'Yes,' she said, again.
'But you didn't love me before,' he said. 'You didn't love me…before the potion?'
Hermione shook her head very slowly. 'Not like this.'
'Oh,' he said blankly, and then, 'How long is this meant to last for, Hermione?'
'I think,' she said, 'that it's meant to be permanent.'
'Oh,' he said again. He still looked stunned.
She reached out uncertainly towards him, and lightly took hold of his arm. The material of his jacket felt as rough as sand beneath her fingertips. She looked up into his face, and her heart turned over. It was as if her longing was so intense that it had a shape and a color of its own. 'I'll figure out how to counteract it,' she said desperately.
'I know there's a way. But we can't tell Harry- '
Draco looked startled. 'Hermione, you have to tell him,' he said, and she pulled back.
'What?'
'Are you really expecting him not to notice?' said Draco in a tight, strained voice. 'He loves you. He notices everything you do. You think he's not going to notice this?'
'Notice what?' said Hermione stubbornly. 'There's nothing to notice. Nothing is going to happen, except that I'm just going to have to suffer this — this horrible mistake — until we get home and I can figure out how to counteract the spell.'
'Horrible mistake?' said Draco, with a very faint and unmirthful smile. 'Ouch.'
'All right, maybe I shouldn't have said 'horrible.' Maybe just
'mistake.''
'Yes, that certainly makes it all better. Look, Hermione, I know you don't want to hurt him, but he'll understand that this is temporary and not your fault — '
'He'll be angry with me,' said Hermione. 'But I don't mind that. I was thinking of you.'
'Of me?'
'I don't want Harry to hate you. Because he needs you.'
'Harry doesn't need me.'
'Yes,' she said. 'He does.'
'Hermione-' Draco passed a hand over his eyes, and sighed. 'God, you're stubborn.'
'He needs you,' she repeated, her voice rising to a nearly hysterical pitch. 'You know this will hurt him, and that it's you will make it worse- everything's so fragile already, and with this — '
'Harry's not that fragile,' he said.
'Well, neither am I,' said Hermione. 'And I can fight this. And I will.'
'You think you can fight it?' said Draco, and now he looked angry.
'You think you can fight what you feel, every second of every day, and pretend everything is fine, and it'll be easy?'
'It's not forever,' she said. 'It's just until I can reverse the spell.'
'What if it can't be reversed?'
'Every spell can be reversed,' she said.
'Not Avada Kedavra,' he said, and she shivered.
'That's death,' she said. 'This is just a love spell.'
He reached out and put a hand under her chin, tilting it so that she was forced to look at him. He was almost exactly the same height as Harry — she had to look up, but not too far up, to see his eyes.
'What does it feel like?' he said.
'What does what feel like?' she asked, although she knew what he meant.
'The spell,' he said.
She heard her own voice as if it came from far away. 'When I look at you, I want to die.'
He was still holding her face in his hands, and as he stared at her, she saw his eyes soften, silver turning to gray. 'Don't look at me,' he said. His voice was soft, too, a voice he never used with anyone but her. 'Don't look at me, don't talk to me, don't even come near me.
And I won't come near you. It's the only way.'
'All right,' said Hermione miserably. He was right; she didn't see what else they could do.
He let go of her, and she stepped back away from him.
'Let's go,' he said.
As they rounded the side of the tower, Hermione saw Harry and Ron, standing in front of the wall, looking anxiously up at it as if they expected her or Draco to appear on top of it at any moment.
Ron was saying something to Harry, and Harry was shaking his head, not vehemently, but she could tell even from this distance that he was disagreeing firmly — and she paused there for a moment, just wanting to look at them — her two best friends in the world, whom she had been terrified she would never see again. Even the sight of them arguing with each other seemed unutterably endearing.
