Nitwit

Nitwit

Hermione left the house into the stillness of twilight. She tucked her wand up her sleeve, and ducked into the dim alley.

"Not a smart move, Hermione," she said to herself. Who knew what was in that alley?

Then again...who cared?

She sat down and tipped her head back against the wall. Tomorrow she was going to the Dursleys, bright and early, and she should be packing.

There was something more important she had to take care of first.

She opened the letter with her OWL results in it, old, but symbolic. She ripped it in half, then fourths, and finally eighths.

She, Hermione Granger, best friend of Harry Potter, Muggle-born and smart, cried. She cried silently, but her body shook, the emotional tidal wave she had kept bottled up rose, and she slid onto the ground. She didn't care that she was lying in dirt; she didn't care that there was no privacy, or that someone could find her. All that she knew is that she would look for Horcruxes; she wanted to, and it was expected.

But at what cost?

Her future, her NEWT's, her options, and her life?

She let the sobs quiet on their own, until they were only hiccups. She sat up and looked around. It was dark, and she shouldn't be there. It would be easy to be murdered here, she thought.

"Thinking about suicide, Mudblood?" asked a cool voice. She turned to her right and saw Draco Malfoy, tall, handsome, dangerous, and standing next to her.

"Not a chance, you nitwit," she replied coolly. "I have class."

"You have class? Now there's a laugh!" He chuckled. "Class, really." Draco sat down next to her. He looked her over carefully. "You're a mess," he said simply. Hermione looked him over with similar coolness. He didn't look normal. His hair was disheveled and there were bags under his eyes. He had a tired, worn feeling seeping from his pores. "His vibes," Hermione said aloud.

"My what?" said Draco bemused. "Never mind."

"Do you care to explain why you tore up your OWL results?" Draco asked her.

"Not to you."

"I'm not the enemy."

"And I'm Father Christmas."

Draco lifted up his sleeve and showed her his right arm. "No mark."

"What are you doing in a Muggle town?" asked Hermione suspiciously. "I thought you were a pureblood."

"Hiding, if you must know."

"Hiding? From Snape and Voldemort? Yeah, right. You're probably here to kill me."

"It's possible."

Hermione stayed right where she was, and they locked eyes.

"If I was here to kill you," said Draco. "I'd have done it already."

"Would you?"

"I'm a marked man, like Potter."

"What did you do?" Hermione slid closer to him. It was getting chilly.

"It's what I didn't do that counts," said Draco dully. "I'm a nitwit."

"Blubber, Oddment, Tweak," said Hermione automatically.

"What?"

"Don't you remember Dumbledore's speech in our first year? A 'few words,' he called them."

"No."

"Pity."

"Yep."

"I'm going home," said Hermione finally. "I'm cold."

"I'll probably be dead by morning," said Draco. "Will you kiss me?"

"Hmm?"

"Kill me, kiss me, what's the difference?"

"A life sentence in Azkaban."

"I see." Hermione leaned in and kissed him. He moaned softly, her lips so soft, and so sweet.

"That's another difference, nitwit," she said. She stood up and left Draco there, alone and cold.

"Ahh, Draco, kissing Mudbloods now, traitor?" asked a voice. "I would have expected more from you. But then again, you are weak."

Hermione turned around in time to see Lucius.

"Take him, Granger, and I won't kill him."

"Hermione, please," Draco pleaded desperately. Hermione hesitated, for just a second, and in that second-

"This is your chance, Granger," said Professor Snape, apparating at Lucius's side. "How smart are you?"

She reached out for Draco's hand just in time.

"You've saved this pathetic excuse for a son for now," hissed Lucius.

"Nitwit," said Draco softly.