Heart of Ice

            Hermione lay on her bed, petting her cat and staring at the ceiling. The past month had been horrible for her. Harry and Ron had gone to Romania with Charlie, getting up close and personal with dragons. They would have invited her, but there was ‘only room for two more people at their camp’, or something along those lines. Hermione had been too busy pretending not to be hurt to ask for a detailed explanation. They'd been there for the last two weeks. In a way, Hermione understood Ron asking Harry along, since she was a girl, but it was a painful reminder that if there was a third wheel, it would be her. It had always been that way. Ron had been the thing Harry would miss the most in the Triwizard Tournament in 4th year, and Ron and Harry had befriended eachother at the beginning of 1st year, whilst hating her. Yes, it had always been that way, and it would always be that way.

           The other thing on Hermione's mind was her worst enemy, next to Voldemort: Draco Malfoy. He'd gone back to Hogwarts with Dumbledore and Snape for treatment, and Hermione had never been told what happened. It was driving her insane. She'd owled Dumbledore twice a day, every day, for a week... before McGonagall threatened to stop her from becoming Head Girl. That had stopped her in a hurry. She thought that the excitement of knowing that she was going to be Head Girl would take her mind off of Malfoy. It didn't. Hermione assumed it was her motherly nature, combined with her curiosity, that had her obsessed. All Dumbledore had said was that 'Mister Malfoy was to make a complete recovery by the time school began', and 'please enjoy your summer holiday and stop owling the school, at the request of Mister Malfoy'. That last bit had made her laugh, but hadn't made her stop. McGonagall had done that.

           She cringed at remembering all the blood, cuts, and bruises that Draco had on him. She had never seen anything so utterly painful looking in her life, yet he acted like he always did: as if he were sitting in potions class. "He was a bloody prat," she mumbled out loud. Except he'd been cuddling with Crookshanks. And he'd said he didn't care 'that much' about her Muggle blood. And he'd been dying. Hermione had spent hours trying to figure out whether or not he'd been being sarcastic when he'd said he didn't care about her blood. He seemed sincere, (which meant nothing), and even said it like it was supposed to be obvious. Weird.

           As much as Hermione was looking forward to getting her answers, she was dreading facing him again. Hermione was extremely proud, and if there was anything she hated it was showing weakness. She had been bawling over Malfoy. Malfoy, of all people! She still couldn't explain that reaction completely. When she'd told Harry and Ron about it, (she'd gone to the Burrow before they left for Romania), their jaws had dropped. They both agreed on a few things:

1)Draco deserved it.

2)Somebody had probably just gotten sick of him being an asshole all the time.

3)Hermione had just been shocked by all the blood, but if he'd died she would have been much happier.

           Hermione agreed with the first two, but the third....she wasn't so sure. Her life was so stressful, what with Voldemort popping up every so often to try to kill her friends, and her parents growing more and more distant from her, and all the studying, and her reputation. She scowled as she thought of this. It really was very unfair, her reputation, even if she had sort of created it herself.

           Yes, she seemed to know everything. But she quite obviously didn't! That was impossible. She remembered what she read, and she happened to read often. That was it. And just because she liked to read and answer questions in class didn't mean she couldn't be fun. She could be loads of fun, when she wasn't busy. She just had many responsibilites, and she took them seriously. The thing that hurt the most, though, was how not one boy had shown the slightest interest in her since Viktor. Ron had gotten over his jealousy problem when he'd noticed how pretty Lavender had gotten, and asked her out in the beginning of 5th year. Now he was always with some girl or other, and so was Harry. They'd both matured into the 'Gryffindor Hotties', as Lavender and Pavarti had dubbed them.

           With all of this instability and change, only one thing had remained the same since first year: Malfoy. She saw him in the hall, they exchanged insults. She saw him in class, they exchanged insults. In fact, no matter where she saw him they had quite the battle of the wits. He always had to come up with something especially clever and demeaning to say, and he always had to have the last word; he usually got it. She hated him for it. She hated everything about him with a passion, and she always would.

           However, he was the only constant in her life, and the thought of losing that mortified her.

           Hermione sighed and rolled off her bed. Time to start packing. This time tomorrow, she'd be at Hogwarts.

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