A/N: A bit short, sorry. And, furthermore, it will be the last update for more than a week. My regrets!
Disclaimer: Let's put it this way... If I owned Harry Potter, Hermione would not have ended up with Ron.
Chapter 7: Fear of a Word
For the next few weeks, they would meet together outside on the cliffs, going over plans. There wasn't too much to discus, in truth. Their strategy was pretty simple... and none too solid, to Hermione's uneasiness. However, nothing could be done about it; Malfoy really didn't know too much about the bank.
"I've only been to the vault a couple of times with my father," he explained irritably, having failed to provide information Hermione felt adequate.
As they continued planning, Hermione grew more and more doubtful. It became obvious that the gaps in Malfoy's knowledge were far greater than he had first let on, and there was a lot of guess work done. They spent most of their time arguing and squabbling, none of them feeling prepared at all.
Because of the nervous tensions rising between the four of them, they all agreed to only discuss the bank for a couple hours every day. Any more time spent at each others' throats would prove very, very dangerous.
So they helped around the cottage. They walked along the cliffs. They spent time by themselves, they spent time with friends.
Hermione found herself walking outside often. It was calming, the salty air mixing with the familiar scents of early spring. It was a scent that made troubles seem to fade, that cleared the mind of Hallows and Horcruxes and the real world away from the ocean.
She often came across Malfoy as she strolled outside. He was usually in the same spot, right beside the cottage, sitting on a large boulder in the garden next to an old lilac tree, almost in bloom. He would be leaned back, eyes closed, seeming to be asleep. However, whenever she walked by, he would open his eyes and straighten. Sometimes (usually after a particularly rough session of planning,) he would only nod curtly to her, before again reclining. More often, though, he would slide off the rock and walk with her for a little bit.
They would talk. At times, it felt, to Hermione, that they both really needed each other's conversation: Hermione needed to talk to someone who had not built up the same image, the same expectations of her as everyone else, and Malfoy needed someone who was willing to exchange small talk with him, a Death Eater, a symbol, to many at the cottage, of all that was wrong in the world.
The topic of their conversations would vary, but they would try to avoid anything too deep. "Isn't the sea air refreshing?" Hermione once said, strolling by the cliffs with him. Malfoy only snorted in reply. "What do you mean by that?" she questioned.
"Well, maybe it's just because it's unfamiliar, but I'd rather smell Wiltshire." He said, shrugging, looking at his feet.
"Oh." Hermione paused. So he missed home? That seemed odd for someone who spent most of his time away, at school. But she never asked him for explanations to anything. It was something that they had wordlessly agreed on long before. "You spend a lot of time outside for someone who doesn't like the ocean." She instead remarked.
He didn't respond for a few steps. "I find that the air is very... mind cleansing." He shrugged.
"Me too."
He looked up at her, raising an eyebrow. "What are you trying to forget, then?"
"What?" She laughed. "Forget? I don't know what you're talking about!"
"You said that you find it mind cleansing as well. So what are you trying to cleanse your mind of? What don't you want to remember?" He spoke very earnestly, eyes not leaving her face. She gave him a wry smile, but his expression grew, in anything, more serious. She felt her cheeks heat.
"I'm not trying to forget anything. I only meant that it was relaxing."
"Ah." He said, looking down. The momentary tension had dissolved, leaving behind a silence that both were a bit uncomfortable with.
Finally Hermione asked quietly, "What are you trying to forget?"
His face blanched. Quickly though, before his expression could be clearly read, he slapped a smirk across his face. "I'll tell you when you've told me the truth about you."
"I did." She insisted, rolling her eyes. "Just because you like to keep things secret and to yourself..."
"We all hide something." He said simply, combing through his hair with his fingers. "So. Have you gotten that new wand yet?"
"No, but Harry has his, and Olivander is making Ron's now..." and so they talked about simpler subjects for the remainder of their walk.
-o-o-o-
It was about a week later that Hermione realized something.
She had been walking outside again, alone, and she came to the garden. She was distracted, thinking about Gringotts. Then she heard a rustling next to her: Malfoy, standing up from where he had been seated beneath a large shrub. Odd, she thought, he's not by the lilac. As he joined her in her walk, she realized that she was currently in an obscure corner of the garden, a good distance from where she usually strolled. A place where she seldom came. Her confusion rose.
She shot a glance backward, at the boulder and the lilac. What she saw surprised her: a patch of red hair among the purple blossoms, a grinning Harry leaning against the twisted trunk, looking up at his friend, chatting animately.
Why hadn't she noticed them when she passed by before? She did pass by the tree, didn't she? She always had done so before. But no memory of walking by the tree that day came to her. And here she was, on the opposite side of the garden.
After briefly scouring her thoughts, she remembered altering her usual course slightly. Nothing too fancy, just turning off of the path, away from the cottage... away from the tree. Why had she done it? She honestly couldn't remember. Hadn't she noticed her friends? She couldn't have. But why had she changed course? And why had she found her way to where Malfoy was skulking?
Was she using Malfoy as an excuse to avoid her friends?
The thought scared her. It was Harry and Ron! The two boys who had stood behind her since their first Halloween together, since the troll! Harry, who she had learned from and fought beside. Ron, who – who tried to defend her in second year when Malfoy (the same Malfoy she now strolled beside,) called her a "mudblood." Her friends! However, as much as the idea repulsed her, it rang true... for even now, she couldn't bring herself to turn around and talk to them.
"Granger... is something wrong?"
She looked up at Malfoy. His head was cocked to the side curiously, face slightly... amused, almost. She tried to smile. "W-what? Of course! Why do you ask?"
"Just seem quiet... and more than usually moody." He shrugged.
"Don't be ridiculous."
"Okay, then. Sorry. I won't bother being observant and caring in the future." He flashed her a smile. "I was always told that that was how to win points with the ladies, before. I was misinformed?"
"Oh, so you're trying to – what was it? – win points with me now? I didn't think you had it in you, Malfoy." She rolled her eyes.
This sort of banter was not uncommon, really, but always very artificial. They had grown a bit more comfortable with each other over the past weeks, but there was still a tension to their relationship, and there were still things that they knew they couldn't discuss. Sometimes, it was all they could do to avoid talking about the more dangerous things. They had an unspoken agreement, though... when uncomfortable, lighten the mood. In any way possible.
"I know, not quite up to my usual standard, Granger, but Miss Dela- ah, I mean Mrs. Weasley is taken, so I'm forced to compromise."
"You're usual standard... Parkinson?"
"What are you implying?"
"Oh, nothing... you know. I'm sure that she has her charms. Deep down. Really deep down."
"Hey, be nice to Pansy. Really. Don't make me mock Weasley."
"Well, I guess she is pureblooded, huh? How far the great have fallen! You were just trying to 'win points' with a mudblood!"
She suddenly wished to call her words back to her. "Don't call yourself that!" he snapped, looking down. The garden seemed a bit colder, now. The air seemed to grow heavier around the two of them, the superficial, cheerful banter completely forgotten.
"What? It's what I am!" She felt an ounce of anger rising in her, even going as far as to finger the new wand that Olivander had made her. Was he trying to forget what she was? Did it still matter to him? Of course it did... seventeen years of prejudice don't just disappear, She thought miserably. She scowled, and shot back, "Mudblood, and proud of it!"
He winced. "That – that may be true, but..." He closed his eyes briefly. When they reopened, he seemed much more composed. "That doesn't make the word any less hateful."
"I'm not afraid of words. Words or names." Voldemort's name hung, unsaid, in the air. She saw Malfoy stiffen slightly.
"Can we not talk about this?" He asked.
"You were the first person to call me a mudblood!"
"Yes." He said, stopping in his tracks, glaring. "I was eleven. Or twelve? Doesn't matter. I was an idiot. I knew word was vile, and I thought I knew what it meant. So I threw it at you, threw everything I had at you." He smiled slightly. "I had no clue what I was saying, believe me. When is the last time you heard me say that word?"
"Last year." She said without hesitation. In the corridor, in that memory...
"Yeah." He looked down, sighing. "Last year. What did I know then? Now, can we talk about something else?"
"Of course." She said icily. It was a lie, though. The words they had tried to avoid had been spoken, the past had been dug up again. Regardless of the fact that they no longer discussed the issue, it still hung heavy in the air. It filled the garden, until there wasn't room for even the smallest of small talk. After walking in silence for a few more moments, Hermione turned away, rushing for the cottage. Maybe I'll talk to Ron, she thought as she stepped through the doorway. But she found herself walking into the room that she and Luna shared. Luna wasn't there. Hermione wasn't sure if that relieved or upset her. She wasn't sure of much right then... she wasn't sure of what she, Harry, and Ron were suppose to do, she wasn't sure about there plans to break into Gringotts. She wasn't sure how she would bring herself to talk with Malfoy tomorrow. She wasn't sure why she found it so hard to be with her friends... but she was sure, quite certain now, that she was avoiding them. And it frightened her.
-o-o-o-
The next morning, she, Harry, and Ron found Malfoy, to further scrutinize their plans to get into Gringotts. However, before any of them could speak, Malfoy raised a hand. "We've talked about all there is to talk about. Multiple times. I know what you all think, you all know what I think." Hermione opened her mouth, but he shot her a hard glare, then continued, "We have nothing more to discuss. I will go over the plans. Once. Then we will go, immediately. The more we think about it, the more we'll make a mess of it." He ran a hand through his hair, looked up, and smiled dryly. "Who's ready to rob a bank, eh?"
ThisBirdTooHasFlown speaking: Perhaps not my finest chapter, but it does set up a lot. It all unfolds rapidly, now... just think, in the book, the Battle of Hogwarts took place on the same day as the robbery of Gringotts. Eek!
As always, I thank my reviewers. Please, if you have anything to say, (advice, compliments, accusations) do say it! I want to write a story worth reading, but I can't really evaluate my work myself.