Chapter Nineteen: Feel
"Why does Dumbledore even allow Quidditch anymore? It's so dangerous and distracts from our studies!" Hermione continued her never-ending rant to the only two sixth year Gryffindor boys that weren't on the Quidditch team. "Seriously, does no one care that this is, in fact, a SCHOOL, and not a sports club?!"
Seamus opened his mouth as if to respond to her question before Hermione continued passionately. "And Harry, Godric, what makes him think that holding practice well into dinner is a good idea? Surely he knows that food is only available for another fifteen minutes!" Her chalice of Pumpkin Juice hit the table with a little more force than she probably intended, the contents threatening to spill out without her notice.
Seamus smirked. He loved when Hermione got going on one of her tirades. He thought it was dead sexy when that feistiness came out. Ever since she and Malfoy had broken up, she'd been in a right state, and with Harry holding more and more quidditch practices, he found himself in her company more often than usual. It had only been a week, but Seamus had gotten used to sitting with Neville and Hermione at mealtimes- when Hermione came down at all. It quickly became his favourite part of his day.
"They need to eat," shouted Hermione, loud enough to make a few first years nearby jump.
"They've been going down for a team dinner in the kitchens most evenings, Hermione," explained Neville from his seat across the table. "Ron's idea. Ron loves Quidditch more than most, but do you think he'd let Harry starve him in the name of the House Cup?" Hermione did not look relieved in the slightest, so Neville offered a kind smile.
"Yeah, Ron doesn't put much above Quidditch, 'Mione, but food is above all in Ron's world," Seamus laughed along with Neville, gently nudging her with his shoulder. He was sitting beside her, facing away from the Slytherin table like she always did now. He didn't do it on purpose, though, as she had.
"Still," Hermione argued with a huff, "it's distracting from their schoolwork. And don't they realize the weather is dreadful? It hasn't stopped raining for a moment all week."
"That's why they're practicing so much," Seamus explained, with a confident-yet-smirky grin. "Harry bets the next match against Hufflepuff will be in these conditions and they need the extra practice."
Hermione, recognizing the boys would never understand, huffed and returned her attention to the dinner before her. Her potatoes took an unnecessary beating.
She hated when Harry kept the team into dinner. The players consisted of almost all of her friends, making dinner feel extremely lonely when they were gone. Neville was nice as always, and Seamus, too, but she missed Harry. Harry was also heartbroken, wishing he had Ginny. He understood better than Neville and Seamus could.
Neville was kind almost to a fault. He was sympathetic, never getting upset when she zoned out mid-conversation, distracted by a memory of Malfoy. He was helpful, sharing his personal herbology library with her so she could do better research for their most recent essay. He was gentle… but too gentle, Hermione thought. He was always kind, smiling and welcoming and thoughtful, but his smiles were always laced with a trace of pity. And pity was not at all what Hermione wanted right now.
Seamus was kind in another way. A way that was more in-tune with what Hermione needed. He was good company. He could always be relied on to spark a conversation on a new, interesting topic whenever their current discussion got too slow. She doubted he was consciously trying to help, but it did. Sometimes when she spoke with him, she wouldn't have enough time for her mind to wander all the way to Draco again. She enjoyed his light humor and the way he wasn't gentle with her. He teased her and joked as if everything was normal. As if she hadn't just been broken. As if her, him, and Neville hung out all the time. Seamus didn't treat her any differently like most everyone else did. It was refreshing.
Presently, Seamus was pouring her a fresh glass of pumpkin juice with a smile and changed the subject away from Quidditch, thank goodness.
"I overheard McGonagall the other day talking about potential Head Girls for next year, 'Mione," he was saying, handing her the newly filled chalice.
She heard Neville's bright laugh across from her. "Let me guess," he smiled, gesturing toward the brunette witch in front of him. Hermione smiled at that, an almost real one.
"Your name was definitely mentioned– not that anyone would be surprised," Seamus confirmed. "Actually, McGonagall and Flitwick were trying to figure out another girl for you to contend with, but they couldn't think of any. You're easily top in our year in every way," Seamus praised, draping his arm around her shoulder and pulling her into him. Another almost smile crossed Hermione's lips.
A certain Slytherin on the other side of the hall scowled and unconsciously shot daggers the Irishman's way. Draco continued to force his potatoes around his plate with anger, not eating them. When Seamus began whispering in her ear, Draco fumed.
"You're the smartest, the most responsible, most reasonable, and most exquisite girl in our year, 'Mione," he was saying quietly in her ear. "Sounds like McGonagall sees it too." She smiled and shrugged his arm off with an eye roll.
"I wonder who Head Boy might be," Neville thought out loud.
Hermione's mind momentarily flashed a fantasy of her sharing Head Dorms with Draco, but that thought was fleeting. "Now, that's a much more appropriate place to steer this conversation," she joked, masking the emotional stab wound her daydream made with a forced laugh.
Seamus only smirked. "Lord knows it won't be any of our lot," he quipped, bringing Neville to snigger.
"Probably a Ravenclaw," he suggested. "I hear Anthony Goldstein is hoping for it."
Seamus looked over his shoulder to the Ravenclaw table in the direction of Neville's slight head point gesture, to where Anthony was sitting. When he turned back to his Gryffindor friends, the smile that stretched across his face echoed a joke that only he knew. He raised an eyebrow at Hermione and Neville in acknowledgement and a brief silence fell over them.
"I think he keeps his tie is impeccably straight because he isn't," Seamus commented at last.
Hermione couldn't help her cough as she choked on her pumpkin juice. Seamus tried to rub her back in concern, but she pushed him away and added a sharp hit to his shoulder as punishment for his crude comment.
Draco, on the other side of the room, completely lost his appetite from watching the scene. His fierce Hermione, being jokingly, punishingly, violent with someone else. It was entirely wrong.
Seamus continued, unabashed and smirking, "I'm pretty sure he shines his prefect badge before every meal."
"Shoes, too," added Neville, taking a sip of his own drink. Hermione's eyes went wide at Neville's participation.
Seamus shrugged his shoulders and tipped his head in the direction of the Ravenclaw Table, challenging her, "Just look, 'Mione. Check out his outfit, his hairstyle, the way he wears that scarf, that earring, and then tell me he isn't gay."
She'd forgotten her pain for the briefest of moments. She followed Seamus's directions and her own curiosity, but when she turned to face the other side of the Great Hall, she didn't see Anthony.
Her eyes connected almost automatically with Draco's and her heart stopped.
A bundle of nerves. A bundle of too many memories and too many things to say. Her eyes stayed fixed on his for a moment, blazing a fire that had been barely smouldering for five cold days. A mind buzzing and hands shaking and the surrounding sounds of forks clanking and mouths chewing and Gryffindor boys making snide comments, all of it just distorted white noise growing, eclipsing, overwhelming.
With a delayed breath, she blinked, and in the darkness, reality crashed, begging to be recognized. Draco.
Panicked, she whipped her head back to its rightful spot so fast that her curls went flying in every direction and her pumpkin juice spilled all over, soaking her previously pristine white shirt. The sticky, orange liquid spread in a large wet spot across her top, exposing the outline of her tan bra and her curves below, but the clothing emergency was far from her mind.
She barely even noticed her shirt, for the image of Draco, even more pale and skinny than she remembered him being merely five days ago, was etched in her mind. He was looking at her, and though he did not look healthy, he looked handsome, and he looked hurt, sad, and even a little angry. And he had been looking at her. Her heart thrashed painfully in her chest.
She missed him, despite his betrayals. And she hated that.
Another one of Seamus' brazen comments pulled her from her thoughts. "Merlin, Hermione. Who knew you had a chest like that under your school robes."
Finally, she looked down and she noticed the transparent, sticky mess on her shirt. She pulled her arms around her chest hoping to hide, but it wasn't working in the slightest.
She cursed herself. She cursed her past self. She cursed her bloody emotions.
She'd left the common room without a cloak because Ginny had not been back from practice and she wasn't able to find anyone else to fetch it from her room for her. She still couldn't face her room full of things that reminded her of Draco.
Neville offered her his scarf, to help, but the mess was too big and she was starting to feel sticky.
"This is awful," she complained, rubbing her hands down her face. "Neville, could you come up to Gryffindor Tower and get a change of clothes from my room for me? Ginny isn't back yet," as if Ginny being gone was a reasonable reason.
She tried dabbing at the stain with her napkin but it didn't do anything to help. "Damn Quidditch!"
"Sorry, Hermione. You know boys can't go to the girls' room. I know there is a way around the slide, but after everything that happened at the end of last year, I think I'm reverting back to being a strict rule-follower," he told, referencing the time where they had all skipped school, stormed the Ministry, and engaged Death Eaters in a ruthless battle that didn't end particularly well.
"Seamus?" she tried. "Please, I can't stay like this," she begged, maneuvering the scarf but it wasn't able to cover the stain any better.
"Sorry, 'Mione. I rather like this view," the bold Irishman explained. "Besides, If I ever have the pleasure of stepping foot in the girls' dorms, you could bet your cute arse it won't be to fetch you fresh clothes if you know what I mean."
She hit his shoulder once again with a huff. She gathered her things and used her arms to cover her chest as well as she could, moving to ask the gossiping Parvati and Lavender to help.
"Sorry, Granger," Lavender bit. "We're about to hit the library. Loads of studying to do." Surely with a brain as small as yours, thought Hermione. Still, the blonde stood to gather her things.
"Why don't you go yourself?" Parvati asked gently, slowly following Lavender's lead, who was already making her way to the door.
"It's just Draco's things everywhere," Hermione admitted to her kinder roommate. "His cloak, his scarf, a blanket, you know? I don't want to see them."
Parvati gave Hermione a confused look, "But Hermione, none of those things are there anymore. I thought you'd gotten rid of them a few days ago."
"Really?" Hermione asked, eyebrows furrowing. "His things are gone?"
"Yeah, I came back from Divination on Wednesday and they were gone. The cloak over the post, right? And a few other things on the bed, his scarf? Maybe it was Ginny or that house elf."
"Maybe you're right," Hermione pondered. "Thanks, Parvati, I'll- I'll go myself then."
"I THOUGHT I HATED QUIDDITCH, BUT I WAS WRONG. I DISLIKE QUIDDITCH, I HATE THE ELIZABETHAN ERA!"
"What the hell is that?" asked Ginny as she pushed through the portrait hole later that evening. The rest of the Gryffindor Quidditch team trailed in after her.
"PATRIARCHAL PARADIGM, LOVE TRIANGLES, WOMEN HAVE NO RIGHTS, THEY CAN'T GET WORK. IT IS OUTRAGEOUS!"
A booming crash shook the Gryffindor Common room, resonating from somewhere above.
"Is that Hermione?" wondered Ron, a worried look crossing his face as Lavender stepped inside and draped herself all over him.
Another crash made the group jump. "What is going on?" Harry shrieked over the continuing noise.
"She's been at this for forty minutes!" Neville explained, joining the small crew forming. "I was about to go get McGonagall!"
"What is she on about?" Ginny asked over another bang from above that preceded a cascade of yellow sparks that rained down the stairwell.
"I'm going to check on her," stated Harry, followed by another crash and green sparks. "Who's coming?"
"PLAY ON? PLAY ON!? LET IT DIE! LET IT ALL DIE!"
Another wave of sparks filled the stairwell, some starting to singe the worn carpet at the base of the stairs.
A quick kiss goodbye shared between Dean and Ginny, the two Weasleys, Lavender - insisting she come since it was her room that was being so rudely destroyed- and Harry walked and levitated themselves up the stairs to the Sixth Year girls dorms.
It appeared all hell had broken loose– a tornado and a firework show in the tiny bedroom at the same time. Hermione's hair was a mess, more disastrous than usual. She wore an ugly stain that rendered her shirt entirely transparent. It was untucked. There was a run in her stocking. Her tie had, somehow, been torn.
She was stomping around the mess of fallen curtain hangings, two broken bedposts, a shattered mirror and the smouldering pages of a book flying everywhere. Hermione was still shouting, but her voice had reached such a shrill key that none present could understand a word she said.
She didn't even notice the small congregation that had formed at the door to watch her show until Harry boldly reached out in an attempt to grab her flaming wand. She shook him off violently, pointing her wand at him before she recognized him. Her wand found each spectator in turn, but she froze her aim on Ron and her eyes grew darker. The flame reaching out of the tip of her wand grew toward him threateningly.
"I want you out, Ron." she snarled.
"What did I do?" He asked bewildered and annoyed.
He knew they weren't on the best terms, but they had been cordial in the week since their walk. Could she know he'd taken Draco's things from her room? He couldn't see how she'd know it was him. She'd been mumbling in her sleep on the couch about the scarf, it was late. He thought the other girls would be completely asleep. When he cleaned out her room a few days ago, he thought it would make her happy, not maniacal.
"You're a pureblood, that's what you are!"
That wasn't remotely in the realm of what he expected and he almost laughed at the absurdity of it. "Wow! Am I really? I didn't know!" he shouted back sarcastically, taking a step closer to the crazed witch, leaving his overdramatically crying girlfriend a few places behind. "Since when is being a pureblood reason to throw a bloody toddler's tantrum? Do you want to throw Ginny out, too?" he stormed.
"You're a man, Ronald. You're an entitled, pureblood man with power! And control! You can do whatever the hell you want and get away with it! AND I HATE IT! I WANT YOU OUT!"
"In case you haven't realized it, Hermione, I'm a blood traitor," he tried to reason through his growing frustration. "I have no power! And control? I can't even control my kid sister!"
"Well, that's true," the sister in question tried to joke. No one laughed.
Hermione stomped her feet like a reckless child. Holding up the book in front of her, she began to read, scream really, but read, too. "'If music be the food of love, PLAY ON, Give me excess of it that, surfeiting, The appetite may sicken and so die." She brandished her wand at a nearby pillow, exploding it, its feathers sent flying all around. "THAT STRAIN AGAIN,'" she shouted, eyes flaming. Another pillow exploded with another point of her wand. "'It had a dying fall.' Do any of you hear music? NO! I'm making the damn music!"
Hermione threw Draco's copy of Twelfth Night across her dormitory so forcefully that it ripped Lavender's bed curtains from their place. She brandished her wand in the direction of the small window over her roommate's bed, lighting it up with wand-made bullet holes, showering broken glass over the unmade blankets.
"What the hell, Hermione? That's my bed you've ruined!"
"Oh, please. It was ruined years before I set my clean hands upon it, don't play a fool. We all know you shagged Oliver Wood in here just last Christmas! But he wasn't the only one, was he?" Hermione accused haughtily.
"How dare you say that about me!" Lavender shrieked, boldly stepping closer. "Oh, you're just jealous, aren't you? At least boys want to shag me!"
Ron's attempt to pull Lavender aside and his quiet plea for her to stop talking went wholly unsuccessful. The brainless witch continued spewing venomous slurs at Hermione, who was seething. "Sure, you got Draco, but so has everyone else! Newsflash, Granger, he'll sleep with anything that walks."
Ginny couldn't block Hermione's path fast enough, and with sharp, determined steps, Hermione reached her Roommate in seconds. Hermione's open hand slapped Lavender's cheek. Hard.
"And you're one to talk!" the psychotic version of Hermione screamed. "I'm surprised you've been able to keep it with just Ron for these few months. Usually, you have two or three boys on rotation."
Despite the tense atmosphere of the ever-shrinking bedroom, Ron felt an overwhelming sense of ease. Hermione had called him 'Ron.' Not Ronald, not Weasley, but Ron. It was the first time his familiar name rolled off her tongue in far too long, at least as far as he knew.
Lavender, cheek red with Hermione's handprint, laughed off the insult, though her anger was evident in the way her whole body shook. "Well," she seethed, "seeing as my Won Won is twice the man Malfoy is, I haven't had to! At least I can keep a man entertained for more than a few months. That's not something you can say, is it? No," she taunted dangerously, "Draco's left your scrawny arse, hasn't he?"
Hot tears threatened to spill over Hermione's blazing eyes, but she wouldn't let them. She could not possibly lower herself to crying in front of this- this-
Ugh. Hermione couldn't even think of a word offensive enough for Lavender Brown. She had been the reason for all of this! If it wasn't for her, she wouldn't have ended up drinking tea to drown her sorrows in the kitchens with Dobby. If it wasn't for her, Hermione wouldn't have wanted to get revenge on Ron. If it wasn't for her, she wouldn't have ended up in that fake relationship with Draco.
She wouldn't have been forced to get to know him, she wouldn't have had a reason to be comforted on that bench so long ago, she wouldn't have fallen asleep on the couch across from him, she wouldn't have gotten to really know Draco Malfoy. She wouldn't have fallen in love with him. She wouldn't be heartbroken! She wouldn't be here, left wondering how much of it had been real!
Hermione, furious with Lavender and the pain of breaking up with Draco drowning her lungs all over again, set her wand on the half-destroyed version of Lavender's bed. With an easy flick of her wand, the bed lit up in hungry flames.
Lavender took a step forward, taking sharp hold of Hermione's head of chaotic curls, then brought her opposite hand up to strike the brunette's cheek. Soon, the girls were sending their fists flying everywhere, not knowing with whom their fists were colliding.
Harry shared an appalled, frantic look with Ginny before he stormed the quarreling girls, attempting to pull Hermione away from both the other witch and her own wand. Ron was already on top of Lavender, trying to pull his girlfriend off of Hermione while restraining the flailing arms to her side.
Ginny, thank goodness, had made quick work on the flaming mattress, extinguishing the fire with a nicely-used aguamenti charm.
When the girls were separated, though their arms were still flailing in many directions to resist their captors, Ron shouted over them all. "Hermione, I don't know what this is about, but it isn't about my blood, it isn't about that ancient muggle author, nor is it about Lavender's sex life. This is crazy! I'm taking her out of here so you can maybe calm down enough to talk through whatever it is that's got your knickers in a twist." He pulled a very heavy lavender into a more comfortable constraining position, then turned to Harry and added, "I'm taking this one downstairs."
Hermione continued to struggle against Harry for a few moments after the door had closed. Harry held her tightly, trying to avoid any serious injuries himself. Ginny was doing what she could to repair the damage around the room, and slowly, Hermione calmed until her body felt limp in Harry's arms.
She was crying softly. He held her tighter.
Hermione knew that she was falling apart. What had gotten into her? This wasn't her. Hermione doesn't throw tantrums. She'd gone crazy, absolutely certifiable! And the worst part was, she didn't even have a good reason.
She'd entered the dorm and was surprised to see that Parvati had been right- Draco's things were, in fact, gone. However, it didn't take her long to notice the blue-covered copy of Twelfth Night sitting on her bedside table. To an outsider, it would be just another one of Hermione's many books. But when Hermione saw it, she saw Draco. It was the book he'd given her that first day. And she just spiraled from there.
The ancient story was about love, built through a web of lies, disguises, deceit, and accidental feelings. Before she thought he was making a funny joke about their fake relationship back on that first day, linking their lives to those main themes.
But when she pictured it before, she had always been Viola. Now? Now she saw Twelfth Night for what it really was: a warning. He was Viola. He lied to her about his identity the whole time, yet she still fell in love with him.
And here she was now, screaming for reasons she pretended didn't exist, and she missed him.
Hermione turned in Harry's arms, letting her best friend hug her exactly how she needed. The tears wouldn't stop. Ginny was repairing the room, the one that she had been destroying for the better part of the last hour.
She cried more.
"I miss him," she admitted aloud, her voice shaking. "I saw him today for the first time, you know? We made eye contact across the Great Hall at dinner. And– and– and, Godric, that hurt. It might not have even been a second, but it melted me. I should be mad. I should hate him. I guess I do," she pondered, thinking out loud, "maybe a little bit, but mostly I miss him."
"Why don't you try talking to him?" suggested Ginny.
Hermione sighed, brushed away her silent tears and moved away from Harry, who had stiffened uncomfortably once she actually started talking about Draco.
She found a comfortable spot on the edge of her bed and sat. Everything felt heavy.
"It could never work now, Ginny. I can't explain it, but we're…"
"'Irreparable' was the word you gave me," offered Harry with a note of bitterness and a disapproving look. He wandered over to Hermione's bed and, awkwardly, took a seat beside her.
"Is that your decision or his?" the bold witch asked forcefully, pausing her spellwork around the room. "Because he's been staring at you all week. I've never seen anything other than that smirk on his face, but this week, he looked dejected, Hermione. He looks like he's missing you too."
Hermione couldn't meet her eyes. "We just can't. It can't work. Circumstances–
Ginny rolled her eyes with a level of attitude only she could make. "That's rubbish," she proclaimed, scowling. "No, honestly, that is complete bullshit. When you have a real reason, when you're ready to explain, I'll be happy to listen to it."
She resumed her work around the room, ignoring the sad look that took over Hermione's face and the glare Harry was currently giving her. The pair just sat in silence, watching Ginny's wand illuminate the room in a sorrowful rhythm.
Hermione understood where Ginny was coming from. She had been relatively vague with the reasons she'd given for their break up. She had to be, didn't she? She knew Harry had been just as curious, too, but after nearly a week of arguing, her refusing to talk about it, Harry had seemed to give up for now.
Hermione wished Ginny would do the same, but they were both fire signs, and the odds of either of them relenting seemed slim.
Ginny found a stitch of dirty, light gray fabric lying under the contents of Hermione's upturned chest. It was part of the dress they picked out when they went shopping in Hogsmeade, mildly singed from a curse.
"Take it out on the dress, did you?" the redhead inquired, pressing her lips into a thin line.
Hermione couldn't be sure whether it was the sight of the destroyed dress or Ginny's critical tone that set off the new set of tears that streamed silently down her face. If she didn't give into her hand's impulse to reach up and brush the wetness away, no one might have noticed. But Hermione's willpower was extremely lacking tonight.
Clearly.
"Harry, can you give us a minute?" asked Ginny, her expression softening at the sight of Hermione's stress.
"I'll just go to bed, I think," he answered as he rose from the bed. He placed a gentle kiss to Hermione's forehead and wiped a few tears from her face before he turned to leave. "I'll check on you in the morning, Mione," he promised.
When the door had closed leaving the two fierce witches alone, Hermione laid back against the bed, continuing to brush underneath her eyes.
Ginny smiled sadly at the sight, and with a wave of her wand, the room began righting itself. Hermione could see the paint above her slowly transforming back into its original pristine state. Her thoughts were jealous- jealous of the stupid ceiling. She wished there was a spell that would magically fix her so easily.
She was laying on her back, eyes fixed on the paint, but she could feel the mattress dip beside her under Ginny's weight. The redhead laid back, too, and they watched.
"What is this all about?" Asked Ginny after a few moments.
"I'm not even sure I know." Answered Hermione honestly.
The small smile on Ginny's face could be heard as she spoke. "Boys really suck, don't they?"
Both girls laughed at that, agreeing, and Ginny was glad that Hermione seemed to have calmed down enough to actually talk.
"So what happened? You've been avoiding this room like the plague all week and while I'm glad I won't be having to fetch your clothes and books every day, I'm not sure I love the idea of you burning the castle down instead." Hermione's hands reached up to cover her face and she groaned realizing how silly her behaviour sounded when Ginny put it like that.
"Don't tell me the dress took the first hit," the redhead continued lightly.
Well, it sort of had.
"It was the book," Hermione explained, summoning the mostly-mended book. Some of the pages were still smoldering, some half-gone. She sighed. "It was the first thing Draco gave me, on the day we first got together," she explained. "I tried so hard Ginny, once I saw it sitting on the nightstand. I took a deep breath and I tried to push all thoughts of him from my mind. Godric, that was hard. Just picking it up, I could practically feel his hand on my back and I- I don't know. I knew I had to put it away, somewhere deep in my trunk where I wouldn't have to see it again. I was doing so well," she breathed taking a breath and running her hands down her face again. "I wasn't crying, I was trying my best not to think about him, but then I opened my trunk and right on top was the dress. And-
She trailed off, Ginny listening in the silence.
"Ginny, The dress isn't the color of Slytherin," Hermione admitted. "It's the exact color of his eyes after he kisses me. And I- I think that's when I snapped."
Hermione was still covering her eyes so she wasn't able to see the soft smile that crossed Ginny's face. The younger witch thought it was adorable that Hermione had such a lovestruck side, especially with the way she was trying so hard to hide it. But Ginny also knew that now was not a good time to talk about that. She reached a hand to Hermione's leg and soothingly rubbed it.
The curly-haired witch groaned with self-loathing. "This is such a mess."
"Yeah, but look," Ginny prompted. "The room is already mostly fixed."
"But the dress-
"Stop it," Ginny reprimanded, her fierceness poking through. "The dress can be fixed, too. Are you not a witch?"
"I know, Ginny, but the color- it's too much him. I can't possibly-
The redhead sat up on the bed and turned to face Hermione. She towered over her from her new spot, glaring at her in a way that made Hermione squirm.
"You. Are. A. Witch!" Reminded Ginny, punctuating each word with a jab of her finger. "There are darkening and lightening spells for fabrics so I beg you to stop with the excuses. You're going to the party."
"But Ginny, I haven't got a date!" Hermione shouted, sitting up, too. Her breathing was shallow as she processed her own words. Saying it out loud gave Hermione another surge of pain.
Noticing the shocked, still expression on her friends face, Ginny softened. She let Hermione catch her breath. She waited.
"I don't have a date," she repeated softly once she calmed herself. "Draco was supposed to take me. It's been planned for months," she admitted sadly, "before we even started dating. It was one of the things that got us together, actually."
The soothing hand of Ginny's was tracing paths up and down Hermione's shoulder. "Hermione, listen to me," she pleaded. "Malfoy is not the only boy at Hogwarts. I know it's hard to think about right now, I know you're still hurting, but there is not a boy in this castle that wouldn't be lucky to take you to Slughorn's Christmas Party."
"I don't know-
"You can come with me and Dean," she offered. "The three of us can go as friends, as a group."
"I love you Ginny, but I don't think being a third wheel all night is going to make me feel much better."
"Then go with Harry," Ginny suggested.
Hermione sighed again. "He's already asked someone."
"Really?" The curious tone of Ginny's voice made her wonder if Ginny knew about Harry's feelings for her. And did she detect a tiny dose of jealousy?
Hermione nodded. "He already has a date."
A small silence fell between them. In front of them, Lavender's bed was still righting itself. It really had taken a majority of Hermione's curses.
"What about Seamus then?" Ginny asked. "He's best friends with Dean, so we can all hang out.
"I don't know Ginny." Seamus' earlier comments were flowing back through her mind. He was fun but- "he's..." she trailed off unsure of what she wanted to say.
"I know he's bold and brash, but you know he's fun to be around. Besides, you know he likes you," Ginny said with a smirk. She bumped her shoulder into Hermione's playfully.
"He likes my body, sure," Hermione laughed, looking down again at her transparent shirt.
Ginny laugh filled the air, too, mingling with Hermione's. The air felt lighter. "He likes a lot of things about you, Hermione. What guy wouldn't?"
Hermione's round brown eyes rolled at that and she shook her head.
Ginny pushed again, "just ask him, okay? As friends even- I'm sure he'll say yes. And he cleans up well, too," she explained. "We can all go together and drink expensive Meade and I'll do my best to make sure he doesn't try anything."
Hermione laughed again but sighed in defeat.
"He is a good kisser, though," Ginny added confidently. "If you're wondering."
Hermione just looked at her friend, disbelief written all over her face. "Seamus?"
"Who else would I be talking about?"
"When did you kiss Seamus?"
"Sometime last year, after Anthony and I broke up," Ginny shrugged.
"Does Dean know you've kissed his best friend?" Hermione teased.
"Of course," she explained. "He knows about Neville, too."
"Oh my god, Ginny! Have you kissed them all?"
"Well not Ron, obviously. Not Harry either," she shrugged. "But the other three, yes. Ron doesn't know, so don't tell him, okay? You know how he gets."
Hermione sighed and shook her head at Ginny's antics. It really was a marvel at how Ginny, a year younger, was so much better with boys than she was.
"You'll ask him, won't you?" The redhead asked, bringing the conversation back.
"I'll ask him."
"Good."
.
.
A/N: Hermione is like us all: She can only pretend for so long before she breaks. For those of you who are STILL concerned about our couple, I'm sorry. It had to happen. This is my take on what a realistic sixth year would look like if Draco and Hermione got together. A little angst is guaranteed. But I promise, again and again and AGAIN, that our couple will work things out in the end. Promise. Shoutout this week to SydneyN, anon (guest), and ib40books. Dear ib40books, welcome to Better Than Revenge! Your reviews have sent my heart to a very happy place and I am so glad you are enjoying the story! I hope this chapter pleased you, too.
Questions: You saw a bit of Jealous Draco here in the background. Want to see more? Also, what are your thoughts about Hermione slapping Lavender? A bit extreme, I agree. But our girl is having a major mental breakdown. Did Lavender have it coming?
Thanks, as always, to Rachelletwin2 and Bumbleb-thc for their helpful work as Betas for this fic.
Follow me on Tumblr at OxfordElise for chapter updates, previews, or general discussions! :) Follow and favourite the story, too! You never know when I might give an extra chapter mid-week... Wouldn't that be something?
Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.
Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise