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Sorry.
I feel a lot better now.
Anyway . . . sorry on how long it took me to update. I had this sitting here, waiting to be updated, but I went completely spaz and thought I'd already put this one up, and I had to write another one.
Also, there's been a lot of drama in my life right about now. I feel completely screwed over.
So I'd like to dedicate this chapter . . . I'm not sure if I can do this . . . but whatever.
For Evan.
Chapter Seventeen: The Silver Frame
"I hate it. I hate it, hate it, hate it."
"Oh, come on, Luna."
"No! I don't want to hide it anymore!"
"And what are you going to tell all of them, about how we've been seeing each other for all summer!"
"Why do we have to wait?"
"Because we do! Now isn't a good time!"
"I'm starting to think there never will be a good time."
With the cup of Hufflepuff secure in Dumbledore's deserted office, Harry and Ron snoring (probably loudly) in the boy's dormitory, and Malfoy no where to be seen, Hermione finally had time to herself.
Time to think.
Thinking – which consisted of what she now classified as the Two Kisses – was proving a dangerous pastime. As she lay on her back in the canopied bed, watching the moonlight etch patterns on the wall opposite the bay windows, her hand unconsciously rose to touch her lips.
In the hospital, when she'd seen the blurred, tall figure dash out of the room, she'd immediately leapt to the completely justifiable conclusion that Ron had kissed her. And now . . . now she didn't know; things were changing.
There was absolutely no way that it could've been Ron in the library – even Ron couldn't take twenty minutes to 'go to the loo' – and that narrowed the field of possibilities considerably.
In fact, the field was now so narrow that it contained no names.
A small knot of pre-migraine pain began to throb behind her eyebrows. She rubbed it hard with her fingertips, grinding the heel of her palms in her closed eyelids to relieve two pains at once. Neither disappeared, and she gave up.
Hermione groaned, and tossed off the heavy comforter. Beneath it, her legs had tangled in the filmy nightgown, her limbs bonded to the material by sweat.
"Who are you?" she asked aloud, loudly enough that her question echoed ominously. I'm turning into Mrs. Weasley, she thought sadly.
This thought, the one of 'Mrs. Weasley' brought her attention back to Ron . . . and the kisses. In the hospital, she'd been so sure of her assailant's identity that she hadn't considered anyone else. Attempting to figure out who would have had access to both her hospital room and the Hogwarts library, she realized that no one did – other than Ron and Harry, both of whom she had already exonerated.
She decided that maybe vocalization would help her organize her thoughts. "It can't be Ron," she said. "So who could it be?"
Repeating her question wasn't helping. She bit her lip, thinking furiously.
Wait.
There was one more possibility.
But it was too ridiculous to even entertain.
"No way," she snapped, swinging her legs off the bed and storming to the bay windows illuminated by the moonlight. She opened the doors with the full force of her confusion and anger, and stalked out onto the balcony, letting the cold wind pull the nightgown away from her legs.
On the balcony she paced back and forth, her eyes looking over the snow-covered grounds, her mind a thousand miles away. "It can't be him," she argued with herself. "Why would he kiss me?" However much her gut said no, it made sense logically. He really was the only one that was with her at the hospital and still had access at Hogwarts.
"Dammit!" she yelled.
For all that her logical mind told her that it made sense, she knew instinctively that he would never go around kissing girls. He had the world at his feet, for Merlin's sake – why would he sneak around, blinding know-it-all Head Girls who talked too much, just to snog them senseless.
Oh.
He was bored.
It came to her in a flash. Of course! There was no other explanation – he was bored of Hogwarts, so he decided to have some fun.
Bastard.
As she grit her teeth, determined to plan a course of revenge, she involuntarily flashed on the kiss in the library.
It was as if she had stuck an electric current into her mouth and flipped the switch. But it was softer than that . . .
Her anger began to melt.
And when someone's hands, calloused, gently rubbed her cheek, she closed her eyes and, dropping the scroll, wrapped her arms around that someone's neck.
He wasn't that bad a person.
His hands had left her cheek, and were on the small of her back, pressing her closer.
Would he really mess with someone's emotions?
She gladly complied, molding her frame against his, pulling his neck down, and arching her own to deepen this maddening kiss which seemed to be lasting forever.
Would he kiss her like that if he was bored?
"AHHHHHHHHHHH!" she screamed, clutching the metal railing of the balcony and throwing the full force of her back into it.
'Ahhhhhhhhhhh' seemed to sun up the situation quite nicely.
Vallorie Every had graduated the top of her class – even Head Girl.
She'd been accepted by every wizarding college she'd applied to – which were the fifteen most prominent of the wizarding world.
She'd been in love, she'd hated, she'd been jealous, infuriated, arrogant, bitchy, deliriously happy and so sad that she couldn't move.
And despite her numerous accomplishments, she sat in a dark office, tears in her eyes, almost forgotten by the world. She played barely a minor role in the events unfolding before her eyes – people like her were referred to as 'a footnote in history'.
I wasn't supposed to be here. I was supposed to be safe. I was supposed to be with him. I was supposed to be . . .
She shook herself mentally, wiping away the tears with stiff fingers.
Regrets would get her no where.
Don't dwell in the past, she told herself. Put down the goddamn picture. Get up, get out of the dingy office and take a bath.
She tried to unwind her fingers from their clutch on the picture frame, but she couldn't.
The only illumination in the room came from the tip of her wand, stuck, askew, between her knees. It was placed just so – if one was not Professor Every, one could not see the picture the heavy silver frame held.
I'm sorry.
Dammit. There she was, dwelling in the past again.
Angrily, she shoved a hand across her face, streaking salty tears over her cheeks. A sob caught in her throat, and she refused to let it past.
No matter how sorry I am, I won't let this rule me. It doesn't rule me.
She chanted the mantra continuously until she was mouthing the words. It came out in a harsh whisper. "You don't rule me anymore."
God, how much she wished it was true.
If one was in a high, seclude corner by the ceiling, directly above Professor Every's elbow, one could almost catch the flash of a bright smile, and wedding band on a hand flouncing a full white skirt.
"What are you thinking about, mate?" inquired Ron sleepily. He'd woken to a soft glow coming from his best friend's curtained bed. Seamus snored heavily.
"Nothing," came the murmured reply, and for perhaps the only empathic moment in his life, Ron sensed that this was something to be left alone.
"'Night," he said, and rolled on his side to go back to sleep.
Inside the glowing bed, with a wand stuck between his knees, Harry was looking at a picture on his lap.
They were by the lake, the four of them. Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Ron. All four laughing. He remembered how they'd caught Colin snapping pictures and he and Ron had bullied the film out of him. Ginny had extracted the promise that they'd burned it, but Harry was unable to.
All four laughing, all four with their books strewn about, resting on the rocks by the lake. When they'd first settled, the Giant Squid had been playing a game of Patty Cake with itself. Hermione had, for the first time, clapped her hands in joy.
They had, for the afternoon, forgotten their worries. The major ones – Voldemort, Death Eaters – and the minor ones – Snape's Potions essay.
With a sad look in his eye, he watched the Ginny in the photograph pull Pictured Harry in for a dazzling kiss. With a giggle, she pushed him away, but they watched each other. Pictured Hermione rolled her eyes dramatically and returned to Hogwarts, A History perched in her lap.
Pictured Ginny, with a wicked grin, whispered something in Pictured Harry's ear that made him turn bright pink.
Pictured Hermione smacked Pictured Ron on the head with her heavy volume. The second redhead was scrambling through his books, before sighing as he found the Potions text. Pictured Hermione gave off another world-class eye roll.
Pictured Ginny poked Pictured Hermione on the side. When the brunette turned to her, the redhead stuck out her tongue and waggled her fingers. Harry watched Pictured Hermione turn red, and her eyes glimmer for a minute. Then Pictured Harry tugged on Pictured Ginny's arm, and the two went back to snogging.
He hadn't noticed before, any resentment between Hermione and Ginny. There had been a few snide comments the year before, but the summer at the Burrow had been remarkably smooth. Could he have missed something?
At that point, Hermione, had she been there (and privy to his thoughts) would have pointed out that boys generally had very bad observational skills, teenaged boys especially.
Harry couldn't help a small smile.
He had been able to avoid the thoughts of Ginny over the past few days because they were so chock-full. He'd been settling into school, and then Hermione discovered the hiding place of the second . . . no, third, horcrux.
Now, rather like his twin, if he'd known, he was dwelling on past kisses.
And laughs.
And, for a moment, he was remembering the look on her face as he'd told her that he was breaking it off. Under the resentment and flickering emotions had he seen . . . relief?
No. Impossible.
"Ginny," he whispered, stroking a finger down the face of Pictured Ginny, who laughed silently and pulled Pictured Harry into another mind-blowing kiss.
On the other side of Hogwarts, Oliver slowly woke. His tongue was fuzzy for some inexplicable reason, and his head felt like Gred and Forge had set a few fireworks loose inside.
Fred and George, he reminded himself.
In felt like he had been zapped with a pretty nasty curse or two, or maybe hit over the head with a broomstick.
None of this, however, made any sense.
Because he couldn't remember anything strange happening the day before.
The next day at breakfast, the Golden Trio convened.
"Fuck off," groaned Ron as Parvati attempted to ask him to pass the waffles. Sniffling with indignation, she whirled around in the other direction.
"Really Ron," snapped Hermione. "Language."
Parvati shot her a withering look of disgust, which Hermione ignored, scooping up some scrambled eggs.
"So . . ." said Harry. "What do you think we should do about the you-know-what in Dumbledore's office?" Hermione rolled her eyes.
"The cup?" she asked dryly. "We should wait until Dumbledore comes back to even attempt to research how to destroy it."
"I dunno," replied Ron. "Harry killed the journal without hurting himself; he could probably explode the cup."
Biting her tongue to keep herself from perfecting Ron's grammar, Hermione chose to do the adult thing. "Still . . . do we really want to risk it, only to have the thing melt Ron's head off with burning acid?"
"Well . . ." grinned Harry.
Ron tossed a forkful of tomato at him.
Harry returned a spoonful of his oatmeal, and they were about to begin a full-out fight of tomato vs. oatmeal when Luna appeared behind Harry and Hermione. "Hello, everyone," she said dreamily. "Lovely day, isn't it?"
Ron turned purple.
"Lovely," agreed Hermione, turning to survey the younger girl. "How are you doing?"
"Like a Red-Nosed Mifflekrug in the desert," Luna replied cryptically.
"Er . . . is that good or bad?" asked Harry, confused.
"Good." It came out, in a strangled voice, from Ron.
"Oh," said Harry, raising his eyebrows in a 'covert' glance between him and Hermione. "Right. Of course."
There was a crash behind the siblings, and they turned in time to see a snarling Malfoy hit Luna with his shoulder, spinning the blonde girl in a veritably pirouette as he stalked by. Her bag split at the seams, her books tumbling out.
Hermione bent to help, and was reaching under Harry's legs to reach a Charms text covered in old Quibbler magazine covers when her hand brushed something smaller. She pulled out a small, gold necklace. The writing was a bit curly, but she could make out two intertwined L's on the front of what seemed to be a locket.
"Oh, Luna, this is beautiful," she said, holding it out.
For possibly the first time in her life, Luna turned pink. "Thank you," she whispered, grabbing the necklace and quickly fastening it around her neck. With a wand wave her bag was back together, and she took her books away from Hermione. "Bye."
"Good-bye," said Hermione cheerfully. As she returned to her plate, she raised an eyebrow. "Think Luna has an admirer?" she asked, grinning.
"Ooooh," supplied Harry.
Ron was still an unnatural color, and Hermione reached forward to feel his forehead. "Ron, are you alright?" He didn't have a fever, but jerked away from Hermione's hand.
"Fine."
He was gazing past her, at the Ravenclaw table, and a certain blonde. Harry and Hermione exchanged another 'covert' glance.
When Hermione returned to her rooms before lunch to drop off her texts, she found a small, folded square of parchment under the door. She juggled her bag and texts for a moment, before giving up and dropping both of them to pick it up.
The paper was heavy and thick – good quality. At the top was the Hogwarts crest. Her heart sank – it was available in any teacher's office. No way of telling who sent it. Before reading what was written, she tapped it. No traces. The single line was scribbled in black ink.
I'm sorry for the library.
"I can't believe it," she whispered, stunned. The paper trembled in her fingers. "Why sent this? And who on earth would apologize for something as mind-blowing as that kiss?"
"Talking to yourself again, Potter?" sneered a voice behind her. Not deeming to acknowledge his presence with a reply, Hermione stalked into her rooms. She dropped her books and bag on the bed, then sank onto the chair by the desk. She put the letter on the desk in front of her.
"Who are you?" she asked. The letter, unsurprisingly, didn't answer. "And are you apologizing for kissing me at all . . . or for taking advantage of me?"
She picked up the rest of her books and her bag and left her room. On second thought, she turned and locked the door.
She took the stairs at a quick pace, her bag thumping against her side, and screeched to a stop at the bottom of the staircase. Malfoy was lounging on the portrait hole, blocking her exit. "I think it's time we talk, Potter," he drawled, gazing at her with disinterest.
"I don't," she replied, and attempted to get by. Her fellow Head, who was 6'2" and had five inches on her, didn't have to move to get in her way. She thought seriously about biting him.
"Well, I do. Take a seat, Potter," he said, gesturing to the closest of the leather couches; she refused silently, crossing her arms and glaring.
"I have ten minutes, Malfoy," she snapped irritably.
"You have as long as I say you have," he replied effortlessly. "You don't have to sit. But I think you should know that there's something going on at Hogwarts that you don't want to be involved in."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Are you being purposely obscure?"
"Just shut up and listen, Potter. I don't have to tolerate you – hell, I don't like you. But I hate my father more than you. And lately the Potters have been of far too much interest to him. If warning you means that I'm fucking my father, I'll warn you; regardless of my personal feelings."
"Warn me about what?"
"Be careful."
Finishing dramatically with those cryptic words, Malfoy pushed himself off the edge of the portrait hole and sauntered up to his room. Hermione was confused and stunned. Someone apologizing for kissing her? Malfoy actually being human?
Shaking herself, she continued on her way to lunch.
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