She still hadn't told them the truth. It was Monday and the student population was trying to wake up from its weekend-induced hibernation. Ron regarded his eggs grumpily and Harry looked blearily into his oatmeal. Three nights ago they had spent the entire afternoon questioning Hermione on her new relationship until she thought she would shoot the both of them, if only for a few minutes of silence. It looked like they hadn't slept yet. Knowing them, Hermione guessed that they were planning some sort of espionage to get her to fall out of love with Malfoy. If only they knew how unnecessary their plans were. She sighed. So many times that night, she had been forced to swallow the words that wanted to bubble forth from her lips. It's not real. I'm not really dating him. It's a cover for him, for me. I'm gay. I'm sorry. Don't be mad. I'm gay. She picked at her pancakes disinterestedly, swallowing the sticky mixture with slight revulsion, wondering if the flapjacks had always been so disgusting, not letting her brain process any farther or tread the now familiar pathways of worry. She discreetly spit out the pancakes and picked up an apple. It tasted marginally better.
Hermione kept glancing over to the Ravenclaw table, hoping to catch Padma's eye but the raven black head never turned around. Occasionally, her striking face came into profile but she never even glanced toward the Gryffindor table. Eventually Hermione averted her eyes guiltily, knowing that she had been staring but almost unable to help herself. She allowed her gaze to travel across the Great Hall, catching Malfoy's gaze. He smirked knowingly. How could he know? How in Heaven's name could he know? Damn him. Damn all perceptive Malfoy spawn, she thought crabbily. Hermione heaved a sigh and pulled her knapsack onto her back. If she hurried, she could grab another ten minutes of studying before her first class.
Hermione's quick study session never materialized. Instead, she had run into Pansy Parkinson who, not unlike Harry and Ron, was quite displeased with her. It seemed that Malfoy's friends had not been as impressed as she had thought at dinner. After dodging questions and well aimed fists, Hermione had just made it to History of Magic before the bell rang. It was now her break period, two free hours to review her NEWTS, study for finals, preview next weeks material, and continue her research into all things queer. Not fifteen minutes into her study session, the queerest specimen available ambled over to her desk, pulled out a chair with a flourish, and flopped down next to her.
"We have to stop meeting like this," Malfoy purred seductively. Hermione clamped down on her reflexive eye-rolling. She was getting frighteningly good at this.
"Can I help you?" she asked agitatedly.
"You're my girlfriend. You said we needed to spend more time together. You scheduled this time for us to deepen our couples bond. Remember?" Hermione let out a small growl in the back of her throat.
"So I did," she ground out. Malfoy gave her an odd look.
"Are you alright?" he questioned tentatively. "Usually you are not so…"
"Hostile, belligerent, argumentative, ornery, curt?"
"Bitchy."
"Argh! I'm fine. I'm just…tired." Malfoy eyed her warily. He had not forgotten how piqued she could become. He leaned forward on to the balls of his feet. If she became violent, he was prepared to spring out of her path as quickly as possible.
"Right," he started, slightly disbelievingly. "Wait, is it that time of the month," he began,
"because if it is,"
"Malfoy! Knock it off. Just…leave me alone. Please. Now." Malfoy didn't argue. He seemed to know better for once.
"Well, later Granger," he attempted and strutted out of the library. Hermione continued to look morose. Although she was loath to admit it, most of her melancholy stemmed from a one Miss Padma Patil. She had allowed herself to develop certain feelings for certain lovely and intriguing ladies, and now that said feelings had been squashed by her plan for helping Malfoy, she felt just a little bit bitter. Hermione also missed the insightful and sometimes corny commentary from her two best friends. Sometimes, she thought with a vulgarity Malfoy would have appreciated, life's a bitch.
She apologized to Malfoy the next day. Remaining angry at someone without justification was something Hermione frowned upon. Malfoy had first looked stunned, and then held her hand all the way to class. They were in a widely traversed school corridor so Hermione didn't know if the hand-holding was for her sake or for their charade, but seeing as there were only a few first years floating around, she hoped it was for her. Even if they were both gay, Malfoy was still the fittest bloke in school.
She had also gotten up the nerve to speak with Padma. Upon entering the library, instead of heading directly for her table, (Honestly hers. First years were warned away every year and Ron had charmed a little plaque that said 'Mione's Spot, Move It!') Hermione had detoured over to the Indian witch.
"Hi," she had begun.
"Hello," Padma returned rather coldly. Her entire body was radiating displeasure, her gracefully neck taut with corded muscle and veins.
"Wait, please listen. Please, allow me to explain," Hermione continued, desperate to elucidate the situation.
"I think everything is quite clear," Padma retorted shortly, pursing her full lips and looking pointedly back to her assignment. Hermione was filled with a sudden steely determination. She had had enough of this farce. It had been amusing for a time but now, with her own happiness at hand, she dropped the play-acting like she would a gold-crazed niffler.
"I'm not dating Malfoy," she stated boldly. Padma didn't look up. "I was never dating Malfoy." Padma snorted derisively. "Malfoy's gay." Padma turned slightly and raised an inky eyebrow as if to say 'but of course'. "I…I think I'm gay too." Both of her eyebrows shot up at this.
"Explain," The Indian girl had demanded.
And Hermione had, much to her own relief. Which explained in turn the current butterflies in her stomach, the giddy stupid look on her face, and the tingly feeling on her lips from where Padma had kissed them. It was hours later and Hermione had not gotten any work done. She sat, surrounded by books and assignments, waist deep in work, unable to complete any of it, oblivious to her surroundings. Her pigeon feather quill was hidden under her left sleeve, perched precariously on the edge of the desk but she made no move to retrieve it. Even her piles of books were slightly lopsided, one was working on a dog-eared page from her other arm, but she took no notice. Her friends would understand, she knew it. She and Harry and Ron had always stood by each other in everything. Deep in her heart, she knew that they would come to accept this newest twist in their road the way they had accepted everything else. The library was closing in five minutes and Hermione had made up her mind. She smiled angelically and headed for Gryffindor.