Chapter Sixteen
Not So Perfect
Weeks went by, and Hermione forgot completely about Draco's journal that was hidden between her bed, and the wall. He didn't seem to miss it. Or at least, she thought he didn't...
February was closing in, the snow still falling, the roses outside long gone replaced by packed dirt covered in white softness. One Sunday night after dinner they stayed outside throwing snowballs at each other. One hit Draco directly in the face, snow burning his eyes. After a few choice curse words Hermione checked his bloodshot eyes carefully trying not to let out so much as a giggle. When she did it resulted in a pile of snow falling over her head from her roommate. However, the best part of the day was the hot bath they shared afterward.
One cloudy Saturday morning Draco convinced her to stay in bed an extra five minutes. Her homework was done, of course, but she had promised the day to cleaning, but Draco refused to let her go, his arms tightly around her.
"Five minutes," he said innocently, but smiled wickedly.
"Oh, fine," she grumbled. "But only five minutes!"
They snuggled, her head on his chest as it usual was, his arms wrapped around her waist. Hermione's brain was still in a dazed state after shortly being awake. She said tiredly, "tell me, Draco, what else did you feel on the night those dementors came into the train?"
He
furrowed his brows looking down at her. "Else?"
"What
memories did you remember?"
"Doesn't matter," he said shortly. "I didn't remember anything."
"What about you crying when you fell off your broom?"
There was silence, his arms loosened from around her. "What? How do you know that?"
Then it came to her. She said too much. He never told her that. She thought quickly, but not quickly enough, he let her go sitting up, his face filled with rage.
"Answer me, Granger!"
She
flinched. She hated it when he used her surname. "I don't know,
Malfoy.
Lucky guess?"
"Yeah, right! How did -" Realization
dawned on him halfway through his question. He looked horrified. "You
found my journal! You read it!"
Hermione guiltily stayed
quiet. Out of the corner of her eye she could see his chest heave as
if it was containing every ounce of anger, and was ready to blow.
"Get out," he snarled.
"Let me explain," she started.
"No! There's no excuse for what you did! That was my journal!"
"Dra -"
"Out, Granger."
Hermione sighed, and kicked the blankets from her. She went out of the room afraid to look over her shoulder at his expression. She was afraid he would lash out if she did so, or the guilt would bury itself further into her gut, and heart never to be removed. She went into her own room, and felt out of place. For a while Draco's bedroom felt like hers. She had even gotten used to the Slytherin hangings, but this... Despite the Gryffindor colors, her own things, it didn't feel like hers.
She collapsed on her bed feeling suddenly awake, and stupid. She should have watched more carefully what came out of her mouth. How could she forget that he didn't say those things to her? But sometimes, what was in the journal, and what he really said blurred together. Her thoughts were interrupted when her door opened. Draco stood there in his boxers his eyes narrowed dangerously.
"Where is it?"
Hermione knew he was referring to his journal. She remembered reading it one day, before Christmas. He was coming up the steps, and she had to hide it. She turned onto her stomach, and reached down between the bed, and the wall, and pulled a black leather book out.
"What's it doing there?" The tone in his voice stung, it was like they were back to hating each other.
"It fell..."
Draco stomped over snatching the journal from her hands, and again, she flinched. He stopped at seeing this, and the cold glare that had returned to his steel eyes softened, but only for a second. He stopped once more at the doorway, turning to snarl, "guess you're not so perfect after all," and he left, and Hermione cried.
Hermione,
Why do I get the feeling that you're not telling us something? What's happening between you, and Malfoy? Is he hurting you? If he is, we'll get you out of there one way, or another.
Harry
Hermione dipped her quill into the bottle. She held it over the blank parchment watching the ink drop onto it the page soaking it in thirstily. She began writing.
Harry,
I'm okay. There is nothing going on between Malfoy, and I. We're keeping to the "rules." We're not speaking, touching, or going into each others rooms. We're not existing to one another. Don't worry about it, focus on what Dumbledore wants you to do. The more you do that, the sooner I'll be back. I really miss you all.
With Love, Hermione
Like the drop of ink, there was a drop of salty tears. She could finally tell Harry, and Ron the truth, there was no more pretending that there was nothing going on, because now there wasn't. Hermione should have felt relieved to be honest with her friends, but she instead she felt saddened. The one person that was keeping her going mad was the one person that refused to speak to her.
They ate breakfast in silence. Draco wouldn't cook for her. They didn't speak, or touch, he wouldn't look at her. She had never felt so lonely, not even when she had first came to the house. It was better being an enemy with him without knowing what his touch felt like, than being nothing at all with memories of what his breath floating over her skin. She wanted so much to see him smile.
It had been weeks, and Valentines had passed. She didn't even see him that day, he had locked himself in his room. Somehow that hurt more than if he had gone about his day like she wasn't there.
Hermione had to leave the house. She was going crazy. It was as if the walls were closing in on her. She stuffed the letter away, and she left, leaving her yet-to-be-done homework out on the table. For once in her life, she didn't feel like solving out equations, or reading ten books to double check one answer.
The air outside was cold, and the snow was lightly falling from the stormy clouds. It felt refreshing on her face. She didn't bring her jacket. Things were becoming numbing to her, and she would rather feel the freezing cold than nothing at all.
Hermione walked to street she had her first date with Draco, lined with Muggle shops. She went into a bookstore, her sanctuary. The scent of books, the sight of them, it calmed her, and set off a trigger of happiness. Temporarily she forgot about him as she started pulling books from their shelves, and divulged herself in them.
Late in the afternoon she thought it best to go, before they kicked her out. She did a last round between the rolls. She walked past the books seeing journals, much like Draco's. There was one on the shelf that caught her eye.
It was a deep purple tied together with a silky black ribbon. It gave her an idea, it was perfect. If she hadn't been wallowing for so long she would have came up with it long ago.
She rushed to the counter to pay for it, and once out the door she slid it under her blouse to keep it from the snow. She couldn't wait to get home, and put the idea to the test.