We'll Always Have Paris

Author’s Notes: It took 2 months but WAHP 13 is here. And though many people were very encouraging and empathetic during my serious bout of writer’s block (the likes of which I’d never experienced before) -- with lots of kind words and suggestions for how to beat it away – one person in particular pulled me out of it and to her I am eternally grateful. A new WAHP reader named Sunna emailed me when I had just about given up hope of ever getting through this chapter. Then I read her note and took a different view of the story. I decided to make chapter 14 chapter 13, which might upset some of you, but which makes for a better story IMO. So I’d like to dedicate this chapter to Sunna (author of a very wonderful of her own at ff.net called “Into the Dark “ under the pen name MidnightSun) and thank her for spurring me to write WAHP again. The events of what was originally to be chapter 13 will now take place in 14, and I’m still sort of stuck on that bit, so I don’t know how long the next chapter will take. It could take 2 weeks, it could take 2 months. Your guess is as good as mine! And as always many thanks to my betas Plu and Liss for helping me out when their own RL stuff was begging for their attention. And additional thanks to Seakays and Kellie for being my “reaction” betas on this chapter. Everyone’s assistance really helped. Myriam, if you’re reading this, I tried to email it to you, but Hotmail kept sending it back because you didn’t have enough room in your account. Sorry :-( I’ll catch you next time round. And without further ado:

We’ll Always Have Paris
Chapter 13

… and they lived happily ever after.

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“You told him WHAT?”

“Stop being such an arse, Ron,” Ginny scolded impatiently. “You heard what she said. Hermione told Draco the truth … that she loves him.” She looked around at her friends – one forlorn girl squashed into a chair, her arms wrapped tightly around herself and a confounded look on her face, and two boys looking like they’d just heard Quidditch teams everywhere were disbanding to focus on opera singing instead. She fixed the boys with a stern glare reminiscent of her dear old mum. “And if you two had any sense, you’d realize she’s not exactly bubbling with joy at how it turned out.”

The initial shock Ron had received as a result of bad timing -- entering the common room just as Hermione divulged her confession of love for that Slytherin -- was wearing off; Hermione did look a bit greyer than normal. He pointed at the confused looking girl. “Can you blame her? If I just told Malfoy I loved him, I’d feel ill too.”

“Ron, we’d all feel like retching if you told Malfoy you loved him,” Ginny retorted, rolling her eyes at her older brother.

Harry ignored the Weasley banter, unable to take his eyes from his other best friend, the girl who loved someone other than him. “So did he …er …” he stammered with trepidation as he approached Hermione’s seat, pausing to rest his hand on the back of one of the other chairs at the table. Then he cleared his throat. “Did he say it back? That he loves you too?” He choked a bit on the last few words.

Hermione pulled her knees to her chest and rested her head in her hand. She shook her head, her eyes glazed with disbelief. She looked so lost. “No, he didn’t say anything.”

Harry’s hand tightened its grip on the chair so much his knuckles were almost white. On the one hand he wanted to rip Malfoy’s tongue out and strangle him with it for being such a blimey sod, but on the other he was relieved. He even thought he heard Ron exhale a sigh of relief.

Hermione leaned her head against the back of the chair and continued with an almost crazed laugh. “He didn’t say anything because his father showed up to take him to dinner in Hogsmeade.” She watched as the colour drained from her friends’ faces and they exchanged worried glances.

Ron gulped and managed to breathe out, “Lucius Malfoy was at Hogwarts? He saw you with his son?” Apparently, the Gryffindors had left the pitch before Malfoy Sr.’s untimely arrival.

Hermione nodded, then turned her gaze back to the window. The sun shone so brightly in the sky she had to squint. The sky was so golden it looked like it must be a warm spring day, but Hermione had just been outside and knew that was an illusion; it was cold and windy and the temperature was steadily dropping.

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He looked like he always did – leaning over the table to help Crabbe with Potions, laughing at something Goyle said, and looking over every once in a while to give her a quick wink across the Transfiguration classroom, where the large group of students was studying for their quiz tomorrow. But Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something wrong with Draco, something he was keeping from her. It had been almost two weeks since Lucius’ surprise visit to his son on the Quidditch pitch, but Draco had casually brushed it aside like it was the most normal occurrence to be found in a deep, heated embrace with his Muggle-born girlfriend by his proud, overbearing, Mudblood-hating father.

She’d hoped he would come to her after his dinner in Hogsmeade with Lucius, but she hadn’t seen him until Sunday at breakfast. He’d arrived late but had seated himself at his own house table, giving her a weary smile across the spacious room. Her heart had pounded with anticipation at what had happened, and she’d wanted him to come over and explain everything instead of diving into his short stack of flap jacks. Yet, he’d waited until she went to him after the dishes were cleared. Everything was fine, he’d assured her; Lucius had just wanted to have a quiet dinner with his son since they hadn’t been able to spend the Christmas holidays together. In spite of that Hermione couldn’t tell if Draco had told her the entire truth. He’d admitted Lucius hadn’t been very happy about his son’s relationship with a non-pureblood witch, but his father had agreed it was Draco’s life to live as he wanted and to “make his own mistakes” as Lucius had put it. Lucius’ reaction was a little less explosive than she’d anticipated, but she also assumed Draco was leaving out most of the awful details in an attempt to protect her from his father’s vile, spiteful, Mudblood-hating rhetoric. She was certain it had not been an enjoyable experience and wanted him to be honest with her, but he continued to insist everything was fine and not to worry. And everything about Draco had seemed normal. He kissed her the same, laughed the same, talked to her the same.

Yet Hermione couldn’t shake the feeling that something was not right with Draco. He didn’t act any differently toward her; he didn’t seem vexed by his dinner with Lucius – at least there were no outward signs of it. It was just a feeling Hermione got when she was with him that something was between them was different. Of course, he’d assured her that everything was fine and that any changes were all in her imagination. She had to fight her initial instincts to press him to tell her what was going on, because she didn’t want to be pushy with him. Patience wasn’t one of her strongest virtues – Hermione knew that better than anyone – but she also knew if she pressed Draco to confide in her before he was ready or willing that she might end up alienating him instead. Their families were touchy subjects at best and questioning him about Lucius yet again to alleviate her concerns about something not even she could verbalize might backfire on her. And she didn’t want that; he meant too much to her. So she would give him all the time he needed … if she didn’t end up at St. Mungo’s first.

The only time he displayed any signs of irritation was after Care of Magical Creatures class the Monday after the match. Somehow Harry and Ron had managed to get Draco in their three-person group to tend to their class project. Hermione had watched as the three boys had a very intense, heated discussion over their mackled malaclaw, but Hermione doubted they were debating the most effective method of cleaning the animal’s claws as was their assignment. When she caught up with Draco after the class before the students parted ways, she’d asked him what he had discussed with her two best friends. His only reply was, “Weasley thought it would be a good experiment to see if the malaclaw reacted kindly to tickling, and I told him he should give it a try. Of course, Potter had to ruin my fun, killjoy that he is, and then class was over.” She looked at him skeptically, and his gaze had turned serious. “Look, Hermione, just tell your bodyguards to back off. I don’t appreciate them hounding me about something that has nothing to do with them.”

As their Thursday night study group began piling their books and parchment into their bags, Hermione asked Draco to stay behind. She’d barely had a chance to see him in the last few days because the second and fourth year Slytherins were squabbling with one another. Since Draco was a Prefect, he was needed to mediate on more than one occasion in his common room that week. One by one their classmates left, finally leaving Hermione alone with her boyfriend. When he motioned for her to sit next to him, she curled up in the chair beside his. As she sat hunched over her slips of parchment, reading through her notes, Draco rubbed the back of her neck, kneading the tension out of them while he read over his textbook. Everything seemed just as it always did, but then Draco’s hand stopped rubbing her, and it just rested heavily on her back. She turned her face to look at him, thinking he must be at the section on inter-genus switching – that was one of the trickier parts of changing a chameleon in to an iguana. Except he wasn’t even looking at his book; he was staring past her at a spot on the blank, stone grey wall on the other side of the room. His eyes were transfixed and unblinking, and he was obviously not studying his Transfiguration.

She turned her body so she could face him. He didn’t avert his eyes. She rested her hand on top of his and took a deep breath. “Draco, is everything all right?” Hermione asked him for probably the twentieth time in the last two weeks.

It didn’t help that he hadn’t mentioned what she’d said to him just before Lucius had appeared … and that ate away at her more and more. Her confession of love for him had gone unmentioned, unreturned, and unrecognized. So here she sat in a second floor classroom almost two weeks later, wondering if that was the real cause to the unshakable sensation that something had changed in his feelings toward her … and his father’s coincidental arrival was just an easy excuse for him to pull away from her.

She sighed heavily as she watched him shift in annoyance in his seat. “Everything would be fine if you’d quit asking me that,” he drawled. “Some of us aren’t as naturally adept at Transfiguration as others, and we actually need to concentrate on reading for more than two minutes before being interrupted with the same incessant questions.”

Hermione cringed at the tone of his voice. She wasn’t used to hearing it directed toward her anymore. “Well maybe if you’d talk to me about whatever it is that’s got your mind a million miles away, I wouldn’t feel the need to keep asking,” she replied resentfully.

He must have seen the obviously hurt expression on her face, because then he looked contrite. He took a deep breath. “Hermione, I’m sorry, but you know I’ve got a lot on my mind, and I really need to concentrate on this Transfiguration. We are having a quiz tomorrow. Remember?” He reached his hand over the arm of the chair between them, and she placed her hand in his. “When you keep asking me what’s going on, it just gets tedious.”

“It feels like you’re shutting me out, and I don’t know why. If it’s about your father and what he said, if there’s more to it than what you told me, or …” she hesitated for a second or two. “…or if it’s about something else, I‘ve got a right to know.”

His eyes flashed so quickly with a dangerous look, Hermione thought it must have been a trick of the light, but then they softened before he answered her. “I already told you -- he just needs to get used to the idea. It’s my life, not his, and I made it clear that I wanted to be with you.” He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed it gently as a sign of reassurance.

“Draco, you know how I feel about you …” she could feel her face burning softly; this was the first time she’d even broached the subject of her post-Quidditch match confession. She hadn’t expected him to say it then--although she certainly wouldn’t have objected if he’d said he felt the same—but he hadn’t even acknowledged it at all since that day, and now it was just hanging out there, essentially driving her batty. “… and I’m concerned that there’s more going on than you’re telling me.” She paused as an awful idea struck her. “Good Lord, your father didn’t threaten you or anything, did he? Because if he did …”

Draco squeezed her hand tighter, bringing her focus back to him. “Father did not threaten me in any way. I’m his son, and he would never intentionally harm me. I’m just anxious, all right,” he finally confessed. “The last round of Head Boy and Girl interviews are this week, and I just want to find out how I did.”

Hermione noted how he deftly skirted the issue … again … of her saying she was in love with him. But at least he’d told her something, even if she wasn’t entirely sure that was what had him staring at nothing on the wall. “But, Draco, you said yourself your interview last week went better than you’d expected. I don’t think you have anything to worry about. Justin isn’t involved in nearly as many extracurricular activities as you and his grades aren’t as good either.” Justin Finch-Fletchley was the last candidate for Head Boy who still needed to be interviewed by the judging panel, made up of several faculty members and representatives from the Board of Governors. Hermione had had hers two weeks ago -- the same day as Harry. They’d interviewed the Ravenclaws first, Gryffindors second, Slytherins third, and the Hufflepuffs were the last on the list.

“What about Harry?” he asked, eyeing her curiously. “Wouldn’t you enjoy being Head Girl while he was Head Boy? And doesn’t the fact that he saves this school from being overtaken by Death Eaters practically every year make him a shoo in for the job?”

She pursed her lips at him. “I’ve told you a dozen times that you have just as much a chance as anyone else … and that includes Harry. I think either of you would make an excellent Head Boy. You’re already a Prefect, and you’ve got the grades, the intelligence, and the ability to make people listen to you. So, yes, I think you’ve got just as much a chance as any of the other candidates.”

He peered at her and his eyes softened considerably for a few moments, but instead of smiling happily at her words of encouragement, he seemed almost regretful. “You really believe that, don’t you?”

“Of course I do. Why wouldn’t I?” She replied matter-of-factly. “You aren’t the same boy as you used to be. We’ve both changed a lot in the past few months.”

He stood from his seat, still holding her hand in his, and picked up his book bag from the table in front of them. He leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. She stared up at him, a curious look on his face, like he wanted to say something, but couldn’t. She wanted to reach out to him, to let him know she was there if he needed her for whatever it was he was hiding. “Draco, I love you. You know that.” Her voice trembled noticeably at saying those words again, because it had gone unsaid except for that one time. But she wanted him to know it hadn’t been said in the heat of the moment. “Nothing anyone says or does can change how I feel about you. It took a long time for me to admit to myself that I had feelings for you, and I’m not going to ignore or deny them.” She pulled away slightly from his embrace and peered up into the grey eyes she could never tire of staring into.

He looked like he was waging some sort of internal battle in his mind, but her heart fell into her stomach when he replied, “Please don’t say that again, Hermione.”

“Why?” she asked, noticing the uncomfortable, anxious flickers in his eyes while she tried to slow her mind from getting carried away with the thousands of reasons why he’d ask her not to say it anymore.

“Because …” He paused as he searched for his reply. “Because I can’t say it back to you,” he finally answered simply, stepping a few feet back from her.

She caught his hand in hers before he could get too far. She wanted to be sure she wasn’t scaring him; since they’d been together, Hermione had learned a little about Draco’s home life and how Malfoys showed their affection toward each other. Verbal affirmations of love weren’t something the Malfoys often said to one another. She assured him, “Like I told you before, I don’t expect you to say it back to me; I just wanted you to know how I feel about you. I know you’ve been having a stressful time lately, but I’m here for you no matter what.” She stepped in, trying to lean in for a kiss, but he pried his hand from her grip and retreated a few paces.

He gave her a long, solemn look before turning his back to her. He put his hands on his hips, took a deep breath, and dropped his head in front of him. In a controlled voice, he said, “Well, you told me how you feel … so you can stop saying it now.”

She wasn’t sure how to react, so she repeated her question, “Why?” The butterflies in her stomach were working overtime.

“I just think it’s a bit sudden, that’s all. We’ve only been dating for a few months and suddenly we’re talking about love.” His eyes darted about anxiously as he ran his fingers through his soft, floppy hair.

“We’re not talking about it, Draco. I just said it because it was how I was feeling at the moment. And I still feel it, but I didn’t say it to pressure you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she explained, searching his eyes, and that seemed to assuage his nerves a bit. “You’ve been patient with me,” she said referring to Draco’s willingness to put on the brakes when their kissing got too intense, “and I can be just as understanding. I realize you might still be a little stunned, but I don’t want you to pull away from me because of it.”

Slowly, Hermione approached her boyfriend and wrapped her arms around his waist. At first he tensed at her touch, but as she squeezed him close to her, she could feel him relax against her. He turned in her embrace and she relaxed herself in his arms as he held her close against his body. She stood on her toes and pressed her lips against his for a soft, sweet kiss. He kissed her back for several long minutes before pulling his lips from hers and holding her tightly in his strong arms. “You’re a very stubborn witch, you know that?” he whispered into her hair before kissing the top of her head.

As she buried her face against his chest, she smiled. “So I’ve been told once or twice.”

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“Getting lots of work done?” Ginny asked pleasantly.

“What?” A startled Hermione asked in reply, looking up at her friend from her window seat in the common room. Ginny gestured toward the sheets of parchment on her lap and quill in her hand. “Oh no, not really. I was just writing a letter to my friend Isabel at Beauxbatons. I got an owl from her this morning and I wanted to send my reply to her before the weekend,” Hermione explained as she shuffled some of the papers around, causing a few to flutter to the ground.

Ginny bent down and picked them up, her eyes noticing every sheet was blank. “Feeling very prolific, I see,” she quipped with a wry grin. “Or did Ron replace your real ink bottle with Inviso Ink in one of his feeble attempts to make sure the twins’ practical joking legacy lives on in the Gryffindor common room?”

“No, for once Ron is innocent,” Hermione laughed lightly. “Although I wouldn’t put it past him to try. I guess I’m feeling a little preoccupied, that’s all.”

“About Draco?” Ginny offered. She had never seen Hermione looking as uncertain as she had in the last couple of weeks. Though Hermione hadn’t said anything outright to her about the situation with Draco, Ginny could tell something was troubling her highly logical friend. She’d hoped Hermione would confide in her a bit and talk to her about what was on her mind, but Ginny also knew how stubborn and willful Hermione could be. Ever since they had gotten together, Hermione had defended her relationship with Draco to all the naysayers and cynics, who doubted they were for real. She’d had a lot invested in proving them all wrong and showing that a Mudblood Gryffindor and a pure-blooded Slytherin could date happily. Knowing Hermione as she did, Ginny realized the amount of pressure the other girl must have placed on herself to make her relationship with Draco succeed was probably ten times more than anyone would have expected. She watched as Hermione’s gentle smile faded into a melancholy expression.

Hermione’s eyes filled up with tears, but she brushed them away before more than just a few could escape and trickle down her smooth, round cheeks, and blushed in embarrassment. “I feel so stupid, Ginny,” she scolded herself. “Look at me crying like some silly girl … and over a boy. I’m pathetic.” She exhaled in exasperation. “Pretty soon I’ll be asking Parvati and Lavender to give me a makeover and want to stay up all night discussing my dream date and whether red will be the only colour to wear next season.”

Ginny couldn’t suppress a chuckle. “That wouldn’t happen, Hermione.” She smiled slyly. “Next season’s colour is purple. Everybody knows that.”

That got a genuine laugh from Hermione and helped stem the tears, which were on the brink of tumbling down her cheeks. “See, I can’t even manage being a proper girl for a few minutes.”

Ginny sat down next to Hermione and rested her arm around the other girl’s shoulder. “You’re too hard on yourself sometimes, Hermione. You don’t have to do everything perfectly all the time.”

Hermione appreciated Ginny’s kind words, but wasn’t so certain anymore. “I’m not so sure about that,” she allowed herself to say. She’d kept her feelings to herself for a few days now, but it was starting to take its toll, and Ginny knew her too well to know that something was weighing heavily on her mind. Secretly she’d leafed through her dorm-mates’ numerous relationship books, all of them seemed to offer conflicting advice, and Hermione wasn’t sure what to do. She was relieved when Draco had finally told her his anxiety was mostly related to the Head Boy interviews, but a little voice in her head told her it was more than that – and for the first time, she doubted her action and thought that expressing her love for him wasn’t such a smart decision after all.

It wasn’t like she’d dreamed it would be. She knew it was irrational and silly, but ever since she was a little girl, she’d always imagined saying those words to someone would lead to a happy fairy tale ending, yet her reality was anything but.

Ginny kept laughing, but the other girl’s trailed off quickly, and she noticed the dark cloud which darkened her friend’s usually bright brown eyes. “Look, Hermione, I know I’m not an expert on relationships since I’ve had … well … none.” They laughed lightly again at Ginny’s candor. “But I’ve grown up watching my parents together and I’ve seen enough of my brothers’ relationships to learn that they’re never easy or perfect. I may not have the experience, but I learned to pay attention. Both people will make mistakes and neither one will always do everything right.” She turned to look directly into her friend’s wan face. “It’s all right -- not to mention perfectly normal – for you and Draco to hit some rough spots. No relationship is always smooth, and if anyone ever tried to tell me theirs was perfect I’d know they were a big fat liar.”

“Thanks, Gin. I think I needed to hear that so I knew I wasn’t going totally nutters.” She smiled appreciatively at the other girl. “I just can’t shake the feeling something’s going on and I just don’t have all the pieces. I wish I could find the answers, but I don’t think I even know what the right questions are,” she admitted in frustration.

Ginny laughed softly. “You’re a very logical, pragmatic person, Hermione, but your heart feels, it doesn’t think. You can’t have all the answers to something like this. It doesn’t work that way. And don’t forget this is the first real relationship you’ve been in too, so of course everything’s going to be new for you because you haven’t been through it before.” She rubbed the other girl’s arm comfortingly. “This is one thing you’ll just to muddle through with the rest of us common folk.”

Harry watched the two girls from across the room. Although he couldn’t hear what they were saying, he knew what – or rather who -- they were discussing. Though Hermione couldn’t see it because she was too close to the situation, Harry knew getting involved with Draco would be bad news for her from the start. Draco Malfoy was trouble, and there was something not quite right about him. Harry had faced off against Draco so many times since they were eleven that Harry could tell when Draco was up to something, and Draco’d had that old gleam in his eyes for a couple of weeks now. Hermione might have seen Draco’s tender side – and Harry wasn’t altogether sure one even existed - but she’d never seen first hand the shrewd, wily look Draco got when he was calculating his next move, which Harry had witnessed more than once during their intense, highly competitive matches. Draco might be playing the loving, dutiful boyfriend to everyone who looked (including Hermione), but every once in a while when he thought no one was looking, Harry would catch glimpses of the Draco only he knew.

And he was going to find out why … for Hermione.

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On Friday evenings the Slytherins had Quidditch practice after dinner. The sun would be setting soon, so Harry needed to hurry if he was going to talk to Draco before the Prefects’ meeting. He snuck down and waited outside the locker room and waited for the Slytherin Seeker to emerge. Finally, the blond head poked out the door and the young man began walking swiftly to the castle accompanied by Malcolm Baddock and Goyle. Harry inhaled a deep breath and called out, “Hey Malfoy, you got a minute?”

Draco ceased his footsteps, but he did not turn at Harry’s request. “What do you want, Potter? My autograph’s not for sale.” His teammates chuckled and slowly Draco turned to face the Gryffindor, his shoulders thrust back in arrogance, his wet hair slicked back in the front with the ends curling up and brushing the collar of his robes. For a moment, Draco could have passed for Lucius’ twin. Draco’s voice sliced through Harry’s scrutiny of him. “Well get on with it, Potter. I have someplace to be. Don’t just stand there gawking in admiration.”

Harry approached the Quidditch players and looked pointedly at the extras. “I need to talk to you … alone.” Harry watched as the other boy’s lips curled into a wry smile and could guess what his depraved, perverted mind was thinking, so he added, “It’s about Hermione.”

Draco’s eyes darkened and he glanced at his friends then nodded at the door. “I’ll be in shortly.”

The boys watched until the Slytherins were almost at the castle then Draco turned back to Harry and eyed him curiously. He shifted his weight to his left side and asked, “So why do you want to discuss my girlfriend with me?”

Harry stood his ground. He wanted answers. “She’s upset and I know it’s because of something you did or said. I want to know what it was.”

“Did Hermione tell you I upset her in any way?” Draco asked with a knowing smirk.

“No,” Harry answered shortly. “But she doesn’t have to. Hermione’s one of my best friends, Malfoy; I can tell there’s something bothering her. It’s written all over her face. So what’s going on?”

Draco nodded like he was thoughtfully mulling over what Harry said as he slowly began moving in a circle around the other boy. “Let me ask you this, Potter: if you and Hermione are such ‘good friends,’ why doesn’t she just tell you herself? I thought she confided in you about everything,” he commented with a trace of resentment in his voice. “Weren’t you the first person she confessed to about me?”

“Yes, I was, and yes, she does tell me things because that’s what friends do.” While Draco paced around him, Harry didn’t follow, staying in his place and speaking firmly. “But the thing is, I don’t think Hermione knows what’s going on … but you do. She’s too blinded by whatever she thinks she feels for you to see what I see.”

“And what’s that?” Draco asked, pausing his steps. Harry could hear the dry grass rustling beneath the other boy’s feet directly behind him, grey eyes boring through the back of his skull.

“That you’re up to no good. Something’s not right,” he said shaking his head as he turned to stare directly at Draco, watching for a glimpse of truth. “And I wouldn’t be the least bit surprised if it had something to do with your father’s impromptu visit,” he remarked shrewdly.

Draco’s smirk twitched ever so slightly, but his eyes betrayed nothing. He commenced his pacing again. “I don’t think that’s it at all. You’re just grasping at straws. I think what’s really got you so pissed off is that Hermione doesn’t go running to you anymore with all her problems. She’s got me to lean on now, and you can’t stand that she’s closer to me than she ever was to you.”

“What? That’s insane,” Harry exclaimed, but with less conviction that he would have liked. Though Hermione had not drifted from him, part of him did fear he would lose her to Malfoy. “We’re just as close now as we were first year.”

“Oh really,” Draco replied silkily, stopping his feet and moving in closer to his nemesis. “For nearly five years, you were practically joined at the hip with her, and it’s taken me less than six months to get further with her than even you could with your whole All Hail the Conquering Hero image.” He sneered at a flabbergasted Harry, stunned into silence by Draco’s audacity. “You may have caught the Snitch before me every time for the past five years, but imagine how much further I’ll be with Hermione in another six months,” he taunted, his lips curling into a knowing, insulting sneer.

“For heaven’s sake, Malfoy, she’s not some trophy to this twisted competition between us,” Harry shot back in disgust. “She’s supposed to be your girlfriend.”

In one swift movement, Draco stepped close to Harry, invading the other boy’s personal space so that their toes were practically touching. At first his cool grey eyes shimmered with cruel triumph, but then he smirked patronizingly and tilted his head to one side. He extended a hand casually and brushed some lint nonchalantly from Harry’s black robes. “That’s right, Potter,” he acknowledged. “Hermione’s my girlfriend, not yours. So stop acting like anything you say has any bearing whatsoever on her relationship with me. It’s none of your bloody business.”

“Hermione is my best friend; anything that deals with her is my business,” Harry reasoned in an even yet determined voice. He had come here for answers and he wasn’t going to fall for any of Malfoy’s bait to veer him off track. “Tell me what your father said about Hermione after the Quidditch match, Malfoy. You’ve been acting strange ever since then and I need to know if Hermione’s in danger because of you.”

“Who do you think you are, Potter?” Draco asked incredulously. “Asking me about private conversations I have with my father. They’re none of your bloody business. You don’t hear me demanding to know what you discuss with your father.” His eyes got a malicious glint in them. “Oh wait. I almost forgot. That would be a pretty one-sided conversation, wouldn’t it?” He sneered cruelly as he peered at the other wizard with pure disdain.

Harry was so stunned, he could barely see straight. Ever since Hermione had started dating the blond devil, Harry’d seen less callous sides to Draco, but now it seemed he was reverting to his old, vicious self. Harry stared into the cold, metallic eyes and slammed his arm into Draco’s chest, practically knocking both of them to the hard, semi-frozen ground. “You filthy, twisted, sodding …”

“Hands off, Potter,” Draco growled with a cold, menacing tone as he struggled to get free from Harry’s tight grasp. Harry didn’t know how he contained his fury as Draco straightened his robes and took a few steps toward the safety of the castle. He watched wordlessly as Draco sneered, “Don’t forget I’m a Prefect and I can take points from your house any time I bloody well feel like it. Speaking of, I have a Prefects’ meeting to go to right about now. Don’t worry, I’ll be sure to keep your little fit of jealousy from Hermione. I’d hate to see you make an even bigger arse of yourself than you already have.”

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Hermione had just returned from the library. Some Gryffindors had told Harry they’d spied her in there after the Prefects’ meeting had concluded. It was close to lights out, but she was no stranger to staying up late on a Friday night doing homework. Of all the nights for the Head Girl to call a mandatory Prefects’ meeting it had to be tonight … Fridays were when Hermione and Draco went their separate ways and spent time with their friends. Harry had waited anxiously for her to get back because he really wanted to talk to her. Now that she was here, he didn’t quite know what to say.

She situated herself at a corner table in the common room after saying hello to several students. As he’d waited for her to return, he’d pondered whether or not to discuss his odd conversation with her boyfriend. Normally Harry tried to avoid discussing Malfoy with her for obvious reasons -- he hated the pompous prat and was awful at hiding it -- but finally Harry decided -- yes. She had a right to know. He gathered up his things and made his way over to her just as she was prying a thick library tome and her favourite quill from her overstuffed bag. He cleared his throat to get her attention, and she looked up at him with her usual sweet smile. “Hermione, I need to talk to you about something,” Harry said unsteadily.

“What is it, Harry?” Hermione asked, hearing the concern and trepidation in her best friend’s voice. He obviously had something on his mind, and she felt comforted that at least one boy in her life felt he could talk about something with her. As she twirled her quill between her fingertips, she asked, “What’s wrong? Is this about the trip to Hogsmeade tomorrow? Because I already told you, I want to use the time to do some extra work on my Potions project. Do you want to stay with me and do some work on yours as well? ”

He shook his messy head distractedly, barely registering what she’d said. “No, it’s about Malfoy.” He sucked in a deep breath. “Before the Prefects’ meeting he and I …”

But before Harry could continue, Hermione jumped from the table and dropped her quill on her book. “Oh no! I wanted to grab a copy of the preliminary final exam schedule. The Head Girl said she would leave some if anyone wanted to take a look at it. I was talking with Draco after the meeting and forgot to grab a copy of it while I was in the Prefects’ office.” She looked quickly at the large clock in the common room. “It’s almost curfew, but I should be able to get there and back in plenty of time.”

Harry jumped back, startled by her sudden movements. “Can’t it wait? Final exams aren’t for another three months. I really wanted to talk to you about this.”

“No, I’m sorry, Harry, it can’t. But I’ll be back quick. I promise, and then we can talk, okay,” she said in a rush as she made her way to the entrance to the common room. Before Harry could say another word, she was out the door.

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“I can’t believe I was so stupid,” Hermione muttered to herself as she hastened down to the third floor to the Prefects’ office. “Of all the things to forget – the exam schedule. Everyone’s going to want to know what comes first,” she continued as she got to the door, took out her wand, and spoke the password, “Flibbertigibbet.”

She opened the door, shuffled inside, and was greeted with a rather surprising sight … the smooth, naked back of a young woman, who was leaning over something on one of the couches. The young woman was panting loudly and moaning happily … and there was another voice echoing her groans of rapture, a lower, huskier male voice. Hermione had obviously interrupted something intimate.

Hermione dropped her wand clumsily in her shame at walking in on such a private moment. She could feel her cheeks redden in embarrassment as she bent over to pick it up. “Oh my gosh. I’m so sorry for interrupting,” she apologized quickly as she heard the girl gasp in surprise at being disrupted and the rustling of blankets near the couch. It was common knowledge that some of the older Prefects took advantage of the solitude and exclusivity of the Prefects’ office to enjoy some alone time with their significant others … but until now Hermione had been spared of ever seeing it first hand. “Just pretend I wasn’t even here,” she said as she stood to turn back toward the door.

“Not bloody likely,” an irritated female voice sneered. “Has anyone ever told you what awful timing you have, Hermione?”

Hermione’s feet froze at the other girl’s voice for she recognized it immediately, but it was strange for that girl to be in here – Lissanne wasn’t a Prefect and Hermione didn’t realize the new Slytherin was involved with anyone. Plus she was supposed to be getting tutored by Draco for some advanced Charms they hadn’t taught at Durmstrang.

In an instant that seemed to last a lifetime, Hermione’s stomach started to churn with a sickening, dull pang. All the sound was sucked from the room and a million thoughts zinged through Hermione’s mind. The only light in the room was from several floating candles, most likely lit to create a romantic atmosphere for the two young lovers. As her eyes adjusted to the dim light, Hermione knew without even having to look. Her heart fell into her gut and leaped back into her chest repeatedly. Her eyes darted quickly at the scene on display before her, but it was all disjointed, like separate pieces of a puzzle hastily pasted together to create a crystal clear, revolting picture. Legs, arms, fingers … and soft white gold hair shimmering in the warm glow of the soft candlelight.

Finally her gaze settled on his grey eyes; they were vacant, emotionless and completely foreign to her. It had been a long time since she’d seen that icy stare directed at her.

Lissanne’s condescending, menacing voice cut through the dense air like a sword. "Don't look so shocked, you self-righteous paragon of virtue. Did you really think I needed that much help with my Charms homework for all these months?" She rubbed her hand possessively and seductively along Draco’s arm. "Did you really think someone like Draco would be content with a few kisses and some light petting for long?” She scoffed at Hermione. “And here I thought you were smart.”

The last thing Hermione saw before she turned to run out the door was Draco’s unblinking, heartless eyes staring right at her like he hadn’t just ripped her heart viciously from her chest just for the pure enjoyment of watching her crumble before him.

… to be continued