The Lion and the Serpent

Chapter 2

My Favourite Mistake

I woke up and called this morning
The tone of your voice was a warning
That you don't care for me anymore

I made up the bed we sleep in
I looked at the clock when you creep in
It's six a.m. and I'm alone

Did you know when you go
It's the perfect ending
To the bad day I was just beginning
When you go all I know is
You're my favorite mistake

Your friends are sorry for me
They watch you pretend to adore me
But I'm no fool to this game

Now here comes your secret lover
She'd be unlike any other
Until your guilt goes up in flames

You're my favorite mistake

Well maybe nothin' lasts forever
Even when you stay together
I don't need forever after
It's your laughter won't let me go
So I'm holding on this way

Did you know, could you tell
You were the only one
That I ever loved
Now everything's so wrong

Did you see me walking by?
Did it ever make you cry?

You're my favorite mistake
You're my favorite mistake
You're my favorite mistake

It was just after six when Hermione woke up, the sun peeking over the Scottish horizon. And she was alone in the bed. With a sigh she sat up, pulling the strap of her nightgown up to her shoulder and running another hand through her hair. The curtains were halfway open, through which she could see that Dean and Seamus both still snored in their beds, that Neville's was empty - accounting for the sound of the shower running in the adjoining bathroom - and that Ron's bed was as immaculate as it had been last night. When Harry had taken her hand and laid kisses down her neck, had coaxed her... who was she kidding, he hadn't coaxed ANYONE. She had willingly followed him to bed, as she always did.

With a quiet sigh, she slipped out of the bed and went to the window closest to his bed, grateful that her red silk nightgown went to her mid-calves this morning, from where you could see the Quidditch pitch clearly. Sure enough, a single speck drifted above it and she raised her hand to the paned glass - as if reaching out to Harry. But as hard as she always reached, she could never quite connect.

Harry loved her, there was no doubt of that. And she loved him. But, it wasn't any sort of undying, pure love or even a romantic sort of affection. She was his best friend, he hers - they had lost their virginity to each other. It was.... comfortable. Easy for Harry. Unbelievably painful for Hermione.

He would take her to bed, but couldn't wake up to her. He could kiss her but there was no real feeling behind it. Every display of affection, rubbing her neck, an arm around her waist - it meant nothing to him. It had once met everything to her, until she truly realized that this would never be what she needed in a relationship. There may be women who could accept that kind of stilted, though well meaning, affection and friendly attraction for a lifetime - but it wasn't for her. Hermione wanted someone whom when she walked into a room - his eyes were upon her. She wanted someone to talk to about her interests, Harry's eyes glazed when you went beyond Quidditch and bitching about teachers, becoming hard when you mentioned anything about Voldemort - she wanted real love. Real attraction. To feel something real.

She took a deep shuddering breath as a hand touched her shoulder and she turned to face her other best friend.

"Hey 'Mione." Ron gave her a lopsided grin. "What're you doing up so early?"
She shrugged. "I woke up and Harry was gone... I was worried."

Ron's eyes turned sympathetic and Hermione bit back a sob. She hated being this focus of pity, for trailing after Harry when everyone knew he only saw her as a friend, and a warm bed partner.

"I know you worry about him, 'Mione - but you don't need to," Ron spoke softly, trying not to wake up Dean and Seamus.

"If I don't who will?" she asked bitterly, crossing her arms over her chest. She watched Harry suddenly point his broom towards the ground and shoot down, spiralling. She held her breath. It was beautiful and moving to watch him fly but it scared her silly. Behind her, Ron put his hands on her shoulders as together, they watched the Boy Who Lived plummet towards the ground, waiting until the last possible second to pull up. Hermione shut her eyes tightly as he sped towards the sky again. She could imagine the look of fierce joy and concentration on his face right now. Flying was the only place where he truly found happiness anymore.

"He's depressed, Ron," she whispered.

"He's been depressed since fifth year."

"No, Ron - I mean he's really depressed. I'm scared. With those reports of increased Death Eater activity... how long is it going to bed until he has to face Voldemort again?" Hermione could picture Ron's flinch at her words as his grip on her shoulders tightened. "He's getting reckless. I don't even know if he wants to win anymore."

"He does. He has to. He's our only hope."

She nodded quietly and turned around in Ron's embrace to bury her face against his strong chest, breathing in deeply. Her nose wrinkled and she pulled away. "What in hell is that smell?"

Ron shrugged, embarrassed. "Some Muggle aftershave Justin uses."

She stepped back, hands on her hips. "Ronald Arthur Weasley, you promised me that you had broken it off with Justin Finch-Fletchly - what were you calling him last week? 'The lying bastard who I never want to speak to ever again'? You're just setting yourself up to get hurt again..."

Ron shook his head fiercely. "I'm not, Hermione. I have my eyes wide open this time. This is just physical now. No promises, no emotions."

An ironic smile curved her lips. "That's what you said last time," she reminded him softly.

He ran a hand through his already mussed hair. "I'll be OK. I just... ran into him last night on my patrols and we got to talking and then..."

Hermione held up a hand, shaking her head. "Ron, I don't want to hear about you being stupid again. I'm your friend and I love you - but you're being an idiot, you know that right?"

He sighed deeply and slowly nodded, though he looked at her again with a raised eyebrow. "Like you're really one to talk."

She looked away, shifting. "We're not talking about me."

"Now we are."

Hermione scowled. "I know it has to end. It's just..."

"What?" Ron asked, raising her chin with a finger so she had to meet his warm blue eyes with her own brandy brown.

"I - I bring some comfort to him - which he needs Ron, and ... " the look in Ron's eyes was to honest for her to lie like this. She gave a defeated sigh. "Tonight. I'll end it tonight."

"Good girl." Ron stepped forward and brushed a kiss across her forehead. "Now go on back to your own bed, try and get a few more minutes of sleep."

She nodded and returning his kiss across his cheek, slipped out of the sixth year boys' dormitories. She was halfway down the steps to the common room when she stopped.

Harry was pulling off his jumper when he saw her, and completed pulling it over his head before he spoke. "Hey."

"Hey." She shifted, uncomfortable, above him on the stairs.

He stepped up to brush her cheek. "When did you wake up?" He craned his neck to kiss her but she laid a hand on his chest. It was now or never it seemed, a perfect opportunity for what she needed to say.

A soft, "No, Harry," escaped her lips.

"No?" he asked, surprise crossing his features.

She shook her head miserably. "I - we, can't do this anymore. It's too hard. I don't even know what we are, and I need to know where we stand."

"We're friends, 'Mione." Harry gave her a slight smile.

"Friends who screw each other? Friends with benefits? I don't want that, Harry. I thought it would be enough - but it's not."

"I see." Harry gave her a long look, then shrugged. "If that's what you want."

Hermione bit her lip. "It is."

"Okay."

They stood for a long moment, neither one looking at each other until Harry sighed. "Can I go take a shower now?"

Hermione sucked in a breath, nodding and stepping to the side so he could pass her. She turned quickly and ran down the stairs lightly, so he wouldn't see the tears trickling down her cheeks. She was in the common room when she saw Ginny slip out the portrait.

---

It was always warm in the Infirmary, so Ginny pulled off her over robe when she entered that morning, leaving herself in her blouse and skirt. There were three patients in beds, two second years who had snuck out of the castle and had managed to eat poisonous winter berries, their two beds at the very front of the infirmary. Ginny checked both of their temperatures, satisfied they were declining steadily, before she slipped to the very back, to the other occupied bed. She slipped through the curtain around Draco's cot and stopped to look at him.

He was beautiful in the sun light, as it made his nearly translucent skin glow. He had more colour to his cheeks today, and his arms were bandaged so that you could no longer see the two long scars. Scars he would bear for the rest of his life, magicked so that they could not be properly healed. Ginny sat at the side of his bed and checked the wraps over his ribs and taking in his parched lips, dipped a cloth in the jug of water next to his bed and wiped it across his mouth. She had warmed the water and was gently washing his face when his eyelashes fluttered and his eyes opened.

"Weasley..." he breathed, blinking. "I thought I had hallucinated - you, you look like an angel..."

Ginny gave him a startled smile. "Well, I can assure you I'm not an angel - just ask any of my brothers."

He snorted. "I'm sure." He started to try and push himself up into a sitting position then gave a shocked gasp of pain. Ginny eased him back down onto the bed.

"No sudden movements for you, Mr. Malfoy - your ribs are still very tender and you're still weak from blood loss," she admonished in him in a good impression of her mother.

He gave her a sardonic glance. "How long will I be in here?"

Ginny cocked her head to the side, figuring. "A week, perhaps two."

He groaned and she smiled. "We want to make sure you're all healed up, Mr. Malfoy."

A grey eye fixed her in its gaze. "You called me Draco yesterday."

Ginny frowned. "Did I? Well, that must have been a mistake. It's proper for a healer to address her patients by their formal names."

Draco shook his head at her. "I'm not even a Malfoy anymore, I'd bet you anything my father has already disowned me."

Ginny nodded quietly in affirmation. Draco closed his eyes for a moment and then turned his head back towards her. "You see, there's no point in calling me Malfoy. Call me Draco."

She took a deep breath in. "All right. Now, are you feeling up to some breakfast this morning?"

And so started what was a bad day for Hermione, but a good one for Ginny as a pair of grey eyes remained fixed on her.