few, actually."

Blaise's expression shifted. "You shared your alcohol with her?"

"Oh, come on, princess, you'll get over it."

"We'll see."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Whatever. But I remember what she said. It's… fucking clear now. She told me that she was going to carry my secret of sharing alcohol to her grave... that nothing was going to matter tomorrow, that it was better to be forgotten than to forget. Her last words to me were 'take care'."

"Take care?"

"Take care." Draco nodded.

Blaise closed his eyes before looking at Hermione, still on the floor. They couldn't leave her there too long. "She knew." He whispered. "She was saying goodbye."

Draco felt weird and a little sick. Granger had shared a few drinks because she knew she was going to kill herself. There was no other reason. He considered her for a moment, without emotion, before saying: "You know, a simple Obliviate would take care of the problem—"

"I swear, Malfoy, you should hear yourself speak sometime." Blaise sat back in his chair. "Okay, I'm kicking you out now. Bring her back. And don't be fucking mean, she's heard enough already."

"She's heavy, and I still have to carry her," Draco grumbled through his teeth as he bent down to pick up Hermione awkwardly.

"You're out of shape," Blaise smirked. "We'll talk about this later."

"Write your letter, Zab. See you."

The Slytherin returned to his apartment, with heavy, breathless footsteps. He laid Hermione down in her bed with more delicacy than when he had carried her to the infirmary, and passed a hand over her forehead. She felt feverish. No way was he going to end up in the damn infirmary a second time with his partner unconscious again! Madam Pomfrey would seriously suspect the wrong things. He went into the bathroom and returned with a damp towel that he placed on the sleeping brunette's forehead. He would treat her his way.

It was in the silence of his apartment, without the hooting of the owls and the whistling of the wind, that Draco could really think about everything he had just experienced. Everything she had experienced. Dear God, actually stabbed. How could Hermione have dared to take her own life? This was at least the tenth time he had told himself that she wasn't in her right mind. She was no longer smiling. Sure, she had started to talk again, but she was not the most cheerful person like he used to see her with Potter and Weasley.

Is this the face of grief?

It didn't affect him in the slightest, but he found it simply surreal. Besides, Granger was still Granger. A mere colleague, even if he did worry a little about her. And not a bit more. He worried more about what she would say to everyone. No doubt she had already bad-mouthed him.

He thought back to what Blaise had told him. It was true that Granger couldn't stand to hear any more taunts. Not for now, at least. He would try — Merlin help him— to stop and make an effort to get along with her. He needed her to climb out of her hole and become the insufferable Gryffindor who had a say in everything again. The one who could talk about fishes and osmosis. He needed his nemesis to be strong enough to support his jeerings. Not his rude, arrogant prickness. Just his normal teasing self. It was harmless anyway. Wasn't it? He was going to help her get back to her true self.

She would feel alive again.

She would find her way back to her taste for life.

He kinda promised himself.

At the dinner table, Harry was the last to arrive. After finding Hermione, he hadn't joined the others, even if they were dying to know where she was. He was too mad at her and he had spent the last hour before dinner thinking about how we would break the truth to Ron and Ginny.

As soon as he appeared in the Great Hall, Ron and Ginny rose from their seat.

"I didn't find her!" cried Ginny. "I don't understand!"

"Mate, I'm so worried I can't eat a thing…" Ron said, looking pale. "Where did she go?"

Harry took a seat and realized his mistake. He should have spoken with them sooner. Way sooner.

"Sit down, guys," he said. "I found her."

Ginny and Ron sat back down, mouth gaping. "You… You did?" Ginny stammered. "Harry! What's going on?"

Harry couldn't hold it back any longer. He clenched his teeth and snapped. "I told you she wasn't okay! I told you and I told myself repeatedly that something seemed off! And I was right! I was right! Why did you question my intuition about her? After all, I know her like the back of my hand! Now Zabini and Malfoy were the one saving her, and it should have been me! Us!"

Silence fell between them like a heavy blanket. Ron's throat felt dry and he started drinking from his glass.

"Saved her?" gasped Ginny. "What do you mean?"

Harry suddenly turned red. He looked at his foot under the table. "You know. She… I think she was at the window."

Ron said nothing, frowning, still not sure where Harry was getting at. Ginny's face turned even a deeper shade of red than Harry. Ron had told her that they had split themselves the Owlery and the Astronomy Tower. Harry was the one who had searched the Owlery.

Her lips pursed. "What was she doing at the window in the Owlery, Harry?" she snarled.

Harry kept quiet.

Ginny got impatient and slammed her palm against the table to wake Harry up, making the other Gryffindors at the table jump. "What was she doing, Harry?" she exclaimed.

"She was about to jump, okay?" Harry snapped quickly.

Ron choked on his juice and Ginny's eyes welled up with emotion. "She was about to jump, and you just snapped at her, leaving her with those two boys?" Her voice was just a whisper now. "How could you, Harry?"

"Mate, you kind of messed up on this one," Ron said slowly.

"She fucking wanted those 'two boys' instead of me there, Ginny!" Harry ignored Ron.

"That's because you made her feel like she couldn't feel what she was feeling at the moment!"

Harry frowned. There was a lot of "feelings" in that sentence, and he didn't know what to say. "Yeah, thanks for telling me I have the emotional range of a teaspoon," he replied finally.

Ron wanted to smirk at the reference but couldn't, still too shocked about learning that his best friend had wanted to jump off the Owlery.

"Harry, this is fucking serious!" Ginny shot back, looking hurt. "Where is she now?"

"I don't know."

The redhead witch's eyes widened. "I can't believe you." She began standing, gathering some food. "She must feel so lonely. And hungry. She hasn't eaten all day, may I remind you!"

"Well, go ask Malfoy and Zabini where she is," Harry said coldly.

Ginny shot him a blazing look and got up of the table, balancing a bowl of stew, a piece of bread and a slice of cake in her hands, and left without saying another word. She hadn't noticed them before, but now she could clearly see that Malfoy and Zabini were eating at the Slytherin's table. She marched there quickly.

"Boys," she greeted as soon as she stopped in front of Blaise, right behind Draco. "Where is Hermione?"

A few Slytherins glared at her with disgust, but nobody said anything and everyone just ignored her. Draco turned around and Blaise smirked at the witch. Damn, that fire!

"Hello to you too!" Blaise replied.

"Where is she?" repeated Ginny, looking intently at Draco, ignoring Blaise.

"I got her back in her dorm," said Draco bluntly. "She was sleeping on the couch when I left for dinner."

Ginny stared at him, surprised. "Well… Um, that was… decent of you."

"You're welcome," he snarled.

"I didn't say—"

"You're welcome, Ginger," he growled, turning his back on her to resume his meal. "Now scram."

Ginny left, rolling her eyes and Blaise stared at Draco in front of him before slapping him on the head. "You're a jerk with ladies! She was being nice."

"Don't care," snapped Draco.

Blaise looked at Ginny's back, who was just leaving the Great Hall, admiring the bouncing red flames of her hair on her shoulders. One day she would look at him and talk to him. He smiled.

Back at the Gryffindor table, Harry had served himself some food but couldn't bring himself to eat it. Ron either. After a while, Harry sighed loudly.

"So you think that I messed up too?" he asked Ron.

Ron bit his lower lips. "Er… well, Harry… Kind of."

Harry buried his head into his folded arms on the table. "I'm a jerk," he said, voice muffled.

"That's the first thing you should tell her before apologizing," Ron replied, patting his friend's back. "I just… I can't believe she wanted to do that…"

Harry's head shot back up and he glared at Ron. "I was mad too. But think about it. Can you blame her? Be honest."

"I mean… she did go through some bad stuff. And the grief. But… we all did."

"That's the thing. You said 'did', as if her hard time was already over. As if there was a time limit to how long someone should suffer or mourn."

"That's not what I meant. You know Hermione. She's strong! She's fierce! Why did she feel like this was the only solution to escape it?"

Harry began hitting himself with the palm of his hands. "I'm a jerk! I'm a jerk!"

"Come on, mate," Ron elbowed him lightly. "Eat something. Let Ginny talk to her."

Harry put some food in his mouth. It suddenly tasted like nothing and seemed disgusting. A red, strong, cloud of shame came over his head, and nothing, absolutely nothing, could have made him feel better at that moment. He thought of all those moments when he himself had felt the grief overwhelm him, that irreparable tear that tortured his soul with each new dawn, that reminded him of what he had lost. His parents, Sirius, Cedric, Lupin... I'm just a self-centered jerk, Harry berated himself, feeling his eyes sting with guilt.

"I'm interested in the fact that the less secure a man is, the more likely he is to have extreme prejudice."

Clint Eastwood