Taboo

One frosty day in March, Malfoy and Hermione ventured into the courtyard where several students were having a snowball fight.

"It's so cold," said Hermione, shivering, her breath visible in the air.

"Where are your gloves?" asked Malfoy, looking down at her bare hands, which were turning red with cold.

"Oh, I lent them to Luna yesterday. She lost hers."

"Here, take mine," offered Malfoy.

"No, no, that's okay," said Hermione.

"Your hands are freezing," said Malfoy, squeezing her right hand. "Put them on."

"Won't you be cold?" She slid the gloves on, grateful for the feeling of the soft cashmere against her skin.

"I'll live."

They walked in a wide arc, occasionally ducking misaimed snowballs.

"Malfoy," muttered Ron, as they passed him. "Reckon I should throw a snowball at him?"

"What?" asked Harry, who hadn't been paying attention.

Ron pointed in Hermione's direction. "Malfoy."

"Oh," said Harry, following Ron's pointed finger.

"I think I can get him from here," said Ron, shaping a snowball.

"Ron, I--ouch!" Harry wiped the snow off his cheek as Seamus grinned from across the courtyard.

Ron lobbed a snowball at Malfoy, hitting him squarely in the back of his pale, blond head.

"Ha! Take that, you filthy scumbag!" jeered Ron, as Malfoy looked about for his attacker. "Ferret!"

"I don't think you should've done that," said Harry quietly, as Malfoy came towards them. He pulled his wand out of his pocket, just in case.

"What did you call me, Weasley?" demanded Malfoy, angry spots of pink forming on his cheeks. Ron shrugged meekly. "I thought so."

"Draco," pleaded Hermione, "let's just leave. Alright?" He ignored her.

"Just go," said Harry, agreeing with Hermione.

"No, don't go yet," said Ron, summoning up his courage. "I have something to say to you, Malfoy."

"Then say it already. You're wasting my time."

"You'd better be treating her right," said Ron, gesturing at Hermione with one gloved hand. "If I hear that you've hurt her or-or--"

"Or what? You'll stutter at me? You think I'm not treating her well?" sneered Malfoy. "Ha, I'd like to find someone who could treat her better."

"I could," said Ron defiantly. "I could treat her a thousand times better."

"Draco, please," pleaded Hermione. "Just leave it."

"With what?" goaded Malfoy. "The money your sister earns on street corners?" Okay, so that was a bit out of hand, but he loved provoking Weasley.

"DON'T YOU DARE INSULT GINNY!" roared Ron and Harry at the same time. Ron lunged at Malfoy, punching him between curses.

"You--bloody--wanker--"

"Ron! Ron!" cried Hermione, rushing forward and trying to pull him off Malfoy. "Stop! Please, stop!"

"You think you're so great," panted Ron, as Harry helped Hermione drag him away. "Just because you're in league with You-Know-Who. But you know what? Dumbledore's a better wizard, better than he is or will ever be."

Malfoy picked himself up off the ground and pinched his bleeding nose. He knew better than to respond to that comment.

"What, too scared to hit me back?" taunted Ron.

"Yes, I'm terrified," said Malfoy sarcastically. "I think I'll go hide under Hermione's bed covers now."

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Figure it out for yourself, Weasley," said Malfoy, taking Hermione by the arm. "Let's go."

"That's what I said about five minutes ago," said Hermione, though she refused to budge.

"Then let's go."

"I have something I want to say to him." She broke away from his grasp and walked over to Ron, who was still being restrained by Harry. "Listen," she said, her eyes sizzling fiercely, "I want you to stay away from Draco--"

"I will if he stays away from me," mumbled Ron.

"--and I don't want to hear any more insults from either of you. Is that clear?"

"He called Ginny a whore!" said Ron angrily. "What was I supposed to do, just stand there and take it?"

"Is that clear?" she repeated.

"Yes," said Ron grudgingly.

"Good." She walked back to Malfoy. "Now we can go."

"Wait a second," called Ron, "what did he mean by that last part, 'I think I'll go hide under Hermione's bed covers now'? Hang on, are you sleeping with him?" Hermione didn't turn around. "Answer me! ANSWER ME!" He escaped Harry's grip and pursued them.

"Petrificus Totalis!" Ron's arms snapped to his sides and his legs went stiff. He pitched toward the snowy ground. "Sorry, Ron, but that was for your own good," said Harry, leaning over his immobile form. Ron glared at him. "I'll let you up when they're gone."

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"You should've just ignored him and left," admonished Hermione, warming her hands against a cup of tea. They were seated in front of the stone fireplace in the kitchens, surrounded by bowing house-elves. "And you really shouldn't have said that about Ginny."

"I know," sighed Malfoy.

"You know it's not true. It was really mean of you."

"I know!" He slammed his fist against the wooden table, causing the coffee to slosh out of his cup. "You've already told me that a million times!"

"If you'd listened to me, this wouldn't have happened," said Hermione. "And I really think you should go see Madam Pomfrey." She gingerly reached her hand up to the bruised area around his left eye.

"I don't need that old hag to look after me," he said crankily, slapping her hand away.

"Pastries, sir and miss?" offered a house-elf from beneath a giant silver platter laden with cream puffs and biscuits.

"Yes, that would be--"

"No, I don't want any bloody pastries!" He sent the tray flying, the pastries landing in the fire and on the floor. "Can't you see that I'm having a conversation here?"

"I'm sorry--he didn't mean it," said Hermione to the frightened house-elf. "I'm really sorry. We'll leave right now."

"We are not leaving. I want to finish my fucking coffee."

"You can finish it outside," said Hermione, shoving the cup into his hands. The hot liquid spilled down his front. "Oh, I'm sorry, Draco." She grabbed a fistful of napkins and tried to mop it up.

"Clumsy bitch," he muttered, pushing her away. The napkins fell to the floor. Hermione stood rooted to the spot.

"What did you just say to me?"

He pushed open the door with one hand, turning back to look at her. His eyes glittered with malice. "I said, 'Clumsy bitch,'" he replied, spitting the words at her. A saucer came whizzing at him, narrowly missing his head and shattering against the doorframe.

"Get out," ordered Hermione, taking aim with her teacup. "Get. Out." He slammed the door, and Hermione threw the cup against the wall, sobbing as she fell to her knees. Once she had calmed, she stood up and repaired the smashed china, apologizing profusely to the house-elves. She stopped by her dormitory to retrieve her books and hurried to Arithmancy.

Meanwhile, Malfoy had returned to his dormitory. He threw the coffee along with the cup in the rubbish bin and yanked his sodden sweater off. A gust of icy wind blew in from the open window, making goose bumps rise on his exposed flesh.

"Damn window," he grumbled, going over to shut it. He put on a clean sweater and went downstairs to sulk in his favorite armchair.

He knew Hermione was right, that he shouldn't have picked a fight. He could've just thrown a snowball back or jinxed him, but he considered those options below him. Did she really expect him to just stand there and not retaliate? He scowled. Girls just didn't understand these kinds of things.

However, he regretted the comment he'd made about Ginny Weasley. He knew that Hermione was friends with her, and that this time he'd really gone too far. It was that jibe about the Dark Lord that really set him off. Weasley, you have absolutely no idea what it's like to be his servant, thought Malfoy bitterly. You have no idea what it's like to know that all your attempts are futile and death is inevitable, but you keep trying because you think you can bargain for just one more month, one more week. Anything to stay alive. But still, he wished Hermione hadn't nagged him about it. He'd already felt bad enough. He didn't need her to remind him.

"I shouldn't have lashed out at her," he said aloud, recalling the stunned expression on her face when he'd slammed the door. Thanks to his quick temper, he'd alienated the one person who understood his anguish. He cursed himself for his stupidity and pondered ways to apologize to her.

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"What's wrong?" asked Ginny at dinnertime.

"Nothing." Hermione poked at her mashed potatoes listlessly.

"Oh, come on," said Ginny. "I know there's something wrong. Is it Draco?"

"How did you know?" asked Hermione, taken aback.

"Well, let's see. You're sitting with your back to him, you're not babbling about something funny he said during Potions...what else?" she said, smirking. "Oh yeah, and you came in alone. You never do that. The two of you always spend, like, five minutes making out in front of the doorway before you sit down."

"You're quite observant," said Hermione wryly.

"So tell me, what's wrong?"

"We had a fight," she said, sighing.

"Oh?" Ginny raised an eyebrow in surprise. "What about?"

"Actually, it was about you," said Hermione.

"Me?" she said incredulously. "Why would you have a fight about me? Please don't tell me he's dumping you so that he can date me. I'm already taken." She wrinkled her nose in mock disgust.

"No, it wasn't about that," said Hermione, shaking her head. "We were out in the courtyard and Ron threw a snowball at him--"

"Ha," snorted Ginny. "He would. I'm sorry, do continue."

"Well, it hit Draco in the back of his head." She snuck a look at Ginny, who, to her credit, was keeping a straight face. "And they started insulting each other..." She proceeded to give Ginny all the details of the argument in the courtyard and the kitchens. "...then I completely lost it and threw a saucer at his head."

"Did you hit him?"

"No, it missed." They both chuckled.

"Well, I don't think he needs any more damage to his face," said Ginny. Hermione swiveled in her seat to look behind her. She could see Malfoy staring down at his dinner plate, a dark bruise around his left eye.

"He refused to go to the hospital wing," explained Hermione, shaking her head at his arrogance.

"That surprises me," said Ginny. "I always thought he was so vain that he would never go out looking like that. Apparently not." She took a swig of pumpkin juice. "Well, you ought to let him know that he looks way better without it. Because I do admit that he's rather cute when he's not smirking like an idiot."

"You'd better tell him yourself," said Hermione. "I don't think I want to be anywhere near him right now."

"Oh, Hermione," said Ginny, giving her arm a friendly squeeze. "Don't break up with him just because of this one tiny thing. I'm sure he didn't really mean it. Just look at him." They both turned in his direction. Malfoy was still staring glumly at his plate, his black eye making him appear especially downtrodden. "Does he look happy to you?"

"No, I guess not," mumbled Hermione.

"Of course he's not happy. I'm sure he feels really bad for what he said to you," reasoned Ginny. "You two need to make up with each other. I can't stand seeing you like this. Okay?"

"Fine," said Hermione, surrendering.

"Good." Ginny smiled at her encouragingly.

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Malfoy wandered out of the Great Hall without eating anything. He desperately wanted to find Hermione and apologize to her, but she wasn't at the Gryffindor table anymore. He slunk back to his dormitory, feeling guilty and depressed. Then suddenly he remembered that Hermione had a habit of taking baths after dinner on Wednesdays. He quickly threw on a bathrobe and shuffled toward the prefects' bathroom in his slippers.

He arrived at the bathroom and gave the password, making his way through the dressing room and into the bathing area. He spotted Hermione standing in front of the large mirror taking her hair down. He paused in the doorway, unsure if he would be breaking one of the many unwritten rules that girls had if he entered. She didn't acknowledge his presence and disappeared behind the ornate Japanese dressing screen. She hung up her robe and lowered herself into the bubbly water with a small splash.

"Hermione?" he called tentatively, his slippers slapping against the marble floor. He stopped on the other side of the screen. "Hermione, I need to talk to you." She didn't answer him. "I, um, I'm really sorry about today," he said awkwardly, his voice echoing in the cavernous room. "I didn't mean what I said. Any of it. I know I shouldn't have said it, but he provoked me." God, his voice sounded so childish and whiny. "I couldn't just--God dammit, I feel like such an idiot talking to this screen."

He stepped around the screen just as Hermione stood to retrieve her bottle of shampoo. They gawked at each other for a split second, and then she shrieked and dropped her arms to cover her chest. Nothing he hasn't seen before...

"I'm sorry!" He shielded his face as she sank into the water and flung soapy water at him. "That wasn't on purpose! Look, I'll go back behind this thing if you want." He quickly ducked behind the screen. "As I was saying, I really didn't mean what I said. Please don't be mad at me, Hermione." He heard what sounded like sobs coming from behind the screen. "Don't cry, Hermione. Please don't cry." The sobs got louder. Alarmed, he stepped back around to the other side.

"I'm not crying," she said between guffaws. "I'm laughing. The look on your face was so funny."

"Are you still mad at me?"

"No," she said, her laughter subsiding. "I forgive you."

"I just got caught up in the moment," he explained, feeling relief wash over him. "I promise I'll never do it again."

"You're already forgiven," said Hermione, smiling.

"Good. Now avert your eyes!" he warned as he took off his robe and cannonballed into the pool. She squealed as the water splashed over her head. He surfaced and swam over to her, grinning.

"You really need to go see Madam Pomfrey," said Hermione, lightly tracing her fingers across his swollen eyelid. He winced.

"I'll go tomorrow," he promised.

"Want me to kiss it and make it better?"

"Does that really make it better?"

"Oh, Draco, you're so gullible," she said, sighing in fake exasperation. "Of course it doesn't. It's just something Muggle mothers say to their children. It only makes you feel better on the inside, not the outside."

"Then heal me on the inside," he said, lowering his head. She kissed him gently on the brow. He pulled her close, his hands against the small of her back, slippery with soapsuds. As he bent to kiss her, he knew that he loved her more than anyone in the world.