as she stood, almost slipping in her haste to get near him. He stood and watched her, very alone somehow as if he had created a space around himself, specific and inviolable. She paused just outside it, hesitant to touch him, although another part of her ached to put her arms around him and hold him tightly. 'You don't have to do this,' she said. 'I know you're trying to tell me why you've been distant lately — I know you've been thinking about your parents — and how could you not? I've been so selfish, thinking about graduation and moving on and how all that affected me, and I never even thought about what it must be like for you, knowing they won't see you graduate, get recruited for a team, go to Sirius' wedding…oh Harry, this is the most important part of your life in a way, and if you're missing them more now…' She let her voice trail off. 'Is that what you were trying to say?'
He looked at her, his green eyes were haunted by a darkness she could not name. 'Something like that,' he said, and she had a feeling, from the tone of his voice, that she had gotten entirely the wrong end of the stick, and didn't understand what he was trying to say at all. She felt bitterly inadequate, incompetent even — and somewhere in the back of her mind a voice told her that she could not be expected to heal that darkness in him: she was too young, and the pull of the darkness too great. Surely if she loved him properly, loved him enough, she would be able to help and to understand, she told herself. But already she loved him more than she could imagine loving anything, and it was not enough.
'Hermione,' he said, and his voice was oddly distant. 'What are you thinking?'
She took a deep breath. 'Just that…all those years with the Dursleys…it wouldn't be at all surprising if you'd turned out mean-spirited, or selfish, or self-centered. Or terribly angry, or vengeful — and you aren't. You have every right to be angry and you so rarely are; and every right to have self-pity, but you don't pity yourself. That childhood — it could have turned you into an awful person. Instead it turned you into the best person I've ever known. No — you turned yourself into that person. I meant what I said first year. You are a great wizard, and — and more important, you're a good human being as well. I admire you, Harry. I always have.'
He ducked his head, and she did not see the expression that passed across his face. 'No,' he said, in a slightly husky voice. 'I'm not as good as you.'
She laughed. 'You remember.' She took a step forward, and he raised his head and looked at her. She reached out and touched his face, as she had been wanting to do — lightly touched his cheek, and he leaned his head against her open hand, as if he were tired. 'I was so worried about you then — I didn't want you to see I was crying, but I was.'
'I know,' he said, very quietly. 'You're the first person in my life who ever cried because they loved me.'
She shook her head. 'No, not the first, I'm sure.'
'The first I remember.' He closed his hand around her wrist and held it tightly. 'I don't know what I would do without you,' he said. 'What would I do?'
The tone of his voice made her afraid. She tried to look up into his eyes, but he bowed his head down onto her shoulder as if he were tired, and would not let her see his face. She kissed his temple, the only part of his face she could reach, and the black hair that covered his face and spilled down onto her hands. Soft hair, like black silk. 'Harry,' she whispered.
'You never would have to be without me…never.'
She felt him tremble under her hands, and then he lifted his face off her shoulder, and was smiling at her. She did not quite believe the smile, although she could not have said why. 'I know,' he said. 'But…I have to get down to practice. We're not as prepared for the match today as I'd like us to be and…I should go.'
'All right,' she said, and let go of him reluctantly. 'There isn't — anything else?'
He shook his head. 'No. And you, didn't you say you had something to tell me?'
She swallowed past the lump in her throat. 'It was nothing. Just…'
'Yes?'
'If I don't see you before the game,' she said, hating herself, 'Then — good luck.'
He looked at her, knowing she was holding back — and she returned his gaze, knowing the same thing was true for him. The chasm was still between them: unbridged, uncrossable. He leaned forward and kissed her cheek. 'I'll see you later, then,' he said.
'See you later,' she whispered, and closed her eyes so as not to watch him walk away.
'And I think that's just about it,' Ron said, flipping over the parchment he had been looking at and clearing his throat. 'Unless anyone has any questions?'
Pansy Parkinson's hand shot up. 'What about our Books?' she demanded, as the spinning orb turned green.
Ron blinked at her, then back at the parchments on the table. 'Books…?'
'Leavers' Books, Ron,' said Hermione, resisting the urge to pat him on the arm. He looked awfully distracted, poor dear, she thought. He had seemed to be having a hard time concentrating lately, and had nearly forgotten all about the Secret Wizards game that they were supposed to be playing for Christmas, in which every seventh-year student had to buy a gift for another student whose name they picked in a random drawing.
Fortunately Pansy had already brought a box filled with slips of parchment to the meeting, thus saving the situation. 'We have to decide on the design for our Leavers' Books. They're important, after all.'
'Oh. Right.' Ron rubbed the back of his hand across his eyes. Obviously, he was wishing he was elsewhere. Hermione's eyes slid past him, over Justin Finch-Fletchley, who looked bored, and Padma Patil, who was industriously sucking a sugar quill. Next to her was Draco, lounging back in his chair as usual. Feeling her gaze on him, he raised his eyes, and their gazes locked; after a moment, he winked at her. Hermione smiled, her thoughts only half on the business of the meeting. 'We need a motto to be engraved on the cover of the books,' Ron was saying, 'and traditionally every class chooses its own motto. Now, we have plenty of time to think of one, but if anyone has any suggestions…' Ron, seeming to intercept the look between Hermione and Draco, cocked an eyebrow. 'Malfoy? You had a thought?'
'A what?' Draco started slightly, then subsided with a faint smile. 'Well, we've got loads of mottoes in my family, but I don't think they'd be anything you'd be interested in.'
'Try me,' said Ron, not pleasantly.
'Well,' said Draco, leaning forward and putting his chin on his hand, 'there's 'Always pillage before you burn', that's an old one, and then one of my dad's favorites, which was 'money can't buy you friends — '
'Money can't buy you friends?' Ron echoed with a disbelieving laugh.
'…'But it does buy you a better class of enemies.'' Draco's eyes trawled insolently from Ron's shoes to the tip of his nose, gone slightly pink with annoyance. 'Obviously that last one isn't true in all cases…'
Ron slapped his wand down on the table. 'You think you're funny, don't you Malfoy?'
Draco shrugged modestly. 'Well, I try not to fly in the face of public opinion.'
Hermione then did the worst thing she could have done, and laughed.
Ron shot her a very angry look, and she slunk down low in her seat. It didn't help, she thought irritably, that across from her Justin Finch-Fletchley and Padma Patil looked as if they were trying hard not to laugh as well. In fact, oddly enough, the only people who looked unamused were the Slytherins — both Pansy and Malcolm Baddock were stony-faced and glaring.
'Malfoy,' said Ron, in a voice like shards of ice, 'I want to talk to you in the corridor. NOW!' he added, and everyone jumped. Hermione looked at him in surprise: his blue eyes were burning, and he looked well and truly furious.
'Ron…' she began uncertainly, but he didn't even look at her, he was glaring at Draco, who was getting to his feet with a slow insolence that Hermione couldn't help thinking was a bad idea at that moment. He sauntered towards the door and Ron followed after, slamming the door behind them both.
Ron banged the door shut behind him and spun to face Draco, who was leaning against the opposite wall of the corridor, looking cool and unruffled, as if any moment he might start examining his nails or checking his cuffs for minute specks of dust. If he'd had a mustache, he probably would have twirled it.
'Malfoy,' Ron barked, and Draco looked up. His face was open and inquiring, his eyes wide and clear. He smiled at Ron politely, which only served to annoy Ron further. 'What the hell are you playing at?'
'I was actually hoping to get a chance to talk to you alone,' said Draco calmly.
