I Love You, Don't Touch Me!

I Love You, Don't Touch Me!

Chapter 11

Hermione spent the next few weeks avoiding Malfoy. She took great pains never to be alone at any time that she was outside her common room. Classes were easily taken care of, lots of other students for cover during them; meals were spent with Harry, Ron, and Ginny (when she wasn't trying to get Neville to notice her) and even going to the bathroom was manageable since it was common knowledge that girls practically never went to the restroom alone. Trying to keep a companion when she was spending her regular hours doing homework in the library was tricky, all her close friends knew far too well how long she liked to study for and were full of clever ways to avoid being sucked into an all-evening book-fest. Hermione worked around that by putting up a poster in the common room offering free homework help for all grades under her own, and found a ready stream of younger students signing up for one hour blocks of tutoring from her. All in all she kept herself busy and her mind off a certain Slytherin as much as possible. However, she hadn't been able to avoid run-ins with Malfoy altogether.

That evening as Hermione sat at a long wooden table surrounded by stacks of books and parchment, finishing up her Transfiguration essay while across the table two third year Hufflepuff girls worked diligently on their own essays so that Hermione could look them over when they were done, she thought back to the last few times she had met Malfoy in the halls, or been provoked into speaking to him in class. In Potions last week, for instance:

Malfoy had been walking past her, Harry and Ron's work table on his way to get a potion ingredient from the store cupboard and he had deliberately knocked Ron's arm as he was concentrating on pouring only four drops of Essence of Rosewood into their cauldron of simmering Wishing Potion. Ron's arm had jerked at the contact and he had accidentally poured half a bottle into the cauldron before he could stop himself! The cauldron had turned a putrid orange, frothed violently, then bubbled over and spilled all over their work station, notes and the surrounding floor. Snape had been out of the room at the time, having had to go see Professor Sprout for a refill on Bubertuber puss, another unlikely ingredient needed for this potion, and so there was no one around to stop Hermione from ripping a strip off Malfoy for destroying their perfect (thanks mostly to her) nearly complete potion. She had opened her mouth to let him have it, a slew of acid-filled retorts on her tongue, but she had barely gotten out, "Malfoy, look what you did! You did that on purpose, you arrogant little ferret--!" Then suddenly she felt dizzy and the room had spun for a few moments. She had broken off and grabbed hold of a corner of the nearest work station to try and get her bearings. The acrid smell coming from her spoiled potion must be making her lightheaded she had told herself, and had paused for another moment to take a deep breath and clear her head. The dizziness had gone moments after she stopped talking. However, Snape had reentered the dungeon at that time and Hermione had hastily retaken her seat. Harry and Ron had been glaring daggers at Malfoy from behind her, and had been on the verge a tirade of scathing insults themselves, but Hermione had grabbed Ron's arm and yanked him back into his seat while simultaneously hissing "Harry, let it go, Snape just got back!" under her breath. The boys had complied, both glaring murderously at Malfoy as Snape took one look at the disgusting mess that was now their assignment and given them all zeros with a decidedly unprofessional grin curling his lips. Hermione had glared at Malfoy as well, imagining all the things she would like to be doing to him that moment. She had never gotten a zero in anything before! Even Snape had had to grudgingly admit that she was good at Potions and give her full marks, until now that is. She massaged her temples as her head throbbed painfully in time with each unspoken insult and imagined retaliation that went through her mind. Damn Malfoy had given her a headache, she thought blackly.

And again, only a few days ago, she had been walking back to her unofficial tutoring table in a corner of the library with an armload of books when Malfoy had appeared from the end of a long aisle of shelves. He had made to shove past her and cause her to drop her tall stack of books for a bit of fun on his way out of the library, since there were too many people around to have any real fun with Granger, but Hermione had been one step ahead of him and sidestepped his maneuver. She had spun on her heel and, with a quick accessing glance that told her Madam Pince wasn't nearby, had swung a heavy text at his shoulder, intending to knock him into the middle of the main walkway between the aisles of books instead. But as her arm had swung down through the air a sharp stabbing pain pierced her stomach. She had gasped in shock as the twinge of pain expanded into a full-blown throbbing and Hermione had dropped the book only inches from contact with Malfoy's body. Instead, she had staggered backwards, barely able to hold onto the other books in her arms.

As Hermione had stumbled into the tall side of a wooden bookshelf, one eye squeezed shut against the pain and her book-filled arms pressing into her stomach as if to squash the painful throbs right out of her system, Malfoy had straightened up and stared at her. Gradually his eyes had narrowed and his face had molded itself into a sadistic smirk. He watched her slide a little way down the shelf, her knees knocking together in order to keep her half-standing. He nodded to himself, his smirk widening and turning into a cruel grin. He took two steps toward her so that he was only inches away from her face, then leaned in and hissed right in her ear:

"That's what'll happen to you if you try and rise against those above your station in life, mudblood, doesn't feel so good, does it?"

And he paused for a moment, seeming to savor the gulps and panting breaths as Hermione forced herself not to give-in to the pain and make a real sound and show the agony she was in. He continued:

"Hurts, doesn't it? No less then filth like you deserve. You want to curse me, don't you? But don't even think about using a wand on me, Granger, or any other pureblood; you won't like the result."

And with that he had stepped back again and started to walk away. After a few steps he paused and turned back around. Then he sauntered back up to where Hermione was slowly standing up straight again and rammed savagely into her trembling arms with his shoulder. Her books spilled out of her arms instantly and skidded all over the stone floor.

"Ooops," he muttered in a voice full of spite and, with a condescending grin, he strode quickly down the aisle and out the tall wooden library doors, soon lost to the flow of students beyond.

Hermione had leaned against the shelf for another five minutes after Malfoy's departure taking calming breaths. Slowly she eased herself down into a sitting position and leaned against the shelf base for another few minutes as the sharp pains in her stomach subsided. What the hell was going on here? Every time she tried to retaliate to something Malfoy had done to her or her friends, or even other students that she didn't know, something like this happened. She carefully maneuvered herself forward onto her knees and began to gather her books back into a pile. Then, in the middle of lifting the last book to place it on the top of her stack another memory had come to her:

Colin Creevey had been in the middle of trying hex Crabb one afternoon during a free period after lunch when Crabb had been throwing his weight around and messing with a bunch of second years. But in the middle of the first word of his spell Colin had doubled-over and dropped his wand. Crabb had guffawed heartily and then stumped off back into the castle unharmed.

Another one...

Justin Finch-Fletchley had had a run-in with Goyle in the bathroom which had ended with Justin in the hospital wing with a headache so severe Madam Pomfrey had made him stay three days until it died away. Apparently Justin had come to blows with Goyle before the headache had forced him to his knees and Goyle had retaliated thoroughly before leaving him to be discovered by Filch.

And it wasn't just run-ins with Slytherins that were causing problems...

Dean Thomas had complained of having stomach cramps shortly after a scuffle with a fellow Gryffindor Qudditch player, Ron as a matter of fact, just yesterday. In fact, if their argument had been higher then ten feet off the ground when words were exchanged Dean could've been seriously harmed--because as soon as he had called Ron several choice various of the wrong-end of a Hippogriff after he had accidently smacked him in the back with a miss-guided block from his Keeper's hoops during practice, he had become so light-headed he had nearly blacked out and fallen limply off his broom. Ron only just barely managed to grab his ankle six inches before his head would've hit the ground.

Hermione had gathered the last book and gone back to her study table, body shaking and mind whirling with the confusing memories.

Now, it was a Friday evening in December and Hermione was sitting in the Head Lounge and mulling over the events of the past few weeks. She had been sure that the pain she and her friends were experiencing was due to some curse Malfoy and his cronies had concocted. But when she had heard about Dean's reaction during his little argument with Ron she felt confused. This threw off her theory. She needed to talk her thoughts out with someone. She needed to talk to Harry. He was good at helping her talk things out. Even if he couldn't offer advice he was always a good listener. But Harry had been giving her space since the night in the library; he was avoiding her again, this time at her own request. But she could see the looks he gave her whenever they caught each other's eyes: confused, emotions raging. But he sat with Neville, Dean, Ginny, or Ron at lunch, and only talked-shop in classes. She often saw Ron in deep discussion with Harry but they always broke apart when she came close. Now, however, she would try and seek him out.

Hermione got to her feet, straightened her white blouse, smoothed her beige cords and checked her hair in a mirror by the door. Then she pushed aside a hanging tapestry, climbed through the opening concealed behind it and walked down a short curving hallway lit periodically by magically burning torches. At the hall's end was the back of a portrait. On the opposite side of the frame was the painting of a jolly wizard sitting in a fat armchair. The painting was hung on the wall in a bend around the back of the staircase that lead up to the boys dormitories for ordinary students of Gryffindor Tower. She took a look around the Gryffindor common room and spotted Harry sitting in an armchair by the fire. There was a scattering of other students around the room, mostly fifth and sixth years as it was nearing eleven o'clock. Hermione took a deep breath, squared her shoulders and marched across the room. When she reached Harry's chair she stood to the side for a few moments, waiting for him to notice her.

Harry had heard footsteps come up behind him and looked up to see Hermione standing just beyond him, watching him with wide eyes and a nervous expression in the dim flickering light of the fire. He waited for her to speak, not wanting to push her since he had been on eggshells around her for weeks, hoping that she would truly forgive his blunder and assumption about her and Malfoy so many weeks ago.

"Harry?" she asked timidly.

"Yeah?" he said quietly, looking at her closely, watching her face. She looked tense and nervous.

"I need to talk to you about something. Would you mind coming to my common room for a little while?"

Harry jumped to his feet, surprised but pleased that she had sought him out at last. "Sure. Whatever you want. Right now?"

Hermione took a step back as Harry leaped out of the armchair. She smiled at him, feeling better at his eagerness to come spend time with her. His reaction made her feel slightly better and her heart warmed to him a tiny bit.

"Yes, now. I mean, if you're not busy or something..." She trailed off feeling a little foolish. Harry had been sitting draped across the armchair with not even a book on his lap, the only thing he had been busy at was falling asleep. She blushed.

"Free as a bird." Harry grinned. "So does this mean you're finally going to show me where your top-secret common room is?" Harry didn't know it, but the portrait which hid the Head's Common Room was bewitched with a secrecy charm set only to recognize and admit Neville and Hermione and any guests which were with them. Any other student would only see a blank wall if they headed to the back of the staircase, which wasn't very often at any rate, but the extra privacy was provided anyway.

"Yup." Hermione grinned; feeling more relaxed as the seconds ticked past. "Follow me."

Harry walked beside Hermione across the common room and around the curve of the staircase.

"Intellect over Popularity," Hermione recited when they reached the portrait.

"Quite right, young lady," the jolly old wizard said approvingly as he swung forward to admit the pair.

Across the castle Ron was starting up the stairs in the entrance hall on his way back to Gryffindor Tower. As he reached the top of them he thought he heard something behind him and turned around. Nothing. He shrugged and continued on down the hallway. Rounding a corner and pausing briefly to readjust his book-bag on his shoulder, he heard it again: the sound of footsteps. He froze instantly and slowly peeked back over his shoulder. Again there was no one there.

"Harry, if you're under that cloak with some new gadget that Fred and George want tested on me, so help me...." he threatened darkly, peering around the time hallway but only seeing flickering torches in their wall brackets and a silent suit of armor poking out of a niche in the stone wall. He glared at the armor for good measure, but hearing and seeing nothing he turned around and continued walking again, listening carefully. The footsteps started up again.

He stopped walking. They stopped.

He started. They started.

The steps were soft, light, someone trying not to be heard. All at once Ron spun around, hoping to catch whomever it was that was following him in the act! He was just in time to catch a flash of gold as a figure darted out of sight behind the suit of armor in the next wall niche.

"Who's there?" Ron demanded, planting his feet firmly and staring intently at the spot where the gold, he was almost sure it had been hair, had disappeared. Who had blond hair that would have cause to stalk him in dark, empty, hallways late at night? Malfoy of course! He began to advance on the armor, slowly drawing his wand and wracking his mind for a good curse.

"You have three seconds to show yourself, and tell me what the bloody hell you're doing following me, before I curse the pureblood right out of your self-righteous, no-good as--ARGH!" Ron leaped back from the armor in total shock. The blond figure standing behind it was certainly not the one he had been expecting.

"Well that certainly isn't a very nice thing to say!" the slim, blond girl said in a breathy voice, looking mildly annoyed with him.

"Luna?!" Ron gaped at her. "Why are you following me? Did you get lost or something?" he added as an afterthought, completely thrown as to why the loopy Ravenclaw would be tailing him.

"No," Luna said placidly, her wide pale eyes staring at him intently. Ron shifted, uncomfortable with her direct unflinching gaze.

"Did you want something?" he tried again, shifting his backpack to the opposite shoulder for something to do other then looking at her face. She was quite for a long minute and he finally looked up at her again. Was she--no, she couldn't be--was Luna blushing?

She seemed to be steeling herself to say something, her pale cheeks blooming a soft rose as she took a deep breath and spoke softer, and in an almost normal tone (to Ron's ears), "I only wanted to give you this. But I didn't know where your common room was." That was all. No weird stories. No long, strange sentences full of fancy words and trains of thought that made Luna often sound as if she had drifted into her current conversation by accident, on the wings of a daydream.

Ron stared at her. In Luna's out-stretched palms was a small gold box tied with a lavender bow.

"Merry Christmas, Ron," she said shyly, as he stretched out a long arm and plucked the tiny box out of her cupped hands.

"Er, thanks Luna," Ron said slowly, utterly bewildered. As soon as he had taken the box Luna had turned on heel and all but ran down the hallway.

Ron stared at the box for a few long moments, not sure if he should open it there or wait until he got back to his room in the Tower. He decided to open it in the hallway, just in case it was something strange, as he guessed presents from Luna were likely to be, and he didn't want to have to explain about the gift to Harry or anyone else if it were. Slowly he tugged the ribbon until the bow unwound itself and then lifted the lid and looked cautiously inside the small box. Inside was a tiny red Quaffle pin. He picked it up between two fingers and squinted at it. As he had pulled the pin off its bed of cotton a small piece of paper had fluttered loose. Ron stooped and quickly picked it up off the floor. Unfolding the parchment he read, in small, neat script:

Dear Ron,

I think that you're a great Keeper and a brave wizard. It was amazing how you and the others fought at the Department of Mysteries! I know that you think I'm strange, loony-Lovegood and all that, but I don't care. I don't even care that you don't believe in all the creatures that my Father and I have seen, that's OK, everyone's different. I don't mind that you spent a day puking up slugs in your second year, that doesn't make you any less of a person either.

I just wanted to leave you this present and tell you how I felt since this is our final Christmas at Hogwarts and I likely won't have another chance. We all know that the final battle is coming soon and I'm not so silly as to think that you and Hermione Granger won't go with Harry when he goes to fight You-Know-Who. You might not come back. That makes me sad, but I'm trying not to think about it too much. I saw the pin in the broom shop last Hogsmeade weekend and thought of you. It reminded me of how hard you tried to get on the team and what you had to fight through after you made it on. You deserve your position.

You don't have to say anything to me about this letter. If you don't feel the same way I'd much prefer if you acted like you never got it. I'll be able to tell and won't say anything either. I know that it's very likely that you won't return my feelings but that's ok. I'm not brave enough to tell you to your face, maybe that's why I'm not in Gryffindor, but I really like you. A lot.

Merry Christmas.

Love, Luna

Ron stared at the letter for a long time, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. A love-letter from Luna?!