Chapter 11
Weeks passed. November storms turned into December snow and the castle erupted in tinsel and holly. Hermione tried to pretend her biggest problem was getting to and from Herbology in the ghastly weather, but she mustn’t have been very convincing.
“Do you have somewhere to go for Christmas?” Malfoy asked as he was packing up after their Monday session.
Hermione looked away, heart clenching at the implied since you certainly can’t spend it with your parents.
“Of course I do. I’m spending it with Harry and the Weasleys.”
Malfoy gave a curt nod.
Hermione avoided looking at him as she packed up her things, not wanting him to catch a glimpse of the shadow that had fallen over her. But as always, she could almost physically feel his eyes drilling into her, cutting through all the layers of ‘normal’ and ‘pleasant’ she shrouded herself in.
Hermione was halfway to the door before he blurted, “Do you want to talk about it?”
Hermione’s heart flittered. She pretended very hard that it hadn’t as she turned to face him. “Huh?”
“Do you want to talk about it? You’ve been all mopey since they put the trees up.” He was leaning casually against their desk, much too observant and much, much too attractive and she hated him.
“I’m fine.”
Malfoy scoffed, and she turned swiftly back towards the door, shoving it open and escaping onto the chilly seventh floor.
“Wait!” Malfoy cried, pushing through the door behind her. “Why can you never let me speak before you storm off?”
“You’ve been speaking for the past few hours. Do you love the sound of your own voice that much?”
“You know what I mean, Granger. We were having a conversation.”
“No, actually. You asked if I wanted to have a conversation and I declined.”
“I just want to make sure you’re ok.”
Hermione’s stomach most definitely did not flutter at this. The same way that it didn’t drop when he passed her in the halls without a second glance. If she just kept telling herself this, kept pushing it down, then surely she could fix her little problem.
“I’m perfectly fine. It’s not my fault you can’t distinguish being cold and miserable all the time and moping.”
“Don’t bullshit me. You love winter.”
“Where did you get that idea?”
Malfoy sighed.
“You do realise we merge our brains into one three times a week, right? I’ve managed to pick up on a few things. You like having a reason to wear your fuzzy socks, and layer as many blankets as you want, and wear scar-”
“Ok, fine! I get it.” Hermione said, more snappish than she’d intended. Inside, she was panicking. If he’d picked up on that, what else had he noticed? Surely not her problem. He would have said something. She may not have believed that he would use it against her anymore, but surely something would have changed if he’d figured it out.
“The point is, you’re clearly upset. And whether you like it or not I… don’t like that you’re upset and I want to know if there’s anything I can do.”
Hermione ground to a halt at the end of the corridor, checking they were alone before speaking.
“Aren’t you worried someone will overhear you expressing concern for Hermione Granger’s wellbeing? As far as everyone knows, we hate each other.”
Malfoy cocked his head in mock confusion. “Don’t we?”
Hermione snorted.
“I mean, just because you’re a pathetic slug who should rightly worship the ground I walk on doesn’t mean I shouldn’t be concerned for your welfare.”
She tried desperately not to laugh at this. He used the opportunity to stalk slowly towards her, smirking.
“In fact, once I manage to enslave you and all your disgusting kind, I plan to be a benevolent ruler. I don’t want to have to deal with any pesky rebellions.”
“Malfoy! Someone will hear you,” Hermione whisper-shouted through stifled laughter.
“So what? Everyone knows I see you as lowly scum not fit to lick my shoes. What scandal could possibly come of it?”
“Malfoy!”
“Fine. To answer your question – no, I’m not worried. But if you are, we can go back inside, because I’m not going to drop this.”
A quick glance at his face revealed he was serious. Hermione sighed, and continued walking. They never saw anyone around this close to curfew, and the chill would be keeping most of the students out of the halls anyway.
“Fine. What do you want?”
“I want to know how you’re feeling about spending Christmas with the Weasleys.”
Hermione took some time to think about this. After realising that none of what she said would make its way back to any Weasley-affiliated ears, she decided to be honest.
“To tell the truth, I’m not looking forward to it. My family was always pretty quiet about Christmas. We’d open presents in the morning, visit Grandma for lunch back when she was still alive, and then order take-out for dinner. Oh, and we’d make Christmas cookies.”
“What’s take-out?”
“It’s when you order food from a restaurant, but you eat it at home instead of there.”
“What’s the poi- it sounds fun.”
Hermione rolled her eyes as his attempt to be polite. It was a bit strange to watch, but she appreciated it.
“What does your family usually do?” she asked.
“I… suppose it’s not too different, actually. We’d do gifts in the morning, spend lunch with family, and dinner was spent with whoever was hosting that year.”
That… wasn’t what she’d been expecting. “I assumed it would be more elaborate.”
“It was when we were hosting the dinner. The elves would decorate the whole manor and we’d have the ballroom and the upstairs parlour scrubbed and set up for once.”
“Ohhh, so that’s what you meant by hosting.”
Hermione might have imagined it, but Malfoy actually looked a little bit pink.
“So what horrors are in store for you this year?” he asked.
“There aren’t any horrors. I enjoy spending time with the Weasleys. It’ll be nice to see them. It’ll just be very… loud. There’ll be more food than anyone can possibly eat and realistically at least one quidditch match I’ll be roped into refereeing. They’re lovely people, you know.”
“I don’t doubt it. Still sounds highly unpleasant.”
Hermione bristled. She was dreading how overwhelmed she was going to be the entire day, along with everyone’s sympathetic looks and food being shoved down her throat until she felt like she might burst. But that didn’t mean she didn’t love her de-facto family. They’d taken her in so readily, made it clear they were there for her, that they wanted to see her for the holidays.
“Well, who’s hosting the grand, slave-sponsored Christmas ball this year?” she taunted.
Malfoy’s spine stiffened.
“The Zabinis, as far as I know. We’re not invited.”
“Oh…”
They walked in silence for all of ten seconds before the words bubbled up past Hermione’s better judgement and out her throat.
“Is it because of the situation with the Ministry?”
Malfoy stopped in his tracks, stormy eyes snapping to hers. She lowered her gaze to his tie.
“How did you know about that? How long have you known? Who told you?” he shot at her like arrows in quick succession.
“I…”
Was he angry at her? Should she have brought it up sooner? Would Nott get in trouble? Malfoy sighed in in frustration, pinching his nose.
“It was Theo, wasn’t it? This has ‘Theodore Nott’s ring of gossip and drama’ written all over it. When did he tell you? What information did you give him for it?”
Hermione relaxed a bit. At least she wouldn’t have to choose between lying and betraying someone.
“A couple of months ago. And I didn’t trade anything for it – we aren’t all like that, you know. He just told me.”
“Correction, you don’t think you traded anything for it. Theo doesn’t give out information like that for free.”
Malfoy leaned back against a nearby tapestry, arms crossed.
“Well, now you know. The great house of Malfoy has come to ruin, or will soon, most likely. I don’t expect sympathy from you of all people, but I would appreciate some discretion.”
“They’ve decided, then? They’re taking your assets?”
“Not yet, but all the sources I have are pointing in that direction.”
Over the last month, Hermione had gotten significantly better at reading Malfoy. Since that first time his icy façade had broken down and she saw the unexpectedly decent person beneath, she’d been hyperaware of any cracks, embarrassingly fascinated with what lie beneath them.
This was one of those times Malfoy was struggling to look haughty and unaffected, but couldn’t quite hide the slump in his shoulders, the turbulent mess of emotions in his eyes.
“There’s no chance anyone from… your side’s mentioned anything about it, is there?” he asked.
“Not that I’m aware of.”
She couldn’t stop herself from staring as he exhaled heavily and rolled his head up to look at the ceiling, avoiding her gaze. He looked so close to breaking. And she wanted to see through that mask so badly.
“So, you’ll lose your house?”
“That’s the idea.”
“And your money?”
“Yep.”
She needed more. What would get him worked up?
“Have you spoken to your father about it?”
She was on the right track. Malfoy’s nostrils flared as he almost shouted, “That’s none of your business.”
So close.
“What about your mother?”
Malfoy’s face crumpled slightly before he got it under control. He suddenly looked years older.
“Please don’t talk about her,” he almost whispered, deflated.
“I’m sorry… Are you close?”
Malfoy sighed. “I don’t want to talk about it.”
Nope, he wasn’t getting off that easy. “Like how I didn’t want to talk about my parents?”
Malfoy’s face was a grey, dreary sky as he looked back at her.
“We haven’t spoken about your parents. We spoke about Christmas.”
Hermione drew herself up to her full but still rather unsubstantial height. “Draco Malf-”
“Fine… fine. We’ll trade. But in return you have to answer one question for me. Deal?”
Typical. “Deal.”
Malfoy sighed and nervously fingered his signet ring.
“We were close, growing up. Obviously, due to our status there was a certain level of distance and decorum expected, but she always hated leaving me with nannies. She tried her best. She did what she could to shield me from… everything. Did you know she lied to… him? That Harry was dead?”
“Yes, he told me.”
He nodded and avoided her gaze. Vulnerability looked odd on him.
“Everything she did was to protect me. And I was absolute shit at protecting her back. She hasn’t been coping well with everything that’s happened. What with my father being locked up and the stress of this Ministry business. I… need to be able to support her even if I don’t have the Malfoy wealth behind me. She’s strong and I know she can take care of herself, but she shouldn’t have to. Not after taking care of me for so long.”
Malfoy glued his eyes to the floor when he’d finished speaking. It was strange to see him like this, without that haughty mask. To see him as a son who loved his mother. For so long, she’d thought he wasn’t capable of putting anyone before himself. Now, she wasn’t even particularly surprised.
“That’s part of why I need a Muggle Studies N.E.W.T. I don’t know how bad things will be for us in the wizarding world when all this is over. Mother already can’t do any of her shopping in person without getting heckled. And if I need to get a job, who knows who’ll hire a Death Eater?”
“Ex-Death Eater,” she cut in, still processing the rest of what he’d said.
The corner of his mouth lifted in a feeble attempt at a smile.
“Ex-Death Eater. If we can’t survive in the wizarding world, we’re going to need the muggle one as backup.”
“You… you want a N.E.W.T. in Muggle Studies in case you can’t get a job in wizarding Britain?”
“Well it’s not the only reason, as we’ve discussed. But it’s part of it. Besides, what if it never ends? Do you think I want my kids growing up in a society that constantly shames them for their father’s actions?”
“People wouldn’t-”
“People do.” Malfoy sighed heavily, and rubbed at his brow as if trying to remove the crease there.
“No, maybe they wouldn’t. I forget sometimes that not everyone’s memory is as long and unforgiving as what I’m used to. But I’m not taking any chances.”
Hermione couldn’t believe her ears. She could barely even follow his logic. “Why wouldn’t you just… move to America or something?”
“How would that help?”
“No one would know you.”
Malfoy scoffed.
“You’re really not well-acquainted with pureblood society, are you? I can name all the major American houses and their heirs, as I’m sure they can all name the British ones. We visited America regularly before the war. And France. And Italy. We wouldn’t be able to escape that easily.”
“Oh…”
So Malfoy was seriously willing to live a muggle life if he had to? Again, the image of Malfoy in a muggle career came to her mind. This time, he straightened a stack of paper and wore a neat suit. His face was blank as he read about dividends and returns. Hermione wrapped her arms around herself at the chill it brought her.
“Do you really think that would ever happen? That you’d have to leave?”
“It doesn’t really matter what I think will happen. It’s not up to me. My job is to be prepared for every possible scenario.”
They stood in silence for a while, Hermione fiddling with her bag strap.
“Anyway, my turn.”
“Oh,” she started at the sudden noise. She’d completely forgotten about their trade. What would he try and get out of her? She really wasn’t in any sort of emotional state to talk about her parents.
“What’s your favourite colour?”
Huh?
“My favourite colour?” Had she heard right?
Malfoy nodded, staring straight at her, his eyes having regained that electric quality that was so uniquely him.
“I guess… blue?”
“What kind of blue?”
“I don’t know. Maybe like a dark, muted one. Like navy. Or indigo. Or teal.” Why had he asked this? Of all the things…
Malfoy nodded sagely and crossed the tiny distance between them. Hermione’s heart jumped up to somewhere around her ears as he reached for her tie, pulling it out from under her jumper and holding it up to her face.
“Blue suits you.”
Hermione couldn’t speak. Couldn’t think. He was so close, staring at her intently.
Why was he always, always looking at her?
The spell was broken as he dropped her tie and stepped back, walking away without a word.
A few minutes later Hermione was back in her dormitory, trying to process the last half hour. Why was it that the more she learnt about Malfoy, the more she wanted to learn? Would her damned curiosity never be sated when it came to him?
Now that she could add ‘cares about his mother’ to her ever growing list of exclusive Malfoy facts, she wanted to know so much more. Was Narcissa as staunch in her hatred of muggleborns as Lucius? Had Malfoy inherited any traits from her? It never ended.
And the other thing he’d said…
Blue suits you.
She could still feel the ghost of his proximity, sending tingles through her spine and making her restless. It felt like something under her skin was aching to be set alight, consumed, ruined. If he’d just reached a little further… touched her face, her hair… what would that have felt like?
Something told her that, too, wouldn’t have been enough.
***
The next morning Hermione found herself sitting with a fresh-off-the-pitch Ginny, the red-head gobbling down everything within reach like she hadn’t seen food in days.
“So, how was practice?”
“-ood,” Ginny mumbled through a mouthful of hash brown. “I wish Dartworth would stop going on about Malfoy, though. It’s not like he was even that good. I’m worried they’re gonna make me switch to seeker if O’Connel doesn’t get his act together.”
Oh. She hadn’t even thought about that. Did Malfoy miss Quidditch? As far as she knew, he hadn’t even tried out for the Ravenclaw team. After last night she couldn’t help wondering if it had been because he hadn’t wanted to, or because he knew he hadn’t been wanted.
“Oi! Earth to Hermione.” Ginny said, waving a sausage at her.
“Oh! Sorry… yeah, that’s not good.”
“Are you feeling alright? You’ve been out of it all morning.”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Just tired from homework.” And from the Malfoy-induced restlessness that had kept her from sleep last night.
“Good, because there’s a party on Friday and you’re coming.”
Friday? She had plans with Malfoy on Friday. It was a Muggle Studies day as well, so she didn’t want to skip it given what she now knew about his motivations.
“I… don’t know. I’m pretty busy.”
“Oh, come on!” said Ginny, grabbing her shoulder and shaking her. “I know you need books like you need air but you’re seriously going to burn yourself out at this rate. Just come. It’s in the Slytherin common room. It’ll give you a chance to see my new lair.”
“Your lair?”
“It really does have lair vibes. You’ll see if you come!” Ginny’s eyes were wide and sparkling.
“I’ll think about it.” She wouldn’t think about it. She would make the responsible choice and honour her commitments. She’d never liked parties anyway.
“I’ll hold you to that,” Ginny said, poking her.
They ate in silence for a while before Ginny looked up at her much more seriously.
“There’s actually something I wanted to ask you about.”
“Huh?”
“Where have you been going after dinner lately?”
Hermione choked on her juice.
“W-what?” she coughed.
“Every time I ask if you wanna study together you say you have plans with Padma and Sue in your common room, but I asked Sue yesterday and she says she never sees you until you come in for bed. Dean never sees you in the library at night either. What’s going on?”
Hermione withered under Ginny’s shrew, dark gaze.
“I… prefer to study alone, honestly. I just didn’t want to offend anyone who asked me.”
“Ok. So where exactly is this solo studying taking place?”
“There’s usually an empty classroom or two left open in the evenings.”
“You mean the ones with no fireplace or heating charms after the last class?” Ginny’s eyes were digging into her uncomfortably.
“I am a witch, you know. I’m perfectly capable of casting my own charms.” Hermione forced herself to hold Ginny’s gaze, knowing from experience that people just assumed she was lying if she didn’t.
Ginny eyed her suspiciously, before turning back to her food with a sigh.
“Fair enough. Just don’t isolate yourself too much, kay? It’s not healthy.”
Hermione could have collapsed in relief. It took all her willpower to keep her tone steady.
“Yeah… thanks, I won’t.”
***
When the door was safely closed behind her and Malfoy in their extraction room, Hermione decided to bite the bullet and get it over with.
“So… there’s a party on Friday.”
“I know. Blaise invited me. I’ll be going.”
Oh, thank God. That made her life easier.
“Will you be there?” he asked.
Hermione’s heart, traitor that it was, did a little jump. Why would he ask if he was indifferent? Did he want to see her outside of their sessions for once?
It’s called small-talk, Hermione, the more rational part of her brain helpfully supplied.
“Yes, if we’re cancelling the session on Friday I probably should go. Ginny’s getting a bit suspicious.”
Malfoy simply nodded, fiddling with the potion station as he did every extraction session.
She felt strangely unsettled. They’d both be going, then. That was probably what was causing that feeling in her chest. She needed to stop being so silly. It wasn’t like they were going together. They would spend the night at opposite ends of the room, not exchanging a single glace.
It would just the same as it was in class. And in the hallways. And at meals.
No. Hermione was getting her extraction done in less than a minute, she needed to get a hold on these gloomy, incriminating feelings.
She was excited to spend time with Ginny in the evening for once. It had been ages. She missed her. And maybe she could invite Sue and Padma if someone hadn’t already. Daphne would surely be there. It would be fun. So much fun.
Would she get to see Malfoy in something other than school robes for once?
“Are you ready?” said the frustratingly persistent derailer of her thoughts, holding out her vial.
“Erm…” Hermione scrambled desperately for an excuse as to why she wouldn’t be. She needed to get back in control of her mind before he came anywhere near it. She hadn’t worked so hard in all her previous extractions for this one to be her undoing.
Thankfully, Malfoy took that as a no, and walked away to sit in his usual chair. Hermione, as always, was on the lounge.
“Is there something you’re worried about?” he asked.
Yes. You. And my stupid feelings for you.
“Are you worried about reliving the Da- Voldemort’s return?”
Perfect.
“Yeah… a bit. It was really scary,” Hermione replied, trying to sound small and timid.
Chancing a look up at Malfoy, she was met with a raised eyebrow. She huffed.
“Look, I’m never exactly enthusiastic about these things, ok? Just give me a moment.”
That should do it. Irritation was a reliable ally to her cause.
“Ok,” she said after a few moments of steeling herself, and reached for the blue vial.
On the count of three, they downed their respective potions and Hermione fell back into memory.
“There you go, dear. That should do it.”
Madame Pomphrey pulled away and held the mirror up to her face.
The nurse’s questions about pain and swelling fell into a jumbled heap somewhere at the bottom of Hermione’s brain as she gawked at her reflection.
Her teeth. They were… normal. She barely recognised herself as the joy bubbled up inside her and a grin erupted across her face. She almost looked… pretty. No, surely not. Not her. She couldn’t be pretty. She was Hermione Granger, just brain with an extraneous, disappointing body. Bucktoothed and frizzy-haired.
But she looked so normal. She could accept that. She looked normal. She looked like other girls.
“I said, are you feeling any swelling, Miss Granger?”
“No, sorry. I’m fine,” she replied, chastened.
As Madame Pomphrey nodded and walked away, she cried out a quick, “Thank you!” realising she’d forgotten.
So, this was a pivotal moment? voiced the disembodied Malfoy in her head.
Oh, shut up.
Hermione tried desperately to stifle her embarrassment. No one had ever seen her as one of those girls. The ones who actually knew how to do their hair and make-up and smelt like cherries and knew which of their clothes matched each other. That had been the problem. A part of her had wanted, desperately, to feel as pretty as they looked. She’d wanted their confidence, their overt and uncomplicated femininity. But, being her, it had always felt so out of reach.
She also had to stifle the hurt.
You did that to me, you know. You hexed me.
Oh… I’d forgotten. I’m sorry.
It’s fine.
It wasn’t fine, really, but the tinge of guilt coming from Malfoy’s thread assuaged the ache in her heart a little.
I guess if you hadn’t, they wouldn’t have been shrunk. Maybe I should thank you.
Don’t thank me, I was a complete git. I’ll make it up to you somehow.
There’s nothing to make up, the problem’s solved, she replied. Besides, he’d done worse to her.
There was silence for a bit as fifteen-year-old Hermione ran her tongue over her new teeth and tried to get used to this new expansive feeling in her chest. The one that straightened her shoulders and brightened her eyes.
They weren’t that bad before, you know, Malfoy shoved to the forefront of her consciousness again.
Hermione internally scoffed. She wasn’t that stupid.
I’m serious, Malfoy asserted.
She didn’t have time to argue with him before her surroundings shifted and she was sitting outside by the lake, devouring chapter 17 of her History of Magic textbook. Snow had been reluctant to fall that year, and Hermione’s coat and gloves and the jar of sapphire flames next to her were enough to keep her comfortable.
Immersed in the Goblin Rebellion of 1563, she started when she heard the crack of a twig in front of her. Looking up, she found Viktor Krum standing in front of her in what looked like exercise gear.
“Ahhh… Her-mi-own?”
“Yes?”
The fifteen-year-old Hermione was suspicious. Why was he talking to her? Did he want information about Harry? She wouldn’t give it to him.
Krum shifted anxiously as Hermione scrutinised him. His mouth opened and closed a few times before he finally got the words out.
“Ze Yule Ball… You are going vith Potter?”
Oh, honestly… why did everyone think they were dating? Although she did sort of want to go…
“No. We’re really not together. I wish people would ignore all that gossip nonsense,” she huffed.
“Ahh. So vith someone else?” he asked, not meeting her eyes.
“No. No one’s asked me.” What was he getting at? If he wanted to ask how Harry was getting on with the egg this was a strange way to go about it.
Merlin’s pants, you were that oblivious?
Stay out of it, Malfoy.
“Oh, I vas hoping… well… would you vant to go with me?”
Huh?
Was this Viktor Krum asking her out? What? Was this some strange fever dream? Had she inhaled anything odd lately? Her brain could hardly process what was going on. This didn’t happen to her. It happened to other girls, but not her. Her heart was speeding up, pumping blood straight to her cheeks.
Hermione’s face must not have been giving the reaction Krum was hoping for, because he turned his to the ground and took a tentative step back. No. No no no. She would miss her chance. Who knew if she’d get another one?
“Yes!” she blurted out.
He looked back up with wide eyes.
“I’d love to go with you.”
Would she? She had no idea. She’d figure it out later. But for now, all she needed to know was that this guy was standing in front of her, wanting her. No one had ever really wanted her before. She counted herself lucky to have friends. She didn’t ever dare be more ambitious than that.
She suddenly felt a disturbance coming from Malfoy’s thread. It felt like… pity? God, that was embarrassing…
Krum’s smiling face was quickly replaced by an image of Hermione in a periwinkle blue gown, perfectly normal teeth exposed in a wide smile and hair tamed by an entire bottle of Sleekeazy. Checking and double checking that her dorm really was empty, she gave in and did a twirl, giggling with joy as the fabric flowed around her legs. The shoes were digging into her heels, but she didn’t care. She looked pretty. She felt pretty. She couldn’t stop staring at herself – at her hours of work.
She’d been so afraid to try at first. What if, after all the hair potion and make-up and perfume, she was still just her? She was still just plain, bossy, bushy-haired Hermione? But to her relief, she didn’t look like her at all. She looked like a girl. One that understood all this stuff. One that boys asked out all the time.
She felt very silly as tears pricked her eyes, and – again checking that no one was watching – flapped her arms violently to get the odd, squishy feeling out. As she shook it off, it was replaced by an exuberant lightness in her chest. She wasn’t going to cry over this, she was going to enjoy it.
After checking that her eyes were dry and swooshing her skirt around her one more time, Hermione bounced off to the Entrance Hall, trying desperately to keep from jumping for joy like some toddler.
This memory was embarrassingly long, detailing how her heart had fluttered as Krum – Viktor – had greeted her with a kiss on the hand, the euphoria she had felt when dancing, how endearing she had found Viktor’s attempts to pronounce her name correctly. The older Hermione was internally panicking all the while. This was too much. Too personal. This was even worse than Malfoy seeing her temper, her meltdowns, her isolation. He had so much to laugh at, to tease her raw about.
She braced herself for the taunts, but Malfoy remained suspiciously silent.
And then came the row with Ron. The bullshit about ‘fraternising with the enemy’ and his bitterness that she hadn’t waited around to be a convenient date for him. Because of course that was how he saw her. No one could possibly be interested in her. She was still just Hermione. No amount of hair potion would ever really be able to fix that.
She had done well, for one night. Viktor had liked her. She was sure of it. But he would most certainly stop liking her as soon as she slipped up. As soon as she became too… her… in front of him.
Why couldn’t Ron – the stupid git – let her have just one night of this?
As Hermione ran up the stairs to her dorm in tears, she felt the now familiar lurch of her brain bringing her back to the present.
Oh no.
She was too mortified to even look at Malfoy. Hermione didn’t want to see the stifled laughter in his face. She was attempting to gather her things with shaking hands when he spoke up.
“You know… you’ve always been a girl.”
“I’m well aware of that, Malfoy.” Hermione’s voice came out much shakier than she’d intended. She was certain her face was bright red, though she was trying very hard to ignore that.
“No… I mean… It didn’t seem like you were aware-”
“Shut it, Malfoy.” Don’t laugh at me don’t laugh at me don’t laugh at me.
Hermione was nearly out the door when he called, “Ron’s a git, you know.”
She didn’t respond. She was too busy blinking furiously, trying to hold back the flood of tears that wanted out. She didn’t quite succeed, and her eyes may have been vaguely pink by the time she finally reached her blessedly empty dormitory. Hermione fell into the blissful oblivion of sleep vaguely wishing that a meteor would strike her bed before she woke.