CHAPTER SEVEN: The Jealousy Game

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Ron came down a few hours later and nodded towards the backyard, gesturing at Draco to move. "We're flying. You up?"

Draco's eyes widened, readying himself for the worst. "Flying? Are we going somewhere?"

"No idiot," answered Harry, coming down in his gear. "We're playing Quidditch. The twins aren't here and we wanted to go two on two."

Draco looked to Hermione as though asking for permission. She smiled and gave him a quick nod, letting free his hand on the table. "Have fun," she said and kissed him on the cheek. "See if you can whack some garden gnomes around for Mrs. Weasley while you're out there."

He had no idea what she was talking about but got up and was halfway to the back door when he realized she wasn't coming. He turned around and asked, "You're not going to watch?"

She shook her head with weary eyes like it was the dead of night instead of noon. "I think I'm going to take a nap," she said and Draco eyed her curiously. How could she be tired? He'd watched her sleep all night. Unless… had it been a show? Had she been as awake as he? Impossible. He'd heard her heart, steady as the clock on the wall. She hadn't moved. If anybody needed a nap, it was him.

His eyes narrowed. "I can stay in, you know. We can grab a nap together on the couch or something," he offered lamely. He was dying to take Potter on but he did not want to tempt the bear. Even without the giant hair, it was still too easy to imagine Hermione clawing his eyes out.

"Don't be silly. Go ahead," she said, standing slowly. Oh yea. She was definitely tired of something and he got the hint it was him. She was trying to do something, probably read, and didn't want him around. That was different because she liked resting her head on his lap when she read back at Hogwarts. Then, he reminded himself yet again, this wasn't Hogwarts.

This was especially evident when Ginny Weasley came flying down the stairs in a Chudley Cannons jersey, presumably her brother's. "Stop blocking the door!" she shouted and Hermione turned to watch with a devious smile as though anticipating a great battle. He imagined himself in the center of a coliseum, his leather miniskirt being ogled by the thousands, and shuddered.

"Little Weasley's playing? Are you serious?" he screeched.

"She's the fourth, idiot. Who taught you to count?" replied Harry, about to come to her defense.

She set down her broom and stood, her hand on her hip. This told Harry she could take care of herself and Draco to shut the fuck up all in one. With six brothers, she had become adept at silent, fear-inspiring gestures, mainly from years of watching her own mother rally the troops.

"Malfoy, I am not going to argue with you too. I am perfectly capable of—"

He put a hand up to stop her. "Oh I know you're perfectly capable, hon. I've seen you practice. But, I am NOT playing against you."

She let her hand fall from her hip. "What do you mean? Why?"

"I'm a Malfoy, love. I don't like to lose," he leaned in to whisper before walking off towards the shed with all their brooms. Ginny followed, mirroring his smirk, and shrugged at Harry and Ron who looked slightly terrified.

"We are in serious trouble, aren't we?" Ron hissed to Harry, who nodded furtively.

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Hermione brought her chair over to the window to watch though she knew Draco couldn't see her from that angle. She didn't want him to catch her reading more werewolf mating books. He'd given her hell about them last time he caught her reading Binny Mortimer's Guide to Please Your Werewolf. Ginny had gotten it for her as a joke but, well, Draco hadn't exactly been complaining until he found it hidden under her pillow.

Now, she had moved on to a slightly more academic source, Dewey Dollop's Assimilation of Werewolves into the 20th Century. It was a bit outdated since they were about to enter the 21st century but some stuff still made sense, unlike Margaret Dillinether's How Not to Get Mauled while Shagging a Vampire, Werewolf, & Other Nocturnal Creature or its more popular sequel, How to Get Mauled in All the Right Places.

Hermione crossed her legs comfortably, turned to page 288 where she'd left off, and continued reading:

The male werewolf will suffer many bouts of insecurity after mating. He may take up speed-based, often reckless sports to further prove his masculinity and independence and wear tighter clothes during the daytime to attract the female, even suggest mating. He may attempt to make the female jealous by doing personal (even sexual) favors to other, more attractive women. The female must then retaliate in order to protect the other women from her mate's desire to spread the werewolf curse to others, thus beginning a sort of mating dance.

Hermione groaned and rubbed at her weary eyes. "Great… my 17-year-old boyfriend is going through a midlife crisis," she whispered to herself. Mr. Weasley apparated into the kitchen and shot her a quick look, having obviously heard, before rushing upstairs shouting for his wife.

Hermione shut her book and used her sensitive ears to listen in above.

"Narcissa's talking with Snape," whispered Mr. Weasley to his wife. He shut the door behind him but that didn't deter her hearing. She moved a little bit closer, sitting at the base of the stairs with her book in her lap.

"Wait, why isn't she taking care of her son? If James is alive, you know he's going to come after Draco," Molly replied. Hermione covered her mouth to keep from gasping.

"She knows Draco's safe with us. She's not going to pull him away from everything that boy's worked to build, Arthur. Just imagine if this was Ronald or Bill or—"

"I get it!" shouted Mrs. Weasley, obviously pacing around the master bedroom. "Still, how can Dumbledore not tell that poor boy? What's he going to do when he learns about his father?"

"Dumbledore and I have been careful with his owls. None of the kids have heard the news."

"Good," she replied quickly. "Let's just hope it stays that way."

Mrs. Weasley made her way down the stairs and Hermione quickly returned to her spot by the window, pretending to hum and read to herself. She didn't lift her eyes off her book, pretending to be deep in thought. "Have you eaten, dear?" the woman asked her.

Hermione finally lifted her head from her book, pretending not to have heard her. "Pardon?"

"Have you eaten?"

"Oh yes, ma'am," she answered, expertly hiding her intrusion. "I made myself and Draco something an hour ago. We'll be good till dinner. I hope you don't mind that I borrowed your kitchen."

Mrs. Weasley waved dismissively. "Mi casa es su casa."

Hermione faked a smile and went back to her book though the words seemed to meld together into one giant black line. Her mind was entirely on her what she'd just overheard and she was never more thankful that Draco was out of earshot. The instinct to protect him told her to keep it to herself but the lovers' instinct told her to share it and get it off her chest before it bore a hole. Alas, neither was an option. She couldn't tell anyone until she found out the truth.

She waited for Mrs. Weasley to go off to clean something before sneaking into Ginny's room and stealing a piece of parchment and some ink. Very quickly, she scrawled, I know about Seneca. Tell me everything or I'll go to Draco.

She handed it to Pig with very clear instructions to only give it to Dumbledore. She knew owls weren't safe but her location would be safe thanks to the Ministry's measures on the Burrow. If anyone read it, they could get nothing out of it they didn't already know.

"Godspeed," she whispered and let Pig free on the other side of the house, farthest from where Draco played.

She rushed downstairs, desperate to keep appearances, just as Mr. Weasley set off again on whatever fact-finding mission he'd been sent to other the last week. She went back to her window quietly and stared off at the glorious gray sky and the little dark shadows that zoomed through the air so effortlessly.

After an hour, the four grew tired of a one-sided game and landed. By then, Hermione had the largest, reddest eyes Draco had seen since she thought he'd gotten seriously injured after the fight at Malfoy Manor. He didn't understand it but he went along when she ran to hug him, nearly throwing him back onto the floor. The others noticed her changed expression but didn't say anything, opting to leave them alone once more.

"Hey you," he whispered into her ear as he smoothed his hands over her back as though she were a crying child. She wasn't crying and she wasn't helpless. She just wanted to hold onto him. By the rigidity of the embrace, he got the hint and just let her get it out of her system. After a few minutes of awkward shifting from foot to foot, he cautiously continued, "What's wrong?"

She sniffed and answered at the wall over his shoulder, "Nothing. Just this stupid book."

He didn't catch the lie because it was nicer to believe it was something small and simple instead of complicated and web-like in its expanse. He could save her from a scary book. He couldn't save her from the real world, not from a threat and a truth he didn't know existed. He reached over to the book lying on the window sill and read the title. It didn't seem particularly scary.

"What did you read now?" he groaned. "Did it tell you I'd sprawl horns and a tail? God help us… a third nipple?"

She snorted in her attempt to hold back the laughter. Still, it was too late to tell the truth, not until Dumbledore got back to her with all the details. "It said—Uh, well, that you'd try to assert your masculinity by doing sexual favors for other women and taking part in dangerous sports and I honestly wouldn't put it past you."

He let out a sharp, short guffaw, throwing his head back. "Are you kidding me?" She shook her head, resting her hands on his chest. "As if you'd let me. I don't understand. You've never really worried about what you read in those things, right? They don't apply to us."

"Oh yes, we're special freaks. How silly of me. I forgot."

The sarcasm was evident in her voice. He sighed and pulled her back for a shorter, tighter hug before releasing her. He didn't want to dismiss her fears but he still understood that she needed to distance herself a little more. Though he knew he couldn't just up and leave her – it might kill him as much as her – he couldn't let her be ruled by these obvious lies.

He pushed them apart and made sure her large chocolate eyes met his. She wasn't tearful but she was still horribly, inexplicably tired. "I want you to read my face when I say this so you know I'm not lying," he said, bending down so they were eye to eye. "I would never touch another girl, let alone sleep with one, unless it was a life-or-death situation. And, as much as I'd love there to be, there's no such thing as a life-or-death blowjob."

She smirked. She knew what he meant. She trusted him but, in an attempt to free her mind of the true issue, she took in his words and decided there was a whole other issue they'd never really explored. And, in hopes of occupying his mind with other, more trivial things, she said, "I… I think I'd understand."

He rolled his eyes. "Not this again, 'Mione. I refuse to sleep with another girl just because we haven't… you know, done anything in a bit. Regardless of what you think of men, or me specifically, we don't only think with our penises."

She shook her head and he let his hands fall to her shoulders. "That's not what I meant," she explained. "I meant love. We've sort of become tied to each other by this werewolf thing and I don't want you to think I'm holding it over you, that I'm holding you back. If you fall in love with someone else, if you find someone better or different or—just tell me. Please. I'd understand."

He watched her lips move, lost in utter disbelief. He didn't know how to get the point across without smacking her. Though he knew it wouldn't really hurt the way it did other people, it wasn't kosher to beat around girls let alone his girlfriend. So, he played along.

"Fine, Hermione. If I ever find someone better, I will happily leave you in a ditch somewhere and not look back."

"Deal," she answered. He took back his hands but she figured she'd torture him while she was at it, finishing the deed. "Would you do the same for me?"

"Excuse me?" he sputtered, stopping in his tracks on the way upstairs. He turned around on his heel and raised a curious eyebrow. "Is there another?"

"No no," she answered in a completely unbelievable, suggestive tone. "Of course not. I'm just saying. What if."

He scoffed. "Chea. What if. You know what, no. You may not go off and fall in love. I won't have it."

She laughed and sauntered past him up the stairs. "I dunno," she teased. "That McLaggen has some great stories. He can just talk your ear off for hours, always witty."

He glowered at her, his mouth hanging slightly open. "You're kidding right? The guy's a prat! Whoa whoa whoa! Tell me you're kidding!" he called after her but she just kept slowly walking up the rickety stairs, waving her hips on purpose. "Hermione! You get back here! Tell me that was a joke!"

She laughed all the way to Ginny's room. He ran after her, calling her name. The joke had gotten out of hand and the jealous wolf inside him was growling, scratching at the kitchen door for permission to hunt down McLaggen and force feed him his own intestines.

"Malfoy, shush!" shouted Ginny at her door. "I'm getting changed! Go have your little jealousy fit elsewhere."

"No no. You and 'Mione are practically attached at the fucking hip. Tell me. Has she and McLaggen ever—" He cringed, not wanting to think about it. So, he phrased it. "Has there ever been any interest on either side?"

Ginny laughed. "Oh yes," she played along. "They were hot and heavy under the mistletoe last year. Ron nearly threw a fit."

Draco's eyes opened wide and he was about to scream bloody murder before Ginny shut the door right in his face. He growled and Hermione heard his angry footsteps down the stairs, snickering despite her many worries.

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Draco knew it couldn't be real but he went in search of Ron nonetheless. He was sitting outside, alone, staring out into the hedges where Draco knew visitors entered.

"So…" he said, making Ron jump with his wand in the air between them. "Playing guard dog? I think I'm technically better equipped for that."

Ron set down his wand and turned his hard-set brow back towards the high hedges without a single word. Draco dug his hands out of his pockets and went to sit in the chair beside him. It was white and a little rusty but he put his reservations aside.

"You really think she's going to come back?" he asked. Ron didn't say a word, merely leaned forward onto his knees. "Hermione wanted to know. You fucking her?"

"What?" he finally answered, turning to Draco with bug eyes. Draco tried to keep a straight face. This was a serious talk after all.

"I told you hadn't but I wasn't sure. Your face says no but my history with Pansy says yes."

Ron gave a little growl. "You don't know her nearly as well as you think."

Draco couldn't help it. He snorted. "So that's a no on the sleeping together thing. Well, at least you don't have to go get tested now. That's never fun."

"I do not want to talk about this! I don't want to talk period!"

"Look man, I saw you out there on your broom. You're fucked up. You could barely fly straight. I had to tell the others I was tired so we could end the massacre! When have I ever been known to give up a fight, especially one I was winning with eyes closed?"

Ron faced Draco slowly. "You're… worried about me?" he whispered with utter disbelief.

Draco shrugged, feigning indifference. "I feel I have to warn you about her. She's, well, you probably know. I mean, there are ways to keep her in check. The whole no-sex thing you've got going on is great but it's not going to last long. She's going to find another guy and you'll have to let it go because it'll be your fault."

Ron furrowed his brow deeply, leaving little red marks when he let the statement – and the tension in his forehead – go. There were so many things wrong with it. Is that why Hermione and Draco have such a good relationship? he thought. Because they sleep around behind the others' back? It didn't matter anymore. He was done with Pansy. He knew telling himself that wasn't going to do squat to the feelings in the pit of his stomach, threatening to resurface his lunch even in the calming sounds of the backyard.

"I don't care," he whispered, more to himself than Draco. "She left. I don't care anymore. Besides, aren't you going to tell me to get away from her, that she's dangerous and untrustworthy?"

Draco shrugged again. "Look, man. I don't live in Hermione's happy, little, black and white world. Pansy's a bitch but she's not evil. She's not a believer. I don't know if she loves you but I think she's capable of it. And hey, you could do worse."

Ron didn't say anything and neither did Draco. They didn't move, waiting for the protective feeling to die within both of them. They waited but it never went away. Pansy was still slowly weaving her influence over Ron's pathetic, lonely heart, and Draco was still holding onto her the way he held onto childhood memories. Though neither said it, they could feel the danger brewing from her careless actions and they knew they would have to pick up the pieces for her later. That was what friends did.

They spent a few hours in silence, waiting for her to show through the hedges, but she never did.

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