Chapter VII
Hermione hadn't slept well. She had kept waking up after only a few moments' slumber, hoping she would be greeted by a steadily brightening dormitory. She had been disappointed each time, until now.
The grey traces of dawn swam around her, the sun far off and still smothered by the swiftly retreating night. The stars grew dim as the sun's fingers stretched from beyond the horizon to snatch them from the sky and add their light to its own.
Hermione got into the shower early, and decided to slow down. As the heat of the water formed a fog in the bathroom, her own thoughts began to swirl around her. Trailing back to yesterday, Hermione was unsure of what to do. Draco appeared to care about her, but she wasn't certain she could trust him. These days he almost looked like a Muggle junkie: sickly, thin and inhumanly pale. In the Muggle world she grew up in, there was a saying. Never trust a junkie.
What could Draco possibly want with her? He couldn't be looking just for an indiscreet hook-up, he could have his pick of Hogwarts for that, and he could definitely do better than her. Besides, Draco's stare of the previous day conveyed that he was looking for something deeper. Hermione mulled over the possible implications of this new realization. Perhaps Draco is looking for a real relationship, she thought. Perhaps Draco wants to be with someone that he cares about, not just that he finds beautiful at the moment; but why me? Hermione shut off the water and reached for her towel. Maybe, just maybe, she whispered to herself as she wrapped the towel around her, Draco and I could become something long-lasting; something meaningful and good and beautiful for longer than a year and a day. The least I can do is to give him the opportunity to prove he's serious. Hermione left the bathroom to get dressed. She wanted to be proud of her appearance. She was looking forward to Arithmancy. Not that this was unusual, Hermione loved the intricacy and difficulty of the course. Now she had another reason to enjoy the class, Draco would be there. Even though she was certain Draco couldn't be attracted to her for her exterior, she thought spending an extra ten minutes couldn't do any harm.
She opted to don a form-fitting black long-sleeve shirt beneath her Hogwarts robes. Even under her loose robes, this shirt helped to hint at her pleasant figure. The fibers in the shirt sleeve were tearing at the scabs on her left arm, but in all the concentration of "getting dolled up" Hermione failed to notice.
Finally realizing that she had done all there was to do and that Arithmancy began in fifteen minutes, Hermione grabbed her necessary materials and left Gryffindor Tower, thanking the Fat Lady for her kind comments on her appearance.
Hermione arrived in Professor Vector's classroom with ten minutes to spare. The rest of the class gradually trickled in and when Draco showed up five minutes prior to class commencing, she was unsure what to expect. Draco glided to her table and gracefully perched himself in the chair next to hers. Hermione tentatively turned to face him, and gave him a small questioning smile. Draco acknowledged it with a brief nod of his head. No other reaction. No words of salutation. No smile, no sign that perhaps Draco enjoyed her company anymore than he enjoyed another's.
The nod he had graced her with caused his hair to partially fall down over his face, an avalanche of blonde cascading down to hide the side of his pale face. Hermione moved to brush the hair away with her hand, but Draco beat her to it. When he saw her hand levitating so near his head, Draco almost involuntarily retreated away from her.
Instead, his cool grey eyes met hers and then returned to her outstretched hand, beginning to follow the path linking her hand to the rest of her body. Draco's eyes paused on the left forearm, noticing immediately the blood making Hermione's left sleeve damp and a darker shade than the rest of the shirt. His eyes lingered there too long and Hermione followed them. As Draco moved to touch her arm, she tucked it away within her copious robes. Draco's eyes flicked to her face and she was almost afraid to meet them. When she did, she saw in them something she hadn't expected. Not pity, or horror, or a questioning bewilderment, but empathy. More than empathy. She saw in Draco's eyes the same pain she had felt the night she had lacerated her arm. Hermione felt the blood flooding her face and she wanted desperately to turn away, to disappear, to not see the anguish in Draco's expression. As she started to turn away, she noticed the look in Draco's eyes drastically altered.
His lips curled and he whispered with all of his old venom, "What's the matter, Granger? Is the mud that desperate to get out?"
Draco leaned back in his chair, folded his hands together and stared icily at the table.
Hermione remained still, paralyzed with shock, the hurt of Draco's words stemmed from sinking in only by her unwillingness to acknowledge that they had been spoken. Her eyes were melting, and in her blurring vision so was the rest of the world. Tiny lights of candles shimmered like starts, blinding her, causing her eyes to shut. Class was beginning, and she knew she couldn't stay here, not next to the creature she thought she had rediscovered.
She had been wrong. Draco was just Malfoy. It was absurd to have entertained the idea he had any feelings for her. Shame and embarrassment and a hurt she had almost forgotten compelled Hermione to pounce on Malfoy and beat upon him until the breath never returned to his body; compelled her to cast the spell she used on her arm on his angelic face. Even with her heart about to explode and her brain about to give out, Hermione still thought Malfoy was beautiful, still a banished citizen of the skies. She longed to kiss this incubus carved of marble next to her.
Hermione did none of these things. She glanced at Malfoy; his stony exterior remained the same. She fled the room, tears brushed from her cheeks by her speed.
