"He keeps looking at you."
"He's just trying to piss you off, Harry."
"No he's not."
"Yes he is," sighed Hermione quietly, turning the page of her textbook with a little too much frustration. "Now can you just leave it, please?"
She didn't need Harry to tell her Draco was looking. She felt it. He may as well have been peeling back her skin.
"If he's just trying to get to me-" whispered Harry-
Lord. Give it a bloody rest.
"-then why does he look away whenever I notice?"
"I don't know, Harry," growled Hermione, her voice rising, "But it's clearly getting to you, isn't it? So it's working wonderfully."
Draco must have heard her. He glanced at her again.
Harry's jaw clenched. "See?"
"Merlin, give me strength," replied Hermione, rolling her eyes at him in the standard grow-up-and-don't-be-such-a-child way. "If you don't stop-"
"Ten points from Gryffindor." Snape glared up from his desk.
Harry's face dropped further into a deep, aggravated frown.
"And another ten for that look on your face, Potter."
"The look on my-?"
"And another five for that." He shut the heavy book in his hands with a loud smack. "So I believe that makes twenty-five points from Gryffindor. Congratulations."
A couple of Slytherins sniggered.
Hermione glowered at them, the ever-familiar word 'hate' flashing into her mind. And it exhausted her. The feeling seemed permanently seared into the insides of her brain. She couldn't remember ever feeling so much of it in all her times at Hogwarts.
Hate. She hated that in itself.
Hermione stared down at her work. What was she even doing? Her neck was aching tremendously.
And then there was the other thing. The other thing so apparent, it was almost hurting her.
Draco was looking at her. Constantly. Stolen glances that were all too noticeable and, quite evidently, incensing Harry beyond words. They weren't long, drawn-out stares of malcontent and loathing, they were shorter, unreadable. They almost seemed sad if she looked back at him long enough to decipher them. And it was a sadness that she felt like heavy bitter rain. A sadness belonging to her. Perhaps the only thing on earth that she and Draco shared at that moment. But she wasn't about to empathise with the bastard.
The bastard…
Hermione cringed a little. Something was sounding almost too harsh about those words, for some messed up reason she had yet to establish. Perhaps it was seeing him like that. Seeing him crumbled on the ground. She'd felt something break. And the pity, it had changed something. Something somewhere inside her that didn't want to be changed.
And Hermione noticed it when she finally returned to her bedroom last night, and Draco had gone. She was shaking, as she had been for what felt like forever, and she was forced to swallow a small, biting, bursting twinge of guilt.
Guilt?
And that was how fucked up it was. She had felt guilty. And she still did, though desperately tried to deny it to herself. But it was useless. Whenever she replayed his body, that body of his silently breaking, eyes hopelessly beaten on the floor, her heart twisted in the kind of way that made her want to sob with the pain of it. Because maybe she shouldn't have run away.
Maybe she shouldn't have left him. Not like that.
And perhaps that was what made her go in the first place. The urge to stay. Perhaps that was why she ran out of that room as fast as her trembling mess of a body could take her. Take her away from him.
She acknowledged it later. Part of her was going to slide down the wall next to him. And stay there. In sobbing silence. And wait. Wait for something, nothing, whatever would come. Wait for the next instalment of this mental choas. Anything but leave him like that, quietly splitting inside himself. And she asked herself the hardest question of all.
Why the hell?
But she had a heart, after all. A big, fat, fantastic ball of love and longing and hate and hurt that thumped so loudly she almost wished it would explode.
So that must be it. The part that was new. She repeated it back in her head. She felt guilty because
she should have stayed. Said something. Done something. He had been an unimaginable bastard-and yes, definitely a bastard- but she had just witnessed the faint possibility of a reason for all of it. Something different and unexpected. Something that wasn't simply pure evil.
But it almost made everything more callous and convoluted. It made it harder to swallow. Maybe she was just thinking too much. Maybe she was hoping for something that wasn't there. Maybe he really was just malevolent through and through. Down to the bloody, brittle bone.
Suddenly everyone was moving around Hermione. And she was dragged back.
"You've written about five bloody lines this lesson," complained Ron, "How am I supposed to work with five bloody lines?"
Hermione blinked at being pulled out of her head. "You should try and learn not to rely on copying me, Ron," she frowned, "That might be a good place to start."
Ron grinned. "Didn't you realise? Your work is the only reason I'm friends with you."
Hermione sighed. "Honestly Ron, that's not funny. You can't always expect-" And then she stopped, and poked Harry hard in the ribs. "Will you stop staring at Malfoy, Harry! He's not even looking anymore."
Harry flinched and jerked away from her. "Alright!" he frowned, "I just-" He made a sound of frustration. "Whatever."
Hermione felt angry all of a sudden. Yes Harry, she thought, because it's so bloody difficult for you, isn't it? You poor, poor thing. And then she stopped. Because perhaps that wasn't overly fair. Perhaps that wasn't fair at all. But it still annoyed her.
And then something unexpected happened.
"Granger, I need a word."
And she turned to see Draco. It was the last thing, the very last thing Hermione expected. He barely ever- if ever at all- approached her around Harry and Ron. Unless it was to make a few underhand comments, of course. And what was most surprising, was that she thought he would never speak to her again after last night. She thought he'd be too ashamed. Or something like it. But this- this was too bloody soon. And she noticed Harry's face clenching with severe distaste of it.
"Err…" You can do better than that. Merlin, say anything. "About prefect…stuff?" I said you can do better than that Hermione, she scolded herself.
"No. It's nothing to do with any of that."
No-what? What? Hermione was stunted. What the hell was wrong with him? Why would he ever say 'it's nothing to do with that' in front of Harry and Ron? Why wouldn't he just agree? Harry was right there for Merlin's sake.
As if he wasn't already suspicious enough, you prat.
Hermione quickly glanced at Harry. He looked livid. No, the prospect that she and Malfoy had something other than prefect duties to discuss had not gone down well with him at all. Not at all. Hermione felt herself fast becoming the person with the loudest heartbeat in the school.
"Okay," she answered, composing herself as best she could, "But make it quick."
Harry spoke before they could leave. "What's this about, Malfoy?"
Hermione looked at him. Merlin. You couldn't just leave it, could you Harry?
Draco's eyes crossed over to him. "That's none of your business, Potter."
She silently pleaded him with her eyes. Not right now Harry. Please.
"When it involves you breathing within three feet of her for no good reason," snapped Harry, "It becomes my business, Malfoy."
Hermione shot Ron a look. Stop him, it said. But that was clearly the last thing Ron was going to do. He didn't look too joyful about it either. Well isn't that just great.
"Leave it, Harry," she said, "I won't be long."
He looked less than impressed with her intervention. Argh. Why? It has nothing to do with you, Harry, I'm a big girl.
(Yeah. A big girl that was begging for you to rescue her last night.)
"Fine," he mumbled, paying Draco one last look of threatening disgust. "We'll see you in the common room."
She had to admit it surprised her. Perhaps the whole leaving-it concept wasn't as lost on him as she'd thought.
"Don't be long, Hermione," added Ron, following Harry. A similar glance in Draco's direction.
Hermione sighed inwardly as they left. She was pretty certain this had just placed her and Harry back in square one. How long would it take to break out of it this time?
And then she turned to Draco and they walked back into the emptied classroom.
"Was that really necessary?"
"What?"
"Saying it was nothing to do with prefect business."
"It's not."
"But you didn't have to say that."
"And you didn't have to ask."
Draco closed the door.
It made her feel slightly uneasy.
And so they stared at each other. It was the longest moment. And Hermione felt every second as if it were hammering into her head.
It was written all over their faces. Last night. Tense may have been the biggest understatement
Hermione had ever made in her life. Ever. Because it was so much more than just tense in that moment. The air may as well have been dripping with it.
Break it Hermione, she thought. Say something because, Merlin, saying nothing is hurting like hell.
"What is it?" Her voice was small, thick with cautious anticipation.
It was obvious he didn't want to be there. At least that was one thing they had in common. Along with the sadness, she remembered.
"Malfoy?"
"What happened yesterday-"
- and Merlin did her breath freeze-
"-I thought we should just, go over a few things."
"Go over a few things?" She let out the breath. Blood still racing around. "Like what?"
And then Draco shrugged.
What the hell…? Hermione frowned. What in Merlin's name did he mean by that? Go over what? If he can't answer that, than how the hell was she supposed to do it?
Draco could feel her staring at him expectantly. Merlin did he regret this. And he ventured quickly upon the fact that he should never, never have acted on his sudden impulse to talk to her. He didn't even have anything to say. Because what the fuck can he say to the mudblood bitch he almost kissed twice? Absolutely shit all.
But there he was. He'd set up his own bloody trap. And he was standing slap bang in the centre. Just blurt something out. Say something, anything to hurt her.
"I can't fucking think straight when you're around."
What? No.
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. Of all the nasty, biting little comments he could have thrown at her. Why the hell did he have to say that. Where did that one come from? What the hell was it supposed to mean? And look at her. She's looking at you and her eyes have never been so bloody big. She's analysing the comment right here and now. Confusion splashed across that stupidly smooth skin. He had to change every bit of it's meaning.
Change. Rectify. Restore the balance.
"But I figure it's because you're so unavoidably disgusting."
And then he could so abundantly taste the sudden waves of whatever it was that came out of her. Something was telling him she wouldn't rise to it. And that wasn't good. That wasn't a game he knew as well as the others.
"How are you…" She trailed off.
Where was that sentence about to go? Finish it off, Granger. How are you such a bastard? How are you so unkind?
She hesitated. "How are you feeling?"
And he thought it would go anywhere but there.
It threw Draco off guard for a moment. How was he feeling? How was he feeling? Don't ask him that. That's just- not what they did.
"Right now?" Add an insult. "Not that great with you standing here in front of me."
That was almost pathetic. (Almost pathetic, since Draco could never be completely pathetic. Or maybe. Maybe his father was right. Remember last night?)
Remember last night?
She didn't even roll her eyes at him. He never thought he'd see the day he was disappointed about that.
"Have you thrown up again?"
"There's nothing left in me to throw up."
And then the resumed silence. She didn't break it for a while.
Hermione had no clue why she'd asked him how he was. For some reason it just felt necessary. As if she'd be making up for the fact she'd left him like that. Not that she had anything to make up for, she kept telling herself.
Draco's silence was frustrating her. Had he not been the one to instigate a talk? That was something she could ask him at least. Something a little safer.
"You're the one who wanted to talk, Malfoy," she said, "Do you even have anything to say?"
"Yes," he answered.
"Well, what?"
"Last night…"
There it was again. The freezing of her breath.
Draco looked like he was struggling to get out the words. He raised his chin. "Last night, I don't know what happened to me." No idea what so fucking ever. "I just…I don't want you thinking things because of it." And his head screamed at him that it was too bloody late.
"Things like what?" Her voice quiet.
Draco frowned. "What do you think, Granger?" he growled, slight irritation hitting his voice. "I'm sure a hundred things have crossed your mind since last night." They've sure as hell crossed mine.
She stared back at him. "Yes. Yes they have."
"Well forget them," he replied, "Forget them all. I don't know what happened but I wish it never
had."
Forget them all, she thought, like it never happened? That's as impossible as him never calling her a filthy mudblood again.
"Which parts?" Hermione felt a sudden new found courage. "The part where you shoved me up against a wall again, Malfoy, or the part where you almost kissed me for the second time this week?"
The words shot straight through him.
"Fuck you," he spat, "I regret every single bit."
"Really?"
"Down to the last moment."
"And what if I hadn't pushed you off?"
"Oh don't start, Granger."
"What if I hadn't left?"
Don't ask. You really don't want to hear the answer to that question.
"What if you hadn't left, Granger?" That's right, turn it around. His frown felt so deep it was hurting. "Let's stop talking like I was the only bloody one there. How about what you would have done?"
Hermione paused.
This feeling between them. She couldn't understand it. And it was mounting. Every bloody second.
And she didn't want to leave.
And Draco wasn't going to.
She swallowed. "We can't go on like this, Malfoy."
"Go on like what?"
"You know like what."
He looked at her. His cheeks felt hot.
"And what are you going to do about it, Granger?" he spat. "We both knew his wouldn't be an easy ride."
"How is this 'not an easy ride'?" She shook her head. "This isn't just 'not an easy ride' Malfoy. This is a fucking train crash." Hermione felt frustration begin spill over. "I mean seriously, how can we continue as head boy and head girl when we can't even stay in the same room without saying something to hurt the other one? And then the times that it goes further, Malfoy. What about those? Have they finished? Was that it, last night? Was that the last of it?"
He stared at her silently, cheeks flaming.
"Well?" she asked him.
Draco said nothing.
"I don't know what happened either, Malfoy. But you were- You were completely out of it. Merlin, you were dangerous, Malfoy. At one point I didn't even recognise you. So yes, I'm admitting that you frightened me, fucking terrified me beyond belief, and this whole bloody thing is going to self-destruct any moment. And so I'm always terrified. I can't sleep across the wall from you without my wand in my hand. Isn't that bloody rich? That's how you make me feel."
Draco had no idea what to say. So he just said anything.
"Good."
Short, sharp, bitter.
Hermione shook her head again. "Of course," she realised, almost laughing at herself, "Of course, that means nothing to you. It just makes you glad. Makes you feel proud. I'm wasting my time." She was wasting months of it.
Hermione turned to leave.
Draco lunged grabbed her wrist.
"No!" she exclaimed, turning back and yanking it away from him so fiercely she stumbled backwards. Her voice was shouting now. "I won't let you do that again, Malfoy! I won't let you touch me this time!"
Draco brought back his arm. "Is that right?" he spat. Fuck it. He didn't even realise he'd grabbed her anyway. Didn't realise or didn't want to realise.
Hermione wanted to scream at him. "Look at us!" she said. She was laughing. Shouting. "Look at this! It's been only hours since we were last doing this and look! Here we are again! This is it, right here! This is what I mean! And how long did it take this time? About a minute? How much longer can you go on like this, Malfoy? How much longer before one of us cracks?" She shook her head. "We have to sort this out, Malfoy. We have to sort this thing, this stupid sodding us thing, out! So who's going to do it? Because from where I'm standing it looks like you couldn't get enough of it!"
And then he answered her.
And as he did, as the words fell out, he wondered what was happening to his head, he asked himself, asked himself over and over again. Why wasn't he laughing back at her and sneering? Telling her that he would keep this going and going until she was the one that cracked so spectacularly, straight down the middle, begging him to stop. Wasn't that what he should be saying? And shouldn't he be screaming it at her so loud it burst her ears and filled them with blood? Thick, muddied blood? Then why wasn't he?
What was he saying instead? Draco listened to himself. He could hear words. Lots of them.
"-And it's worse for me! You flit around like a fucking queen, prance about with your stupid hair and stupid eyes and stupid everything! Granger, the victim! The victim of the big bad Prince of Slytherin and oh- oh you poor thing, you poor weak little bitch, Granger, it must be so hard for you! And I fucking hate you for it! Fucking hate every part of your skin, and everything underneath it,
everything written on it! All those big fat words spelling out mudblood and slag and filthy whore! And I hate what you do to me! I hate the way I can't stop looking at you! I can't stop fucking drinking you in! And it's been like that since the beginning, since they messed up and made you Head Girl, since you started to spread your dirty shitting presence everywhere I went! I look at you and I just want to grab you and shake you and fuck all the Granger out of you because then it can't torture me anymore! Then I won't feel it every minute of every day! Then I'll stop having to fight the fact that all I want to do is kiss you to silent that stupid mouth of yours! And what would my father say to that? He'd fucking tear me into a bloodied mess and spit on the remains! You're dirty and you're disgusting and you're a mudblood! So I hate you! I hate you for existing, Granger! I wish you were fucking dead!"
He was panting.
And now his heart wasn't on his sleeve. It was on the floor in front of him.
And she looked so shocked.
And so did he.
And then suddenly the door shot open.
Hermione's heart stopped.
Harry.
Harry had wondered out of the common room after ten minutes of waiting.
She wasn't back yet.
Ron told him not to look for her. He promised he wouldn't. Lied, of course.
Was she still with him? Was she still with Malfoy? And what were they saying? What could they possibly have to say that was took longer than a few seconds? Harry didn't like it. Something wasn't right. And that something was sure as hell Malfoy. The biggest fucking son of a bitch he had ever met in his life.
So that's where he was going. To check. To see if she was alright. Hermione. His best friend. His absolute necessity. His can't do without.
He was so angry with her. So damn angry with the girl for not understanding why he did this. Why he was so afraid to let her be around Malfoy. Surely it was obvious? The guy was dangerous. He was capable anything- anything.
Harry began to walk faster.
Hermione just hadn't been herself. She hadn't been herself since the beginning of the term. And this last week. Merlin. He wanted to know so much what she was thinking about. Because that's all
she'd been doing. Sitting their, sodding thinking. What about? Was it about him?
Was it about Malfoy?
Had he done something?
What had he done?
And what if Harry was completely and utterly oblivious to it? What if he had forced her not to tell anyone and there was nothing she could do? Magic is powerful. Magic can do all sorts of things. It can ruin lives in the most delicately subtle ways possible. Harry should know. He fucking lived it.
Harry felt a heated dose of anxious fury shoot through him.
And if that was what had happened, he would kill him. And he wouldn't even think twice about it.
Then Harry shook himself. He was slightly disturbed by the feeling that hurting Malfoy gave him. A strange, hungry feeling.
What was that word? That word meaning hate? Odium. That was what it was between them. And even that wasn't powerful enough to spell it out. There wasn't even any words. If there were he would have used them already. Every single one. Shouting them at him like razors. Over and over-
"-the Granger bitch."
Harry's head jerked up. He froze. Her name.
He heard her name.
And who's voice was it? Where had it come from?
"I'll fucking rip her eyeballs out, Millie," it said, "Just watch me."
Pansy Parkinson.
Harry pressed himself up against the wall. He could hear her behind darkened light of the corner just in front of him. Her voice sounded like scratched metal.
What was she saying about her? About Hermione?
Harry listened.
"I swear if you say anything to anyone, you'll regret it."
"I said I wouldn't, didn't I?"
Millicent Bullstrode. Almost hideous just from the voice.
"If people find out what's going on between him and that…that fucking mudblood then I'll come off as a right twat. Got it?"
What did she just say?
"I thought you said nothing was definite. That you didn't know."
"It's so obvious. You should see them. It makes me sick."
His heart halted.
Harry stopped breathing.
Was she absolutely fucking mental?
Tell him she was absolutely fucking mental.
"Well then what's your plan?"
"Well what the hell can I do? I'm sure he'll realise what a stinking bitch she is at some point. I just-I can't believe that he stopped me, Mill, I can't believe that he didn't let me punch the stupid whore. Doesn't that just say it all? Why else would he have done it?"
Why else would he have done it?
Harry's fists clenched. No. Wherever Pansy's poison came from, it certainly wasn't the truth.
It couldn't have been the truth.
It couldn't.
Because.
He would know.
"And I swear he said her name that time. He growled it so fucking deep I could barely hear it but I knew. I didn't say anything, but I knew."
Harry could hear the tears in Pansy's voice now.
"I'm such an idiot!" she growled, "Why Millie? And the way the bitch looked at him. The way they look at each other. Argh! He said her name when we were up against each other- when we were shagging, Millie, and I ignored it! How could I be so bloody stupid-"
And that was enough.
Harry clamped his hands over his ears so hard the pain rang loudly in his skull.
No. NO.
Pansy was wrong. She was so, so wrong.
She couldn't have spat out a bigger pile of shit if she tried.
And he had to find her.
Find her and ask her and prove it.
And then Harry was running away from the voices and towards the dungeons. So fast he thought he may have left his lungs behind. So fast he thought his heart might rip and burst.
Not Hermione. Not Hermione.
He shook it into himself.
Not with Malfoy.
Anyone but him.
Had he misheard? And even if it was true. It's just Malfoy that wants her. It's just Malfoy that wants Hermione. She doesn't want him back. And if he so much as lays one fucking finger on her, Harry will break every sodding bone in his body. Every-single-fucking-one.
And Pansy was a delusional. She was just searching for excuses for their failing relationship. Well Hermione wasn't one of them. She absolutely nothing to do with it. And what a stupid little tart for thinking that any of it would make the smallest bit of sense. Because it didn't.
It made absolutely no sense at all.
That was why she was wrong. And the sooner she understood that the better.
So why was Harry's heart pumping so fast? So fast it could break his skin?
It was all just a pack of over-exaggerated lies and he knew that. But he didn't like what they had done to his head. And it was only temporary, he told himself, only until he found Hermione and asked her and realised. That none of it was the truth. And she would tell him the truth. The real truth. And he was going to believe every word she said.
Nothing was going on between her and Malfoy. They hated each other. You didn't have to be within a mile of them to know that. She hated him just as much as Harry did. Just as much as Ron did.
Harry flung himself down the abrasive stone steps of the dungeons. Pansy's words were screaming in his head.
The way they look at each other.
No.
Not.
Hermione.
Harry was breathing so hard he couldn't think straight.
And suddenly he could hear shouting. A loud, rasping, ripping voice.
Malfoy.
Harry reached the door, stopping so fast he almost lost balance. Sweating. Panting. Aching.
Burning.
His ears filled with blood. It was searing in his veins.
"And what would my father say to that? He'd tear me into a bloodied mess and spit on the remains! You're dirty and you're disgusting and you're a mudblood! So I hate you! I hate you for fucking existing, Granger! I wish you were fucking dead!"
Harry's fists clenched.
He would kill him.
(No. Not. Hermione.)
He would fucking kill him.
