Hi, hi! How are you?😊 Here I come with another chapter... It could be said that it is a relaxed one, full of intimate dialogues, but I think it reaches interesting conclusions 😉. I hope you like it a lot... Thanks a lot for your support! And thank you very much in advance for reading! 😊

CHAPTER 15

Solitude

Draco's dragon-skin boots, wet from the snow, weighed him down as if they were made of lead, and made each step up to his dormitory take an extraordinary effort. He had crossed the Common Room without making eye contact with anyone, and though he thought he heard a greeting from a classmate, he had ignored it completely. He felt curiously empty, unable to feel anything but an uncomfortable daze. His temples ached from the number of thoughts he was trying to avoid sorting through and which were piling up in his subconscious. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to remember why he felt this way. Remembering it would mean dwelling on what had happened just fifteen minutes ago in the Stone Circle, when Granger had denied his accusations that she was the cause of his inexplicable feelings. She had denied it all. It wasn't possible, it didn't make sense, he couldn't believe her... Shit, he was thinking about it again.

And, on top of that, he had said that. Amortentia.

Fuck.

But why the hell... Why the hell had he said something like that?

Shit, shit, and shit.

He opened his bedroom door with his gloved hand and the dim light of a candle told him he wasn't alone. He was strongly tempted to turn around and go somewhere else to seek the solitude he needed, but a choked, almost desperate sobbing kept him in the doorframe.

Despite the haze that flooded his mind, he recognised the owner of the voice, and, though he did not fully assimilate the situation, he abandoned his thoughts to slap himself back into the earthly world.

He scanned the room with a quick glance until he discovered Nott, sitting in the chair at the only desk in the room, rubbing his eyes with both hands hurriedly. No one else was there. On the table was a rectangular package, the contents of which he could not make out from the doorway. The nibbled Chocolate Frog Nott held in his hand, though, gave him the clue he needed. It was the desk lamp that was lit.

Nott glanced sideways at the door, wanting to check who had entered. A layer of fresh tears covered his blue eyes, which were reddened. So were his nose, and his wet lips. His whole face was flushed with congestion, the result of an obvious previous cry.

"Draco?" he questioned nervously, though it wasn't necessary.

"What's the matter with you?" he asked in return, instantly, closing the door behind him nearly by inertia. He felt too emotionally drained to remember that they hadn't spoken to each other in days. Besides, what he saw had alarmed him too much. He couldn't, despite the loud argument they'd had, ignore that.

Nott never cried. He was a strong boy, with a serene mind, and not easily perturbed. He kept a cool head and knew how to manage his emotions, often better than Draco himself. He didn't tend to be affected by things that other young people his age were. Draco had always felt that his mother's death was a turning point for him, for the management of his feelings. After that loss, few things could upset him. His threshold for grief was surprisingly high. And so Draco, aware that the boy had been crying inconsolably until seconds before, felt the overwhelm and uncertainty make his own breathing difficult.

What had happened?

Nott hastily shook his head, trying to hide his face from the young Malfoy's piercing grey gaze.

"Nothing. It's... it's nothing. It really isn't. Nothing," he managed to say, trying to put a calm tone to his voice. There was a slight firmer tone to the last word that almost convinced Draco that nothing serious had really happened. But only almost.

Draco was already standing beside him before he finished the sentence, staring at him. The boy still seemed to be panting slightly, as if he had been sobbing desperately before his arrival. And, as he was trying to control his breathing to conceal it from Draco, he seemed to be choking even more. His face was trying hard not to let out any emotion other than serene composure.

Draco didn't know what to say. His eyes caught a detail in his friend's white hand, the one closest to him, the one with which he held the Chocolate Frog. A detail that stopped his heart. He reached forward with his gloved, and still soaked, hand and grasped his friend's wrist, bringing his hand roughly closer for a better look in the light of the desk lamp. The frog's semi-melted chocolate dripped lightly from his fingertips. The back of his skin was still damp from wiping his tears with it. But what caught Draco's eye was the blood that coloured his knuckles and the backs of his fingers. The small wounds, like scrapes in the form of almost healed scabs, that disfigured his skin. As if he had struck an uneven surface repeatedly with all his might.

Draco forced himself to take a breath, realising that he had been holding his breath without even realising it. Nott didn't get into fights. Never. He was a quiet, peaceful, thoughtful boy. He had to have caused that on his own. Draco doubted it was an accident. Which didn't exactly reassure him. He watched his face, which was tilted to the opposite side, not wanting to look at him.

Finally he let go of his hand, not having a fucking clue what to say.

"Are you eating chocolate?" Draco managed to ask, quietly. Nott looked at the packet of Chocolate Frogs out of inertia, and finally dared to look at the blond out of the corner of his eye.

"Daphne gave them to me. They're from Honeydukes," he replied, also in a low voice. Then he frowned slightly, turning his face more towards his friend, and asked, "Why are you so wet?"

He almost seemed to want to steer the conversation away from himself, but Draco ignored his question. He refused to remember the stupid snowball fight Granger had provoked, and everything that had surrounded that battle. Right now, he had more important things to think about. He just stared at his friend, until his first words sunk in.

"Why did she give them to you?" Draco wondered in a serene voice.

"The other day she saw me... a bit down. She just wanted to cheer me up," he murmured, looking at the chocolate candy wistfully. As if he appreciated the gesture, even though it was obvious it wasn't enough to alleviate what was bothering him.

"Down?" Draco questioned, his voice very low. Nott swallowed, not looking at him. "Why?"

He took a few seconds to answer. As if he was sorting through his thoughts, or working up the courage to put his feelings into words. As if he needed a moment to catch his breath so he wouldn't collapse. As if he was holding back from speaking, even though he visibly needed to.

"I'm not sure. About everything, I guess. I think I've had too much coming at me. It's all come at once. Our argument, the future that awaits us when the term is over... I suddenly felt... very lonely. I'm used to being alone," he hastened to clarify, in a slightly louder voice, "I've never minded it, you know I don't like gangs. But suddenly I felt... so far away from everyone else, so different. So weird. I know it's silly," he emphasised again, "but... I think it's overtaken me. I've been afraid of the future that awaits me, and of being all alone. I feel like, one by one, I'm losing everyone I care about," his voice choked again. "I hadn't even considered that my new way of thinking might actually cause me to lose you."

Draco gulped in an attempt to loosen the lump that was suddenly tightening in his throat, but to no avail. He felt a shiver of guilt run through him. His walls broke down for several seconds, though fortunately Nott didn't see it. He kept his eyes fixed on the table.

"Nott, the fight the other day didn't... mean anything like that," he managed to say cautiously.

"Doesn't mean I want to stay away from you."

Nott set the half-chewed frog down on the surface of the table and turned in his chair to face his friend squarely. His eyes were glazed over, but a new light shone in them.

"Daphne told me the same thing. She noticed that I haven't been well these days. That I've been a little lonelier than usual; and she wanted to be with me. She noticed that you and I had been fighting. She didn't ask me the reason for the fight, she just kept me company. I've been spending a lot of time with her for several days now. Studying together, hanging out, and, and... playing Wizard's Chess. She's very good," his voice sounded faint, lost in his memories. He looked away as his eyes glowed brighter. "She... kissed me. And told me she likes me," he confessed, his voice husky. "Now... now we're a couple. Or so I think."

'Now we're a couple.'

Draco couldn't even blink. Nott looked up into his eyes again. The two friends stared at each other, both wanting to speak, not doing so until they were sure the other wasn't going to speak first.

"Fuck," Draco managed to gasp in shock, "Are you fucking kidding me? You've done it. Mate, you've been crazy about her since you were... what, eleven? And now you two are together."

Nott's bottom lip lifted, and his corners turned up slightly, trying to suppress a smile. He wouldn't look away from his friend's eyes.

"Draco, I'm not going to stop getting along with Granger," Nott finally said, not beating around the bush. Draco didn't flinch at the change of subject; he was expecting it, he knew it was inevitable. "I know it's hard for you to believe, I know you can't even conceive of it, but I really... I don't believe in the Dark Lord's cause anymore," the young blond tensed visibly, unable to help himself. "Or our parents'. I don't believe that the Mudbloods are inferior to us any more. Nothing proves to me that they are. To me it just... doesn't make any sense. Granger, for example, is a Muggle-born, yes, but she's intelligent, an extraordinary witch, a good person, and —"

"Don't go on, Nott, Merlin's beard," Draco managed to say, turning his face away, closing his eyes and rubbing the bridge of his nose with his fingers. He was trying hard not to cry out in frustration. His gloves were still soaked, and he felt the cold flood the bridge of his nose.

"I'm sorry, but I really mean it. What makes Granger inferior to us? To me, the Dark Lord is waging a pointless war. He would let my father, his follower, die without batting an eyelid. And all for the sake of killing people who don't deserve it," he argued, incredulous at such a course of action. "I trusted you to tell you my true thoughts, but maybe it was a mistake, maybe I should have kept it to myself... But I don't regret it, you are my best friend, and I wanted to tell you. I don't care if you don't think the same way I do," Nott continued to stare at his friend's profile. Draco seemed unable to look at him, but luckily he didn't interrupt him. "Sometimes I feel like I'd rather risk everything I've been told than keep pretending to believe in something that doesn't make sense to me. I know I'm going to be a Death Eater, and I know I have to hide what I think because they'll kill me without hesitation, you're absolutely right. But... sometimes I don't, because I feel like there's no point in pretending. I have nothing to lose, Draco. No father, no mother... nothing."

"Your life?" Malfoy said almost sarcastically, turning to him again. Staring at him in disbelief. Nott was slow to respond; he was trembling slightly and pale in the light of his lamp.

"My life? My life, soon to be in the hands of the Dark Lord, as I am forced to become a Death Eater simply because my father is one? As if I should believe as he does...! A life as a Death Eater, where I will have to do horrible things against my will, and not even be able to pretend that I don't want to do them! That life is not worth the fear of losing. I will make sure that you are not affected by what I think of Muggle-borns," he assured him, his voice low but firm. It sounded a little hoarse, and Draco caught a hint of desperation. "I mean it, no one will think for a moment that you think the same way I do. I'll make sure of that, at the very worst. If you still want to remain my friend. If not... I can't blame you. I really can't."

His voice choked slightly on the last sentence. Malfoy had to grit his teeth to pull himself together. He couldn't convince him. His new convictions had taken deep root in his mind. If Nott really didn't care if he was killed, and if he could assure Draco that people wouldn't become suspicious of him... The young Malfoy didn't know what else to object to. How else to dissuade him. He had no more arguments that sounded coherent. He was still worried, still feared for his friend's safety, for his friend's life, but he wasn't able to say it that bluntly. He didn't like to show concern for anyone. Not even for his best friend, if he could help it. It was embarrassing. Awkward. Something like that... exposed him too much. And it was clear to him that even if he could show how scared he was for Nott, nothing would change his mind. Lord Voldemort had hurt him too much by taking his father away from him.

At that moment, the door to the room creaked open. Both Draco and Nott were startled, immersed as they were in conversation. Blaise Zabini stood in the doorway, and Draco only had to take a quick, alarmed glance at his sharp-featured face to realise that he hadn't heard the conversation. Blaise looked as if he had simply gone to his room, not knowing if anyone would be there or not. He looked serene and listless. He didn't even seem to notice the state Nott was still in, with the recent weeping still written all over his face.

"What's up?" the newcomer greeted casually, walking into the room in the direction of his belongings.

"Blaise," Draco asked instantly. Trying to put a grim tone to his voice. He folded his arms, "leave us alone, please. We're talking about something private."

The black-skinned young man set his bag down on the bed and looked at his companion with surprise and annoyance shining in his dark eyes. He didn't even look at Nott.

"And does it have to be here?" he questioned, disdainfully. Seeing that Draco was still staring at him coldly, with no intention of repeating the request, he snorted, "Okay, you rule. I'll be downstairs, let me know when you're done with your bullshit. I want to take a shower."

Draco didn't answer. Nott didn't even dare look up from the floor. When Zabini came out, closing behind him with a slightly louder thump than usual, the two friends looked at each other again; grateful Nott, exhausted Draco.

"Does Greengrass know?" the blond young man questioned quietly. "About Granger? About the Dark Lord? Does she...?"

Nott swallowed, gauging the answer. Finally, he shook his head.

"She, as far as I know, has nothing to do with Him. Nor does her family. It hasn't come up, we haven't even talked about the Dark Lord, so she doesn't know anything about my situation. She hasn't asked me about it," he ducked his head slightly. "I don't think I told her either. It's easier that way. I don't want to endanger her in any way... And she does know about Granger. But... she doesn't seem to care. Or at least I don't think she does."

Draco looked at Nott, who was staring at the ground with his sad blue eyes, and let out a frustrated snort. Still, he felt the weight that was lodged in his stomach lessen, allowing him to breathe more normally.

"Well, suit yourself," Draco suddenly snapped, almost defensively, making him look up. His mouth was dry. As he spoke, he began to remove his soaked gloves, unable to meet his friend's gaze, "Do whatever the hell you want. You'll get yourself killed, but if you don't care, I certainly don't. As long as you keep me out of it, I have no more objections. Just watch your back. That's all I can ask you."

Nott continued to glare at him; he went to say something, as if to make sure they were friends again, but Draco wouldn't let him.

"Don't even think about it, don't talk any more. Whenever you open your mouth you're always blundering," said the blond young man, throwing his gloves on his bed, and taking off his soaked coat as well. Then he went over to the desk and stole one of the Chocolate Frogs from the box. He took it out of its gold and blue pentagonal wrapper to avoid looking Nott in the face as he spoke, "Or, rather, open it and tell me how badly Greengrass got hit on the head."

Theodore blinked in confusion, but could not contain a discreet expression of irony.

"Hit?"

"She had to take quite a hit to decide that she wants to start dating you," Draco specified dismissively, as if it were obvious, managing to make his friend grimace in mock annoyance. "Tell me, how does it feel to have your first girlfriend? It's about time you made your debut, mate. And with Greengrass, lo and behold... Merlin, this is to die for, I haven't tasted them in ages," he mumbled suddenly, taking a bite of the frog and then gazing at it in admiration.

A sincere smile spread across Nott's sad features, and he hurried to tip the box of frogs onto the desk, ready to share them with his friend.

It was seven o'clock on Thursday evening, and Hermione, having finished all her homework, had gone up to her deserted dormitory to look through some books, leaving Harry and Ron in the Common Room struggling with some particularly difficult Transfiguration essays.

The books she wanted to look at were from the Library, and they were about everything related to the mind. She was still very concerned about Harry's problem, about the voice he was hearing in his head at random times. The day before, the boy had heard the voice again when they were eating dinner in the Great Hall, making such a shocked expression that it almost made his friends choke. So Hermione had decided to do what she always did when she couldn't find answers: turn to the books. She'd taken advantage of the moment, since she'd seen Lavender and Parvati busy in the Common Room, and she could have the bedroom to herself. She preferred not to be seen reading anything on the subject, so as not to arouse suspicion.

She had two volumes before her: Protection Charm Your Mind: A Practical Guide to Counter Legilimensy, by Franciscus Fieldwake, and Living with Legilimens: Choose Your Mind Wisely, by the English Society of Legilimens. So far they weren't being much help, at least the first chapters. She still hadn't clarified anything, nor did she see her friend's problem reflected in the texts before her.

But maybe it wasn't the books' fault.

She had been sitting on her bed for almost half an hour, but she had barely read two pages, which was somewhat alarming, since she was capable of devouring long books in a few days. The reason for that anomaly was that her mind was far away, specifically on a certain blond-haired boy with grey eyes.

After being forced to read the same line three times, Hermione put the book aside, defeated and frustrated with herself and her absent-mindedness. She hugged her knees, letting her gaze wander to the opposite wall. She allowed herself to give free rein to her thoughts and memories, accumulated in her subconscious. Otherwise, she wouldn't be able to concentrate on reading.

'You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. Don't play games with me, Granger. I'll make you confess by hook or by crook.'

Hermione closed her eyes. She did not understand anything. Anything. Malfoy's accusations made no sense at all. A love potion? How was she going to give him a love potion? Why would she give it to him? That claim could only mean that he was beginning to have some sort of... sentimental interest in her. Against his will, according to him. It was the only logical explanation that fit his accusations, but the fact was that, in practice, it was not possible. It was Malfoy. Malfoy. Draco Malfoy. The person who yelled at her in their second year 'You'll be next, Mudbloods', the person thanks to whom Buckbeak was nearly murdered, the person who took points from her during the Inquisitorial Squad period for the simple fact of being a Mudblood, the person who offered her a badge that said POTTER STINKS but told her not to touch his hand...

But she'd already lost count of the number of times Malfoy had grabbed her arm, or her hand, or had come closer to her than usual lately.

But it still wasn't possible — he couldn't be having any sort of romantic thoughts about her! It was... far-fetched. Unnatural. Absurd.

Malfoy had his own beliefs, his own way of seeing life, very different from hers. To him, Hermione was no more than any insect, he'd told her so himself. To fall in love with her would be worse than heresy. It was obvious that such a thing was not in his plans, not by a long shot. So why all the accusations?

Hermione covered her face with both hands and let out a groan of frustration. Her head was going to explode at any moment.

"You've lost your mind, Malfoy. It's the only explanation," she thought resignedly, as if he could hear her. "You've always hated me, that's what you've shown me over the years. Don't make me doubt how you feel, Malfoy. Don't make me think absurd things..."

Why was everything about Malfoy so complicated lately? Why was he occupying so much time in her thoughts? Since when was someone so important to her subconscious?

At that moment, a discreet knock brought her out of her reverie. The bedroom door opened slowly and a red-haired girl peeked out.

"Are you busy?" Ginny asked, glancing around to see if she was alone.

"No, don't worry, come in," Hermione offered with a forced smile, returning to the earthly world. The young Weasley entered and closed the door behind her.

"I've come to ask you to please come downstairs as soon as possible and help Harry and Ron with their essays before my brother sticks his head in the fireplace," the red-haired girl joked. "Our hair is red enough as it is..."

Hermione chuckled. She placed the bookmark in the book she kept open beside her, and closed it. She would pick it up later.

"Sure, coming down now. They insisted they could do it, but it doesn't bother me at all to help them out, give them a couple of ideas..."

"I had nothing to do with it, huh?" laughed Ginny, sitting down on the next bed, Parvati's bed. She looked at her friend's book, "Did you find anything useful?"

"Nothing yet," Hermione sighed. "I haven't read much either. I'm a bit distracted today."

"Distracted? About...?" her friend wanted to know, though her slightly more serious tone of voice made Hermione uneasy.

"Nothing important," she dismissed, playing it down. "Nonsense, don't worry..."

Ginny didn't look away from her eyes. Hermione was suddenly struck by the idea that something was wrong. Her friend had suddenly become very serious.

"Malfoy-related nonsense?" Ginny asked, arching an indolent eyebrow. Hermione's heart didn't escape her mouth by sheer miracle. What?

"Malfoy?" she spluttered, dazed, forcing a giggle. She tried to contain the nervousness that suddenly swept over her. "W-why do you say something like that? Why him?"

Ginny shifted a little uncomfortably, still watching her carefully.

"For the record, this is top secret," the redhead said, grabbing a pillow and pressing it against her stomach. She tried to embellish her voice with a hint of mock solemnity, to lighten the mood. Hermione just nodded, wanting her to continue. "I had a Care of Magical Creatures class with Hagrid today, and he told me that he found you and Malfoy in a fight in the grounds yesterday afternoon. This is confidential, though. Don't tell him I told you." Hermione nodded again, without thinking. "And he also told me that you seemed quite upset. And since I didn't see you with Harry or my brother when I came up to the Common Room, I thought you might still be down... and I actually came upstairs because I wanted to see if you were all right."

"No," Hermione replied almost sharply, not quite sure to what. "I mean, I'm fine," she said more softly. "I appreciate your concern. I — I didn't end up upset. It's just that… Malfoy gets on my nerves. You know him. He started messing with me, and, well... I'm not made of stone either."

"He's a bastard," Ginny mumbled, squinting her eyes and clenching her fists on her pillow. "What did he say?"

"Nothing special," Hermione said softly, smoothing her skirt mechanically. "The usual. He should come up with new insults, it's getting boring," she gave a fake chuckle, pretending to be amused. "But I've got my mind on other things. It's nothing to do with him. It would be absurd to dwell on anything to do with him," she said, so vehemently that she almost believed it. Ginny, however, continued to stare at her.

"Hermione, why were you with Malfoy on the grounds when you told us you were going to the Library?" she questioned with overwhelming sincerity, bluntly. Hermione felt her heart stop. Dammit.

"I wanted to... take a detour to the Library. I wanted to get some air, and clear my head, that's all," she feigned an amused giggle. "What are you implying, that I made a date with Malfoy to meet him in the grounds? Please, Ginny..."

Hermione was out of breath at that point. After that lie. Too nervous to even think. But it had been necessary. She had to... lie.

The young redhead forced a smile, making it clear that it was just what she was thinking, though she seemed to find it as incoherent as her friend was making it out to be.

"I know, I'm sorry, but I couldn't help but get a little annoyed with what Hagrid told me. But you're right, it's absurd." Ginny smiled broadly, apologetically. Hermione smiled back sheepishly.

"I understand your concern; I admit that it sounds odd. I've been finding Malfoy everywhere lately, I'm having a lot of bad luck," Hermione confessed, dropping her gaze.

"I've also looked for him on several times, but that Ginny doesn't need to know..."

"What's troubling you, then, can I help you?" the redhead girl asked impulsively. Although she instantly regretted it. "I mean, I don't want you to feel obligated to tell me anything. But if there's anything I can help you with..."

Hermione felt the pang of guilt shoot through her. She wished she could tell her...

"You know I trust you," she murmured, looking at her with intense affection. "We're friends. But I don't want to worry you. I'm… I'm just brooding over nonsense, that's it. It's nothing important."

"It doesn't have to be. You should try to work it out, whatever it is. Keeping it to yourself is the worst thing you can do. Find someone to tell. Get it off your chest," Ginny encouraged her, sympathetic. Then she fell silent, looking around for inspiration, until suddenly her eyes lit up. "Why don't you tell Crookshanks?" she proposed, excitedly.

The fluffy, furry cat didn't even raise his head at the mention. Hermione laughed helplessly.

"My God, Ginny..."

"Yes, yes, trust me." The young Weasley rose from the bed, encouraged by her own idea. "It's easier, you'll see. He won't be able to give you advice, but you'll feel like new letting off steam. I tell Arnold a lot of things. Right, Crookshanks?"

Ginny sat down on Hermione's bed and placed a lethargic and uncooperative Crookshanks on her lap. She gently picked him up by his front paws and gently pulled him up onto his hind ones. Hermione's pet's grumpy face was fixed on its owner with boredom.

"Of course, gossipy redhead, I'd love to hear what my dear owner has to tell me," Ginny began her pantomime, deepening her voice and wiggling Crookshanks' paws as if he were the one speaking. "You know you can tell me anything, don't you, young lady who feeds me? I'm not going to tell anyone... Nobody knows how to talk cat talk around here..."

"Oh, Ginny," Hermione protested, unable to contain her laughter. She knew her friend wasn't serious, that she just wanted to make her laugh, and she really appreciated it. "Leave him alone, don't do that, poor thing..."

"Don't pay attention to that beautiful red-haired girl behind me!" Ginny protested in Crookshanks's voice. "She is just a tattletale..."

Hermione couldn't help but chuckle at her friend's wild imagination. But then her smile faded. She sighed helplessly, uneasily, watching her play with Crookshanks. Maybe she could tell her something... Just enough for her to give her some advice. She wasn't getting anything out of it on her own. And, in truth, she was going mad.

"Ginny… if someone accused you of giving them a love potion, what would you think?" she questioned, staring at the duvet, measuring her words carefully. Ginny stopped wiggling Crookshanks, surprised to see that her friend had the courage to speak, and looked at her with renewed attention and seriousness. She laid the cat quietly on her lap.

"An... unfounded accusation?" Ginny wanted to know, gently, to get a clear understanding of the situation. Hermione nodded, unperturbed. "Well, if I hadn't given anyone a love potion, but that someone thought I had, I think it's pretty clear. I'd think he has feelings for me, but he doesn't want to accept it. And he wants to blame me."

Hermione pursed her lips. She had expected that answer, though she would have given anything not to hear it. She could feel her cheeks redden; she was terribly uncomfortable talking about things like that, she wasn't used to it. She was capable of giving endless love advice to her friends; as she had done with Ginny about Harry many times, or with Harry about Cho Chang. But talking about her own was too much for her. Too violent, too complex. And more so in that situation. More so with Malfoy involved.

"That's what it implies to me as well. But the problem is, it's not possible, that's not an option," Hermione replied, as if there was no doubt about that, shaking her head. "There has to be another explanation. But I can't think of one."

"Why are you so sure he doesn't like you? What's there not to like about you, anyway?" Ginny replied, frowning with annoyance, ready to raise the girl's self-esteem.

"It's not that," Hermione assured her calmly. Almost listless. "The thing is... he's a very intolerant person towards Muggle-borns. Similar to Malfoy, for instance," she added carefully, slyly. "That's why it's absurd to think that he could have any feelings for me. It doesn't make any sense. I don't understand why he would say such a thing to me. And... I can't stop thinking about it."

She kept silent, feeling a little self-conscious. Though she was grateful that her friend had the discretion not to press her to reveal the name of this person. Still, seeing her ponder, and hesitating, as if she dared not speak, Hermione hastened to add:

"This isn't about Theodore Nott, if that's what you're thinking," she clarified, with a small smile. Ginny returned the smile, embarrassed, and said nothing about it.

"Well, whoever he is, if he's even remotely like Malfoy, it doesn't seem possible that he'd like you, I'll give you that... Blimey, that's complicated. What you're telling me is very strange... Nothing's impossible, though," she added in a slightly firmer voice, as if thinking out loud. "I gather he's a pure-blood, and he wouldn't be the first to fall in love with a Muggle-born, nor will he be the last. What he has revealed to you speaks for itself," she folded her arms as she stared into the void, thoughtfully. "And you are interested in this person?" she asked suddenly, looking at her intently.

Bum, bum. That echoed in Hermione's head. Her heart crashing against her eardrums.

"What?" she replied instantly, incredulous. By inertia. She hadn't expected that question. Not about Draco Malfoy.

"Well, you know what I mean... No offence, I'm just asking, because, well, if you don't reciprocate, you don't need to think about it. You could just forget about it, let him rack his brains if he wants to," Ginny proposed, shrugging apologetically. Sensing that she had made her friend uncomfortable.

Hermione looked her in the eye, realising that she was taking her time in answering that sudden but simple question. But Ginny had just said something with all the logic in the world — why didn't she just forget it? What difference did it make? If Malfoy had gone mad and thought he was feeling strange things, that was his problem. It was his responsibility to sort it out. It didn't affect her. It wasn't her problem. Because she didn't like Malfoy. She didn't. She… Did she?

"You're right," Hermione murmured, forcing herself to speak. Blinking rapidly, pushing certain thoughts out of her head. Absurd thoughts. She couldn't be doubting something like that, Merlin's beard. Not even for an instant. "I think... an accusation like that has hit me hard, and so I can't help but think about it. I don't fully understand the situation, and I hate not knowing what to expect… But, of course I don't want anything to do with this person. How can I feel anything for someone who hates people like me, and considers us lower than scum?" she articulated, vehemently. Almost shocked. Ginny nodded, agreeing with her.

"That would be the logical thing. And I know you, honey, and I know that you're always mature and coherent. And responsible. But… love doesn't always work like that. Pure attraction isn't something you can control, and it doesn't follow logic. That's why I was asking," she explained with an apologetic smile. Hermione swallowed but squared her shoulders even more.

"I understand you, and I know that, or so I think, but —" Hermione tried to argue, somewhat awkwardly. Trying to argue her friend back coherently. "There has to be some basic logic to it. You have to be aware that there's something about this person that you find attractive. And I don't find radical, supremacist beliefs like that attractive in the slightest," she snapped, starting to get heated. "Something like that says a lot about what a person is like. And… you can't feel attracted to someone completely opposite of you, to begin with. To someone with opposing beliefs, someone you have absolutely nothing in common with," she added, more confidently.

"Unfortunately, I don't know what to tell you," Ginny protested at her last words, looking amusedly apologetic. "I think you are confusing falling in love with attraction. I mean, you can feel attracted to someone you barely know. Just for... what they project. By their looks, or by some qualities you can see in them at first glance. Or with minimal interaction. There may be qualities that you find attractive and others that you don't, at first. I've liked Harry since I was eleven. Did I know him well enough when I started liking him? No. Is it reciprocated? Neither. Do I like him? Very much so," she giggled with amusement. It took Hermione a few seconds to smile back, lost in her words and their meaning.

"But that's different. Harry's a good person, and you understood that you had similar values when you started liking him. How could I... feel anything for someone who openly rejects me without even knowing me, just because of what he thinks I am? Because of what he's been told I am? I can't be attracted to someone who hates people like me. To someone who considers me inferior to him. It would be degrading." She forced herself not to blink. Her heart was killing her, pounding so loud it was almost audible.

Damn it, why did she feel like she was fooling herself? She couldn't be lying about something like that...

She was starting to feel really hot in the back of her neck...

Was she lying?

Ginny nodded, finally agreeing with her. Unreservedly. She smiled at her, trying to cheer her up.

"In that sense, you're absolutely right, of course. So what's the problem? Forget what that person said to you. Don't let someone like that get to you, or disturb your peace of mind."

"That's right," Hermione corroborated, smiling, though still hesitantly. She shook her head, her smile widening. "You're right. I don't know why I am thinking about it so much. It doesn't matter. It's not going to… change my life in any way. I'm going to forget the whole thing," she sighed with more emphasis. "Forget this conversation. I don't know why I've made such a big deal out of it. I guess I'm just tired, and I've made a habit of worrying myself to exhaustion over everything."

"You've been doing a lot of homework these days, as well as researching about Harry's little problem; you need your sleep," Ginny corroborated, happy to see her calmer. "All right, all forgotten. Rest your head." She put Crookshanks down on the mattress. "I'm going downstairs with the boys. To finish doing Herbology homework before the Honking Daffodil die out."

"Thank you, Ginny, and I'm sorry for this nonsense," Hermione assured, pretending to feel calmer. Though the tightness in her chest had even increased. She was looking forward to being alone. Still, she took her friend's hand to caress it in farewell.

"Don't worry. It happens to all of us. If you need any romantic advice from someone who's been in love with a guy for six years without getting any, let me know. I've got lots of them, each one more useless than the last," the red-haired girl said, winking at her and stroking her leg affectionately. Hermione laughed at the joke, but looked at her with a pitying expression.

"How are you?" Hermione questioned softly. "About Harry."

Ginny shrugged, putting on a more composed expression, looking less teasing. Her eyes averted from her friend's.

"Fine. I guess I'm fine. I like spending time with him, even if it's just as friends. I'm slowly learning not to ask for more. I have him close, and that's enough," she sighed through her nose, smiling. "I know that any other situation would be… complicated. I know he's not thinking about it. And the last thing I want is to lose him. That's okay like this. I'm doing better."

"I'm so glad," Hermione said sincerely, stroking her hand again. "You know that if you need anything..."

"I know, thanks," Ginny replied softly, then stood up. "You too, you know that. But now rest that head of yours. And come down when you can to help those two..."

"I'll be right there," Hermione waved her off with a smile and a wave of her hand.

As the young Weasley left the room, the weight on Hermione's chest seemed to crush her against the mattress. Despite Ginny's good intentions, Hermione's worries had increased. And now it was no longer just about Malfoy's strange behaviour and accusation.

It was her own reactions. Her deepest thoughts. Her true thoughts.

Hermione stood up and began pacing the room with her arms folded, unable to sit still any longer. She felt such a jumble of different sensations inside her that she felt like she would end up going into tachycardia. She uncrossed her arms and wrung her hands nervously, trying to relax. She breathed a couple of deep sighs and closed her eyes.

The whole thing was ridiculous. She was making too much of it. She was making too much of Malfoy. She was worrying about something stupid.

Lately she had been spending more time thinking about Malfoy, and talking to him, than she had since she had met him, and possibly that had somehow confused her feelings for him. Yes, that was it, she was just confused. If she got away from Malfoy, if they went back to being the simple acquaintances they were before, everything would work out. Everything would go back to normal. Although… Malfoy's accusations from the day before still hung in the air. A love potion. It seemed as if he was in the same situation as she was. Just as confused as she was. And that was what Hermione couldn't quite understand. That he, with his uncompromising and unwavering racist beliefs, was as confused... as she was.

She walked over to her bed again and knelt down in front of it, resting her arms on the edge of the mattress, her chin, in turn, on them. Crookshanks looked down at her with a sulky look on his flattened face.

"How does it feel when you like someone?" she whispered to her cat, in a weak voice. "Because I have a feeling it can't feel much different than this." She trailed off, scared of herself. "It feels… similar to how I used to feel about Ron. But, at the same time, it's… different. It's more… abrupt. More intense, more disturbing. And I'm starting to get scared."

She closed her eyes. Malfoy's face came back to her mind, with that wry grimace he always wore. He always acted like a brat, a bully and a braggart. Petulant and presumptuous. Always getting into trouble, always drawing attention to himself. But at the same time, Hermione had long thought that was just a facade. She had seen and witnessed a more serious, more mature Malfoy. Deep down, he wasn't a brat at all. And when he showed what he was really like, he gave off a kind of manhood that the girl didn't quite know where it came from. He was intelligent; when they weren't insulting each other, they were able to have a mature and coherent conversation. Well, even when they were insulting each other, he showed it. He was harsh. Sharp. Witty. The truth was that, although she didn't like the content of his speech, she liked the way he expressed himself, hearing him speak. She thought she could hear his voice, manly, mischievous, with his old habit of slurring the syllables. The sensation of his hand holding her arm tightly; the electric currents that ran through her at the proximity of his body; the emotion that flooded her, even though she pretended not to notice it, every time she met him in the corridors, in the classrooms...

"I'm attracted to him," she articulated aloud, to the solitude of her room. She felt goosebumps rise on her arms. "I'm attracted to Malfoy. I guess I can't deny that. But," she hastened to say in a choked voice, trying to sort out what was undoubtedly the most complicated conclusion she had ever faced with herself, "it means nothing. Nothing is going to happen. No one needs to know, it's not relevant. It's not important…"

She was able to remember many of his various insults. His taunts for no reason, just for his own cruel amusement. His contempt for everything that surrounded her; her friends, her habits, her family... His contempt for her for being something he had always been taught to hate, and which he had never questioned.

She remembered that he was on the side of the enemy, of Lord Voldemort. She didn't know to what extent, but she knew he shared his beliefs, he had told her so himself. He supported the idea of genocide against Muggle-borns. He had said he would kill her for who she was as soon as they stepped foot outside the school.

As if Garrotting Gas had been released into the room, she began to feel panic sweep over her. And shame.

"I can't feel this way about Malfoy, Crookshanks," Hermione whispered, holding back an anguished sigh and burying her face in her arms. "I can't. Not about Malfoy. Anyone but Malfoy."