Old Moon Fades

Old Moon Fades

Chapter Twelve: Revelations

Harry woke the following morning feeling only moderately guilty for instigating the fight between his two best mates. He dressed quickly while Ron thrashed about the dormitory obviously still enraged about the argument with Hermione. Seamus had been the first to feel the full brunt of Ron's anger when he'd innocently asked the reason for the commotion, to which Ron answered by chucking his Potion's book straight at him. Needless to say, Seamus didn't venture asking a second time, while Neville and Dean wisely stayed away and mere minutes upon waking, hastened from the dormitory down to the Great Hall for breakfast. It was only after the three of them were gone that Harry felt brave enough to venture a furtive glance Ron's way.

He'd calmed down significantly since his earlier outburst and was now perched on the edge of his bed staring down at his feet in dejection. Lying on the floor were his very worn pair of leather shoes that he'd most likely inherited from one of his older brothers. Without warning, Ron reached down grabbed a shoe and threw it against the far wall. Neither Harry nor Ron spoke for several moments but Ron did his voice was much quieter than Harry had expected it to be.

"Of all the people at Hogwarts, why does it have to be him?"

Harry paused a moment regretting even more his outburst the previous night. "I'm sure Hermione has some kind of explanation. I mean, she couldn't possibly see anything in Malfoy anyway."

Ron stood up quickly and turned on Harry, every ounce of anger and shame burst forth from his body as his voice boomed. "That's not what you said last night! The way you were talking, they've been making eyes at each other all term!"

Instantly Harry knew what was really at the heart of Ron's anger and cursed his own stupidity for not having realized it sooner. It wasn't that Hermione was keeping a secret from them, well that was part of it, but it was more that he'd insinuated that she was infatuated with Malfoy, or at least the other way around. That was what Ron was so angry about. They had never talked about it before, Harry and Ron, but it was understood between them. Ron liked Hermione. He liked her in a different way than Harry did. To Harry, Hermione was sort of sisterly in her own way, and sometimes rather motherly. But Harry knew that Ron didn't think of her that way, not that he'd ever said as much. He didn't need to. It was obvious to everyone else, the gestures, the fighting, the way Ron became all undone when she was around. While it may have been obvious to everyone else, it might not be so with Ron. Harry didn't think that Ron had quite worked out his true feelings for their friend. And last night was definitely a blow. This was worse than Viktor Krum. Worse than a thousand Viktor Krum's. This time it was Malfoy. Malfoy, who'd written "Weasley is Our King," who'd kidnapped their best friend, whose father had been in league with Voldemort, who probably held junior Death Eater meetings in Slytherin common room. This was Malfoy, the same Malfoy who in second year had hoped that Hermione would become the next victim of the Heir of Slytherin, the same Malfoy who'd very nearly killed her himself that very summer. No wonder Ron was tossing his shoes about the room and books at his roommates, Harry felt very much the same way in that moment. But reason won out in the end as it very seldom did anymore with him, and Harry felt the need to be the calming presence in the room.

"Ron, maybe you just need to try talking to her. Tell her how you feel..."

"NO!" Ron turned from him and ran his hands through his hair. His voice was quiet and hollow. "If I tell her then it's said. I could never take it back. She'd know how I... I just can't. Not now."

Ron still wouldn't look at him but Harry could tell that his face was very red. When Ron finally turned back around the freckles on his cheeks had momentarily melted into his deep blush. Harry knew that Ron was embarrassed; he'd never said anything about his feelings for Hermione before that morning.

Ron walked slowly across the room and bent to retrieve the shoe he'd tossed. Eager to change the subject he brought up Quidditch as a diversion.

"So, Quidditch tryouts are at the end of the week."

Harry eagerly took up the topic change. "Yeah. We need to fill the two open Beater positions and the Chaser positions."

Ron flashed a grateful look at Harry for conceding to the change in topic and continued. "Ginny mentioned that she might go out for Chaser this year, since she obviously won't be playing Seeker anymore."

"Ginny'd make a good Chaser," Harry said. "But it's all up to Katie this year, isn't it?"

"Yeah, she's got a good chance though. I'm sure."

"Yeah, a good chance."

* * *

Hermione had already eaten breakfast and was headed toward the library for some early morning studying by the time that Harry and Ron made it down to the Great Hall. She was still shaken and upset about the fight and wasn't eager to encounter either Ron or Harry in the hallways or common room. She was very glad it was Wednesday as she didn't have any classes with either of them.

The new scheduling system had taken some getting used to but she readily acknowledged the logic of it. Naturally certain career tracks necessitated varying classes and different applications of the subject matter. The Diplomacy track was one of the more difficult of the choices because it required such a broad base of classes and a stringent course load. She was still required to take Potions, Transfigurations, and Charms because they were all very practical classes and because a broad knowledge base would prove useful with a career in the Ministry. Muggle Studies and Arithmancy were required to further broaden the spectrum, and just for fun Hermione elected to continue with Advanced Runes because it was, after all, her favorite class.

Once in the library, Hermione set her things down at a quiet table toward the back. The morning sunlight filtered through the long parallel windows and heated the cool air. She sat with her back to the sun and let the warmth infuse her as she neatly arranged her homework in front of herself on the table.

She pulled out her Arithmancy homework and tried to concentrate on it but found that she couldn't. The fight last night and the look on Ron's face as Harry had fueled the fire were just too much to bear. She'd laid in bed that night shaking with humiliation and anger and sadness because of the truth of it all. Everything Harry had said, all the mean, nasty things were all perfectly true. She'd barely been able to sleep, let alone work on next week's homework for class. The grief was just about to overwhelm her when she noticed Malfoy sitting alone a few tables away. He didn't seem to have noticed her however and appeared to be going over his homework as well.

The light from the windows fell across the floor slowly and gently caressed his face and hands as he worked so diligently on his homework. She'd never really spent more than a few seconds looking at him, no longer than she had to certainly, and never as he was so preoccupied. She really felt quite guilty for staring but found that she couldn't look anywhere else. There was a difference in him from the previous year, an almost quieter feeling about him that Hermione doubted anyone had really noticed. Until that moment she hadn't noticed either.

The sun caught his silvery hair and warmed it so that it radiated in brightness. His skin, that she'd once thought so pale and rather sickly looking practically glowed in the morning sunlight. His hands moved gracefully across the stack of parchment and as he held his quill. It caught her by surprise that she'd never seen hands that graceful before that moment. Ron's hands were large and bony and Harry's were, well she'd never really noticed them much before, not really. But, Malfoy. Malfoy had truly beautiful hands.

She stopped suddenly, frightened of the thoughts she'd just had. She shouldn't be thinking any part of Malfoy was beautiful. She should hate him or pity him in the very least. She repeated to herself that she should never, ever admire him in any way. She didn't want to make the things that Harry'd said true.

It took her a moment to realize that she was still staring, and yet another to register that he was now watching her. His face didn't hold malice. That was the first of her revelations. That it held confusion and loneliness was the second. And then it was gone, almost as quickly. She barely had time to process it before he'd schooled his face into his signature sneer. It didn't look right on him anymore, not after the way he'd looked just a moment ago, so free and perfect in the sun.

Quickly she looked down at her homework, well what was done of it anyway. But, it was hopeless. It was just a mass of numbers; she couldn't make any sense of it now. After a brief inner battle, one that she lost, she glanced back up hesitantly at the source of her distraction. He was gone. His homework and quill had vanished as well. She surveyed the room and nearly shrieked when she saw him pull out a chair on the opposite side of the table, her table, and drop his things down onto the surface.

He was still wearing his sneer. "Morning Granger," he said elegantly as he sank into the chair as if it were a throne. He watched her from beneath pale brows as his voice drawled, "I hope you had a pleasant night's rest."

It was the weight of her argument with Harry and Ron and her own guilt for keeping his secrets that caused her to lash out at him. "Just what do you think you are doing here, Malfoy?"

"It's called studying. I'm sure it's a concept you're familiar with, is it not?" He stretched his legs out underneath the table as he un-stacked his books, drawing out the Arithmancy text and opening it in front of him. Casually he glanced over his parchment again, ignoring her completely.

It was frustrating, his calmness. How could he just sit there so coolly while she was torn in pieces as a result of his appearance? Angered she questioned, "Do you mind?" She threw her arm wide and gestured at all his things crowding the table, her table.

He looked up from his studying and smirked. "No, of course not. Here let me help." He reached over, across the table, and gathered her things into a tidy corner. He met her eyes and said, "There now, isn't that better?"

His eyes dropped down to her homework lying unfinished in front of her. His smirk returned almost wickedly. "What?!" she questioned inelegantly as he continued his perusal of her homework. "I'm not letting you copy if that's what you're here for."

He rolled his eyes and leaned back in his chair again. "Oh relax, woman. I was just going to point out a mistake, but... oh, never mind. I'm quite sure you can work it out on your own."

"A mistake? I can assure you that there is no mistake!" But even as she said it she knew that the likelihood that there was one was high. She hadn't been able to work on it last night and even when she tried she'd only put forth a modicum of effort.

He surprised her when he reached over and pointed out the error. He didn't elaborate or criticize, as she would have done in his position. He waited until she spotted it and then leaned back again in his chair, almost as if it never happened. Hastily she made notes in the margins and corrected the error as he went on about his own work. If he was amused by her energetic response he didn't let on about it initially. It wasn't until after she had it fixed and had moved on to the next problem that he let the evidence of his amusement show through.

"What exactly is it that they teach you in those Muggle schools? Certainly not rudimentary math skills."

"Manners," she shot back vindictively. "Apparently that was a sorely neglected piece of your own education."

"Granger, you wound me!" He clutched his heart in mock pain and sneered. "Retract those claws you wild beast before you do serious injury to someone."

"Very funny. Honestly, if you hadn't just shown some sense of feeling towards someone other than yourself, then I'd be forced to jinx you."

He almost smiled. Almost. "And that's the thanks I get for saving you from failure? We should study together more often Granger if it means immunity from your violent tendencies."

She folded her arms over her chest and sank inelegantly back in her seat while Malfoy gloated over his apparent victory. She thought he'd get up and leave after their sparring but he didn't. He stayed where he was on the other side of the table flipping casually through the pages of his text. She didn't ask him to leave and the fact that she wasn't running from him either weighed heavy on her heart.

This arrangement, or lack thereof, was too undefined, too chaotic to be comfortable. Mere months ago she never would have foreseen this almost human-like side to Malfoy. It was as if he had two sides, the first being his "persona," the side that the world saw and identified with. And then there was the other side, the private side that he kept hidden from view, tucked away like the underground chamber of Malfoy Manor. She had seen the inside of that room, had lived out some of her worst fears and greatest revelations in that room. And now she was sharing a table with him, well sort of sharing, more like occupying the same space. It was almost as if she could see inside his soul or something, the secret chamber inside his heart, if he would let her that is.

He was much like Harry in that way, with the secrets and the duality of his nature. She had seen Harry at his finest hours, fighting Death Eaters in the Ministry, warding of Dementors, battling Trolls. But, did she really know him? Did she truly have access to the inner workings of his mind? Up until last year she would have immediately answered yes to that question. Now however, now that he was keeping so much to himself, hiding his secrets, she wasn't so sure. Maybe she didn't know Harry quite as well as she thought that she did. It sickened her to think that maybe she knew Malfoy better than she knew Harry, that maybe it was easier to understand Malfoy now that she knew his secret.

Cautiously she peeked over at him. He was deeply involved with his studying and she took advantage of the silence and his inattention to continue with her introspection. She knew that it must be hard for him to deal with the concept of being "less" than what he thought he was. She could relate. When she'd first received her Hogwart's letter detailing to her parents that she was a young witch, her magic ripe within her, she'd been overjoyed. Immediately her parents had sent off for books on the subject, anything they could find, and eagerly she delved into a world of wonder and almost endless possibility. Then the unspoiled vision of her new world came crashing down around her. The portrait in her mind of the pristine world she would enter became daunting and grotesque. She realized that the magical world was bound by prejudices just like those of the Muggle world. In wizarding society those whose lineage was sullied with "tainted" blood, dirty blood, was considered inferior. Being of Muggle lineage she was deemed as less than the others, akin almost to animals in status.

Now however, she wanted to change all that, she wanted to reform wizarding society; she sought the preservation of the welfare of all magical beings, whether it be witches and wizards or house-elves. The entire purpose of S.P.E.W. was not wholly intended for house-elves, though she'd certainly thought that they should be given rights. S.P.E.W. was merely an extension of her broader goals of reform: the equality of all wizards regardless of blood status.

Now, possibly with Malfoy, she had an ally. To the world he was a Pureblood of perfect heritage, he was almost like a race horse, bred carefully with the intent of the creation of a perfect tool. And that's what he was to Lucius Malfoy, to Voldemort. Well, they were wrong about only one thing and that was the cause his son would symbolize: the equality of wizarding society, not the destruction of it.

He sat across the table from her, only a few steps away, wholly unaware of the plans racing through her mind. She needed him; she needed him to make it work. If she had Britain's most influential young wizard on her side, willing to fight or at the very least back her up, then she might have a glimmer of hope for meeting her goals somewhere during her own lifetime. With Malfoy's help, willing or not, she would be an unstoppable harbinger of social reform. She was clever enough; she'd easily learned to manipulate people into achieving her own goals. Hadn't she led Umbridge to the centaurs by latching onto the woman's own prejudices and letting her nail her own coffin closed? True, she felt horrible about it, but it had been necessary. They'd all thought that Voldemort held Sirius captive in the Ministry, and though she'd been skeptical of Harry's vision at the time, she had knowingly participated.

Hermione continued to mull over the new prospect of an unwitting ally in her cause for social reform and barely registered that the first class was about to begin until Malfoy rose from the table and gathered his books into his bookbag. She was doodling absentmindedly on a corner of her parchment, her mind far away, when he roused her from her thoughts.

"That was the bell, and if you don't fancy being tardy, I'd suggest you hurry up." He stood next to her chair and looked down on her impatiently. The sun was brighter and danced like melting fire on the surface of his skin. Hastily she began cramming her things into her bookbag and hoisted it up on her shoulder. She struggled under the weight of too many library books.

He noticed her struggle and for a moment ignored it and turned to walk away. She fell into step behind him, and feeling too much like a puppy following its master, or a house-elf for that matter, she boldly stepped up beside him. It was merely a walk to class and it angered her that it took so much for her to do so little. As she fell into step beside him, he eyed her narrowly before nodding his head minutely. It was then for the first time in many months that Hermione felt that maybe things were falling back into place. She felt a strange sense of oneness with herself and yet a hollow feeling dropped down into her heart. She felt almost incomplete. Trying to compensate, she hoisted her bookbag higher up on her shoulder and grunted at the weight.

Again Malfoy looked down at her. This time he sighed in exasperation and with a roll of his eyes he stopped in the middle of the corridor and pulled the bookbag from her shoulder.

"Honestly Granger, why do you insist on lugging bricks around in this thing? You really should consider stepping down from your high horse and hire a house-elf. They're really quite handy, you know. Excellent for all the heavy lifting." He spoke so bitingly that she felt momentarily stung. That feeling was shortly replaced with anger.

"For your information, they're not bricks, you moron, they're books. You know... to read? As for the house-elf bit, it getting quite old. I'm sure you'd agree seeing as how you were probably raised by one, what with your mum and dad away hatching evil plans with the Dark Lord."

He'd been watching her with increasingly narrowing eyes all during her speech. His cheeks flamed slightly but the color recessed and all at once he caught her by surprise yet again: He laughed. It was a deep laugh, a true laugh, and if she thought him beautiful as he'd sat in the sunlight of the library, at this moment with his head thrown back and one hand loosening his tie, she thought him almost unnaturally attractive. She immediately pushed the thought away and stamped down on it hard to eliminate it from existence.

When he stopped laughing his eyes still danced. The steel grey colored to almost blue and pierced her own, as other eyes watched amazed at the scene in the corridor. He seemed to sense the other students as well and in amused bravado swept her bookbag onto his shoulder and beckoned her on to Arithmancy.