her.
It was cool outside, but not cold; the air was so clear it seemed transparent. The camp was bathed in milky moonlight; she could see the dim outline of Charlie's tent, and beyond that, the jagged line of trees in the distance.
Charlie had pointed out the where the owls were kept earlier when he had walked her to her tent. She found the small round tent without much trouble, located a diminutive brown owl, and gave it the letter she had written, addressed to Sirius Black at Malfoy Manor. She walked outside, watching the owl as it flew off over the distant line of trees, a small white speck vanishing into darkness.
And then, as she gazed unhappily out at the dark forest, a flash of silver caught her eye.
She walked towards it, not really thinking about what she was doing or why she was doing it, because she knew she had no good reason for being out here. She threaded her way among the silent, shadowed tents, passed Charlie's tent where Harry was sleeping, passed the pen where the dragons waited, awake, their gold eyes glittering like miniature suns against the dark sky. It might, under other circumstances, have struck her as an eerie and frightening sight, but she barely saw them now. She was going somewhere, she had a purpose, she was looking for —
Draco. He was standing in the same clearing that Ginny had found him in earlier, although Hermione couldn't have known that. He had taken off his jacket and was standing with his back to the rock. He seemed to be engaged in hurling Slytherin's sword violently at the trunk of a tree, watching it stick, retrieving it, and repeating the process. He didn't look up as Hermione walked into the clearing, but she saw his shoulders stiffen and knew that he had heard her approach.
'Who's there?' he called, not turning around. 'You again, Weasley?
Come back for another spot of name-calling? God, I come here to be alone and it's like a bloody rock concert.'
'You've been fighting with Ron?' Hermione asked. 'Why?'
Draco whirled around, a look of surprise flashing across his face as he saw her. 'Oh,' he said. 'You.' He glanced at the sword, sticking at right angles out of the tree trunk, and sighed. 'Yes, I've been fighting with Ron,' he said. 'What's new? The Weasleys and the Malfoys have been mortal enemies ever since 1325 when a Malfoy caught a Weasley poaching on his land and snicked off his head with an axe. Sensitive lot, those Weasleys. Ever since then, it's been schoolyard shoving, full-time name-calling, and general loathing all around.'
'Charlie doesn't loathe you,' said Hermione. 'And Ginny certainly doesn't loathe you.'
Draco gave her a narrow look. 'Did she tell you that?'
Hermione looked at the ground. 'She might have said something.'
Draco gave her an even narrower look. 'You're jealous,' he said.
Hermione jerked her head up and stared at him. 'I'm not!'
'Oh, yes you are,' he said shortly. 'Which is pretty hilarious, considering. What are you competing for here, Hermione? Grand Prize Winner in the Bitter Irony Sweepstakes?'
'I am not jealous,' repeated Hermione furiously.
He backed up a few steps and leaned back against the side of the rock, crossing his arms over his chest. 'Then why are you here?'
Hermione opened her mouth, then closed it again. Then she said, rather weakly, 'I was worried about you. Ginny told me you've been having nightmares.'
'So you got up to check on me?'
'She told me about the blood,' Hermione went on. 'You know, discorporeal bleeding — that could mean a lot of things — Dark magic, possession — '
He looked at her, and she felt her knees weaken — the way they did when Harry looked at her — only this was different, more purely physical and somehow outside herself. It's not real, she told herself angrily.
'So you go up to check on whether or not I'm possessed? That seems singularly unnecessary.'
'Why are you so angry?' she demanded.
He looked exasperated. 'Why am I angry? Because all day I've been having to pretend that nothing at all is wrong. Which, frankly, I'm used to. But this is getting to be a bit much. I've been concentrating so hard on not looking at you that I think if I concentrate any harder on it, I'll start bleeding out of my ears.'
'Well, I'm grateful,' she said stiffly.
'Ah,' he replied. 'Gratitude. The emotion teenage dreams are made of.'
'What do you want me to do?' she said angrily.
'What do I want you to do? Well, how about — and I am starting to wonder here if you slipped some drugs into my food, but never mind-how about being honest with Harry?'
'I told you why not-'
'Right,' he interrupted. 'Go to bed, Hermione. You shouldn't be here.'
'No,' she said, obstinately.
He blinked at her. 'Well, either go away or come over here,' he said.
'I'm not going to yell across the clearing at you.'
Rather stiffly, she crossed the space that separated them and leaned against the rock next to him. This is a bad idea, said a little voice in her head.
She ignored it.
'I wanted to ask you a question,' she said.
