What's so different about him? Hermione thought to herself, as she was sitting in the room which had been assigned as hers, one fine, Spring afternoon. She stood up off of the bed and walked over to the mirror. She looked at her reflection, which was slightly distorted as there was a splash of sunshine streaming in through the window and causing a glare on the glass. Resuming her thoughts on Draco, she decided that maybe he wasn't so different at all, "Since I don't know what other boys are like, perhaps they're all like him. Maybe he's just acting like every other boy that I used to know," she said to herself, "But maybe I'm wrong. What if..., she trailed off, pondering the query which she had set before herself. "No. I'm right; I must be." Although this may seem quite arrogant and cocky, during her stay at the farmhouse, she had realized the main quality that was instilled into her being: stubbornness. When she decided she was right or wrong about something, she maintained that position, and it was a rather arduous task to convince her otherwise. This had become plain to Draco especially, in the past few weeks, and they fought often. However, in spite of this, there was something between them. Something the two seemed to subconsciously know shouldn't be there. This feeling subconsciously caused them to bicker over circumstances that were so petty, a two-year old would have dismissed them.
Deciding that her hair could wait until later, she crossed the room and lay down upon her bed; at this point, she now wanted to let her mind wander over the events of the past six weeks. They had been difficult, no doubt about that. She and Draco had spent the majority of them trying to remember the past through various tactics that Galena had suggested. They had tried everything from simply focusing on the thought of being enlightened to their memories, to being put into trances that we're supposed to help along this sort of thing. However, in spite of being extremely fatiguing, nothing worked.
A few days previous, Galena had taken the young witch and wizard shopping; one set of robes simply wouldn't do, she had decided. So the three of them had gone to a Muggle shopping center. Hermione smirked at the memory; the event had obviously not been in Draco's taste of usual activities. The fact that the girls had deemed him the "official bag carrier" hadn't added to his pleasure by any stretch of the imagination. Surprisingly, in spite of his protest at taking the trip in the first place: Draco had good taste, a fact that she discovered whilst he did his own shopping. When she mentioned this, instead of graciously accepting the compliment, Draco retorted with an arrogant "Of course I do," and a haughty look. Hermione sighed: he was so perplexing; one moment he was humble, charming, and kind, the next, arrogant, cold, and, seemingly, unfeeling. Yet, in some odd way, the latter of his alter egos almost attracted her on a higher level.
The change was quite odd, though; the first few weeks, Draco has been nothing but kind. However, recently he had started to act largely cocky, and though the attitude switch was short-lived, it still puzzled her. Pushing thoughts of him from her mind, she took a quick glance at her reflection across the room. What she saw startled her: in the short time that she had been resting, her hair had turned into some sort of human monstrosity! Standing up from her bed, Hermione resigned herself to the tedious task of combing her hair and walked over to her mirror.
As she began to brush her unruly hair, Hermione heard a soft, familiar, and light knock upon the door. Sighing, she turned toward it; if she answered him, there was a great possibility that they would enter another fray. Dismissing this, she called to him, "Come in, Draco." The blonde-haired boy entered, flipping his head to brush the few strands of his hair that fell into his eyes back from his face. Hermione's heart skipped a beat as he did so. "Yes?" she asked him, wondering as she said this, why her stomach felt so fluttery. He cleared his throat.
"Galena said that she wants us to work on 'remembering'," he stated, an odd look sweeping across his features. Sadness engulfing her with the all-to-familiar remembrance of her lack of memories, Hermione turned back to the mirror and continued to brush her hair. A moment of silence passed before she answered him in a clipped and biting tone.
"I don't care. I'm tired of 'working' and making absolutely no progress. It's useless," she informed him, tears threatening to make her choke as she slid down against the wall to sit on the floor. Drawing her knees to her chest, she turned her brown eyes, filled with tears, toward to boy who created such an array of emotions inside of her.
However, rather than comforting her as she expected, Draco grew livid. Taking quick, angry strides toward her, Draco stopped just in front of her body. "You're tired of working? Well you know what I'm tried of? Your shitty attitude! All that you ever do is complain about how tired you are! Yeah, maybe we haven't made any progress yet, but do you honestly think that we will if we just sit here? Of course not, because that's not how the world works, Hermione. You have to work for what you get. Perhaps there's something from your past that's made you feel as though everything can just be handed to you on a silver plate, BUT THAT'S NOT WHAT'S GOING TO HAPPEN HERE! I'm not going to allow you to sit on your ass while I do all the damn work. And if I find out what the past is without your help, then you better damn well know that I won't help you discover yours!" his chest heaving, hair and clothes askew, he paused for breath as he starred at the now standing, and equally upset-looking Hermione.
"My attitude? What about yours, Mister I am the god of the universe! If anyone acts like everything should just be given to them, it's you! You hate working just as much as I do, and you know it! So don't give me this damn act!" she stormed, every fiber of her being pulsing with adrenaline.
"Of course I hate working, who wouldn't? The point my dear, is that I still plow through it. As for acting arrogant, why shouldn't I? For all we know, I may be a high-standing wizard in our society, and you could very well be a lowly servant of some sort!" the boy retorted with a shocking arrogance that Hermione had never seen before in even his worst episodes. Hurt and outraged, she did something that neither one of them would have imagined possible: pulling her right arm back, then quickly throwing it forward, she slapped Draco with all of the strength that she could muster. Both teenagers stood there momentarily, taking in everything that had just happened.
Hermione stood in front of Draco, breathing heavily. Did I just hit him? She thought to herself. Although she was angry and appalled at the horrific things that he had said to her, she didn't think that her actions would be that extreme. Looking up into his face, she noticed the pink, hand-shaped mark which was slowly forming upon the left side of his face. Tears forming quickly in her eyes, she fled the room--at least, she tried. However, in spite of what she had just done to him, Draco reached out and grabbed her hand. "Hermione, don't. It's fine, I shouldn't have said that, I deserved it," he said, a pleading look in his eyes. Rather than make her stay, though, his kind words and sudden understanding attitude simply caused the girl to start weeping. Jerking out of his grasp, she finished the action that she had intended; to run as far away from the farm-house as her legs would carry her.
In quick reaction to her absence, Draco ran down the stairs two at a time, trying his best to reach her. He stopped at the kitchen doorway, calling to her as the back porch door slammed closed in her wake. "Hemione! I'm not mad! Come back before we have to explain what happened to Galena!" his words were in vain, however, and the girl didn't return. Shoulders slumped, he started back toward the stairs that would lead him to the second floor and a hot shower.
What both of her charges had failed to notice when they crossed the threshold of her kitchen, though, was Galena standing in the left-hand corner next to the stove, arms crossed and worry lines etched into her forehead. Yes, they're acting just as Albus said they would she thought, lips pursed as she opened the drawer next to her in search of a quill and parchment.