Perfection

Perfection

Chapter 4: Falling to Pieces

He had watched the four girls at their table as they giggled and drank sips of coffee for some time now, envying the ease of their existence. After a while of observation he began to notice a pattern. The two blonde girls would make a joke, then the shy- looking brown-haired one would smile quietly, and laugh softly, while the Granger girl barely made an effort, past a polite smile.

Even from his corner, he could tell that she was bored. She alternated between playing with strands of her hair and staring into her mug of coffee. Every so often she would add in a comment or ask the other brunette a question, but he couldn't hear what was said.

"He didn't!" the prettier of the blondes gasped, raising her voice enough that he could comprehend.

"I know. Isn't it sick!"

"Dirtier than something you could come up with, Sarah."

Severus wasn't sure he wanted to know what they were talking about. Instead of dwelling on it, he observed as they set down coffee mugs and utensils, noticing how the dark-haired girl waited to see what they did before doing something herself. When the Granger girl stood, she clutched at the back of her chair for a moment before her legs gave out and she collapsed in a heap.

The girl called Sarah shrieked, and he leapt to his feet, almost unconsciously, concern etched on his face.

*

Darkness sparkled at the corners of her eyes as the blood rushed from her head, and she rested her hand on the chair, waiting for the blackout to pass. The next thing she knew, she was lying on the ground, with someone screeching something. Cool hands cupped her face, and she flinched away.

"Don't fucking touch me!" There was a hysterical edge to her voice that she couldn't control, but things couldn't have been clearer in her mind.

"Miss Granger, were the circumstances different, I would obey gladly, but as they are not, I strongly advise--"

Hermione visibly jumped as the voice registered, and looked up through the tangle of hair as his features slid into focus. "Excuse me, sir," she said in a voice that could have cut through stone as if it were sponge cake.

"Do you, like, know him?" Sandra asked, her tone carrying a hint of surprise.

I always talk to complete strangers like this.

"No shit, Sandra," Jean snapped. Apparently Hermione wasn't the only one getting annoyed.

"Well, you don't have to be rude about it," Sarah barked. "It was just a question."

Hermione rolled her eyes at Jean, making sure that the other two couldn't see, and the other girl suppressed a smile.

"Sorry."

"As fascinating as my relationship with Miss Granger might be, there are more important matters to be discussed."

"I'm all right," she insisted. "It was just a dizzy spell."

"Which could lead to something more serious," he replied, just as stubborn.

"He's right," Sarah added, seeming almost relieved.

"I'm fine."

"You should rest," Sandra told her, while Hermione silently decided to enroll her in acting lessons as a Christmas gift. "Go home, sleep, you don't want to be sick on Christmas."

Why not give them what they wanted? It didn't matter what they thought of her, anyway. She would probably never see them again. At least that was what she tried to tell herself.

But it didn't stop the sting of rejection.

"I would," she said tonelessly, "except I have no way of getting there."

There was a silence for a second, then Sarah said, happy at finding a way out, "You can take her, can't you?" to Professor Snape.

He looked positively stunned, which could be why he made no move to object as Sandra agreed, and they rushed out the door, Jean the only one to send an apologetic look her way. Sighing in resignation, he held out a hand to help her up, and she swayed slightly, before walking over to the cashier.

"I need something to go," she apologized over her shoulder, "to wash the taste out of my mouth."

He smiled grimly in agreement.

*

Ginny stared out the window of her dormitory at the freshly fallen snow, bored almost to tears. Ron was being stupid, as usual, Harry was, once again blaming himself for another wizard's death at the hands of Voldemort, and she had run out of things to do yesterday afternoon.

She was moping and she knew it, but that knowledge didn't make the lump in the back of her throat go away.

Come on, she told herself. It's not like he's the first guy you've ever broken up with.

Yeah, a tiny voice argued, but he's the only one that lasted for more than a month. He's the only one you really liked.

Sighing, she stood, planning vaguely on a walk outside. She didn't feel like arguing herself, since she always seemed to lose.

Ten minutes later found her sitting on a log beside the lake, staring out at the gray sky blankly. Something about the day was reminding her of the events of her first year, the basilisk, Tom Riddle, all of it. She had tried so hard to forget, and for a while, she had succeeded, but since Voldemort's return, memories had been returning, long suppressed.

For a moment, she was back in the chamber, hearing the hiss of his voice, inside her, all around her, the terrible things he whispered to her, echoing in her eleven year old mind. She didn't want to believe them, but she knew deep within herself that every word he said about her was true...

She opened her eyes, and was surprised to find her cheeks wet with tears.

"Crying about your lot in life, Weasley?" a cold voice asked.

"Only because I saw your face," she retorted, turning to face him.

"So original."

There was a fading bruise around one eye, and had it been anyone else, she might have been concerned. It seemed someone had set about the impossible task of knocking some sense into him.

"Thought you were going home for holidays," she commented, "or are your parents already sick of you."

"Something like that."

But for a moment, she could have sworn she saw a shadow cross his face.

"Are you going to keep standing there like an idiot, or would you kindly leave?" Ginny asked, feigning politeness.

"Neither," Draco replied, flashing a charming smile and sitting down on a log.

"Then I'll go."

"Kindly do. Don't need the Weasley stench fouling up the air."

"You must be a medical miracle," she commented, making no move to leave. "I didn't know it was physically possible for a person's head to fit up their ass."

"Thus the point of magic."

Standing, she tossed her hair over her shoulder and stalked away, ignoring the prickle of his stare on the back of her neck.

*

Hermione walked beside her teacher, struggling to keep up. It took two of her strides to match up with one of his, and she was feeling stretched and exhausted.

"Hang on," she said, pausing for a moment. "I'm not feeling well."

"My apologies," he returned, a touch of sarcasm accenting his voice. "I had forgotten your delicate state."

"Fuck you too," she sneered elegantly.

"You know, it rather shocks me to hear the prefect and almost certainly future Head Girl using such profanity," he replied, still sardonic.

"I know, amazing what one learns from one's parents, isn't it?"

There was a hidden meaning in her voice, one he couldn't quite place... Something bitter, almost.

"Shocked, Snape?" she snapped, beginning to walk again.

"Miss Granger," he reminded her, "despite the current circumstances, I would like to remind you that I am still your professor and respect is in order."

"Respect is earned," she retorted, keeping her head positioned so that he couldn't see her expression. "For the last six years of my life, you were nothing but a greasy bastard, so consumed with himself and his house that you never saw past the end of your nose at the possible talent in the other houses."

"May I remind you that arrogance is not among the virtues?"

"I wasn't referring to myself, sir. You know, Neville did show some promise for the first week, until you scared the shit out of him. So did several others as I recall."

"Pardon ones faults."

"Only if you do me a favor."

He sighed in resignation. "What?"

"Don't take me home."

"Why?"

"Don't ask," she replied, tone icier than arctic winds. "It's a waste of breath."

He glanced sideways at her, just in time to see her face before a wall slid across her eyes. He wasn't sure if she had said anything or if he had imagined it. The wind had whipped the words away before they could be understood fully.

*

Hermione didn't want to go home, not to the memories, the echoes of shrieked words, hurled like bullets at each other, intending to wound. She didn't want to go home, where the food could tempt her so easily, make her impure, ruin all her hopes of perfection. She wanted to distance herself from that life, didn't want Snape, of all people, to see that side of her.

Silently, she pleaded to him. It was the last thing she wanted to do.

Maybe he sensed some sort of desperation in her, or maybe he simply wasn't the bastard they had made him out to be. Maybe she would never know what caused him to say his next words.

"So, if you don't want to go home, where would you like to go?"

*

Agrippa had to force herself to not drill a hole in her patient's head. She wanted to throw something, smash it, wrap her hands around someone's--Steve's, specifically--neck and squeeze.

He was going on a "business trip" to France for a week once Christmas holidays were over.

She had just received the phone call, and what really pissed her off was the fact that it had been his receptionist on the phone. He couldn't even be bothered to make a simple phone call to his wife, dammit. She wheeled around to the balding, middle aged man who was waiting for his check-up with the rage that was burning just under the surface reflecting in her eyes.

I don't envy you, she thought wryly, snapping her gloves with a grimace.

But somehow, she managed to get through the morning, calmly administering fillings and performing check-ups for people who had no idea of the turmoil in her mind. By her lunch break, she felt like her face was permanently frozen into a would-be cheerful smile and her chest was about to implode from the sense of emptiness within her.

Yes, Agrippa Granger still cared about her husband, despite everything he had put her through. And as she ordered her food in the nearby café, she contemplated the situation, considering the irony that she had once enjoyed watching soap operas, and now felt like she was in the midst of one.

Sipping from a cup of organic herbal green tea imported from china--she never allowed any impurities into her system--she eavesdropped on the conversation taking place behind her.

"It got to the point where all I wanted was to get out. I know I should have fought for more money, but I never wanted to see him again. Or I couldn't let myself, because I knew that the more I saw him, the more I wanted things to be the way they used to be..."

"But after all he did... God, Andrea, you should be glad you got out in one piece."

"I know that, but I can't help thinking, if only I had tried a little harder..."

"Don't worry about. It's over, done with, you did what you needed to do. Really, you don't want to stay married to someone like that."

"I know..." The woman sighed. Suddenly, she gasped, "Oh, shit, I have to go pick a delivery right away! Do you mind paying if I pay you back?"

"Course not. Take care."

"Yeah, you too."

The two women left, and Agrippa tried to forget their conversation. There were some realities that she wasn't quite ready to face.

*

A few hours and another coffee shop of awkward silences later, Hermione again walked beside Snape, fighting to keep up. She was beginning to feel like she was a burden, knew that he probably didn't want to be spending his day baby-sitting a sixteen year old girl who wasn't worth the effort. Guilt was settling in, and although she didn't particularly like him, she still felt badly.

"Professor," she said, pausing. "It's okay, I can go from here."

"Don't be ridiculous," he barked, turning. "What makes you think it's safe? Besides, you collapsed barely an hour ago. It isn't exactly smart to leave you alone in the middle of London."

"I'm feeling better," she lied. "Anyway, I have my wand. What could happen to me?"

He scowled and pulled her into a doorway so that they would stop blocking the walkway. "Plenty. Or do you think that Death Eaters wouldn't find a mudblood girl all alone with no protection enticing?"

She felt herself stiffen. "What did you just call me?"

Her hand caught him on the cheek before he could even see it coming, leaving stinging sensation.

"Never say that word when I'm around again, or I'll do worse than that," she hissed at him.

How dare he, the bastard?

"Miss Granger, I am trying to protect you."

"I don't need protection, yours or otherwise. I can take care of myself."

She turned and began walking toward the road, looking for a taxi that she could signal, but as luck would have it, none were in sight. She heard his footsteps behind her, but didn't turn her head.

*

Severus felt bad about what he had said, really he did. Being in Slytherin had frequently placed him on the wrong side of contempt, and although now he always ignored what he didn't want to hear, he could remember being younger and feeling the sting.

Her anger was almost, well, admirable. It made her toss her hair out of her eyes, gave her a spark that was rarely present anymore, it seemed. Not that he could comment on that.

"Miss Granger, listen."

If you had seen what I had, you wouldn't be this stubborn. If you knew what I know, you wouldn't walk away from the chance to be protected.

Or would she? Wasn't there a saying along the lines of, Better to die free than live imprisoned? Wasn't this the same thing?

I don't need protection, yours or otherwise...

It was more like saying she didn't want the protection, she knew that she needed it.

"What is there to hear that isn't already being said?" she countered after a long pause.

He took a deep breath. Apologies didn't come naturally to him, but he needed her to listen. "I'm very sorry for what I said. I can absolutely not let you go off on your own. All I need to know is that you have made it home safely."

She sucked in a lungful of air, and he could imagine just what she was thinking.

In a rare display of humour, he added, "If you ever repeat this conversation to anyone you will be cleaning cauldrons for years after you graduate."

She glanced up in slight surprise, allowing a faint smile to cross her face.

"Then take me home."

"I thought that it was the last place you wanted to go."

Not that he wanted to spend more time with her than necessary, but he felt that he owed her, for whatever odd combination of reasons that were mixing in the pit of his stomach.

"It is. But I don't want you to waste your day on my account."

"I have no plans," he replied. It wasn't like coming to London had been his idea in the first place.

"Oh, well there has to be something you would rather do than walk around with a Gryffindor know-it-all for a day. Don't go out of your way on my account."

Oh, yeah, big plans, a voice in the back of his head taunted. Mope around in a hotel room, trying to stop the thoughts from coming. Sitting in coffee shops, watching other people get on with their lives while I have to live with what's in my head first. The best time I've ever had.

"Don't trouble yourself, Miss Granger," he told her. "Wherever you want to go, I will take you."

He was cracking and desperate, he knew, when an afternoon with Hermione Granger seemed enticing.

"Is the next galaxy over included in that?" she muttered so quietly that he wasn't sure he had heard correctly. Severus chose to ignore that comment. Louder, to him, she asked, "I think I should just go home. I don't know how close attention my parents were paying when I told them I was going somewhere."

He placed his hand on her shoulder and they disappeared.

*

The world stopped spinning and Hermione found herself in the kitchen, stomach lurching dangerously.

"Thanks for letting me know ahead of time," she muttered.

"Don't worry, it wears off soon."

She sank into a chair and watched him take in their surroundings, as well as the other stately buildings on the street. He looked like he wanted to say something, but held back.

"I know what you're thinking," she said, expressionless. "Poor little rich girl."

"I didn't say that," he protested, wondering why his snarkiness had abandoned him.

"You don't have to. Can I get you anything to drink?"

"Tea, if it isn't too much trouble."

She had just begun to boil the water when a car door slamming broke the silence. They could hear a woman screaming something, and when Hermione glanced out the window, she could see Agrippa yelling into a cell phone, stalking up the walkway.

Her face closed. "Get out of here," she ordered.

"Wh--"

"Don't ask questions, just go. Trust me, you don't want to be here."

There was a small pop as he apparated, leaving Hermione alone and with a strong sense of desertion.

*

Agrippa stormed into the house, ignoring her daughter who was standing in the hall, face gaunt and worried. She didn't want to have to worry about her right then, she needed to sink into her own problems, her own life.

She brushed past Hermione and pounded up the stairs, shaking the house with each step for emphasis. Only once she was safely locked into the bedroom did she let the tears come. She curled up on the bed, denting the down featherbed covering it and hugged her chest, trying to muffle the sobs, praying that something would make it all end.

She remembered when she was a little girl, lying on her parents' bed as her mother sprayed perfume on herself, getting ready for dinner parties or dances. Sometimes, when neither of them were home, she would sneak into their room and put on pearl necklaces and silk scarves, adding color to her lips and cheeks with lipstick and powder.

She had always been closer to her father than her mother. He was more easy-going and would pull her onto his lap and whisper stories in her ear as she fell asleep. He was the one she ran to when she skinned her knee or had a bad day at school. Her mother's reply to a complaint had always been, "You can't always get what you want."

Well, fifteen, even ten, years ago, she had thought she had everything she wanted. A loving husband, beautiful daughter, secure home, and a successful career. But that was when it all began to crumble.

The more successful she became, the more resentful and jealous Steve was, but still they managed to remain civil, caring even. When Hermione had been sent away to school, it had turned out to be the beginning of the end. While she had remained at home, they had had a reason not to be constantly at each other's throats, but once she left, the fighting became louder and more frequent as time grew on, until it became almost habit.

Yet still she loved him, needed him, even. And still she held onto the fragile ties of what their marriage had once been.

*

The indifference hurt more than a thousand words could possibly. Hours later, when she was curled up in her bed, watching the moon through her window, the scene still played through her mind, with the sound of indecipherable shrieking as from downstairs as the background music.

What had she done wrong?

Burrowing her head under the pillow to drown out the noise, she closed her eyes and waited for sleep to come and claim her. But one face seemed plastered to the inside of her eyelids, frozen in one position. The face of Severus Snape, giving her a last, concerned glance before leaving her to her fate.

A face, normally cold and empty, but now human.

It was a thought that caused a smile to play across her face as she drifted into darkness.

*

Ginny woke up to a scream, and lay in the dark for a few moments before realizing that it had been her own. Fragments were all that remained of the dream, of which she was glad. Because what she could remember frightened her.

Knowing that sleep would continue to evade her, she swung her feet over the edge of the bed and padded across the flagstones and down the stairs to the common room. Staring into the glowing embers was another figure, one that she recognized only too well.

"Harry?" she whispered, not wanting to disturb the silence hanging over the castle.

He grunted in reply. She could tell that he was lost in thought.

"Are you all right?" she pressed, furrowing her brows.

"Another family died today," he commented blankly. "It was all my fault."

Ginny's breath caught in her throat. "How so? It's Voldemort, not some idiot who is going to let a sixteen year old ruin all of his plans."

He snorted softly and Ginny knelt in front of him, meeting his gaze.

"Trust me, you did everything you could. I know you, Harry, and if there was any more you could have done you would have already done it."

Harry shook his head, anger clouding his eyes. "No, don't you see? That's what everyone tells me! But they're all lying because I'm The Boy Who Lived or they feel sorry for me! But they don't really care! They only want me to defeat Voldemort a second time, they don't care if I die doing it."

She studied Harry, and an embarrassing urge to let the tears spill out filled her. Once upon a time, she had a crush on him, call it puppy love. It hadn't taken her long to realize that it wasn't real, that there was nothing especially wonderful about him. She still cared, but only as a friend. Except, now it seemed that he wanted something more from her, something she wasn't ready and didn't know how to give.

"Harry, listen. There are people who care about you. You aren't any different from us. You make mistakes, sure, but who doesn't? And we still love you for it. Just because you think it was your fault, doesn't mean that we do. Nobody is blaming you, except yourself."

"Thanks Ginny, you really know how to lower my ego," he replied dryly.

"That's what I'm here for," she grinned. "You really need to sleep."

"And you don't?" he retorted.

"I'm not the one who stays up every night wallowing in self-pity."

Ginny instantly realized that she had said too much as soon as the sentence tumbled from her lips.

"Is that what you call it?" Harry asked, looking injured and angry.

"Yes. Now go to bed. And don't forget..." she almost swallowed her next words. What if he took them the wrong way?

"Yeah?"

"I'm here for you. Always."

"I knew you would be."

As he walked away, Ginny wondered if she had imagined the seemingly smug tone in his voice.

*

The car door slammed shut behind Hermione and she didn't look back as her mother drove away, but she could hear her shrieking curses at the other drivers. It was the day before Christmas Eve, and "getting to know her cousin" wasn't exactly her idea of a fun time. Really, the only reason she had agreed to come was because she knew that Snape was staying at the same hotel, and there was a part of her that wanted to see him again, if only to apologize for yesterday.

She trudged through the lobby, not letting herself admit that she was watching for him, feeling her stomach rise whenever she saw someone out of the corner of her eye then sinking as soon as she turned her head. She stepped into the glass elevator and looked down on the dining room as it carried her up to almost the very top.

When she exited, the sound that met her ears was all too familiar. She recognized her uncle's voice as a deep rumble, echoing down the hall. She froze, trying to decide whether to turn and run.

Squaring her shoulders, she decided that it wouldn't accomplish anything. Running from problems never solved them. And it wasn't like they fought all the time like... like...

She stepped toward the hotel, ignoring the feeling of imminent doom, the way a tiny heart pounded in her temple.

The door was open partway, and she pushed it open enough to slip through.

"Hello?" she called out, hating the way her voice sounded so pathetic and weak, even to her own ears.

*

Ginny opened her eyes, surprised to find herself in the Common Room. Yawning, she stood up and rubbed her eyes, then, ignoring the fact she was still in her pyjamas, made her way down to the great hall. Taking a slight detour, she walked along the way past the girl's washrooms where Moaning Myrtle still lived, wondering why she constantly tortured herself by bringing back the memories.

Perhaps it was her penance for weakness, perhaps it was because she never wanted to be so foolish again, she wasn't sure. But she knew that she could never let go of the Chamber; it had haunted her for five years, and it would never leave her. It didn't soothe her to know that the basilisk was dead--it hadn't been the real horror there.

Remember me, little Ginny Weasley?

She fought back a scream at the voice only she could hear. The voice that had been in her mind every time she had written in the diary, unforgettable.

Yes, it's me. You've grown since then, in size as well as power, as have I. Yes, I'm back. You helped me, Ginny, whether you wanted to or not, and Lord Voldemort rewards his helpers...

I don't want rewards, Ginny thought desperately. I don't want anything from him, except for him to go, to leave me alone, to erase himself from existence.

That I will not do, the voice hissed. But think about it. Think of what I could give you, the status, the power. Much more than what any Weasley has achieved so far...

He faded from her mind and she sank down against the wall, clutching her arms so they would stop shaking, capable of one single, rational thought.

He wants me... I don't know why, but for some reason or the other he wants me...

"Well, well, well, what have we here?"

Ginny screamed at the sound of the voice. She couldn't help it- it was simply torn from her lungs.

"Jumpy, today, aren't we?"

He stepped towards her, and she flinched.

"Don't come any closer or I'll--"

"What?" he asked smugly.

"Fuck you!" she shrieked out, losing what little control she had held onto.

"Excellent idea... Not everyday a woman offers herself for free."

"Get away from me!" Her voice was screeching, eyes wild, and she was shaking once again.

"Relax," he tried to assure her, starting to look genuinely alarmed. "I was only joking. I won't touch you..."

He looked panicked and it was no wonder why. It wasn't everyday you got to watch someone crack.

Tears began rolling down her face, which was unnaturally pale, and she closed her eyes, trying to take calming breaths.

"God, Weasley, are you all right?"

"I thought I told you to get away from me!"

"I don't take orders very well," he commented cheerfully, "in case you haven't noticed."

She wondered if that was how he had received the bruise.

Ron and Harry chose that moment to stroll around the corner. It took him about two seconds for the scene to register, Ginny's tear-stained face and Draco standing over her, and they heard an enraged roar.

"Malfoy, get away from my sister!"

"I didn't do any--"

"Get away from her!"

"Ron, he didn't--"

"Get away!"

For once, Draco decided to follow a Weasley's order, and he ambled away nonchalantly, ignoring the daggers Harry was glaring at him.

"What did he do?" Ron asked, leaning over his Ginny.

"Ron, I swear, he didn't do anything..."

Harry snorted quietly in disgust. "Ginny, what did he say to you? He must have said something to make you so upset."

"It has nothing to do with him," she insisted, not completely sure why she didn't just come right out and tell them.

"Gin, come on. We aren't stupid," Ron pressed.

"Well, apparently you are!" she snapped. "I think I know why I'm upset a bit better than you, and it's none of your damn business!"

"Ginny!" Ron called out as she brushed past him. Then, once she was out of sight, he turned to Harry and asked, "What was that about?"

*

She flew between them, screaming something even she couldn't understand, wanting it all to stop.

"Don't push me!" the red-faced man bellowed at her.

She knew that he didn't care who he hurt, what the consequences were. His thoughts were blinded by the rage. Yet still some strong part of her welled up, giving her courage, giving her adrenaline.

"Why?"

Such a simple question. It deserved a simple answer. He lunged at her, rage contorting his features, hands landing on her throat.

Everything was spinning. The woman hunched on the floor was sobbing. The boy beside her was shrieking something incoherently. She could no longer breathe. She was going to die here, without the air sustaining her, murdered.

Something inside of her exploded and he flew back against the wall. She clutched the boy's arm, and they ran, sprinting away into the corridor. Fear gave her the strength to pull him behind her, make him move.

They rounded the corner and hit something hard. The last thing she saw before blackness claimed her was a distorted face as strong arms caught her.

*

Hermione opened her eyes, to find herself on a couch in a hotel room, with two blurry faces peering down at her. She blinked and they slowly came into focus, until she could recognize her cousin and... Professor Snape? What was he doing here?

She tried to sit up, but winced at the throbbing in her head and sank back down gratefully.

"Are you all right?" Was that concern she heard in his voice?

"I'm wonderful," she replied sarcastically, "which explains why I'm lying on your couch with a migraine."

"Charming, as always," he retorted, placing cool fingers on her forehead. The throbbing eased.

"Whatever you just did worked," she told him. "I can at least think straight now."

"Miss Granger, all I did was check to see if you had a fever."

"Really?" she asked, raising an eyebrow. Then, remembering Arthur, she ordered, "Look after him first. If anyone's hurt here, it's him."

Just because she didn't necessarily like him didn't mean she wasn't worried. A bruise was forming near his left eyebrow, and he flinched away from Professor Snape as he pulled out his wand.

"You might want to wipe his memory after, too," she added.

"I know that, you silly girl. You forget who is the more experienced of us."

"Of course, professor," she replied meekly.

Once he had finished, Arthur disappeared, and Hermione found herself wishing that he could erase her memories as well.

"Now, Miss Granger," he began, turning to face her. "I believe that we should allow Madam Pomfrey to have a look at you."

"There's nothing wrong with me!" she interrupted, almost too quickly.

Snape raised an eyebrow. "Miss Granger, do you think that I haven't noticed how dangerously low your magical reserves are? What you used down the hall on your uncle--yes, I know about that--should not have tired you, certainly not to the extent of losing consciousness."

"I'm fine," she insisted. "I don't need anyone analyzing me."

If they found out... Hermione didn't think she could bear it. If she accidentally let slip about her parents, her fears, her entire existence, they would despise her. There was no way that they couldn't. Not once they knew how horrible she was. Especially once they realized that it was all her fault.

There was only one thing she could control now.

"Miss Granger..." His entreaty was met with a stone-cold gaze. Briskly, he announced, "She's coming whether you want her too or not. You can't faint twice and still tell me that you're fine."

*

When Ginny was restless, there was only one thing that managed to soothe her. Right now, Ginny was more than restless. She was fidgety, waspish, and desperate to escape from the smothering atmosphere of the castle. So, without telling anyone where she was going--a habit left over from the days when she hadn't wanted anyone to laugh at her--she went out to the shed of Quidditch supplies and grabbed her broom and a bat, releasing a bludger once she was outside.

Taking off, she chased after it, whacking it with all her strength whenever it flew too near, not stopping even when sweat dripped in her eyes, blinding her vision temporarily.

"God, Weasley, do you ever stop?"

The voice broke her concentration and she whirled to see Draco hovering a few feet away.

"I didn't know you were a beater too," he added, raising an eyebrow.

"I play everything," she told him, cocking her head. "Harry just doesn't know that yet."

Which was the truth--she'd been desperate to make the team last year and if it meant hitting rock-like balls around, she was prepared to do it.

"Put the bludger away," he suggested, procuring a small golden ball from his pockets. "I'm thinking rematch."

She shrugged nonchalantly, not giving away the fact that her blood was racing at the challenge.

"Sounds good."

Ten minutes later found them tearing around the pitch and Ginny had completely forgotten everything else except this state of bliss.