Confidences

Hermione waited, at the seat in the library closest to the window, for an owl she feared would never come. As the time passed, her fear was turning into certainty.

"I'll owl you," he had promised, in response to a request that she'd forced to sound casual. "Before the first week is over."

Two weeks later? No owl.

Abruptly, she pushed back from the table, the chair legs scraping against the floor. She slammed her book shut with violence, and stuffed it into her bag, along with her paper and quill. The bag swung around her shoulder and she nearly sprinted out of the library, away from the table, away from the hated window, away from the decidedly owl-free sky.

Hermione ran past the Great Hall, up a little-known flight of stairs, into a hallway usually only occupied by the prefects on their required evenings of patrolling the castle. She rounded a corner and collapsed, her back against the stone, her face in her hands.

"Harry Potter," she moaned, her voice echoing loudly down the hallway, "why, why, why am I in love with you?"

Then she moved her hands from her face, and, looking up, she saw practically the last sight in the world she could ever want to see at that moment.

Draco Malfoy was standing in front of her, a rather smug look on his narrow face.

Hermione stared up at him in silence for a full five seconds. Finally she said in a strangled voice, "Memory charm?"

He regarded her with deep amusement. "No need, Granger. I won't tell."

This put her far from at ease. While Draco was, as extremely few people at Hogwarts knew, now a trusted spy for the Order of the Phoenix, emotional matters were very different. "You won't tell," she repeated dully. "How do I know that?"

Something flashed in his expression. Was it hurt? "I won't tell anyone," he said again impatiently. "How, I ask, would it benefit me?"

"Breaking my heart into tiny pieces?" Hermione suggested. "Satisfaction of a job well done?"

Draco smiled in spite of himself. "I don't delight in keeping tally of the hearts I break, Granger. Not anymore, at least."

"I know," she said. "I'm sorry. I'm just worried. The words 'security breach' keep flashing in my head; it's rather unsettling."

"Why so worried? Wouldn't make Potter unhappy to know, would it?"

"Who knows?" Hermione, still seated against the stone, blew a lock of hair out of her face. She glanced around. "What are you doing up here, anyway? Not exactly time for Prefect patrols yet, is it?"

"Walking. Thinking." He gave her a wry smile. "Expecting to be alone, like you were."

Then Draco did something that surprised Hermione very much. He sat down next to her, cross-legged on the floor, and looked at her. "Tell me about it," he said.

Hermione blinked. "Tell you about it?"

"Well it's obviously causing you some measure of angst." He smiled at the word, and looked sideways at her. "Does anyone else know?"

She was still eyeing him suspiciously. There were a few moments of silence. Finally, she expelled a breath. "No. No one knows, except for you, now."

"How long?"

She hesitated again. "Maybe two years."

He whistled.

"It's not a big deal," she said suddenly, drawing her arms around herself. There was a sudden draft - up a staircase to their left, the South Tower exposed their hallway to the February wind. "I've learned to live with it. And he's got no idea, I know that. That makes it easier, knowing that I'm making it easier on him.

"I love him," she said again suddenly, fiercely. In an instant, tears were in her eyes, emotion in her throat, threatening to choke her. She forced control, glaring at the stone wall across from her. "I would do anything to keep him safe and happy. He's got enough to worry about without my selfish issues involved. If I could help feeling this way, I sure as hell would."

Suddenly the dam broke and she was bursting with words. Draco just watched her quietly, head against the wall behind them. "He's my best friend," she said. "Ron's best friend too. I love him, not just romantically, but as a friend and in every way conceivable. I've watched him for seven years now, Malfoy. I've been by his side and seen his bravery and his fear. He's got this mad evil immortal wizard to somehow defeat, and it's got to be this year, or if not, it's got to be soon." She paused. "He needs all the support I can give, and I hate that every time I stand near him or look at him I forget that. I just get swamped with this feeling, I smell him and I get paralyzed in his smile, like a bloody deer in headlights. How on earth am I supposed to stay levelheaded? I'm the brain and the books, that's all I am, so how can I help anyone if I'm constantly melting into a helpless puddle of mushy love goo?"

Draco grinned. "Mushy love goo?"

Hermione sighed, giving in completely to her need to talk about it. "Malfoy," she said, "let me tell you a story."

*

"Where are we going?" I demanded yet again, jogging to keep up with Harry and Ron's long strides.

"Hurry up, will you?" Ron said over his shoulder. "And let's just call it a field trip."

"You KEEP BLOODY SAYING THAT!" I hollered. "I demand to know if I'm going to be breaking any school rules in the near future. And Harry, you're abusing your prefect privileges! And I am a prefect and the future Head Girl of Hogwarts and I am not taking another step until you tell me where we are going!"

I stopped. They turned around, Ron's face a mask of annoyance, Harry's of impatience. Both of them immediately quailed at the imperiousness on my face, however, I noted with some satisfaction.

"You tell me exactly where we are going this instant," I said, not raising my voice. With my expression, it wasn't necessary.

Ron sighed. "We're taking a broom trip," he said reluctantly. "Past the Forbidden Forest." Harry winced, waiting for my reaction.

"And what," I said disbelievingly, "did you think I would just have my eyes closed while we flew? That I wouldn't notice where we were going? The Forbidden Forest is -"

"Forbidden," Harry and Ron finished together flatly. "Hermione," Ron began hesitantly, "don't you think you could loosen up just this once, just a little bit?"

Harry quickly cleared his throat at this, indicating that this angle would get them nowhere. He was right. He took a step closer to me, while I tried to keep my face implacable.

"Herm," he said quietly, "listen. Yes, entering the Forbidden Forest is against the rules. But we're going just beyond it - I don't remember that area covered in the prefect rules handbook, do you?"

I sighed. "Very clever. Do you honestly think that would keep us from getting in trouble, Harry?"

"Well, no." He sighed. "But do you honestly think we're going to get in trouble?"

"Well, that's not really the point," I said. "I'm just saying, if they had thought to put it in the rulebook, they would have."

Harry looked around desperately, probably trying to think of some other way to convince me. And, of course, he would convince me. His adorable pleading expression and those marvelous eyes were evaporating my resolve. Who could say no to eyes they dreamed about almost every night? "We just wanted to give you a break, Ron and me," he said finally. "You've been working so hard. We all have, but you most of all. We found this great spot the other week, and we planned up a picnic, catered by Dobby. He volunteered." Harry grinned at me.

"So you're saying you've been to this off-limits location before?" I said sternly, but it was clearly mock-sternness now. I was done for.

His grin turned sheepish. "C'mon, Hermione. We won't be gone too long. I know you have to patrol the North Tower tonight, we'll have you back in plenty of time."

I glanced at Ron, who was looking between us eagerly, clearly impressed that Harry had made such progress. "Say yes, Hermione, say yes," he said puppyishly.

"Yes." The word came out in a breath of self-loathing. "Yes, yes, yes, fine, I will go. But only because you two went to so much trouble."

The broom ride was wonderful. I sat with Harry as we flew, mainly because none of us were sure Ron's Cleansweep would hold up under the weight of two people, and I secretly thanked Merlin that updating their sons' brooms was not a priority of the Weasleys'. It was a perfect day, late April of our sixth year, and there were no impending exams for once; and there it was below us, the clearing Harry and Ron had found, and wasn't it charming? Harry's hand around my waist tightened as the broom dipped forward to land, and I gave a quiet sigh of happiness, then prayed he hadn't heard. I had to be careful. But he was so warm behind me, and I could practically feel him smiling at the feeling of being in the air. My heart was beating so quickly...

We landed moments later. Harry transfigured his cloak into a blanket, and all of us sat. Ron handed out the plates Dobby had given him - the second we set them down, food appeared, cool fruit and lovely sandwiches and some sort of fizzy drink for each of us. We talked, laughed, and without feeling the need to comment on it, felt more at ease than we all had in months. I was clearly having such a good time that the boys teased me mercilessly for my initial hesitance to come.

It was a Hogsmeade day, so no one would comment on our absence, but Ron had to head back to the castle early to meet with Luna Lovegood, who was tutoring him in Ancient Runes. This left me in an awful position - part joy that I would have this time alone to be with Harry, part grief, because I knew nothing would come of it, and also that it was wrong to have the damn feelings in the first place.

We watched Ron kick off and fly out of sight. Harry sighed, lying back on the blanket. "Quiz me on my defense charms," he said lazily, watching a butterfly dance by.

Sitting cross-legged, looking at him and trying to keep my eyes from outright ogling, I quizzed him. "Impediment curse."

"Impedimenta!" Although Harry wasn't holding a wand, his wandless magic skills had recently been developing, and the butterfly suddenly found itself struggling against an invisible barrier in the air. "Easy one," he said with mock arrogance, grinning up at the sky.

"Disorientation spell."

"Phasmario!" The butterfly flapped its wings wildly, turning upside-down in midair, then sank slowly to the ground in confusion.

"Harry Potter," I said severely, "you are casting combat spells on an innocent butterfly. That's downright cruel."

Harry burst out laughing. "It is, isn't it?" He chuckled for a few moments, then moved his head to look at me. Abruptly, his expression turned serious. "Hermione.... I'm not really cruel, am I?"

"You are the embodiment of all that is evil," I replied instantly.

"Hermione!" Harry complained. "Be serious. Unless you were being serious. In which case I wonder how you ever discovered my terrible secret."

I pushed him back down playfully. "Harry, don't be an idiot. You are kind, and you are good, the sweetest boy in the world, and I -"

Don't say I love you. Don't.

"- and I think you are a great Seeker," I finished somewhat lamely.

Harry sighed, leaning back to watch clouds float slowly by. "Sometimes I wonder," he said quietly.

"Wonder what?" I asked, peeling off the skin of an orange and grinning. "Wonder if you're a good Seeker?"

He chuckled. "No, not that. It's just.... Everyone says all these things about me, Hermione. You know. They always have. Boy-Who-Lived and all that." His face showed distaste at saying the phrase - more so, ironically, than when he said Voldemort. "And I know I've got this huge confrontation coming up. I mean, it's been bloody prophesized. It'll be big, and epic, and you and Ron will be there right next to me... I don't know if we'll be defending Muggles, or defending Hogsmeade, or if we'll be on the offensive, but either way we'll meet Voldemort and...people will die."

The orange sat in my hand, forgotten. I gaped at him helplessly; nothing could possibly draw my eyes away. He was confiding in me, and I wasn't pushing him to, encouraging him to release feelings for his own good. He was confiding in me. What did that mean? He trusted me. What did that mean?

Don't think about that, I told myself firmly. This isn't about you. This is about him. And besides, it doesn't mean anything.

He was still talking.

"Voldemort is absolutely evil. I don't doubt that. So why me? Why am I his arch-nemesis? What idiot made the mistake of choosing me for the job?"

"You're a very powerful wizard, Harry," I said softly.

"Maybe. But still," he said, ruffling his hair absently - Doesn't it look soft? How I'd like to touch it - and suddenly sitting up again, "he's evil, and good should fight him, absolute good. I'm not good. I mean, I'm not a demon or anything." He paused again, watching as the wind bent the long, unmowed grass, sending gentle waves up and down the clearing. "But take Dumbledore. He's good, and he's wise, and old, and he knows loads more than I do, and he'd never hurt anything unless it was evil. I've hit people. I've hated people. Remember Seamus, in fifth year? I wanted to kill him there for a while. There's darkness in me, Hermione."

I sat there speechless. The best person I'd ever known, without question, was sitting there telling me he wasn't good enough.

"If you aren't good enough," I busted out without thinking, "then who is? You are perfect."

He just looked at me.

"I mean," I amended quickly, "not perfect. No one is." I tried to suppress the blush I knew was creeping over me. "But Harry, think about it. This is a huge burden; it has been since you were eleven years old. It wouldn't have been given to you to bear if you couldn't handle it."

Harry looked up at me curiously.

"I don't necessarily believe in fate," I said quietly, "and you know I'm not religious. But things happen for a reason, Harry. They have to. We are here for a reason, and we must complete the tasks we are given. I have faith in you - everyone does."

For a long moment he was silent. Then he nodded. "I know," he sighed. "I know. Thanks for reminding me."

I just smiled. I wanted to put my arms around him so badly that they actually itched for it. Should I? Just stop thinking, I told myself. The boy needs a hug. Any old friend would hug him.

And so I wrapped my arms around him and tucked my head against his shoulder and breathed him in. And he held me there, letting the understanding between us give him strength.

"Hermione," he said, as we moved apart and began to clear up the picnic, "you are a fabulous friend. Have I ever told you that?"

Moved, I shook my head, trying to hold back tears. "No, you never have. Ever." I looked at him and we both laughed, banishing any awkwardness that might have arisen from such a declaration. He went on cleaning up, but I stood still and allowed myself to watch him, as I did so infrequently. His beautiful dark hair, alive with sunlight, his jeans that hung just so on his strong, slender frame.

In that moment I knew, with a certainty that frightened me, that I would walk into hell twenty times over for this person. I loved him so, and I would never stop loving him. This was far more than the simple crush I'd identified about a year before, which had been something merely added onto our friendship, a confusing little bonus. This was tied irreversibly to who he was, and how I felt about him. I would die to see him safe. I would throw myself in front of Voldemort's killing spell, I would personally duel with every Death Eater that came our way, and blacken my soul using hundreds of Unforgivable curses if only it would protect him...

****

"I think I get it," Draco said. A curious expression was on his face - he was impressed, it seemed, at the depth of her caring. Even empathetic. "So, you really believe he doesn't return your feelings in any measure?"

Hermione hesitated, the question that had haunted her relentlessly for the past two years suddenly thrilling her head to toe. She was filled with a powerful hope, and, at the same time, a paralyzing terror. "I don't know," she sighed. "You must know how much I hate to say those words. But right now, I do know trying to find out isn't worth the risk."

Draco nodded.

"I trust you, Malfoy," she said suddenly. "We all do, but I'm very grateful to you now. I'm sorry I doubted your integrity before. Thanks for listening."

"Well," he said slowly, "I wouldn't be playing the therapist ordinarily, but this is a special circumstance. It may surprise you to learn this, Granger, but I've never won any Nice Guy awards or anything. So I don't blame you for doubting."

She smiled, then asked, "how is it a special circumstance?"

"Well, listening to you just now, I have determined that we have something very much in common."

Hermione's ears perked up. She turned and examined Draco. "Don't tell me you're in love with Harry," she said skeptically.

He burst out laughing. "Potter? Hermione, even if I swung that way, Potter would be the last boy I would choose. That skinny twerp?"

She glared.

"Oh, sorry. I mean, what a hunk. Oo-la-la. But I can only view his incredible attractiveness in a detached sense, being that I like girls."

Hermione sighed. "Yeah, I don't know what I was thinking. You are definitely not the gay type. Except for all the hair gel."

"Hey!" he yelped. "I happen to think this is a very natural and flattering look."

There was a comfortable silence for a minute or so. Then, something occurred to Hermione. "Malfoy, if we've got something in common, and it isn't love for Harry, then who do you love?"

He just smiled sadly at her, and she knew she would have to guess. So she wracked her brains, thinking furiously. The Junior Order meetings, headed by Dumbledore, where they practiced their magical combat skills - who there could Draco be pining over? And then, almost immediately, it struck her. Who did he banter with every meeting? For whom did he reserve his most mocking, contemptuous smiles? What bewitching girl viewed Draco's conversion from future Death Eater to loyal Order member with the most vicious satisfaction? "Don't forget," she would say sweetly, in that elegant way of hers, "you're with us now, Draco. You shouldn't be hexing Dean's trousers to fall down whenever he casts a spell." And he would seethe, helpless, wanting to prove his allegiance, but at the same time fuming over 'Finnegan and Thomas's bloody cheek.' Who laughed most at Draco's cuttingly funny remarks? Who watched him twice a week, as he left their meetings, with fascinated eyes?

"Ginny!" she cried with complete certainty.

Draco smiled bitterly. "Much too clever, Granger."

"But Malfoy," Hermione spluttered, everything suddenly making sense, "of course Ginny has a crush on you! She thinks you're adorable, I can tell. And she's so proud of you. You know, for defying your parents and everything."

Draco looked completely taken aback. "She what?"

Hermione clapped her hands together. "Oh, this is fabulous. And here you are, wandering around deserted hallways, pouting because you think she doesn't like you back. Go talk to her! Go make her laugh and then snog her senseless!"

Draco sighed. "It's not that simple, Granger. I want to believe what you're saying, but..."

"...You can't let yourself," she finished. "Yeah, I know. Too painful if something goes wrong."

"And if it comes to that," Draco said suddenly, accusingly, "I still don't understand what you're so bothered about. Don't you ever wonder why Potter isn't with anyone else? To be honest, Granger, I'd always just assumed that he had a thing for you. Especially after Weasley and Lovegood got together. You two got closer after that, didn't you?"

"Well, of course," Hermione said, smiling. "I felt guilty, but in a way I was glad Ron wasn't around so much. We bonded over being the third and fourth wheels. But just because he's not with anybody else doesn't mean he feels anything for me beyond friendship."

"Or maybe it does," Draco countered. "He's got plenty of options to pursue if he wants to, doesn't he? What week goes by without some pretty little fifth or sixth year coming up to Potter in the hallway and basically handing him her knickers? And how many red-blooded wizards wouldn't grab that opportunity if they weren't already 'taken,' so to speak?"

"Not many," Hermione confessed. "To both questions. But still, I wish you would stop. I don't want to begin to think about it."

"Well," Draco said, "you should think about it. You're entitled to be happy, after all, it's not just Harry bloody Potter."

"Right now it is," she said simply.

"Well, it shouldn't have to be."

"And what about you?" she demanded. "Why haven't you made your move with Ginny? She broke up with that Davis fellow nearly two months ago."

He just sighed, his face dark and full of self-loathing.

"Ohhh," Hermione said, understanding. "You doubt yourself. You worry that you can't be good enough, even with all the amazing changes you've made."

His silence agreed with her.

"You know," she said, "that reminds me of Harry, what I just said. On that day I told you about."

"Potter? Boy Wonder?" Draco looked skeptical. "Explain."

"Well, he doubted himself too, didn't he? He always did, and he still does. Funny, when everyone around him who truly knows him knows that doubt is entirely unnecessary. Even you know that, and you've known him well for how long? A year?"

Draco shrugged, silent again.

"I don't pretend to know you, Malfoy. You're obviously complex, and you've never really told any of us why you made the decision you did. I hope someday you will. But if Ginny has feelings for you, which I'm next to positive she does, then that says a lot. If you love her, trust her judgment."

Draco was still for a very long moment.

"Fine," he finally said. "I guess that makes sense. I still need to think, though."

"Fair enough. But no more skulking around in cold empty hallways. It's too melancholy and self-indulgent."

He cracked a smile. "Yeah, okay. But listen, Hermione. The same goes for you, too. If it's you Potter wants, and not all those silly twits...why can't you trust his judgment?"

"Well..." Hermione said, as Draco smirked in triumph, "it's not the same. Wipe that grin off your face, Malfoy, it isn't. The entire fate of the wizarding world could never depend on your decision."

Draco didn't know what to say to that. There seemed to be some hole in her logic somewhere. But bugger if he could figure it out now. He was hungry, and so he stood up.

"Well, Granger, this has been interesting," he said. "But I'm ready for some dinner, and there are some Slytherins that need my attention if my cover is going to remain even remotely convincing."

She grinned. "Understood."

He moved to walk away. He was just rounding the corner when she spoke again.

"Draco?" she said, and he stopped. "Thanks."

"Don't mention it," he said, momentarily surprised at the sound of his first name. "I mean it. Really. Don't ever."

"Oh," she added, "and incidentally, I overheard Dean talking about how he's planning to ask Ginny out again sometime soon. Just in case it makes a difference."

"Thomas!" Draco exploded. "That complete bone-headed git! He's only wants another notch in his bedpost, I know it. He spends entire meetings staring at her bum, he and that Irish nitwit friend of his... What?"

Hermione was sprawled on the stone floor, laughing helplessly at his reaction.

"Oh, bugger," Draco muttered, his anger gone. "I've made an idiot of myself. See you at the next meeting, Granger."

And he was gone.

Hermione let the silence fill her ears in the wake of his departure. The drafts were still blowing, but they were gentler now, and a little less frigid. She pulled herself to a sitting position, mulling over all that had just happened, shaking her head in wonder. If she wasn't much mistaken, Draco would turn out to be a real friend after a while - of course that was if they all came out of the war in one piece. The thought sobered her, and her mind, naturally, flew to Harry, who was off at what she had Ron had recently enjoyed calling "Voldemort Death Camp." Dumbledore and a number of Order members had pulled Harry out of the last week of lessons before Christmas holidays, and he was in the North of Scotland, somewhere highly protected, in a slightly more intensive version of Auror training, or so Tonks had put it. Tough, brutal, and humbling were the adjectives she'd selected to describe the experience. And Hermione had no idea how it was all going, for she had heard nothing from Harry....

A sound suddenly brought her morose stare at the opposite wall up toward the South Tower stairs. There was an audible fluttering of wings, and a second later a lovely white owl drifted gracefully around the spiral, alighting on the floor at Hermione's feet.

"Hedwig," she breathed in disbelief. "Oh, oh, how wonderful..."

Hedwig watched fondly as Hermione untied the letter in a mad rush. Her owlish instincts told her to hang around, because this pretty brown-haired witch would likely be replying to her master within the hour. She climbed comfortably onto the girl's shoulder, and as the girl unrolled the letter lovingly, she cooed softly, glad to be out of the wind and glad for a brief respite from her trials.

Hermione, reading Harry's letter, felt the exact same way.