AN- Sorry updating took me so long. I've been extremely stressed. But now I have a ton to update because I've just gotten my wisdom teeth taken out and I've recently had a TON of time to write. And if nothing makes sense- that would be the result of my pain medication. Apologies in advanced. You should be excited- you find out what happens at the Halloween Ball this chapter. Woo.
Extra thanks to my lourvely reviewers. I'm dreadfully sorry if I did not respond to you. I try to respond to ALL of my reviewers- especially if you have an opinion about my story- so if you want a reply- give me feedback! Either way- reviews are amazing.
One more thanks to my beta Chelsea- who edited 26,000 words for me in one week. That deserves a merit badge or something.
-Chapter Six-
Freud, Halloween and Julie Andrews
Hermione suddenly woke up at exactly 5:46 the next morning, rubbing what felt like medium-sized boulders out of the crook of her eyes. One look at the clock made her pull the covers back over her head, snuggling into the warmth of the heavy comforters.
"My God, Hermione, get some sleep," she muttered into her cotton wonderland. That or cut the caffeine. Four hours of sleep is...adequate, she deducted in her head, attempting to chastise herself, but found that she wasn't in the mood.
She kicked away the covers, making a whole lot of noise and not missing the fact that Erica had turned agitatedly in her sleep. It was Saturday, the grateful day after Pumpkin Day and the world was sleeping in. Save Hermione who was currently sulking in the cradle of her pillows and blankets and staring off into the dark, black, pre-sunset sky.
She leaned precariously over the side of her bed and wedged her hand under the mattress pushing her body in the air to keep as much weight off the spot as possible. After digging around for a while and with a mental Eureka!, she grasped a small book and un-wedged it from the spring board and mattress.
The ivory, tattered book stared at her with empathetic glee. The book was no bigger than the average Muggle reading book and its bindings were just a simple, floppy scrap of ivory leather with a not-so-threatening piece of suede for a lock. It was tied in a knot, but the charms on it would keep an unlearned person out of it. She had no hope against anyone who knew the ancient locking spell (out of the many), but it was her sad attempt. Thus, she kept it hidden.
She ran her padded thumb against the coffee-colored swirls that fluttered out of one corner spilling into a rather gaudy HG. She smirked, a pretty book for inane thoughts.
She tip-toed out bed, pretty sure that Erica was awake due to her frequent rustling. She didn't want to disturb her anymore. She grabbed her inkwell and a quill, along with a quilt off of the foot of her bed. She slid into the window seat, her bare skin yelping at the frosted window pane. She wrapped the blanket around her shoulders and snuggled happily into the crook of the window and began to write.
Saturday November 19th,
I can't sleep again. Same old, same old. Sleep deprivation must make up for more sleep deprivation. Although, I would think that the body would react in a less destructive way. Perhaps to actually make me feel normal and sleep until breakfast is over and I have to settle for cold porridge like any normal kid on this campus. But then again, I do chat up arrogant Slytherins about dystopian novels and get creeped out by his cryptic small talk. They're all just a little bit awkward.
Ten Reasons Why Pumpkin Day is Absurd
1. Inter-house pow-wows. I wish they would stop wishing we would get along. I can't even imagine it. Not with the war. It's coming, we know it. We're just terrified.
2. Fate being a wench. Why else would she put Frank (mental note- new. name.) on my team? Hmmm?
3. Dumbledore is on crack. Hahaha... sorry, the mental image.
4. I still have seeds in my hair. After Frank picked at me like we're primates.
5. Pumpkin Gunk fights. Actually, that was kind of fun. I think Frank is going to plot his revenge soon.
6. Cramps from laughing too much. I actually think my side started spasming and now it is currently a knot of mis-proportioned nautical ropes.
7. Slytherin Civility. Ugh, it was just too much to bear. Listen to me, bloody hypocrite.
8. Spoons. Enough said.
9. Kittens. Don't ask.
10. Uh... I don't think I have a ten. Maybe it should be the Nine Reasons Why Pumpkin Day Should Be Abandoned from Hogwarts as a Annual Tradition. Because people get crazy, giggly, angry and lovey-dov- Oh... I do have a ten.
10. Harry Potter has pronounced me an Only, Only. And I don't even know what it means. I am pretty sure I am his sex slave for the rest of his or my life, which ever flits away first, of unique and perfect proportions. Oh, listen to me. I'm a terrible person. I just don't know what to think of it, him being like my brother and all. I mean, what's going to become of...everything?
Last summer, both Ron and him took their shirts off to play Quidditch (yes, I did get on a broom, and I did play, badly. And yes my shirt did stay on) and it wasn't a thing. Well, it might've been a thing now that I think of it. Oh, God! Am I the slutty friend-girl that gets stuck between the two guy friends and they battle endlessly for their dignity like those really bad teen, Muggle movies which are basically a whole competition for sex? Ahhh...
Okay, chill Hermione. You're not. Anyway. The whole shirt thing. It wasn't a thing, it didn't bother me, didn't seem to bother them. I wasn't even attracted by the sweaty gleam of their skin in the dusk, and the subtle swish of their hair out of their glistening and glorius eyes...
Haha... just kidding. Okay, so if you're going to... uh...be Harry's Only, Only, you might as well be attracted to him...without his shirt...sweating...on a broom. AHHH! I'm GRIMACING! This... is...bad. Well, that was in the summer. I haven't even thought about it. Ever. Maybe new feelings have emerged, sort of like the whole Fruedian(-) thing. Except Harry isn't my father. But maybe I've been hiding submerged feelings for him for ages and just now, he could come streaking down my hall wearing nothing but a pair of boxers and I'll have the sudden desire to jump him, ravish him and have my way with him.
I feel like crying.
Hermione snapped her book shut and leaned against the pane of glass, now that her arms were covered, but the cool glass against her head was nice. She could see the lake from where she was sitting. She could also see the rising blue gleam of dawn approaching. She looked at the clock, 6:07.
She sighed in exasperation while sleep drifted towards her. She grinned. Sleep normally came to her in this way. In little spurts of exhaustion. Pulling herself off of the window seat, leaving her well and quill, she shoved the book under the mattress and fell into bed, wondering how long she'd sleep this time
Hermione wondered how long she could avoid Harry. For some reason, the thought of approaching him for anything made her uneasy. Like this throbbing of anxiety in her stomach. She wasn't used to anyone being interested in her and now that Harry of all people was showing such unexpected feelings for her, well, she simply didn't know what to do.
There was this gaping whole of fluttering inside her stomach, but for everything she had imagined falling for someone would be like, she did not imagine it to be related to agony.
She was spending the afternoon on the grounds, hidden from all eyes. Behind the west towers of the castle, where most of the faculty was located, was a giant and vast field of tall, golden grass that was absolutely lovely in the spring time. The gold swiped across the back side of the castle, away from the lake, shady foliage, gazebos and other accompaniments that acquired to the students normal routine. The Forbidden Forest curled along the field only dusting the horizon of her vision, like a little green ribbon in a little girl's blonde hair.
It would be a popular visiting spot for couples, where the grass swallowed them up, nowhere to be seen by prying eyes if it weren't for the snakes. They were harmless enough, but the idea of snakes crawling around ready to pounce made squeamish girls...well, squeamish.
And when the snakes were nowhere to be found during the cooling months, the frost kept all students away from a special hiding place. They normally found solace in alcoves in hidden parts of the castle.
But it was Hermione's favorite place to think. She wasn't too happy with the idea of snakes herself, but she disregarded the fact when she lost her legs, immersed in the gold.
She was strolling idly, unseen to any eyes, until the castle looked like a doll house from her spot. Her hands drifted over the top of grass, the tops leaning in to kiss the inside of her palms. The movements calmed her raging insides.
I can make this work, she began to think to herself. I just need to give the boy a chance. He deserves that, doesn't he? I mean, by God, I know him almost better than anybody in this world. The only other person would be Ron. And since he can't go frolicking around with Ron (well, I am a bit suspicious about that boy), why shouldn't he be interested in the one girl who's been there for it all?
Why shouldn't I be interested?
Hermione sighed, and let herself fall into the grass, the long, thick blades bending to her whim. She let the frosty cold air lick at her face, the overcast skies not revealing any warmth. She was wrapped in a scarf and a black cloak. Her favorite with a vivid, red, satin ribbon that tied right at the hallow of her neck. It was the cloak she wore on most nice occasions, like the Halloween ball. Embarrassment flooded her cheeks.
It was a costume ball, anticipated since the letter went out in the summer. Everyone was to dress in a costume if they wished to attend. Many were going to stay in their dorms, unenthused about dressing up for the occasion. But Hermione and Ginny planned early, retrieved their costumes in haste, excited by the fact that they could dress up for a night to pretend to be someone else.
Hermione, as most of the girls did, spent the last half of the day getting ready. She had pulled out her costume the night before to let it air from being in her trunk since August. The layers of lace and red danced at her.
She was going as the gorgeous ballerina of Don Quiote, the ballet. Her romantic skirt came in long layers of black and cream-colored tulle that stopped at her knees. The bodice was violent crimson and black lace that wrapped around her gracefully. In modesty, she wore her favorite black cloak with the thick, red, satin ribbon that situated it self neatly at her neck.
The ball wasn't exactly a secret affair. Everyone knew who their friends were and most masks were thrown to the side, final touches becoming a nuisance and abandoned, and other frills discarded. Hermione herself had removed her mask, her only hidden quality left was her darkened hair swirled at the back of her neck.
She didn't dance much. She just situated herself with her friends, laughing, eating, doing other stupid, fun, party stuff.
Until Aaron Chival asked Hermione to dance. He was clad in Shakespearean wear, his big, round, blue eyes and dark, blond hair accentuating the century's style.
He wasn't nearly as popular as Cedric once was, and being Slytherin, Draco Malfoy took the status of that department.
Hermione hesitated, but took his hand, casting a look at Ginny who flashed her a big grin. Hermione shrugged, a little excited that Aaron Chival had asked her to dance. He situated her in his arms appropriately and they began to sway to the music.
"You look beautiful, tonight," he said with a sideways smile. Hermione blushed.
"Thank you. You look...very Romeo-esque," she offered lamely.
He seemed to take it as witty, for her threw his head back and laughed richly. The sound made her uncomfortable. Too much enthusiasm for not much humor. But he continued to sway her in his arms, smiling grandly at her. She attempted her own smile, but the way her was holding onto her, the flashing in his eyes, the perpetual smile unnerved her.
She thought that it was just nerves, for when he dipped her at the end of the song, causing her to cry out softly and clutch to him, a strange fluttering occurred in her abdomen. That is until a figure crashed into them, Hermione's body still nearly parallel to the floor. Hermione felt a cold liquid splash across her torso. In what might've been surprise, Aaron dropped Hermione to the floor, her body falling gracelessly.
She looked to see who her offender was, Pansy Parkinson. She sat up abruptly, trying to fix her clothing looking up at Aaron. He was laughing hysterically. So was Pansy.
Hermione rushed to her feet, looking around, dabbing at her wet torso. There were gasps and snickers all around. Hermione pulled her hands away at a stinging sensation that was occurring. She looked down.
Glowing on her torso were vivid words in a hot, angry pink. She couldn't see what the words were, but humiliation filled her cheeks as the Slytherins gathered to laugh hysterically and chant what was splashed across her torso. Hermione was too numb to move. Until the stinging sensation caused her to cry out in sudden pain.
The laughing turned to gasps, which turned to more snickering, to what could possibly be fear. Hermione put her hands to her whalebone bodice. She touched hot, burning skin. She looked down to see her hands were livid and blistered. The bodice of her dress was burning away, leaving nothing but her bare stomach that was rising to a hot, blistering color.
Hermione watched numbly as the material slowly disintegrated before her eyes, crawling up and down towards more private areas. With a devastated sob of anger, humiliation and pain, Hermione dashed from the Great Hall in tears with everyone but the Slytherins twittering in shock and horror. The Slytherins were still clutching onto each other in laughter and appraise.
The story, as it was around the school, was that the Slytherins had gotten a hold of the Muggle indicator phenolthylene. They had been planning the assault - as rumor had it - since September, a way to get back at her for years of taking away house points, assigning detentions, but most importantly, the expulsion of a Slytherin Princess.
Lara Taylor was not the brightest, nor richest of the Slytherin dynasty, but with her malicious grin of small, white teeth, nearly-black eyes, and her...well, "easy" tendencies, she was one of the elite. More like a lady of the court than a princess. She was caught by Hermione using dark magic in their third year in the middle of the night. Hermione rushed the boy to the Infirmary, after Stupefying Taylor and addressing her to Dumbledore.
Taylor had poisoned the boy's blood, among other things, and such use of dark magic was forbidden. Dumbledore left the choice up to Hermione saying he would respect her decision.
It didn't take long for truth to seep out. Hermione was blamed for Taylor's expulsion and while they seemed to be quiet about it, they fully plotted their revenge on her. A revenge taken out the evening of the Halloween Ball.
Since phenolthylene was not a common use in Potions, not many Wizards knew what an indicator was. All they knew was the liquid would turn a bright version of fuchsia when in the presence of acid. Unfortunately, Wizards don't have much knowledge of acids either. The only thing they were concerned with was the phenolthylene to work its purpose.
Evidently, a second-year Gryffindor girl had been bribed into breaking into Hermione's sixth-floor dorm room. She was given specific instructions as what to do with the bottle of clear liquid, charmed to glow brighter than what was usual.
In Pansy Parkinson's cup was a pure and undiluted acid, pure as it comes. When the liquid spilled across her torso, the charmed substance did its job causing the words "Mudblood, the traitor." to grow blindingly for the few seconds, flashing across her breasts, all of the way down to her naval.
The Slytherins hadn't anticipated the acid to start burning through her clothing, let alone her skin. But to them, it was the icing on the cake, to the rest of the school, the sight of the red hot blisters starting at her belly button, then rippling out in puddles where the acid was foremost present was appalling.
There were pictures snapped, stories to be told, and rumors to be gossiped about. Stories that "traitor" meant that she had become a Death Eater and was Voldemort's first hand courtesan. More that she was Draco Malfoy's secret lover. Or his father's personal prostitute. It took ages for the rumors to die down. The Slytherins never chased down any rumors. Not even the ones including the Malfoys. If it meant more humiliation to them, they were happy.
The biggest surprise of all was one picture snapped, focused on a bare pelvic bone where a design about the size of a thumb was imprinted. The picture revealed an ornate mermaid drawn out in only green and black. The mermaid was resting, her green tail curing around the edge of Hermione's pelvic bone, her head resting at the top, her long hair curling around her, hiding her naked body. Her eyes were closed in a serene and mystical sleep. She looked lulled by a beautiful lyric, or by the rocking cradle of Hermione's hips when she danced, or maybe by the comfort of her small existence.
The tattoo was talked about for weeks, but without any confirmation from Hermione, the picture was dubbed as edited for a Slytherin's fun prank. No one could imagine the Pristine and Demure Granger with something as scandalous as a tattoo.
Hermione's wounds were treated immediately, the blistering skin wrapped in gauze for a week. There was, thankfully, no signs of scarring on her stomach, but her palms exposed the slightest bit of the shiny pinkness if caught in the light right.
But the humiliation of being nearly half-naked, humiliated and demoralized in front of her entire school was enough to scar her head for years.
Hermione tried to chase away the embarrassed hole in her stomach, blinking away the hot, angry tears. She lived with the humiliation for the past few weeks now, the rumors having died down, the bandages gone from her hands, but the taunts were still regular. People she had never even met called her "Blood-Traitor", a hybrid of the words that labeled her.
She was grateful for the people's silence now, but she still loathed the Slytherins with every fiber of her being. They all seemed to have been in on the act, each contributing to their act of vice. Which would be why Hermione blamed Zabini. They were all one and the same.
Harry had been by her bedside though. Madame Pomfrey wouldn't allow him or Ron into the infirmary until she was appropriately covered, the acid fully destroying nearly all material of her costume. As she cried into her pillow from horror, Harry had held her hand while Ron had to fetch Ginny who, after making sure Hermione was fit, left to seek her own kind of revenge. Which resulted in a duel – Weasley's attack on the Chival boy. Hermione was grateful, but the got the detentions they deserved.
The worst part was, no one fessed up, and no one but Hermione, Chival and Parkinson saw what had happened. Hermione knew that blaming somebody was what got her into the situation, so she just admitted that she didn't see who spilled the acid. The only people punished in the whole affair were Ginny and Ron.
A chill wrapped itself around Hermione in the field, the wind blowing the grass in soft waves.
Hermione remembered Harry that evening and felt that he deserved a chance from her. If she couldn't care for Harry, then who in the world could she care for?
On the way back from her stroll, Hermione found Harry sitting under a tree, knees bent, eyes glazed over. She smiled and made her way to his tree. He looked up at the sound of her approach. A smile curled up in his face and Hermione's gaping hole of anxiety throbbed.
Is this what butterflies are? she found herself asking.
"Hey, you," he greeted. Hermione sat down beside him, nestled in an entanglement of roots.
"Hello, yourself," she said.
The air was immediately awkward. Harry seemed shy, and Hermione wasn't sure how this worked. But eventually, Harry leaned in, hesitating about four times, making Hermione turn her head so that when he did kiss her, he got her cheek. Hermione inwardly winced. Oh, this is odd.
"Where've you been?" he asked, clearing his throat. Hermione almost sighed in relief, a distraction.
"Just walking. It's a pretty day," she said, shrugging.
Harry looked around. The air was dry and bitter, the sky looked like it would drop ice any moment, and the fire-tops of the trees were becoming dead, bald patches against the forest sky.
"Yep, gorgeous," he remarked sarcastically. Hermione frowned.
"Well, I like it," she said objectively.
"It's alright, I guess," he offered, not seeming to care much.
"Have an exciting day yourself?" she asked, trying to keep the conversation going.
"Yep," he said, staring out across the lake. Hermione looked at him as if expecting more. He stared back at her and shrugged. "Woke up, ate, looked for you, didn't find you, sat, you found me."
Hermione chuckled a bit. "Sounds like...fun," she commented. She didn't ever remember conversations with Harry being this difficult. She threw it to the excuse of the awkwardness. "So, Harry. What...are we?" she asked on impulse. She didn't think twice about it because she knew it would deter her from actually asking the question. He looked over at her with bright green eyes. He breathed a sigh of relief.
"I'm glad one of us said something," he said gratefully.
Then why didn't you? Hermione asked in her head.
He mused it over. "Well, I don't know. I was hoping we could, be...well, I don't know," he said, drawing on. Hermione sighed in agitation, but she wasn't about to ask a question she wasn't even sure she wanted to answer.
"What, Harry?" she pushed. He blushed. Hermione wanted to moan. It shouldn't be this troubling.
"Well, I was hoping you'd be my girlfriend,' he said, obviously trying not to rush his words like he did on a normal basis. Hermione forced a smile and gave it a mere three seconds to mull it over.
"I like that idea," she said, not sure whose feelings she was supporting: his or hers. Harry broke out into a grin and kissed her fully on the mouth. It was a lovely kiss and it made Hermione blush. It wasn't anything smutty by any means, but the intention was sweet and heart-melting. After a few moments, Hermione pulled away wish a sheepish grin.
"What about Ron?" she asked suddenly. Harry seemed affronted.
"What about him?" he forced out.
"Well, doesn't he need to know? I mean, we can't go prancing about him, holding hands and snogging. He might get confused. You never know- he might see it as a friendly gesture, and before we know it, we're having a threesome." Hermione was surprised by her own crude words, but they made Harry laugh and that made her feel good.
"I guess we'll tell him later today. Dinner perhaps?" he suggested. Hermione laughed.
"And if he isn't alright with the idea? Are you sure you're ready for the entire school to subjected to the uproar?" Hermione said. Harry shrugged.
"I think he'll be fine with it. But to be on the safe side, let's do it in the common room," Harry said with a laugh.
"Oh, yes, so then everyone will gossip It seems like the emphasis should be on will, not gossip. If I'm perceiving it wrong then just change it back.about it," Hermione said bitterly, not even realizing that she had shot down both of his ideas.
"Well, what do you propose, then?" he asked distastefully. Hermione quickly retaliated.
"Oh, the common room is fine, I was just commenting," she said. She didn't realize how much she really didn't want Ron to know. How much she didn't want anyone to know.
"Oh, really? That's...nice," Ron said, looking a bit embarrassed. Hermione and Harry exchanged incredulous looks. Ron shrugged.
"What?" he started. "You want me to prance around, clicking my heels like Julie Andrews while singing about flowers and deer's? Or perhaps I should throw a baby shower, would that be suitable? C'mon, what were you expecting?"
Harry shrugged while Hermione was giving Ron an odd look. "You've seen The Sound of Music?" she asked doubtfully.
Ron looked up quickly. "Uh, yeah. It was...um...the first movie I was shown as a kid," he said as if it were normal. Hermione just nodded.
"So, you're okay with this?" Harry asked. Ron rolled his eyes.
"Do you need my blessing or something? Sure." Ron stood up and began to cross the couple that were sitting in opposite arm chairs across from him. "I bless you in the divine approval of Ronald Weasley, in the name of the red hair, wit, and many freckles, Amen." Ron sat down to a laughing Hermione and a stunned Harry.
"Maybe we should've done this in the Great Hall. There could've been someone there to recruit him into Priesthood," Harry joked. Hermione laughed and Ron scowled.
Hermione fell asleep at ten o'clock that night, her eyes fluttering against her cheeks until she sunk down in the pillow, her mind promising her that she would sleep through the night, into the brightness of Sunday morning.
But when her eyes flashed open to dreary dark and the sudden red lights of her alarm clock, Hermione moaned, inwardly. She squeezed her eyes shut in a silent prayer that drowsiness would come back to her. In a frustrated sigh, she glared at the clock.
Four bloody hours. You've got to be kidding me.
She growled inwardly while she snatched her cloak off of one of her bed's posters. She fastened the red ribbon under her chin, for the castle was never heated during the nighttime. She reached under her mattress for her journal, although she wasn't in the mood to write, she knew that she would be if she didn't bring it along. She also grabbed her nearly finished copy of We.
In a practiced fashion, she glided from the common room and down the halls in haste. When she approached a less-populated area, her pace slackened and she enjoyed the moonlight pouring from the skylights above her. She even paused to stare up at the stars. She spun into the silver moonlight, the vast rays completely illuminating the giant, but never-used hall. Her long cloak skidded along the floor, the slightest residue of dust rising up around her like a shroud of stardust. She allowed a giggle. She looked at her hands, as if she were cupping the rays like nectar.
But the lovely light caught the pink skin, causing the pink wrinkles to glow more intensely than that of sunlight and torchlight. Her mood saddened, she quickly slipped out of the light and down to the kitchens where she would hopefully find solitude.
She took her time down the halls, thinking up about the many varieties of sweets and comfort food she would adorn herself with tonight. Her hand glided against the walls, brushing over the frames of pictures, the fringes of tapestries, the secrets of people until she realized that she had walked too far.
She backtracked until she finally arrived to the staircase that led to the kitchens. Looking at her watch, she realized that her walk had taken her nearly forty-five minutes. In a sigh of regret (she hated wasting time just doing nothing), she approached the portrait. Stepping in, she was disappointed to see Zabini there, but she was growing accustomed to his presence now. He turned, and in quick haste, he snapped something shut, sliding it down between the wall and his chair.
She watched as he corked his ink well and dried his quill, setting them to the side.
"Plotting, Zabini?" Hermione asked, her interest piqued, but not about to let it on. She sat down, opposite from him. He cast her an odd look.
"What would I be plotting, Granger?" he said, looking a bit nervous.
"Well, world domination of course," she said with an over-sweet grin. "Of course, doing that would require wit and intelligence, but we can look at it as an honest and sanguine outlook of really trying."
"You're mocking me," he stated. Hermione turned her head to the side.
"Yes." She paused. "Well, then again, you could be devising plans for a dashing escape from Hogwarts including several cadavers, toothpicks and dystopian novels. Oh, and don't forget the kittens." She had no idea where the words were coming from. They were flowing from her in a spout of complete and utter mirth. He scowled, not looking amused at all. He opened his mouth to retort, but Hermione beat him to it.
"Then again, why not stage a new, horrifying stunt against another Gryffindor damsel who happened to tick you off in the slightest bit?" she offered with a cheeky grin.
"I told you, Granger, I was not in on that." He sighed hopelessly, looking annoyed enough to get up and leave.
"The entire house was in on that, so don't give me that bullshit," she smarted. At that moment, Dobby arrived with her coffee. There was silence until Dobby left, his feet dragging behind him, his eyes still closed.
"Perhaps, but I was not," he said, staring at her defiantly. Hermione had to look away.
"I don't believe you," she said, speaking the truth. Zabini leaned back in his chair.
"Then don't," he said matter-of-factly.
Hermione gaped at him for a bit. She abruptly closed her mouth, taking her mug in hand, her mind drifting back to the array of sweets she had dancing in her head just minutes before. She dismissed them, her interest still on his book.
"So, what exactly is that?" she asked, nodding her head toward the corner that concealed his hidden book.
"Potions homework," he said without hesitation. Hermione lifted an eyebrow.
"Oh, really? I thought Snape only accepted scrolls."
"Would you quit being so nettling, Granger? It's just a book. I don't like wasting scrolls, so I make my notes in a book before I transfer them onto a scroll so I don't wreck them," he said, his agitation extremely evident.
"Hmm... a Slytherin, a money saver? Amazing," Hermione couldn't stop her harsh words. They kept flying out of her mouth in a release she couldn't describe. Zabini stood up, pushing his chair back.
"You know what, enjoy your coffee in silence, because I'm not enduring this," he said as he leaned over for his belongings. Hermione immediately felt guilty about her behavior. With a sigh, she spoke rapidly.
"I'm sorry, Zabini. I don't know what's possessed me. I don't mean to disturb you," she said.
My GOD! her head screamed, Why can't I control my words tonight? That wasn't what she wanted to say at all. Zabini raised his own eyebrow.
"Don't go and try to sound like a groveling Victorian woman after she's taking too large a sip of tea, Granger" he said, actually sounding amused. "But, if you'll miss my company, I guess I'll have to stay."
Hermione sighed. "No, no, please. Don't let me keep you from leaving. Hurry, scamper along, if you must," she said in a bored, useless tone. She already knew he was staying; she was just trying to make her situation sound more pathetic. "I just simply didn't want you leaving the kitchens thinking me a useless prig," she said, her chin slouching into her hand. Zabini wore the expression of all amused expressions.
"It seems that you already have me figured out," he said with a smile that unnerved her. She sat up and took a sip of coffee.
"What do you mean by that?"
He sat down, scooting his chair back under the table. "I mean that you knew that I wasn't leaving. So, that whole monologue, as pathetic as it was, was useless, so you spoke of it as so," he said cheekily. Hermione grimaced. He was right.
"Hmm... well, you wouldn't want me figuring you out anymore, now would you? So, in attempt to save your cryptic past, how about you go back to bed and leave me to my silence?" she offered hopefully. Zabini smirked and shook his head.
"Not a chance."
Hermione huffed and watched as her breath stirred some coffee out of her cup and jumping in small, tiny droplets to her bare legs. In horror, she realized that she was wearing just a tank top and a pair of lavender shorts that could count as underwear, let alone that fact that it was meant to be slept in. In a rush of modesty, she wrapped her cloak around herself. Zabini didn't miss this.
"Cold?" he asked, pretending to be oblivious. Hermione nodded, suddenly embarrassed. An uncomfortable silence fell about them and Hermione had the desire to reach for her book, but couldn't bring herself to do it. It was Zabini who broke the silence.
"So, you and Potter?"
Hermione's head snapped up, causing a rocking in her mug again to come splashing down on her cloak, not harming her, but the idea that it was her best cloak made her cringe. Her resentment for him fluttered up in an instant and the mention of Harry made that fluttering hole rip open to release the butterflies in her stomach.
"Is it already all over the school?" she asked, affronted and appalled. Zabini shook his head.
"Of course not. Well, his affections for you have been around the school for months now. It'll be no surprise to them when the gossip starts," he offered, leaning back in his chair. Hermione gaped at him.
"Affections for me? You mean the school knows that he..." she trailed off. Zabini smirked.
"And you mean to tell me you're the last one to know?" he asked smoothly.
"Yes. Well, no. I mean, I knew, but I didn't know. I guess it just never occurred to me," Hermione was frowning, speaking quickly. "I mean, now that I look back on it, I know. But for the time being, as in now, or as in yesterday, or as in whenever. Yes. I mean, no." She took a deep breath and thought about her words for a moment. "No. I mean, no, I didn't know."
"So, you didn't know that Potter was tragically in love with you for months now?" he asked. Oh, he looked like he was having a grand ol' time with this.
"No. And you're saying everyone else knew?" she asked, pathetic and shocked.
"Everyone," he confirmed.
"But no one knows we're together now?" she asked, trying to catch up on gossip. The fact that it was her own gossip she was catching up disturbed her a bit.
"Well, by tomorrow morning it probably won't be a secret. But I didn't hear it from anyone I know," he said, crossing his arms over his chest, which was clad in a simple white t-shirt.
"Then how do you know?" she asked, wondering what to accuse him of.
"I saw the two of you walking up to the castle after the lovely Pumpkin Day festivities. You don't seem the "friends-with-benefits" type, so I just assumed that you were together," he said and shrugged.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, but decided that it wasn't anything to be worried about. She leaned back in her own chair with a heavy sigh.
"For a girl dating one of the most famous Wizards in all of human history, you don't seem too elated," he pointed out. Hermione glared at him .
"Who says I'm not elated?" she asked, defensive.
"Not who, what. It's all over your face," he stated. He sounded so damn sure of himself.
"What are you? My psychiatrist? I'm happy," she said a bit too forcefully, getting up to move. She had gathered her belongings, and headed for the door when he shrugged. She was about to give the portrait a good shove when she heard him call out her name. She turned around to see him looking at her over his shoulder.
"Next time you say that you're happy, make sure it doesn't sound like you're trying to convince yourself in the process."
With a huff, Hermione shoved the portrait open and left in a wounded whirl.
(-)Freud was scientist of sorts that studied the human mind. He's the one that came up with the Oedipus and Elecktra complex. Yeah, the one where every son supposedly has this secret desire to sleep with his mom (adequately named after the Greek Myth of...go figure, Oedipus Rex). The Elecktra complex is the opposite. Daughter and Daddy. Gross, yes? Yeah, he just studied submerged feelings for just about everything. Most of them were related to sex. Interesting, sick man.
AN- Aren't Slytherins cruel, cruel creatures? Let me know what you think about my Carrie-esque prank, the journal, and whatever else you find approriate. I love feedback. I don't even mind flames. So, anger away.
-Roses.