A/N: Sorry it took so long! I'm half through the next chapter, so the wait won't be so bad this time. Thanks to ALL my wonderful reviewers- your words mean SO much. I hope you like the update.
INTERNAL STRUGGLES, EXTERNAL FORCES:
Hermione had fallen asleep on the sofa in Slytherin common room, and awoke the following morning being much better at Wizard’s chess.
Stretching her arms as she sat upright, Hermione blearily looked around for any sight of a certain pale face or platinum hair. She was relieved to see he must have gone to bed in his dormitory, for she knew she must look a fright. Hermione was growing curiously aware of her appearance more and more each day. She’d caught herself glancing in a mirror on several occasions, and now even made a point of always magicking her hair dry, as opposed to letting it air dry; it was less frizzy that way.
As her eyes continued to struggle against the morning light, a faint memory sprang into Hermione’s head: As she had tumbled softly to sleep the previous night, she found herself hoping against hope that Malfoy thought her pretty. Now that it was morning and her mind was properly awake, she figured that was just idiocy derived from lethargy.
Though, this didn’t help ease her wonderment.
She stood and immediately noticed how wintry it felt without her blanket. Bloody dungeons… she cursed.
Wrapping the deep green cover around her shoulders, Hermione slipped off into the girls’ bathroom. When she closed the door and got a better look at the place, she noticed plastic bottles of mascara and dark smudges of what seemed to be eyeliner were strewed recklessly across the countertops.
As her eyes spaced off on the smudges, she felt an uncomfortable, anxious squirm ache in the pit of her stomach; and it had nothing to do with the unkempt bathroom. It felt as though she was waiting for something.
Well, that’s obvious, she thought. I’m anticipating Harry and Ron coming… But some part of her heart knew this wasn’t all.
Sighing from tiredness, she twisted the shower’s knobs adjusting the temperature, then began to undress.
*********************************
Meanwhile, up in the boy’s dormitory, Malfoy lay awake and staring at his ceiling. He hadn’t drifted into dreamland until after two in the morning, for though his body throbbed and stung with the need to sleep, his mind raced a marathon of emotions and thoughts around his heart.
However, his thoughts were held on standby when he suddenly heard water moving through the pipes overhead.
Granger must be in the shower, he thought. He looked resolutely at the ceiling, but was now tracing where he thought the water pipes might be with his eyes.
Figuring he had a good fifteen minutes until he had to remove his aching body from his soft, silk sheets, he allowed his eyes to drift shut in thought.
Clearing his mind, he forced himself to see white: simply a blank canvas on which to paint whatever picture his mind wished.
Thank Merlin, he reflected. …I need some time to clear my head.
But before he could truly finish this thought, his mind, it seemed, had chosen its picture. And slowly, as if visualizing the strokes of a paintbrush, Hogsmeade’s edge came into focus.
Malfoy flung open his eyes in defiance.
NO, he thought rather savagely, …I won’t go back to that. I won’t let my mind wander on- on that Mudblood...
But as he thought the word, he simultaneously clasped a hand to his forehead.
Don’t call her a Mudblood, his inner voice cried. You’re no better than she, don’t go back to being that way- don’t let the memory of your father scare you into stupidity, his mind spat.
He closed his eyes again, but his conscious had finished its portrait.
Now, clear as if she stood before him, he saw Hermione with soft white snowflakes contrasting against spiraling dark blonde hair. The lights of Hogsmeade reflected in her russet eyes as they twinkled their way deep into Malfoy’s heart. He could hear the slow-versed Noel song in the background that was never really there, sung as if by angels watching them with smiles from above. In this surreal vision, Malfoy had taken a bolder route and cradled Hermione’s chin in his hand while his other longingly explored her soft, rosy cheeks. She was still smiling, eyes still glowing up at him expectantly, when he took a final breath in hopes of calming the butterflies that had now gathered in his stomach- both in and out of the vision.
CLANK.
Hermione had shut off the water.
But this time when Malfoy opened his eyes, he had reached a decision.
He must suppress these childish, whimsical feelings he harbored for Hermione; he couldn’t be distracted by it. The times in which they lived were far to dangerous to be gallivanting on about fanciful thoughts of school-age crushes.
Besides, he would never concentrate otherwise; he’d spend every night lying awake with false hope that someone might love him. Hermione would never have him, and he would never have her. They were too different. The War- or Potter, more specifically- needed her.
Stupid, he thought to himself. What a ludicrous idea- me and Granger? Now you know you’ve gone mad, his head screamed; though, not near as loud as his aching heart.
He would tough it out, for her’s and the War’s sake; force his mind to stray on other things.
Some very small fraction of his mind voiced how unfair it was, how exceedingly unjust his whole situation had become. But as he did all things, Malfoy shoved this voice deep within, pretending not to hear.
And with a considerably darker, anguished mood, Malfoy rose from his bed and silently sulked away to the shower, where he could drown in his own bitterness.
*****************************************
The day lagged by the way most days do when you anticipate the end of it.
Hermione stayed in Slytherin common room until lunch, reading silently as Malfoy pretended to do homework. After stealing several awkward glances at him, Hermione decided she would retreat to Gryffindor tower after lunch. Something in the way his eyes remained stagnant on his parchment told her he was deep in thought, and she felt strange intruding upon it.
After lunch, she followed through with her plan and waved goodbye to Malfoy at the bottom of the grand staircase. He was happy to be alone, but once back in the cold dungeons, he was vaguely aware that it seemed much emptier.
Hermione spent the remainder of the day working steadily through her homework, and by the time dinner was being served, had completed everything with the exception of her Ancient Runes essay.
Exhausted, Hermione flung herself into an open seat at the table in the Great Hall. Ignoring the soreness of her back, she noticed dimly that it would probably be another three hours before she saw Harry and Ron.
Before she could finish her contempt thoughts on having to take more of that dreadful potion soon, she saw a streak of blonde hair whiz past the corner of her eye.
Hermione’s stomach gave a curiously uneasy flip as she saw Malfoy walking towards her. Hands deep in his pockets, Malfoy was casting a tired yet sneering eye around the Hall. A moment later he was sitting next to her at the table.
“Hello, Malfoy,” Hermione breathed sweetly.
“Granger,” Malfoy spoke sternly with a brief nod.
He sat and cast a weary look at her, eyes pleading for something, before turning to stare at his plate.
“Errm… I expect they’ll be here soon,” she whispered.
Malfoy nodded again, still transfixed on the table.
“Well- I umm… I spoke to McGonagall again before dinner,” she continued.
“Oh?” he asked indifferently.
“Ermm, well… I asked if it would be ok for- for you to come with me to meet Harry and Ron later…” her voice trailed off in uncertainty.
Come with her- is she mad?! Malfoy thought angrily. Like I need to witness that all over again… she’s not even considering my feelings…
Before he could lend voice to his thoughts, Hermione had tugged on his robes. Turning to look, he saw the familiar tears glistening deep in her round, chocolate eyes.
Merlin, she’s a human hose pipe, his mind reeled.
“Ermm… well, she said you could, you know- come with me, I mean. I- I just thought it would be good to, umm…” Hermione racked her mind furiously. “…to get acquainted with the Order members, since-”
“Since what?” Malfoy’s voice came angry and harsh. “Since my Dad’s lost his soul and my Mum despises me? How many time do I have to get this through that thick skull, Granger: I- don’t- want- your- pity,” he spat.
Getting up from the table, Malfoy practically ran out of the hall without so much as a second glance back. Hermione felt his heat rising, knew he was going to react that way. She was reminded dolefully of the summer before fifth year, when Harry’s temper had skyrocketed to insurmountable heights.
********************************************
The clock on the mantle read 10:36. Hermione’s patience was wearing thin, and for the first time in her life she was not comforted by Gryffindor common room’s soft warmth. All the fire in the world could not heat the glacier that had grown around her heart. Her feelings of curious anticipation had manifested into blatant fear that something awful was about to happen.
BANG.
Hermione stiffened. She could hear muffled voices just outside the portrait hole. With the deepest sense of foreboding, she eased her body closer in an attempt to make out the words.
CRASH.
Now she shuddered from the ringing in her ears.
“Oh, like that was any better!” came a young man’s voice.
“At least it was on accident! I can’t believe you tried apparating, least of all in here…” came a second voice, sounding amused and annoyed at once.
“Well, I hadn’t thought about it, alright? George said it was easy, and if he says so, you know it must be,” said the first man. Their voices had grown louder as if they were a foot away.
Hermione was beaming. She stood in front of the portrait hole, arms crossed, ready to pounce as soon as they entered.
“You think she’s awake?”
“Come off it, of course she is, she’d never-” Harry’s voice cut off as the Fat Lady’s picture swung wide.
“Hello, Hermione,” he spoke with a grin.
Stumbling through the entrance to their common room, Hermione barely gave them time to stand upright before she had flung both arms around Harry, and then Ron.
“You’re both so stupid!” she wailed. “I could have heard you coming a mile away!”
“Well, Ron here thought it’d be good fun to try apparating, even though Dumbledore told us to not let any other students know we’re back,” Harry smiled.
“Yeah, this is supposed to really secret. McGonagall was really strange about letting me in on it,” Hermione said. But when she saw the bemused, slightly shocked looks on their faces, she added hastily, “Oh, but of course she’s going to. She just seemed hesitant, is all.”
There was a brief pause while Hermione shifted nervous glances at Ron.
“So, ermm… how are you doing, Ron?”
The slight smile he had been wearing upon seeing her melted off his face. He quickly focused on examining his shoes, but Hermione took a step close and embraced him in a much stronger hug than before. Rubbing his arm affectionately, she slowly pulled away to see sparkling tears in the corners of his eyes.
“I’m ok, honest… just- just trying no to think about it now. I’ve done my crying, and there’s work to do if we’re going to- well, you know,” his voice faded. Hermione nodded knowingly before turning to Harry.
“And you?”
“Fine,” he said simply. Hermione narrowed her gaze.
Harry shrugged. “Really, I am. I just want to start doing something, instead of sitting around planning it," he said.
“Well then, let’s not stand here all night,” Hermione answered as she strode purposefully toward the portrait hole. “Where are we meeting anyway?”
“Room of Requirement. The whole Order is there. Ron and me just met a couple dozen people we didn’t even know,” he chimed in.
“Wow, that’s wonderful! How many are there, then? Twenty-five? Thirty?”
“Fifty, more like. And Fred and George reckon those are just the ones near and around London. They overheard Charlie telling Mum that he’d figured another forty or so from Ireland,” Ron said enthusiastically.
Hermione was glad to hear this, but even more glad to hear Ron sounding happy.
“Any Ministry officials?” whispered Hermione as they made their way to the corridor with Barnabas the Barmy.
“A good few, yeah. Mostly aurors. Not more than fifteen, though. Even with Fudge sacked and everyone believing me, there’s still a lot of resentment towards Dumbledore around some of the Ministry,” Harry commented.
“Yeah, some blokes just don’t want to admit it,” Ron said darkly.
They had reached the corridor.
“Now what?” asked Hermione.
“You have to think these words as you pace the corridor,” Harry said as she handed Hermione a small slip of parchment that read, in scrolling neat handwriting:
The meeting for the Order of the Phoenix is in the Room of Requirement, Hogwarts Castle.
Hermione nodded and gave a furtive glance around the halls. She half expected to see Malfoy running towards her, ready to meet the people she had told him about. She was feeling slightly guilty for having said so much. Hoping that she hadn’t made a bad judgment call, her stomach fluttered uncomfortably again as a picture of his face seeped through the crevices of her mind. Above even her guilt was her worry that he was going to be ok.
Heaving an audible sigh, Hermione began pacing up and down the hall, as Harry lit the slip on fire with his wand.
*************************************************
Malfoy sat in Slytherin common room with a Wizard’s Chess set that he had bewitched to play on its own. He wasn’t really watching as one of the white knights brutally smashed a black rook to pieces.
His mind was racing despite himself. Every time he closed his eyes, her picture popped into his head. Every time there was silence he could hear her soft voice whispering those deadly sweet words to him in the Three Broomsticks. ‘
I’m going mad, he thought miserably.
He stood and walked circles around the coffee table in front of the fireplace.
I really should have gone to that meeting, he thought. I can’t believe I’m sitting here on my arse when I could be sitting in at an Order meeting, his thoughts continued in anguished tones.
He couldn't remember the last time he was so angry. It was all flooding over him like one massive tidal wave of fury. He was angry at his father and mother, angry with Hermione for reasons he couldn’t grasp, and angrier still with himself.
CRASH.
The black queen had smashed a white pawn, bringing Malfoy out of his reverie. He examined the board.
“Checkmate,” he whispered aloud, then stopped dead in his tracks.
I’m going, he thought resolutely as he continued to stare at the white king, which was not shaking slightly out of fear.
I’m sure to find them lurking around Gryffindor Tower… I’m sure as hell not sitting here alone. I need to go, she needs me… I need to go for Hermio- Oh, get a hold of yourself! he thought for the hundredth time that day.
She’s a friend, nothing more, and she’s lucky to be that, he forced himself to think.
Malfoy strode to the entrance of the common room and reached out his right hand to push open the door. He barely had one foot out when a familiar, cold voice caused Goosebumps to run freely down his spine.
It spoke in tones of mock curiosity, the man's sneer evident in his voice.
“And where, Draco, do you think you’re going?”