A CERTAIN DARKNESS

. . .

AUTHOR'S NOTE: I'm bending canon timeline just a hair. Harry has already found the Half-blood Prince's textbook. Just for context. Please enjoy!

. . .

02. Itchy Laughter

. . .

"A certain darkness is needed to see the stars."

― OSHO, The Book of Secrets

. . .

For the better part of two weeks, the library had been more a prison cell. Hermione had used it as a shelter, buried in books stacked all around her in a corner far from the entrance. Apart from Neville and a few eager first years, she'd been left alone for most of the time.

It helped that Harry had Ron to tend to on the Quidditch pitch, preparing for the upcoming game with Slytherin. Between the sport and his obsessive Malfoy paranoia, Harry was falling back to some semblance of a routine. It helped because Hermione couldn't think of how she could ever learn to lie to him without feeling horrid.

Hermione needed to be better, so she tried numbing her conflict by a bit of light reading. In class, she found comfortable refuge in learning. It was the easiest and only way to keep her eyes off Malfoy. DADA was an entirely different environment.

Professor Snape had to have known about her. It was inconceivable that he didn't. The way his eyes landed on her after an uncomfortable pause in his lectures gave it away the most, aside from him always narrowing her eyes on her way in and out of the class. Neither had said a word to each other outside the familiar asking and answering questions.

Malfoy was more outspoken in the class, though. At the start of the new year, he'd been disinterested. Rather distant. Now, it all made sense. Hermione supposed it was hard to concentrate on simple tasks like learning when one had to plot murder.

There was no way she'd let him. Draco would not succeed. That wasn't what she'd been tasked with, but both flexibility and creative interpretation had been a big part of her fifth year. Hermione wouldn't let it slip away.

Tapping her fingers against the table, she sighed. She could go watch Harry and Ron's practice, but then she'd have to talk to people. Socializing wasn't something she wanted to do for the moment. Instead, she wrote down the list of books she'd been reading on some parchment and began filing her books back where they belonged.

"You're too obvious," someone muttered behind her just as she rounded the corner to the correct row.

Hermione didn't have to turn around to know who was there. "What do you want?" After a second, she looked over her shoulder. Malfoy's platinum hair looked warmer under the candlelight glowing across the darker row. His bright eyes were locked onto her. She dropped her eyes down the the floor, slowly regarding him until she met his gaze once more. His hands were shoved in his pockets. The bob in his throat distracted her for a moment. Shaking her head, she narrowed her eyes, pulling for any words to form coherently in her mind.

"Like you don't know!" Malfoy seethed, teeth bare and voice quiet. "Just give it to me, and I won't bother you again."

Hermione shook her head, reaching for the small table lining the bookshelf to her side and leaning on the chair for support. "Give you what? I don't have anything for you!"

"Quit bloody lying, and give it here already!" Malfoy stepped closer to her, but she didn't move or bend to his intimidation attempt. "Dumbledore said you'd have a package for me," he whispered, taking a moment to flatten his mouth into a disproving line. "It's been days!"

"Like I said, I don't have anything for you!" Hermione looked around, checking if anyone was visible. It would not do to be seen with him.

Malfoy got closer, lifting a hand to reach for her, but pausing before he touched her. He retracted his hand back into a ball before shoving it back into his pocket. "Meet me in Hogsmeade in an hour. With the package."

Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Or what?"

Malfoy relaxed his eyes, looking down. Flashing his bright hues behind her, he settled them back on her. "Just do it. We can't talk here." Without sparing another second, he left.

. . .

The owlry was a wasted trip. Hermione stalked through the halls up to her room. Once there, she tugged on her ankle boots, better suited for the freshly fallen snow outside and pulled a form fitting, dark blue sweater over her long sleeve shirt. Reaching for a coat, she shoved her wand in a sewn pocket on the inside and put on a dark gray knit hat and gloves just before leaving.

Passing students, Hermione rushed toward the entrance without delay; however, once she arrived outside the Great Hall, Professor Dumbledore stopped her. "Ms. Granger!"

Hermione turned, biting her lip. "Professor!" She said, voice much less enthusiastic than she preferred. "Are you enjoying your weekend?"

"Quite," he replied. "Would you care to walk with me for a few moments?"

Sighing, she nodded. "Not at all."

Dumbledore guided them through the students chatting and walking about. He walked with her in silence until he offered her an open door leading up to the Astronomy tower. Swallowing, Hermione glanced over at him, but he said nothing. Neither did she. He extended an open hand, indicating she go first. Complying, they walked all the way up until they reached the top of the tower.

Hermione moved all the way to the metal fence enclosing the round, open tower, eyes on Hogsmeade. "What's the package?"

"A letter of mine was intercepted."

Looking back at the headmaster, Hermione narrowed her eyes. "By whom?"

"Who really knows." Dumbledore walked forward, hands behind his back. "Lucikly, I predicted as much." He joined her by the railing, observing Hogsmeade. "This war will not be pretty. I'd hoped we'd have more time, but we've already lost so much."

"Professor?"

"Yes, Ms. Granger?"

"What if it's too late?" Hermione asked, her voice small, quiet.

The wind gusted by, quickly settling back down. "There's always hope," Dumbledore answered.

Nodding, she laughed. "I worry about my family."

"Yes," the headmaster said, eyes closing. "One day, you'll be forced to make tough decisions." Hermione glanced up at him, seeing his eyes pop open. "But you're very capable, Hermione."

"I've always wondered about my place in all this," Hermione said, shaking her head and looking at her hands on the rail. "I'm scared, professor."

"That's precisely what will save you."

Hermione drew her brows together, angling her head to the side. "How?"

"There's a strength in acknowledging your fears." Dumbledore moved so he looked down at her. "By doing so, you have the opportunity to face them head on, rather than suppress them." His features sank, smile falling and eyes darting back to the horizon. "We may already be too late for Draco."

Hermione snickered.

The headmaster's attention snapped back to her. "Don't underestimate him," he said, words quieter than she'd ever heard him speak. "The only lifeline he has is his mother. It was a mother's love that saved Harry's life, Ms. Granger. I hope such a thing will be true once more."

"What if it's not?"

"Draco has always been destined to play an integral part in this, too, Hermione," Dumbledore said, shifting on his feet and moving his hands onto the railing. Leaning over, he stared over the edge of the tower. "Take a look."

Hermione complied, although her stomach flipped and her head spun. She shook her head and looked at him, leaning back. "It's a long way down, Ms. Granger." She watched him narrow his eyes. "Draco hasn't leapt yet." The headmaster straightened, turning toward her. "It's not too late."

When he began walking away and toward the stairs, Hermione flipped around. "Professor?" He turned back, offering her a warm grin. "What about the package?" She fidgeted with her hair, twisting a brown lock around her index finger several times. "It wasn't at the owlry."

"Oh, yes!" Dumbledore walked toward her, procuring a small wrapped package from his sleeve. Winking, he said, "I almost forgot!"

. . .

Hogsmeade bustled with students eager to stock up on fresh air, sweets from Honeydukes, or socialization outside the confines of learning. Despite the pinch of cool air on her face, a bead of sweat pooled on her forehead, trailing down her temple. She wiped it away before it moved too far down her cheek.

Where was Malfoy?

The prat told her to meet him in Hogsmeade just over two hours ago. The blasted package and her exchange with the professor made her late. Had the Slytherin told her where to meet within the village, Hermione might have been on time.

The cockroach!

Each shop was occupied by a throng of Hogwarts students—just not the one she sought. Laughter encased the village market where she went. Infectious smiles carried in the wind, as if a disease to new, oncoming peers just joining the festivities. A few third-years rushed past Hermione, taking in all the sights for the first time unsupervised. Not one hair on one student was out of place.

Yet something felt off.

"Hermione!" Harry shouted far behind her.

She turned, the smile wobbled on her mouth in an instant. "Hi, Harry! Practice over?"

"Yea! I think we're ready!"

Ron trailed behind her best friend, Lavender Brown tugging on his arm. Her sing-song giggle seized whatever giddiness the Hogsmeade air provided, working from the deepest part of her mind and heating her down to her curling toes. Hermione flattened her mouth, tucking them under each other as she gaped at Lavender's hand on Ron's bulky sleeve.

The girl's easy grin collapsed right when she met Hermione's hard stare. Clearing her throat, she broke apart from Ron, who had the decency to look embarrassed. "Oh…hello, Hermione."

Forgetting herself, Hermione shook her head and relaxed. It meant nothing. For goodness sake! Ron had indicated not even once his interest in her. It wasn't hard to be happy for Harry when he nursed an obvious crush for Cho.

So why was it impossible to feel anything but the burn in her clenching heart at the sight of Ron with another girl? Were they together? Was he interested?

Why did it matter so much?

"Hi, Lavender." The need to walk away nearly suffocated her. Easing a breath from her lungs, Hermione forced a small smile to the other girl. "Are you well?"

Lavender perked up, buying into the easy atmosphere Hermione had conjured. "So nice of you to even ask! Thank you, I've been better than well." The girl with lighter, managed light-brown curls giggled, eyes sliding back on Ron. "The best."

Ron stepped away as she stepped closer, rubbing the back of his head like he was helpless in the scenario. She latched back onto him, but his eyes rooted on Hermione, who opted to look at Harry before she snapped anyone's wand.

"I'm happy you're ready for the match next week! The bode of confidence is comforting," she said, voice loose and quiet.

"Lavender!" One of the Patil twins shouted across the market, waving her hand over her head.

"Sorry, I've got to go!"

Lavender did, but not before standing idle by Ron's side until he looked at her and waved weakly with his fingers. She squealed like a pig. Thankfully, the wind carried the noise with her.

A bright and burning second carried the weight of an avalanche. Hermione looked away from Ron, his gaze too burdensome to manage in kind. Harry tilted his head to The Three Broomsticks. "S-shall we?"

Hermione led them in and her eyes immediately found an empty table. Harry and Ron ordered, while Hermione held the table. A small line backed up, causing a bit of a wait. From a small pouch hooked on Hermione's wrist, she procured the small package the headmaster had given her. Using her fingertips, she tilted it back and forth, examining it.

It didn't belong to her, even if it did have her name. Still, if she was a cat, then kill her. The curiosity was more enticing than a love potion. The thin rope tied the brown paper wrapped package together with a small, delicate bow. The quality of the wrapping indicated wealth, prosperity. The thickness of it in addition to the crispy feel made her mourn the library.

In her periphery, Hermione saw two legs drenched in black. The shoes were hidden by the bench opposite hers. Harry was wearing black pants, though she didn't remember the sharp crease running straight down the length. Looking up, she saw Malfoy.

Blue eyes surrounded by the purest white marred between bold red lines haunted her. Eventually, his eyes dropped to the package and stayed there. The darkness under his eyes paired with the sad expression indicated he'd been crying.

Recently.

Hermione wanted to say something. Probably something to get him to go away. They weren't friends. Even if he'd wanted to try, she wasn't sure she'd want to.

Not after everything he'd put her through all these years.

Hermione was a muggleborn witch. In all their class, she ranked top marks. Several times over the years, she'd even saved lives—mostly Harry and Ron's.

But still.

She worked hard and fought harder. Nothing changed that. Nothing devalued her. Especially not her blood status.

No matter how much he and his kind wished otherwise.

"The library. Tonight."

The words were almost invisible, inaudible. He'd not moved his mouth except to exaggerate the sounds coherently.

Hermione simply stared at him, saying nothing in kind.

"Thirty minutes before curfew."

Footsteps approached. "What in bloody hell do you want with Hermione, Malfoy?" Ron said. Hermione looked over her shoulder, seeing her friend just behind her. He set her drink down and placed a hand on her shoulder. "Get lost!"

Malfoy just cursed under his breath, lip curled and nose high, and walked off without sparing another glance. Hermione let out a breath she'd been holding.

"What was that about?" Harry asked.

Hermione shook her head. "I don't know."

"What's that you've got?" Ron plucked the package from her hands, inspecting it. "It's from your mum."

Hermione calmly plucked it from him, dropping it back inside the pouch on her wrist. "My guess is a late birthday present."

Harry and Ron rounded the table, sitting next to each other. Harry dropped his gaze to the pouch and looked back at her. "Well, you can open it."

Hermione shook her head. "I'd rather do it in private, away from any creeps or quick hands." She pointed at Ron.

The red-haired boy sank where he sat, color brightening his cheeks. "Sorry."

Hermione glanced at Harry, who looked like he was one second away from using the privy or hitting something. She drew her brows together and turned, seeing Dean Thomas cuddled up in a corner with Ginny. "Oh, dear…"

"It's disgusting! Look at them throwing it in everyone's faces like that."

"Ron…" Hermione rolled her eyes. "They're tucked away in a corner. Hardly throwing it around at all." Hermione turned back toward her friends. "I didn't even know they were together."

"Must have just happened…" Harry dropped his eyes down to his hands.

Hermione softened her features and reached across the table, the pouch bouncing against it a she did so. When her warm palm cupped the top of his hand, she felt him moving his hand to hold hers. "Are you alright?"

"I really don't want to talk about it." He released her hand.

"Fine with me," Ron said. "Although…" He stood up and walked around the table, planting himself next to her. "Now I don't need to vomit."

Hermione groaned. "Ron…"

"What?"

Shaking her head, she sipped the drink in front of her. "Just drink and shut up."

The three of them sat there for one more hour, surrounded by peers and bursting in laughter. Maybe the atmosphere in Hogsmeade really was infectious.

. . .

Please consider leaving a review.