tw : - emetophobia (at the end of the paragraph that begins with "what he was holding in his hand"
- small reference to physical violence in a nightmare
.
Hermione
.
.
"Still nothing?" asked Ginny as she sat down at the Gryffindors breakfast table opposite Hermione.
Hermione shook her head and bit into her muffin. Ron still hadn't invited her, and she'd secretly thought he would over the weekend. Worse than that, he hadn't mentioned the Ball at all.
Ginny sighed and helped herself to some food. Hermione could see that Ginny was really keen for Ron to invite her, perhaps she could see the budding feelings Hermione had for him.
"What about you? Anyone?" asked Hermione.
"No." said Ginny. "Well, yes, David Flumet asked me, a fifth year from Hufflepuff. But I've never spoken to him, and I think he's a bit weird, so I turned him down."
Ginny spread strawberry jam on her piece of brioche with a detached air. Hermione had never heard of this David Flumet, she didn't even know what he looked like. She was surprised that Ginny wasn't inundated with invitations, she was very pretty and, above all, very popular. Just now, several boys had their heads turned towards her.
"I'm sure Ron will make his move soon." Ginny said in a confident voice. "He must be waiting until the last moment, as usual."
"I hope so, because if he doesn't, I'm going to end up looking like an idiot."
"No way." cut in Ginny. "If that idiot Ronald doesn't invite you, others will. You could go with..."
Ginny turned her head towards the Gryffindors' table to inspect the faces of the students. She searched for several seconds and stopped to her left:
"Dean? He's rather cute."
Hermione shrugged and took a sip of coffee as Ginny turned to find more candidates:
"Nathan Conley, the Ravenclaw?"
Hermione looked in the direction indicated and nodded 'no'. He reminded her too much of Malfoy.
"I'm not going with a boy I don't know." Hermione declared.
Ginny stared at the Slytherin table for a few seconds but said nothing. Hermione hadn't explicitly told her about the row she'd had with Draco Malfoy the previous weekend, but she knew better than to mention his name again.
Ron and Harry arrived in the Great Hall at that moment, and their arrival put a definitive end to their discussion of the Ball. Ron sat down next to Hermione and gave her a tired little smile:
"Sleep well?" he asked as he poured himself a glass of pumpkin juice.
"Very well." Hermione replied. "How about you?"
"I'm fine, but I had this weird dream... I was at Honeydukes, helping myself, when all of a sudden I heard a loud 'bang' behind me, so I turned around, and I saw Dumbledore, who said..."
Hermione listened to Ron recount his dream with great gusto.
She looked at the freckles on his nose and cheeks. One of them was just under his eye.
His eyelashes were very light, and when he frowned as he told his story, there were little wrinkles on his nose.
His mouth was full, arched in a smile, because he was half laughing. He laughed all the time, his face constantly animated by joy.
"Crazy, isn't it?" he asked, which woke Hermione from her trance.
She nodded with a smile, even though she hadn't been listening to anything. Ron burst out laughing, and the sound sent a series of shivers down Hermione's arms. Pleasant shivers, the kind she felt when Ron laughed or complimented her.
Hermione turned her attention back to her food. In front of her, Ginny was looking at her, one eyebrow arched and a small smile drawn in the corner of her lips, but Hermione tried not to pay attention.
.
.
.
.
Hermione watched the days go by far too quickly on her calendar. The week had gone by in an hour, and the Ball was getting closer and closer. Now she was stressed: she had no one, and Ron still hadn't made the slightest attempt at an invitation.
It didn't help that all the students were talking about their dates. Hermione was constantly brought back down to earth every time someone made a reference to the Ball. "Did you know that Jasper Billay has invited a Gryffindor?", "I heard Dean Thomas will be going with a girl from Beauxbatons!", "Apparently, the Bizarr' Sisters will be there!"
The anxiety was mounting, a little more every day, and for Ginny too. She hadn't found a date either, even though she absolutely wanted to go to the Ball. The prospect of both of them going was becoming more and more likely.
Hermione could see that Harry was stressed, too. Ginny had forbidden Hermione to suggest that Harry ask her, for fear of seeming too insistent. But Harry had another girl in mind, Hermione had realised a few months earlier. Cho Chang, a Ravenclaw fifth year.
She could tell Harry was looking at her, much more than the other girls. He had turned down the others' requests, probably waiting until he found the courage to invite Cho. It had to be said that she was very nice, Hermione had spoken to her a few times and had always found her adorable. She was very beautiful, intelligent and liked Quidditch. But of course, Hermione hadn't told Ginny, because she didn't want to upset her.
The atmosphere at Hogwarts was buzzing like never before. Everyone was talking about the Ball, much more than the Tournament or anything else. Girls were being invited, causing a chorus of giggles every day, and every time it happened in front of Hermione, she stressed even more. How had she become so involved in such a trivial event?
Every morning at breakfast, Ginny would ask her "so?" and she'd shake her head in disappointment. Ron hadn't invited her. She'd been convinced that he felt something for her too, but it seemed not to be the case. This realisation was a huge blow to her morale. She thought it was mutual, that he would be brave enough to admit it to her. Maybe she was just kidding herself.
A week and a half before the end of the semester, Hermione was working in the Library. Well, work was a big word. She was determined not to go back to the secluded table she had shared with Malfoy to show him that she was still mad, so she sat down at her usual table. The girls who had gathered around Krum were as troublesome, and loud, as ever, despite Madam Pince's repeated "Shhh!".
Malfoy was studying with Nott again, at the table for two where Theodore always sat, next to the 'History of Witchcraft' section. Hermione always sat with her back to them, so as not to be tempted to glance at what they were doing. She was sure Malfoy was studying Arithmancy.
Hermione couldn't concentrate, she was thinking too much about the Ball. She never thought she'd look like one of those girls desperate for a boy's attention, and yet that's exactly what she was doing. She gazed dreamily at the snow melting on the huge window in front of her.
Suddenly, she had an idea and pulled a piece of parchment from the scroll beside her, took out a quill, dipped it in the ink and began to write:
Mum,
I'm writing you this letter because I know you always have good advice. I know I always write to you on Sundays, but I really need help and I was hoping you could help me.
As I said, this year there's a Ball at Hogwarts on Yule Ball night. Of course, it's become the talk for everyone here at the Castle. Everyone's talking about what they're going to wear, what music there's going to be, and above all... the dates. Traditionally, it's the boys who ask the girls, and so far I haven't received any invitations. I know it's early days, but I was hoping...
Hermione hesitated to write the rest and stroked the tip of her white quill against her cheek to find the right sentence.
I thought Ron would invite me. You can imagine, because I talk about him a lot, and I really like him. I don't think I'm in love with him. I've never been in love, but I think that when you are, you know it, don't you?
How did you know you were in love with Dad?
Anyway, I sincerely hoped that he would invite me, I thought he liked me too. Sometimes I get the impression that he does, and sometimes he doesn't. It's as if he doesn't care about me at all. Sometimes I feel like he doesn't see me as a girl, but more like a sister, and I don't feel that way at all. I feel that way about Harry, but not Ron. He makes me feel more... I don't know how to explain it.
My letter must make no sense at all, I hesitate to throw it in the fire. But I'm going to send it to you anyway. You're the only person I can confide in and be sure that you won't laugh at me for these trivialities.
Please don't show this letter to Dad, he'll laugh at me. I don't want to spend my summer hearing quotes from this silly letter.
Thanks in advance,
Love you,
Hermione.
PS: How did Dad find the Honeydukes chocolates?
PPS: Thanks for the pens, I use them every day.
Hermione didn't even reread her letter, for fear of instantly regretting it, and tucked it between two books. Then she tried to concentrate again, dismissing all thoughts of red hair and freckles.
.
.
Draco
.
.
Would he ever be able to look away from Hermione Granger?
No, probably not.
Draco had been sitting at Theo's table for two hours, but he hadn't made any progress on his homework at all. In fact, he hadn't made any progress on a single chapter since he'd told Granger to stop talking to him, as if he couldn't concentrate when she wasn't there.
His eyes were drawn to her like a magnet, and he kept lifting his head to look at her. She was sitting on her front table, the one she preferred, which gave a magnificent view of Hogwarts Park. She had her back to him, so all he could see was her curly hair falling down her back and over her shoulders, which she brushed away from her face with an automatic movement of her hand.
She couldn't work either. He could tell by the frantic tapping of her foot against the table leg. Something was bothering her, but he had no idea what. Sometimes she would lift her head and start looking out of the window, perhaps at the Quidditch pitch?
In any case, she was blissfully ignoring him. Ever since she'd uttered that phrase that kept coming back into his head, "You really are a coward", she'd pretended he didn't exist. And that was much harder to bear than when he was the one doing it. Not having her attention was almost painful.
After a long moment, Theo straightened in his chair and rocked back to stretch, garnering a disapproving tutting from Madam Pince.
"I can't take it any more." Theo admitted, exhausted. "I'm on my third essay of Transfiguration, I've run out of ideas for changing Goyle's sentences so they don't get copied too much."
"Why do you bother doing it for them?" Draco asked, for what must have been the hundredth time since second year. "Let them work it out, for once!"
"Because I need the money, what do you think!" Theo huffed indignantly.
"Stop worrying about it. You can take it out of my safe, or Blaise's, or Pansy's. You'll never be short of money, you know that, don't you?"
"What if we stop being friends?" protested Theo, his voice somewhat shaky. "I'm not going to guarantee my entire future on a friendship from Hogwarts."
"What, you want me to promise that we'll stay friends for life, is that it?" asked Draco wryly, which made Theo roll his eyes.
"No, dickhead. I'm just saying I need a plan. You've got your family, so does Pansy, and Blaise is ridiculously rich. Me, I don't have parents any more. I need to have some money put aside, some security."
Draco answered nothing and watched Theo bend over his essay. The three of them were side by side and Draco noticed that he'd even applied himself to the handwriting, so that the two looked like Crabbe and Goyle's scribbles.
"How much did you make altogether, with that?"
"I don't know, I'd say... 200 Galleons?" said Theo.
Draco's eyes widened as he heard the number.
"200 ?!"
"Yeah." said Theo. "I've expanded my business, other students have asked me to give them their homework. But Crabbe and Goyle are my most profitable customers." he added with a business smile.
"But aren't any teachers going to realise that for two years Crabbe and Goyle, who can barely spell their own first names without getting them wrong, have been picking up Outstanding every time?" questioned Draco.
"Yes, but I've thought of everything." said Theo, as if pleased to be asked. "I've invented a style of writing for them, and I add mistakes to the copies so it doesn't look suspicious. They don't always get Outstanding. Besides, no teacher would recognise me, my essays are always perfect."
Draco had to salute the effort. He had never realised that doing other people's homework could be so serious. Theo finally plunged back into the Transfiguration essay reluctantly.
"Do you want me to help you?" offered Draco.
He didn't really know why he'd suggested it, but it wasn't as if he was being very productive at the moment, he was only glancing sideways at Granger who was taking care to pretend he wasn't there.
"Seriously?" gasped Theo.
"Well, yeah. I've already written mine, we can take inspiration from what I've done to invent Goyle's."
"You'd do that? You, Draco Malfoy?" asked Theo with a grin. "Where are your Slytherin values, your ambition, your cunning, your rudeness?"
"Shut up." said Draco with a grin. "I'm going to help you. But first, promise me one thing."
Theo raised his head and met his friend's gaze with a puzzled look on his face.
"What?" he asked.
"Cut your hair before January. It's getting really ridiculous."
Theo smiled shyly and ran a hand through his hair. It was bad enough that he and Granger resembled each other by being two bookworms and top of the class, now they had almost the same hair.
They worked on Goyle's essay in hushed tones for a good hour. In the end, he was more than convincing: both representing Goyle's stupidity and being sure to give him a decent mark. Theo thanked him many times for his help and apologized to go to the bathroom.
Just as Theo was leaving, Granger got up too, presumably to fetch a book from a shelf. Draco took the opportunity to get up too. He wanted to stretch his legs and get a book on Potions, well deserved after all that work.
He made his way to his favourite wing and passed by Granger's table. He smiled slightly when he saw the tea left next to his parchment. He checked around him to make sure no one was looking, which was not the case as everyone was turned towards Krum. Draco ventured a glance at the S.P.E.W. notebook, to see (selfishly) if Granger had written a comment about the anonymous donation.
He stretched out his arm to open the notebook but stopped in mid-motion, distracted by something else on the table. Between two books, he could see a piece of parchment sticking out, with Granger's handwriting on it. It wasn't homework. Draco wondered if Granger was using the parchment as a diary.
Draco leaned over to read the sentence on the folded piece:
I thought Ron would invite me. You can imagine, because I talk about him a lot, and I really like him. I don't think I'm in love with him. I've never been in love, but I think that when you are, you know it, don't you?
His stomach turned sharply. He felt as if every word he'd just read had brought an extra weight on his shoulders, or a wound in his skin.
He returned to his table, cursing his curiosity. He should never have read that sentence. It was even more shocking than the letter he'd received from his father a few days earlier.
He knew that Granger had feelings for Weasley, it was obvious. You only had to concentrate for five minutes to see the way she looked at him. When he'd told her about it, she'd immediately stammered, blushed and changed the subject.
Draco knew that, but each time he had chosen not to dwell on it, probably because he didn't want to feel the tear in his heart that he was feeling right now.
Why Weasley? There was nothing to like about him. He wasn't even a bit stylish, he was poor, he had no story. All he did was follow Potter, and make a few rotten jokes now and then. What the hell did Granger, a girl as pragmatic, as serious as she was cheeky, as stimulating as she was fascinating, want with such a bland boy?
The fact that Weasley hadn't invited her yet was only a small compensation for the pain he felt. It wasn't the familiar anger, or the more recent fear, it was sadness, and he hated it. He didn't want to feel so much for a girl he supposedly hated.
Theo returned at that moment and sat down at the table, facing Draco, who was fidgeting with his hands to avoid hitting something.
"What do you think he's doing here, Krum?" asked Theo, looking at the Quidditch player. "He's in the Library every day."
I thought Ron would invite me.
"'Dunno." replied Draco in a voice that was a little too harsh.
Theo turned to him and raised his eyebrows. He could see that Draco was confused.
I really like him a lot.
"Are you okay?" asked Theo.
"Yeah."
Theo frowned at that answer, then raised his eyebrows again, as if giving up trying to comfort him.
"I'll never understand your mood swings, Draco." he sighed.
.
.
.
.
Draco brooded for the rest of the week. Granger's involuntary confession stayed in his head the whole time, overshadowing everything else.
Blaise and Pansy had quickly realised that he was not to be messed with lately. He must have been particularly unstable since the beginning of the year, and they suspected his three friends of talking about his mental health behind his back. Between his discussion with Blaise, his sudden mood swings with Pansy, and his request to take a Muggle book from Theo, his friends must not have understood a thing. Even he was having trouble sorting his thoughts.
The emotion he felt most was sadness. He missed his study sessions with Granger, they brought a semblance of happiness to his days. Now that they were over, he felt he was living a monotonous and very boring life.
The second was jealousy. The words Granger had written danced before his mind whenever he dozed off in class or watched her from the Slytherin table. He tried to detect, probably out of a desire for self-destruction, any hint that she might be in love with Weasley.
The third was fear. Because he hadn't forgotten his father's letter, which was still on the desk and which he hadn't dared answer. The threat of the Dark Lord's return plunged him into perpetual anxiety, accentuated by his unhealthy desire to talk to Granger. He missed her presence, even though he knew he'd done the right thing by walking away from her so firmly. He wanted to protect her.
The last class of the week was Potions, shared with the Gryffindors. It was impossible for him not to look at Granger and try to listen to every sentence she said to Weasley. The fumes from Granger's cauldron couldn't hide her pleading eyes for the redhead, who obviously didn't notice.
He really was stupid.
Friday evening in the Slytherin Common Room was exceptional. The students wanted to celebrate the last week of classes before the holidays and the Ball, and the supply of alcohol on the table had tripled. But Draco saw nothing of the evening, because he concentrated on downing as many glasses as possible of the apple liqueur that Blaise had recommended.
And when he couldn't count any more, he passed out on the sofa.
.
.
Hermione
.
.
My dear Hermione,
I'm glad you asked for my advice. It's hard to be away from you and not know everything about your life every minute.
To be perfectly honest, I knew this ball was going to be a problem as soon as you started talking about it. I know that festivities like this make you anxious, so I'm going to try to help you, even if it's hard to do it in writing.
I think it's perfectly normal to feel the way you do. You're going through an adolescent phase, where you're testing the limits of the other person, and of attraction. I understand that it scares you, I remember that period like it was yesterday! And that ball can't make it any easier.
I can only tell you this: if you're so focused on Ron, it's because you feel something for him. I don't know if it's love, only you will be able to see the symptoms, but in any case, you feel something for him, and this emotion is bothering you, because you've never known it and you can't stand not being in control.
Let yourself be guided. Let go. Maybe you'll hit a wall in the face, and that's scary, but at least you'll have experienced it. It'll teach you something about yourself.
I'm aware that these words may seem far too insignificant for you to understand their meaning right now. The thing is, love isn't written down, it's lived.
I'm keeping my fingers crossed that Ron will decide to invite you, and that you'll have a wonderful evening. Write to me and tell me all about it as soon as you can.
I love you more than anything else in the world,
Mum.
PS: Your father brought me a white tulip every morning at medical school for a year. The day he stopped, probably out of forgetfulness or spite, I realised that I was in love with him, because I sorely missed his flower that day.
PPS: Your father devoured the whole box of Honeydukes chocolates.
Hermione smiled fondly when she saw her mother's handwriting and her precious advice. She put it away in her pile of letters in her bedside table, at the very top, to read it again if necessary.
The letter was still in her head when she suddenly heard a sob from the bathroom. Hermione approached cautiously and pressed herself against the door to check that she hadn't been dreaming.
After several seconds, she heard another sob, and a sniffle.
"Lavender? Is that you?" asked Hermione.
"Yes." Lavender replied in a small voice from the bathroom.
"Is everything all right?" continued Hermione, who had no idea what could make her cry or how to console her.
"Not really. Could you get Parvati?" squeaked Lavender.
Hermione nodded, realising that Lavender couldn't see her, so she said aloud, "Okay!", then went down to the Common Room. There were still a few Gryffindors sitting here and there. She found Parvati with the help of her long black braid down her back.
"Parvati, Lavender needs you!" called Hermione.
The young woman turned and nodded gravely, before following her into the dormitory. As soon as she was inside, she rushed to the bathroom door:
"Lavender?" It's me, open up."
Another sob, then the sound of the lock clicking. Parvati rushed through the doorway and closed it behind her. Hermione could only hear muffled whispers.
Hermione returned to her bed, not really knowing what to do. Lavender was crying, but she had no idea why. In fact, she had no idea what was going on in her flatmates' lives, they only exchanged friendly phrases from time to time and they had never sought to include Hermione in their more personal conversations.
She even hesitated to return to the Common Room in her pyjamas until the crying fit had passed, but just as she stood up, Parvati came out of the bathroom.
"Sorry." she said as she walked over to her bedside table to retrieve a box of tissues. "She's not feeling well, the boy she likes have invited someone else to the Ball, you understand..."
"Oh. I see. Tell her I'm sorry for her."
Parvati thanked her with a nod and returned to the bathroom. Hermione finally lay down in bed and tried to read her Potions textbook to study, but Lavender's crying kept her from doing so.
.
.
.
Hermione took one last look in the mirror before going to Astronomy class. She'd put on her new red wool cardigan, and she was only wearing it because it was Ron's favourite colour, which was completely idiotic. As if he was going to ask her to the Ball because she was wearing red. It was stupid.
She took off the cardigan and threw it on her bed.
Then she looked in the mirror again and winced when she saw her dishevelled hair. With the wind and the humidity, it was even worse than before; it had swollen up and looked like her head was tiny. She tried to put it up in a bun, but her elastic band broke. She tried to plait them, but Ginny was much better at that sort of thing: the result was dreadful.
She finally wet them and tucked them roughly behind her ears, which was just about passable, although she suspected they would soon be blown out of the Astronomy Tower and it would be useless.
Hermione took one last look at the mirror and turned to look at her outfit, a simple pair of white trousers and her Gryffindor t-shirt. No, something was missing. She put the red cardigan back on. That was better.
No ?
She took off the red cardigan.
Suddenly Parvati entered the room and Hermione stopped staring at herself in the mirror. They smiled at each other and Parvati crossed the room to look for something on her desk.
"Hm, Parvati?" asked Hermione in a voice she wanted to be detached (but which failed).
"Yes?"
"Does this cardigan look nice?" she asked as she slipped it back over her shoulders.
Parvati raised her head from her desk drawer and looked at Hermione from the far end of the round room.
"Yes, very pretty." she said in a soft voice. "It goes well with your hair."
"That's the whole problem." squeaked Hermione as she turned once more to the mirror. "My hair is a mess, I was hoping the cardigan would distract from that."
Parvati finally found the card she was looking for and turned back towards the door:
"No!" she exclaimed. "Your hair looks lovely like that."
Hermione grumbled but Parvati was already on the stairs. Hermione took one last look at the mirror and mentally insulted herself for caring so much about her appearance. She hoped that Ron would at least notice her new outfit.
She quickly descended the stairs so as not to take off that bloody cardigan for the umpteenth time and found Harry and Ron waiting for her downstairs.
"About time!" lamented Ron when he saw her. "Have you been alphabetising your books or something? You've been up there for an hour!"
Hermione tried not to look disappointed by this reaction.
"We're not even late, Ron." she said dryly.
"Yeah, but you have to climb like 500 steps before you get up there, we take at least 20 minutes to walk over there every time!" continued Ron as he stepped over the portrait.
"Nice cardigan, Hermione." said Harry evasively, probably to shut Ron up.
"Thanks, Harry."
Ron didn't even look at her, just kept walking, complaining about the upcoming Astronomy class, Snape, and the stairs. Then Hermione took off the cardigan and stuffed it into her bag.
.
.
.
.
For the last Potions lesson of the term, Snape had announced an exam. Hermione had prioritised studying this subject that week, because she knew that the assessment would probably be very difficult knowing Snape. And besides, she secretly hoped that she would beat Malfoy in the rankings, that would be excellent revenge.
So she was trying to study antidotes in the Gryffindors Common Room, but she was constantly distracted by the sound of Ron's exploding house of cards next to her. As soon as a card exploded, sending the redhead's constructions flying every time, Hermione lost her line, which had the gift of pissing her off to no end.
"He's really mean, Snape." said Ron between explosions. "Sticking us with an exam on the last day. Ruining what's left of the term for us with all this studying."
"You don't seem too bothered by it." Hermione grumbled.
"It's Christmas, Hermione." Harry said quietly.
She looked at her best friend, who was sitting in the red armchair opposite her. He had put his legs over the armrest so that his red socks were right in front of the fire. He was reading a book about Quidditch that Ron had given him, she could make out players flying across the cover.
"I'd have thought you'd do something more constructive, Harry, even if you don't want to study your antidotes." Hermione replied sternly.
"What?" asked Harry.
"The egg!" she said, dropping her textbook into her lap.
"Look, Hermione, I've got until the 24th of February to think about it."
Hermione raised her eyebrows but answered nothing. She hadn't seen the egg since the night Harry had narrowly caught it from the dragon's nest, she suspected he was hiding it to think about it as little as possible.
"But it may take you weeks to find out what it means!" continued Hermione, unable to contain herself. "You're going to look like a complete idiot if everyone knows what the next task is but you!"
She didn't understand how he could live his life quietly without panicking. She felt like she was thinking more about the egg than he was, when she wasn't even in the Tournament.
"Leave him alone Hermione." Ron interjected, "He's earned a bit of a rest."
Hermione refrained from retorting. Ron was really annoying her at the moment, especially because he still hadn't invited her. Fortunately, she received a small consolation when the card he had just placed on his castle exploded between his fingers, burning his face in the process.
"Well done Ron, you look great like that!" said George as he approached them. "It'll go wonderfully with your evening wear!"
Fred sat down on the sofa, lifted Hermione's legs and placed them on top of his, covering them both with the multicoloured blanket Hermione's mother had knitted for her.
"Ron, can we borrow Pigwidgeon?" asked George as he sat down at the foot of the sofa, next to Ron and his steaming castle.
"No, he's off delivering a letter. Why?"
"Because George wants to ask him to the Ball." Fred said, which made Hermione laugh behind her textbook.
"Because we want to send a letter, you stupid great prat." answered George.
"Who are you two writing to like that?" asked Ron.
"Nose out, Ron, or I'll burn that for you too." said Fred, pointing his wand mischievously. "So, you lot got dates for the Ball yet?" he asked, probably to change the subject.
Hermione straightened slightly against the sofa, having completely abandoned her definition of antidote.
"Not yet." said Ron, and Hermione's heart wavered slightly.
"You'd better hurry up, mate, or all the good ones will be gone." said Fred.
Hermione lowered her textbook enough to glare at the twin, who either didn't notice, or pretended not to.
"Who are you going with, then?" asked Ron.
"Angelina." said Fred at once.
"What? You've already asked her?"
"Good point." said Fred with a smirk. "Oi, Angelina!"
He turned to the young woman, who was a little further away, chatting with Alicia Spinnet.
"What?" she called back.
"Want to come to the Ball with me?" said Fred, brimming with his usual confidence.
Angelina seemed to hesitate for a few seconds, her eyes slightly crinkled, probably waiting for a joke. When she realised he was serious, she nodded.
"All right." she said simply.
"There you go." concluded Fred, as if he'd just asked her the time. "It's no more difficult than that." He got to his feet and called out to George : "Maybe we'd better get an owl from school, George. Come on..."
As he rose, he rested Hermione's legs on the sofa and gave her a discreet wink, which no one else noticed. Hermione watched the twins leave, puzzled. She wondered if Ginny had something to do with it.
"He's right, you know." Ron said to Harry. "We should ask someone…" (Hermione clenched her fingers against the cover of her textbook.) "Otherwise, we'll end up with a pair of trolls."
Hermione let out an indignant exclamation.
"A pair of what?!"
"Well, you know. I'd still rather be on my own than go with... Eloïse Midgen, say." Ron said with a shrug.
The anxiety that had been rising in Hermione turned to astonishment.
"Her acne has improved a lot lately. And she's very nice!" she huffed.
"Her nose is off-center." insisted Ron, completely oblivious to Hermione's reaction.
"Oh, I see." she said, bristling. "So, basically, you're going to take the best-looking girl you can find, even if she's completely horrible?"
"Yes, that's about right." Ron admitted.
Hermione's throat tightened. She had no idea Ron could be so foul. The likelihood of them going to the Ball together evaporated at that moment, because she was far too disgusted to want to go with him now.
"I'm going to bed." Hermione said curtly as she closed her textbook.
Ron didn't even react. Harry simply looked up from his Quidditch book to nod at her. Furiously, she climbed the stairs to the dormitory, and felt her eyes sting a little from the tears that threatened to fall.
Since when had she become so sensitive to Ron's remarks?
Instead of going up to her floor, she stopped at Ginny's dormitory door and knocked without thinking.
"Yes?" shouted Ginny through the door.
Hermione entered. Thankfully, Ginny was alone in her dorm, and Hermione was grateful to know that none of Ginny's housemates would see her like this.
Ginny's dormitory looked a lot like Hermione's, except that her section was entirely covered in moving posters on the walls: Quidditch, rock bands, celebrities... A witch radio sat on her bedside table, and Ginny turned down the volume of the sizzling music as she saw Hermione enter.
"Mione? What's going on?" she asked, concerned.
Hermione had given in to the tears now, they were rolling down her cheeks helplessly. She sat down on Ginny's bed.
"This is so stupid." she sighed.
"What is?" asked Ginny.
"Ron."
She explained what had just happened. When she came to the phrase 'pair of trolls', Ginny pursed her lips, following Hermione's example a few minutes earlier.
"What an idiot." said Ginny at the end of her tale. "He really hasn't understood a thing."
Hermione wiped away her tears and Ginny immediately leaned over to her and gave her a hug. When she found herself in her best friend's neck and smelled the soothing scent of the Weasleys and the Burrow, Hermione managed to stop sobbing.
They broke apart and Ginny gave her a sympathetic smile.
"I'm sorry, Mione." she said softly. "It's my fault, I asked Fred and George to get him to react quietly by talking about the Ball. They were hoping to make him realise it was time to ask you."
"That's all right, at least now I've got what I needed."
"What did Harry say?" asked Ginny.
"Nothing. He was just reading, he didn't react."
"I'm sure he thought Ronald was an idiot too." Ginny said resolutely, hoping to cheer Hermione up. "Boys are just stupid."
Hermione confirmed with a nod. Now that she was sure she wouldn't be going with Ron, she had no idea who would accompany her to the Ball. She hadn't received any invitations. As if reading her mind, Ginny added:
"We'll both go, and we'll dance all night, and Ron will be alone and poorly dressed, okay?"
Hermione gave a small laugh.
"Thanks Ginny."
"Dad gave me this." she said, tapping her radio with the end of her wand. "I've been trying to get it to work since earlier but it's been crackling. Do you want to help me?"
Hermione knew she was doing this to take her mind off things, but she agreed immediately anyway, glad to have something to think about other than Ron. She reached over to the radio, digging her own wand out of her pocket, and helped Ginny adjust it so she could listen to her favourite rock channel.
.
.
Draco
.
.
Draco half-awoke and struggled to open his eyes. He was holding something in his hand, but he couldn't make out what it was, and he felt something against his cheek. He couldn't see anything, and had to close and reopen his eyes several times in a row to perceive what was around him.
The first thing he saw was a dark green ceiling, criss-crossed by large marble beams. He blinked again. The Common Room? He touched the velvet with his fingertips and realised he was in the Slytherin couch. Then he heard the music, which he'd absorbed so much that he'd gotten used to it by now.
What he was holding in his hand was a half-opened bottle of liqueur that was giving him that excruciating headache that pounded against his temples. The smell of alcohol and sweat assaulted his nose. Had he vomited?
He realised that what was touching his cheek was actually Pansy's hair. She was slumped over him but she wasn't asleep: he could see the wisp of smoke escaping from her black-stained lips. He tried to pull away from her but his muscles were too stiff to move the way he wanted. Draco had no idea what time it was or how long he'd been half-asleep on the sofa.
He hadn't been drinking that much, but he hadn't eaten anything all day, which must have contributed to the pathetic state he was in. He heard Pansy's laughter, so far away and yet so close. He closed his eyes.
"He's here."
Draco opened his eyes and saw Crabbe's finger pointing at him. Blaise came up behind him and watched Draco with an air of pity.
"Come on, Dray. We'll get you back."
Draco wanted to protest but no sound came out of his mouth properly, so he gave in. Blaise reached over and lifted him off the sofa. The bottle fell to the floor and bounced a few times, making a dreadful sound.
"Pansy, you should go too. You're a mess."
It was Theo who had just spoken but Draco was having trouble spotting him. Everything around him had become a blur. He felt his own arm rest on Blaise's shoulders and he leaned on it to walk to the dormitory.
"I'm cold." Draco yelped, but no one answered him.
He and Blaise arrived in front of the dormitory and he pushed the door open with his foot. Draco threw himself into bed, fully dressed.
"That's the third time I've picked you up off the sofa, Dray." Blaise said quietly. "You've got to stop doing that. Drinking until you pass out. It's not a good idea."
Blaise's voice penetrated his cottony mind like a howl. Draco closed his eyes and felt his best friend take off his shoes. Then Draco slipped under the duvet and rested his head on the pillow that was cool against his cheek.
"Do you feel like puking?" asked Blaise.
Draco nodded "no". He couldn't even see Blaise properly, his vision was so blurred.
"All right. Theo's next door if you need him, and Pansy shouldn't be long. Try and get some sleep. We've got Snape's exam tomorrow."
Draco closed his eyes, the room spinning too much around him. When Blaise stopped talking, he murmured:
"I'm miserable, Blaise."
He didn't know if his sentence was clear, so he concentrated on Blaise one last time to see if he'd grasped what he'd just said. Blaise was turned towards someone, -Theo?- with a puzzled look on his face.
"Go to sleep, Dray."
Draco fell asleep or passed out, he couldn't tell.
And the reason he'd been drinking popped into his foggy dreams. It was Granger, standing there smiling at him and holding out her hand. He had to make a great effort to reach her, she seemed very far away. Her smile was soft and welcoming, and her outstretched palm made him want to grab her and run. But when he finally managed to reach her, he felt nothing, as if she was a ghost.
And then his dream changed. Everything was suddenly darker, and his field of vision much smaller. He didn't know where he was. Granger had disappeared. He felt cold.
Someone approached. He was tall, and hooded, so he couldn't see his face, but he sounded like his father.
"Why are you thinking about that?" the man asked, his tone tinged with anger and slyness. "You were thinking about her, weren't you? Aren't you ashamed?"
The man raised his hand, Draco thought he would see a wand, but no, it was simply a long white hand, and just as it was about to come down on him, the man's hood lifted slightly, revealing his father's grey eyes.
Draco woke with a start, sending the duvet covering him flying. His T-shirt was full of sweat, sticking to his skin. It was the fourth night in a row that he'd had the same nightmare and come out of it like that.
Usually he didn't wake anyone up, but he must have been screaming in his sleep because Pansy was bent over him, wide-eyed:
"Draco? Are you all right?"
"No." he groaned.
"Is this one of your nightmares? Has it happened again?" asked Pansy.
Her voice was pasty and her breath thick with alcohol. He wondered if she hadn't just gone to bed. Draco ran a hand over his face and realised he was burning up.
"Did I shout?" he murmured. "Theo and Blaise, they've..."
"No." cut in Pansy, pointing to the drawn curtains around the bed. "Are those your nightmares?"
"Yes." relented Draco. "I think I've... I've been dreaming about the Dark Lord."
Pansy's dark eyes rounded even more.
"How did you..." she began.
"I don't know what he looks like, so my crazy mind is picturing him as my father, I think. But it was him."
"What was he doing to you?" asked Pansy in a breath.
Draco shook his head:
"I can't remember."
It was a lie, obviously, but Pansy must have realised he didn't want to talk about it because she didn't insist.
"Go back to sleep, you'll feel better tomorrow." she said, moderately convinced herself.
Draco nodded and Pansy lay back on her side of the bed. Perhaps with all the alcohol she'd ingested tonight, she wouldn't remember this conversation the next morning.
He hugged the duvet as he felt painful cold shivers run up his spine, and tried to go back to sleep, but his father's cold grey eyes were still on him.
.
.
.
.
Draco skipped all the morning classes, too exhausted to get out of bed. He only agreed to go out for lunch, because he was so hungry it made his stomach hurt. He put on a pair of trousers and a badly ironed wizard's robe and left the dormitory. The light from the Common Room windows blinded him, even though it only projected the depths of the Black Lake. He rubbed his eyes and groaned.
Walking to the Great Hall was a hard challenge, he could barely stand and kept staggering. He was in a really bad shape. He couldn't even remember the evening before.
He reached the doors of the Great Hall and spotted his friends already eating. They had left his usual place empty, and he sat down heavily with a grunt by way of hello.
"Hello, sunshine." Theo scoffed when he saw Draco sit down. "You look fresh and ready for the Potions exam."
Draco groaned again: he'd completely forgotten about Potions class this afternoon. Fortunately, he was counting on his many hours of study with Granger to save him.
He poured himself a glass of water and glanced towards the Gryffindors' table: Granger was sitting there, completely engrossed in the Potions textbook in front of her, which she had placed against the pitcher of juice. Beside her, Weasley and Potter were chatting away without paying her any mind. Draco took his eyes off her as he realised what he was doing.
He helped himself to two sausages and suddenly felt several people staring at him. When he looked up, Blaise, Theo and Pansy were staring at him as if he'd suddenly gone mad.
"What?" he said hoarsely.
"That's the second time I've asked you how you feel." said Pansy, worried. "You can't hear or something?"
"Sorry. Yes, I'm fine." he lied.
Yesterday's music had probably destroyed his eardrums.
"No, you're not." said Blaise. "We can tell. There's something wrong. Do you want to tell us what's going on?"
Draco cut into his sausage with a sigh.
"Nothing, everything's fine."
"Why are you lying to us?" asked Theo, leaning towards him. "That's the third time you've passed out on the couch from drinking so much."
"I don't drink too much." Draco said firmly. "I just don't eat enough, but I'm fine."
"You drank half the liquor yesterday." said Pansy accusingly.
"Why are you all focused on me?!" cried Draco. "Pansy's the one who should be getting morals lessons, she's the one who gets drunk every night!"
"Maybe, but at least I don't faint!" retorted Pansy, a little too loudly because several pupils turned to her.
"Dray, tell us what's wrong." said Blaise wisely. "We might even be able to help you, who knows."
Draco answered nothing and ate his sausage to fill his stomach a little.
"It's because of your father's letter, isn't it?" tried Theo in a whisper.
"What letter?" asked Pansy.
Draco felt the last piece of sausage catch in his throat as he heard about the letter. He still hadn't answered it, it had weighed like a threat on his mind for over a week.
He looked up and met Blaise's calm gaze. His familiar caramel eyes, scanning him with a hint of concern. He decided to confess his worries to them:
"Yeah, that's it."
"You're talking about the letter you received from..." began Pansy, but Theo stopped her from continuing with a wave of his hand.
"Ever since I got it... I've been having nightmares." Draco admitted.
He suddenly felt a little ashamed. He didn't like talking about his night terrors, he looked like a child afraid of the monster under his bed. Fortunately, none of his friends laughed.
"What nightmares?" asked Blaise. "Like the ones you used to have when you were little?"
Draco nodded with difficulty. Theo frowned and asked Blaise:
"What?"
"When he was little, Draco used to have nightmares about his father." Pansy explained in a whisper.
No one spoke. The tension around them was palpable. Then Pansy broke the silence:
"Is this what you told me about last night?"
"Yes. But last night was different..." Draco explained as quietly as possible. "I didn't really dream about my father, I dreamt about the Dark Lord, but as I don't know what he looks like, I imagine him as my father. With a hood, like during the Quidditch World Cup."
"And what was he saying to you?" asked Theo.
"I don't really know anymore." said Draco, who didn't want to mention Granger's presence in his dreams. "He was blaming me for doing something, for not fitting in."
"Maybe you should go and see Madam Pomfrey." Blaise offered. "She might be able to give you some Dreamless Sleep potions."
Draco considered the suggestion and thought it might be a good idea. He nodded and continued to eat. The silence that had settled around them was rather heavy. No one dared mention what Draco had just said.
It was Pansy, once again, who spoke up:
"Oh, I've got an idea!" she exclaimed.
"What?"
"We're just studying the dreams interpretation in Divination..."
"Oh no, don't, I beg you!" exclaimed Theo in an exasperated tone. "For the thousandth time, it means nothing!"
"What do you know, you've never bothered to read the book I lent you on the science of..."
"Go on, Pansy." cut in Blaise. "Tell us about the dreams."
Pansy gave a small smile and opened her bag to take out the Divination manual. It was pale pink and badly scratched on the edge, as if she'd read it several times. When she opened it to the right page, Draco noticed that she had annotated it.
"Let's see... Dreams interpretation..." she said, running her finger along the lines. "Oh, got it! So, what was your father like in your dream?" she asked Draco.
"He sold me ice cream and smelt of marshmallows." Draco said wryly, and Theo burst out laughing.
Pansy, on the other hand, glared at him over the top of her book.
"Draco, for this to work, you need to concentrate. Divination is an art that involves both people..."
"Okay, okay!" relented Draco. "He had a hood. He was menacing."
"Did he have a smile?" asked Pansy as she read the description.
"I don't know, I couldn't see his face. It was just his voice, and his eyes."
He shuddered as he remembered the grey stare that had woken him up. Pansy scrolled her finger over the lines under the heading "dreaming of a father figure."
"How do you want to find that?" interjected Theo. "I doubt your textbook mentions the Dark Lord."
"He's not the most important thing in the dream." explained Pansy. "The fact that Draco represents He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named as his father proves that he's actually afraid of him, that's the symbolism of the dream."
Theo was about to argue when Pansy finally found what she was looking for. She began to read in a theatrical voice:
"This dream symbolises a buried and hidden desire that is consuming you from within. You feel a threat hovering over your head, preventing you from knowing right from wrong."
Draco swallowed hard. Her bloody Divination was seriously starting to scare him, that was exactly how he felt at the moment.
"Nonsense." snapped Theo. "Whoever wrote that thing could have written anything, it's totally random."
Pansy closed her textbook and launched into a scientific explanation of the veracity of Divination, and the three boys around her lamented with one voice.
Draco continued to eat. He didn't dare look at the object of his dreams and fears, sitting a few tables away, for fear that his friends would discover his hidden secret.
.
.
Hermione
.
.
Hermione spent her first afternoon of the holidays, after Potions, in the Library. She didn't have much to study as she was early, so she sat down at the centre table to read a book.
The sun was already fading behind the large window in front of her. It was mid-afternoon, and there was no one in the library, everyone was outside playing in the snow, or enjoying their first few hours of holiday.
The pages of Hermione's book flew by as her eyes devoured the text. It was interesting enough, but she couldn't wait to finish it so she could start the other book that was waiting on her bedside table.
Suddenly, someone approached her table. Hermione panicked a little: what if it was Malfoy? They hadn't spoken since their argument on the bench, and since then she had felt his gaze on her constantly. She tried to ignore him every time, but she had no idea what to do if he started talking to her face.
She raised her head, ready to hurl a sharp remark at him, an insult, a threat, anything, but she choked when she saw who it was.
It wasn't Malfoy. It was Krum.
...
.
.
.
The name "David Flumet" is actually a private joke between me and my mum, who once called Sirius Black that because she'd forgotten his name... so I promised her I'd use it in a chapter :)