CHAPTER THREE: Wrong Thing to Say

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Draco awoke to the sounds of arguing through the bathroom. He instantly thought of intruders and jumped to his feet, running to Hermione's rescue. Alas, it was only Potter and the Weasleys.

"Do you people know what time it is?" he asked groggily, rubbing at his sleepy eyes.

Hermione scoffed. "Do you?"

She hadn't told the others of his state that morning but she was sure Ginny would catch on as soon as she saw Draco. "Long night, eh?" she asked with a cocky smirk. "Only you two would 'stay indoors' while there's a monster on the loose."

Nope, thought Hermione. Totally missed the issue at hand.

"You know," corrected Draco. "I don't take kindly to your use of the word monster. Not all monsters are bad."

Harry rolled his eyes. "We're not talking about Shrek here. This is a werewolf. Snape and Pomfrey confirmed it last night. They're giving it 24 hours to reveal itself."

Draco sobered instantly, the memories of the boy's body coming back in a sweltering rush. He cursed to himself and stumbled towards Hermione's bed, his hand over his eyes. "Is he okay?" asked Ron half-heartedly. He didn't really care. Draco had been nothing but a thorn at his side and his past just continued to stab Ron every time he turned.

"Look, we'll give you two some privacy now that he's conscious," said Ginny, dragging the others out. "We're going to talk to Hagrid and rule out another Fluffy on the loose."

Draco rubbed at his eyes, trying to wipe the memories out. They stung mercilessly. He heard the portrait hole close behind them and relaxed. "Seriously. What time is it?"

"Six. In the afternoon," Hermione answered, her arms crossed, standing before the foot of the bed. Her tone was acid, threatening. He cringed at her volume. "Draco Malfoy, what did you take?"

"What?"

"I saw the way you acted this morning. I'm not an idiot. What did you take?"

He sighed but didn't answer. He watched her glare at him for a few more minutes, tapping her foot expectantly. "Damn it," he growled. "It's not important. It was a one-time thing."

"Draco, where did you even—"

He chuckled, closed his aching eyes. "I'm the former Prince of Darkness and you're asking me where I got drugs? Five months ago, I could have put together an orgy in five minutes if I'd wanted."

He brought the pillow over his head, dwelling in the smell of her hair. She'd recently switched to a new lemony shampoo, which he didn't really care for but hadn't said anything to her about. The pillow still smelled of the old her, of that distinct perfume he could never pin down since, as far as he knew, she didn't wear perfume. He'd read about it in her werewolf books. It was the scent of a mate, meant to keep him coming back for more. And it worked. Every time.

She didn't reply and he started to get worried. He hadn't heard her move. He lifted the pillow slightly and caught a glimpse of her standing there, still cross-armed, staring at him. Only, her eyes had begun to water and he felt a great wave of guilt.

He extended an arm out for her, gesturing for her to join him in bed. "'Mione, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you mad. I just wanted the stupid images out of my head for a little bit," he said. He could play the guilt card with the best of them. But she still wasn't talking. She just stared, letting the tears flow on their own.

"Hermione, just say something!"

She shook her head and wiped away the tears on her sleeve. He realized she was wearing a long-sleeve gray shirt and dark blue jeans. She looked like a little, angry cloud. "How could you?" she whispered.

"How could I what? It was a little pixie dust. It's not like I'm planning to take over the evil underground."

She just turned around and walked to the portrait hole. She stopped just before opening it, turned towards the vanity table, and threw a brush at his head. He dodged it with ease but was left with a profoundly confused expression of his pale face. With a huff, she stepped through quickly but not quickly enough. Draco still saw the tears and the pain in her eyes. He'd hurt her more than he realized but didn't understand why. He knew he wasn't going to find her again because she would not want to be found, but he needed answers.

He jumped off the bed and headed for the portrait hole just as it swung open and hit him straight in the nose. He let out a long, loud string of curses and jumped around holding his face in his hand. He caught a glimpse of short, dark hair and a classic Slytherin sneer and grimaced.

"What do you want, Parkinson?" he asked, sitting down on the vanity table to inspect his nose. It was fine and he was just exaggerating. "Should you be giving head to Dumbledore or something?"

"I don't think I'm his type, if you know what I mean."

She laughed and went to sit on his bed as though it were her own. No matter how much he warned her not to come into his room, she always found herself back there looking for punishment. He found this slightly ironic since, as far as he remembered, she preferred to dish out the punishment rather than receive it. He wondered if it was the fact that he had forsaken her and gone for another girl, a Gryffindor of all people. He wasn't sure anyone from her own house had done such a thing before, not even Blaise.

"Then what is it now?"

She shrugged and reassembled the pillows on Hermione's bed. "I saw your girl walking off in tears and thought maybe you needed a little cheering up."

Draco watched her through the mirror. "Parkinson, you're a whore," he said very matter-of-factly. She only smiled as though it'd been a compliment. He shook his head and ran his hands through his hair. As much as he hated to admit it, Pansy was the only other girl he could talk to that he could trust wouldn't squeal to Hermione. He looked down at his hands now resting on his lap and admitted, "I fucked it up with her."

Pansy gave a soft chuckle, lying back atop the pillows. "It was meant to happen sooner or later, love."

"No, I've fucked it up before but this time I kind of have no idea why."

She brought her hands up behind her head and shut her eyes. "Elaborate, please."

"Well, I'm sure you've heard what's happened with Colin Creevey," he began. She moaned a yes. "I found his body and I was a little out of it and I couldn't sleep and she'd acted a little distant since she saw all the blood on me and everything so…"

"So…" she urged on, sitting up suddenly. "Please don't tell me you screwed another girl."

He gave her a look like she'd just said something truly stupid. He had never been the type to be with two at the same time. He would rather end it if ever tempted than hurt her like that.

"I took some pixie dust and went flying. I know. I know. Don't fly while high but come on! She sees me standing over a mauled body and doesn't care but minor drug abuse she starts crying over? Seriously?"

Pansy seemed to be honestly confused as well. "You didn't tell her what you and I used to do with pixie dust, right? How you liked to snort it out of my—"

"Of course not! What do you take me for, an idiot?" he interrupted quickly.

"Well…"

"Don't answer that." He hid his face in his hands and groaned. "Should I go after her?"

Pansy shrugged again. "Believe it or not, I don't hold all the answers. Just because I'm a girl, that doesn't make me all-knowing."

"You're useless then."

She smiled because she knew that was his way of saying "Thank you for trying." She jumped off the bed, shook off Hermione's presence in the room, and walked towards him as seductively as her short little self could manage. Draco smirked because he knew Hermione could do it so much better. Her legs, compared to this girl, were legendary.

Pansy leaned into his ear and whispered, "And stop fucking around with Ron or I'll stab you myself."

Draco watched her sashay out the portrait hole, feeling slightly sick at the implications of her words. All her words. What if Hermione knew what he used to do with Pansy? Hell, with any other girl. What if she was angry at something completely unrelated?

Damn Hermione and her unpredictability, he thought. He knew girls. He understood their evil ways. He did not, however, understand Gryffindors. It was then that he wondered if Hermione was out of his league. His poor ego couldn't take it anymore and went in search of her.

It seemed he was only capable of stupid moves.

Classes had to have resumed because people were everywhere and none of them seemed too worried about the possible monster loose about. They did seem to travel in larger groups now though but that was to be expected. Fear made humans huddle together. He sometimes wondered if that was what had drawn him to Hermione but that was ridiculous. To him, Hermione was fearless.

Hermione was no where and yet she was everywhere. Usually, he could sense where she was by a small warmth that followed her through the air, a warmth that seemed to reach his cheeks when she was in the vicinity. Then, there was her soothing, salty scent which he had fixed on after all their nights together. He knew her like he knew himself but tonight, the warmth would not go away and yet the smell was nowhere.

He made his way towards the Quidditch field because it was nearly sunset and he thought he should tell Potter himself that he wasn't in the mood to fly. That was, if Hermione hadn't gotten to him first. He realized that, if this truly was a Gryffindor's moral dilemma, he was going to have to consult an actual Gryffindor.

Luckily, Harry was still flying by himself in the distance. A group of girls was just leaving the field as Draco entered. They smiled at him and he found himself struggling not to smile back. He knew a kiss was cheating but what of a smile? He so didn't want to provoke Hermione further and his cheeks were still on fire. He felt like she was watching him. Always. He wouldn't mind if she were actually there in person but there was no one around now, not for kilometers. It was such an eerie feeling.

"Yo! Potter!" he yelled, waving Harry down. He didn't feel like flying at all and again he blamed his guilt.

Harry reached the ground and by his calm exterior, he probably hadn't talked to Hermione yet. "Hey, man," he answered, extending an arm out for their little sportsmanlike shake. "What the hell did you do to Hermione?"

Or maybe he did know. "You're going to have to be more specific because I seem to have pissed her off over nothing."

Harry laughed and dismounted, leading him over to the stands to sit. "Give me specifics."

"She just caught me doing a little pixie dust. It wasn't a big deal and it's not like I was going to sleep any other way."

"That's it?"

Draco threw his arms in the air, his face showing his frustration. "When did you last see her?"

"She came out here and sat down like thirty minutes ago, looking all sad. I asked her what was wrong and she said you were a douche, which I did not find at all surprising."

"Ha ha, Potter. Honestly, neither do I. See, if I knew what had made her so mad maybe I could find a way to apologize. She won't buy a generic apology. What's Hermione got against drugs?"

Harry shrugged. "Nothing as far as I know. She covered for Fred and George two years ago when their mum noticed the smell in their room so she can't be so morally opposed."

Draco relaxed a bit. He was glad that Potter hadn't just shooed him away or tried to punch him out in retaliation. In fact, they didn't try to strangle him anymore when he playfully slapped Hermione on the behind or punched her lightly in the arm. He would never hit her but any wrong touch could send a Gryffindor fuming with anger. Now, they were really used to it. Potter even gave him advice on how to appease her. It was almost as though… they approved of them, of him. And Draco began to consider whether they'd still be his friends if Hermione chucked him, quite thankful for any presence they might have in his life.

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When he returned home to their rooms later that night, Hermione was asleep in her own bed. She'd changed into her nightgown and, by the quickly dissipating cloud of steam in the bathroom, she'd just showered. He hated seeing her in that blasted yellow nightgown. He hated how cool it felt against his skin at night in winter when all he wanted was be warmed by her creamy flesh.

He gulped down his desire to lie next to her and bent down to kiss her forehead lightly. She stirred but didn't wake and he made his way to his own bed for the night. She did not come looking for him later, as he expected she would, but he slept at the foot of the bed as the usually did to watch her sleep.

He lingered in and out of consciousness until dawn when he felt her move in the next room. She got up, dressed, and left without a single word.

Friday.

Saturday.

Sunday.

Monday.

Not a word.

And he was too much of a coward to ask her what was really wrong.

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Hermione sat down on her bed that Sunday night and looked off through the bathroom to Draco's room. He had probably gone off for the library or the Quidditch field or his favorite tree by the lake. He hadn't come to dinner in a while, probably to give her her space, and she hoped he was still eating. He could easily forget to eat and she always had to remind him. How that boy had survived without her all these years, she had no idea.

She'd heard Draco packing last night and felt a strange urge to rifle through his things. She'd just finished packing her own bags a moment prior and wanted to relax but found herself unable. She felt like she hadn't exhaled in days. She heard a tapping at Draco's window and slowly crept across their rooms to open it. It was a Malfoy owl. She recognized it by its blue and gray feathers as Eliza, Narcissa's favorite.

"Hey you, pretty girl," she whispered, opening the window to stroke the dear owl's head. "I've missed seeing you around here."

The bird cooed and nibbled softly on her finger. She laughed and took the note from its leg, reading it quickly.

Dear Hermione,

That sounds like a fantastic idea! How does Friday the 20th sound? I've already begun planning and I have a room all set up for you two with the cutest Gryffindor décor. Yes, I know it will only piss him off. Alastor is ecstatic to have you both over and, of course, your parents if they're willing to put up with little ol' us. I assume they know about you and Draco.

Alastor was informed of what happened to that Creevey boy. They haven't released what sort of creature was responsible but am I to assume it was a werewolf? If Draco is in trouble, I would like to know where to send the cavalry. He'd never ask me for help. Now that his father's gone, he only ever goes to you lot. I know you can both more than handle it yourselves but I would still like to know if I should be worrying right now.

All my love,

Narcissa

Hermione didn't write a reply because she didn't feel it was her place anymore. She had no idea how Draco was or if she should worry. In three days, he could turn his world upside down and nobody would notice.

The portrait hole opened and she jumped a foot off the ground, holding the letter over her heart. It was Pansy, prancing around in low-cut jeans and a bright red tank top, meant to accentuate her chest.

"Oh hello," she greeted, equally surprised. Hermione crossed her arms and didn't answer, merely turned around and went to close the window. "He's not addicted you know."

Hermione snapped around and shot her a look. "Excuse me?"

"To pixie dust. He's not addicted or anything. You really shouldn't be so mad at him for no real. It's not fair to him. I mean, all he does is try to please you all the time. Is it so wrong of him for him to relax once in a while?"

Hermione looked down, trying to avoid her gaze, and realized Pansy was carrying a long, silver gift box. "Is that for him?" she asked softly, trying not to concede the point.

Pansy nodded and smiled brightly. "It's a sword he lent me once. I had it repaired for him, got all the blood out of the crevices on the handle and fixed up the nicks and whatnot. Ever since Blaise left the school, there's no one else to—"

Hermione shut her eyes tight, knowing exactly where this was going. "I don't need the visual! Thanks!"

Pansy snickered softly and set the box on his bed beside his suitcases. "Anyway, tell him thanks."

Hermione nodded and watched her go, thinking about her words. Did he really think that's why she was angry? She decided they'd gone without speaking long enough and set out in search of him. She searched the usual spots but there was no point. He didn't want to be found either. She looked through castle until dusk when she headed back to their rooms to see if he'd come back. She opened the portrait hole and looked to the bed, imagining he'd be there, waiting for her.

He wasn't. His suitcases were gone from the bed, along with Pansy's gift. The whole room had been cleaned out, relieved of any sort of personal detail. It was as though he was never really there.

Hermione allowed herself a single tear before grabbing her own things and readying herself for the train ride back home without so much as a kiss goodbye from the boy she loved.

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Sorry I haven't updated sooner. I completely forgot about this story. See? This is why you need to review! Coming up! Hermione tells her parents the truth, Draco gets to "know" Alastor better, and an argument leads to two very steamy proposals. Muahaha! And yes, the attacks continue and Draco is totally going to get blamed.

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Reviews are better than five-minute orgies.