"You'd think they could keep their tongues out of each other's mouths when I'm in the room," Hermione muttered as she pretended to read the same page of her Arithmancy book for the twentieth time while surreptitiously watching Ron and Lavender out of the corner of her eye.

"I thought you didn't care," Harry said, startling her. She thought she had spoken low enough so no one could hear her.

"I don't care," she told him, blushing. "I have a boyfriend, and they can do what they want. I just think it's a bit awkward for them."

"Right," Harry said. "For them."

"Uh huh," she said, averting her eyes.

"Hermione, are you sure - ?"

"Harry, do me the courtesy of ignoring me when I am obviously talking to myself, will you?" she interrupted him. "If you hear me mumbling about Ron and Lavender, pretend you don't hear me, okay?"

"Sorry," Harry said. "They're leaving now anyway."

"I'm sure she's going to go watch his Quidditch practice or something equally adorable. Maybe she'll do all his homework for him, too, or walk him to the Slytherin common room so she can spend time with his cronies."

"Is this you not caring?" Harry said.

"It's just that Lavender is one of the few people I can stand at this school, present company excepted," Hermione said. "Part of me doesn't care. The other part is still working on it, alright?"

"Fair enough. Which part has a date with Oliver this weekend?"

"Funny," Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. "Oliver has nothing to do with this."

"Would he agree with that?"

"It has nothing to do with Oliver," she repeated. "It has everything to do with unresolved issues that I have been dealing with for almost two years now. Harry, just let me work through this a little, and then I'll be fine."

"Hermione, that's what I'm here for," Harry said. "To help you work through things. Remember what happened when we didn't stick together, when we tried to take on our burdens alone? We both had years from hell. If you need to talk, talk. If you don't want to, that's fine, but don't completely shut me out."

She appreciated the sentiment, she really did, but how could she completely confide in Harry, in anyone? Hermione knew Harry was still waiting for her to tell him about her trip to see Mundungus. He hadn't said anything about it to her, and she knew he would never pressure her about it, but she assumed he was hurt by her silence. She also knew he would flip if she shared the one thing with him she'd never told anyone but that horrible Snape. She trusted Harry with her life, but why should he have to share her burdens? Wasn't he better off not suspecting the Weasleys had a hand in Ginny's death? Wouldn't he sleep better not knowing his best friend had been raped? She sighed inwardly. There were some things she just wasn't going to talk about, even with Harry.

"I know, Harry," she said. "I appreciate it. I promise to talk about things when I can, okay?"

"Okay," Harry agreed, a tad reluctantly.

"Why don't we focus on your love life for a change?"

"Would that there was something to focus on," Harry sighed. "It's getting borderline pathetic."

"What about Katie or Luna?" Hermione threw out.

"Friend and friend," Harry answered. "Don't worry, Hermione, I haven't given up hope. There's always monk hood."

"And a nunnery if things don't work out with Oliver," Hermione said. "So, bright side."

"What else do we have going on?" Harry asked. "Any of your dumb mysteries?" He said this with a hopeful air; dumb mysteries were a lot better than the nothing he had been doing lately. As happy as he was for Hermione, her relationship with Oliver meant he had even less to do on weekends. Before, he would have thought that was a perfect opportunity to spend time with Ron without hurting Hermione's feelings; now Lavender had thrown a wrench in those plans as well. He couldn't bug Lupin and Hagrid every time he was feeling lonely, either. He had no Quidditch to fall back on, and doing extra schoolwork was obviously out of the question.

"Nothing on the crime-solving front," Hermione said. "You'll just have to find yourself a hobby, Harry. Why don't you start flying again? The Quidditch teams don't always have the field booked. Just fly around the grounds or something."

"Why don't you come with me?" Harry said. "You flew with Viktor. Honestly, Hermione, you really need the practice."

"I can apparate," Hermione said. "My birthday was in September."

"Haven't you read Hogwarts, A History?" Harry teased her. "You can't apparate within Hogwarts grounds."

"I know that, Harry," Hermione said with withering patience. "But I can't fly away from danger in the halls, either. I don't like flying; I'm just not built for it. You go. I'll look over your homework for you."

"Are you trying to get me out of your hair?" Harry asked with mock indignation.

"No, just giving you an out to go hang with Ron and Lavender, if you want," she answered. "Or fly by yourself, whatever. You just need to get back on your broomstick for awhile."

"I don't think he needs your permission to play with his broomstick," said the not-unexpected voice of Dean.

Hermione heaved a huge sigh, but Harry grinned a little. "You just wait for opportunities to chime in, don't you? Have you been eavesdropping long?"

"Long enough to be bored, as usual when I'm listening to the two of you bitch and moan," Dean returned.

"As opposed to the scintillating conversations you have with Seamus and Cormac, right?" Harry said. "You know, now that you're in here, maybe I will go out for awhile. You okay with him, Hermione?"

"I'm planning on ignoring him, so it should be fine," she replied. "Go, fly, have fun. I'll see you in a little bit."

Harry grinned again and left the common room while Dean sat in his vacated chair. "Why aren't you ever happy to see me, Granger? I thought we were friends."

Hermione gave him an incredulous look.

"Well, friendly, anyway."

She continued to gaze at him.

"Okay, okay, I thought we were at least civil acquaintances," Dean said. "My feelings are a little hurt, Granger."

"You have feelings that don't originate in your pants?"

Dean placed his hand on his heart. "You really do wound me. In case you haven't noticed, Granger, the Gryffindors have been pretty nice to you lately."

"One, no they haven't, and two, there's no reason for them to be nasty anyway," Hermione scoffed.

"Oh yeah?" Dean challenged. "When's the last time anyone has said something to you here? I'm not talking about the rest of the school; I'm talking about Gryffindor House."

Hermione thought about it; Dean was right. In fact, the more she pondered, the longer it seemed the Gryffindor silence had been. Maybe as far back as the trouble with Lavender. Seamus, Cormac and the other Quidditch players occasionally still smirked at her, but they never made rude comments. Romilda Vane and her cronies were quiet, too. Lavender and Neville went out of their way to be nice, and even Parvati had smiled at her once or twice.

"Thought so," Dean said, correctly reading her expression. "Who do you think did that, the Fat Lady?"

"So you're responsible for my new found 'popularity?'" she asked, finger quotes and everything.

"I told everyone to lay off," Dean said proudly. He looked expectantly at Hermione and seemed annoyed at her lack of reaction. "Well, don't start crying tears of gratitude, Granger."

"What do you want, The House Cup?" Hermione asked.

"Are you serious?" Dean asked.

"I really don't know what you expect me to say, Dean," Hermione said.

"A thank you would be nice, and rather warranted."

"Oh, thank you for restoring my good name to the masses," she snarked.

"Forget it," Dean said angrily. "I suppose you prefer being everyone's favorite punching bag. You and Potter can continue your little self-pity circle and tell yourself it's everyone else that's the problem, not you. Then you won't have to interact with the rest of the world."

"It is the rest of the world," Hermione said, confused as well as angry. "And I do not wallow in self-pity."

"If you say so," Dean said.

"You're not stupid," Hermione said. "No matter how you appear. You were present for the last year, right? I'm not making this stuff up. I'm the school pariah."

"Look, I know you got a raw deal, and I know I wasn't the nicest, although I was not the worst by far."

"Congratulations on being a slightly smaller asshole than others."

He ignored her. "I'm not saying the last year wasn't rough for you. But it has gotten better, and I helped, so you can just shove it. I never accused you of hurting Ginny, and if you weren't so far up your own ass, you would realize that. You should also realize that no matter how hard it's been for you, you're still not the only one who lost her."

"I never said I was," Hermione defended herself. "I was the one accused of murdering her, though."

"You were never formally charged," Dean observed.

Hermione fought to keep her rage down. "That makes all the difference, does it? Everyone thought I did it!"

"Oh, hell, Granger, you and I both know muggle-borns make great scapegoats. I'm living proof; who do you think Snape comes down on when the Gryffindor team steps a toe out of line? I'll admit, Potter used to be his favorite, but I've certainly had my share."

"No one hates him more than I do."

"No, of course, because Hermione Granger has the market cornered on everything, doesn't she?" Dean said, throwing his hands in the air. "Just add Snape-hating to the mix along with heartbreak and bad school years, shall we? The point is, Granger, things are tough all over."

"What do you want me to say, Dean?" Hermione asked. "What point are you trying to make? Do you want me to thank you for telling people to back off? Alright, thank you; it has been easier for me in Gryffindor. Or is there something else you want to talk about? 'You're not the only one who lost her.' Are you talking about Ron, because I know you care sooo much about Draco. Or are you talking about yourself? I've always wondered about those rumors. Were they true? Is that what this is about?"

"I came over here to make nice, Granger, not rehash old news," Dean said, sounding weary. "I honestly thought we were sort of friends. I guess I am the asshole." He rose from the chair and walked to the dorm stairs. He looked back at her, shook his head and climbed the stairs out of sight.

Hermione wanted to run after him and continue their argument. She thought she was probably mad at him because she realized he was at least partly right. If the Gryffindors were being civil to her, that had to be Dean's work. Lavender, popular though she was, did not have Dean's sway. Was what he said true? Did she prefer to hold on to her hate and 'me against the world' mentality because it was easier than engaging with the people who had once been her friends? Maybe, but she still felt she had more than earned her hard shell.

No matter what he says, he doesn't know what I've been through, she told herself. No one does, not even Harry, Ron or Draco.

Draco. There was another one who had been confusing her lately. They hadn't seen each other outside of class much since the secret admirer party, but Hermione could swear Draco was being nice, for him. He opened the door for her on the way to Potions. He hit Blaise in the back of the head for a particularly dirty remark in Defense Against the Dark Arts and one time he had nearly smiled at her. True, it looked like it was hurting his face, but she couldn't deny there had been a change in him since she had sobered him up in Hogsmeade. Sure, she had decided it might be nice if they didn't attack each other on sight, but it puzzled her that he seemed to feel the same. Maybe he was just tired of keeping up his end of their war. She couldn't really blame him. It didget exhausting, hating everyone all the time. Satisfying, yes, but exhausting. She wondered if Dean and Draco would appreciate being lumped together as Granger-supporters. Doubtful.

Hermione decided she didn't want to stay in the common room and brood, nor did she feel like studying in the library or even talking to Lupin. She thought about going down to watch Harry fly, but that didn't really appeal to her either, especially when she thought maybe she would see Ron and Lavender. Last time she had gone for a walk she had run into Draco. She would never admit to herself that her goal was to see him, but she figured if she did see him, maybe she could question him a little.

She found him in the owlery, staring out at the grounds and looking oddly impressive. Stately, even. She shook her head to dismiss those kinds of thoughts.

"You don't even have an owl, Granger," he said without turning around. "And no offense, but I doubt you have too many correspondence partners, either."

"There's no way you could see me coming up here," Hermione protested. "Do I smell or something?"

He turned and gave her an ironic grin. "You really want me to answer that?"

"I smell like righteousness and lemon drops, right?"

"Bitterness and Futility, your signature fragrance."

"Funny."

"Always," he said. "No, Granger, I can't smell you coming. It's simply this: if I'm having a private moment and someone intrudes, it's always you."

"I can go," she said, blushing a bit at her apparent predictability. Did he think she wanted to see him or something? Even if she did, he wasn't supposed to pick up on it. "I'd hate to interrupt your communion with the owls."

"No, you're fine," Draco answered. "Pull up a bench." He sat down and patted the bench next to him; after examining the area for owl waste she sat gingerly down.

"I don't bite."

"I might," she said, trying to hide her nerves. She was always on edge when he acted like the "old" Draco; she never knew which one of them would break first, would restart their war.

"Potter hanging out with Ron again?" he asked her. "That's usually when you come looking for me."

"Don't flatter yourself," she scoffed, annoyed that he was right. "I needed to come to the owlery and you just happened to be here."

"Sure," Draco said, smiling a little. "I can tell from the multiple letters you clearly have to mail."

She shrugged, spreading her empty hands. "Okay, you've got me. But I was just looking for a place to get some peace and quiet. I didn't know you'd be here."

"I always come here to get away from my Slytherin friends. You know that."

Shit. She did know that. "Well, now that you mention it -"

"Always," Draco sighed, turning on the bench to fully face her. "You always want something."

"Just a question!" Hermione said, trying to look innocent. "I mean, it's more of an observation, really. I'm just a bit curious."

"Curiosity killed the cat, Granger," Draco said, looking resigned. "Didn't your mangy old cat ever tell you that?"

"Why have you been nice to me?" Hermione said in a rush, determined to ask her question before she lost her nerve.

He quirked an eyebrow at her; a look almost as signature as his smirk. She had always been slightly impressed by it; she didn't have that much muscle control over her own face. She had tried raising one eyebrow once; Ginny had asked her if she'd just shat herself. She'd improved since then, but could not make it look as effortless as Draco always did.

"Nice, Granger?"

"For you, anyway," Hermione clarified. "For you, you've been downright friendly."

"Example?"

"Well, right now, for instance," Hermione pointed out. "You wasted a perfect opportunity to hex me and tell me I smell like muggles."

"What do muggles smell like, pray tell?"

"They don't smell like anything, Draco," Hermione huffed, "but normally you would say we smelled like dung or something."

"I'm sure some muggles smell like dung, Granger," Draco replied. "Hell, some wizards smell like dung, Vincent Crabbe unfortunately often among them, so I'm sure there are muggles who indeed smell like shit. You're not one of them, though. If you were, I'd most definitely tell you."

"See, being nice again," Hermione said, blushing again.

"Would you prefer the insults and hexes?" Draco asked.

"At least then I'd know where we stand," she said honestly.

Draco sighed again, a sound that made Hermione feel like she was five years old and begging her parents for a kitten. "What do you want me to say? It takes energy to have enemies, don't you think? Isn't it easier to live and let live?"

"That's an interesting philosophy, coming from you." Funny, that was exactly how she felt, but to hear him say it was surprising. She decided to jab him a bit, to test his resolve. "And complete bullshit." What's wrong with you? Do you want to keep fighting all the time?

"I don't feed off hate the way you do, Granger," said Draco, getting annoyed with her. As usual. "It doesn't keep me going."

"Yeah, sure, that's why you spent the last year being a gigantic prick."

"To be fair, I'm a prick to most people, not just you. Ask around."

"Don't be flip, Draco," Hermione said. "You know how you treated me."

"You came to find me, Granger, not the other way around," Draco said. "If you want to curse someone, go find your Snape voodoo doll. I'm just trying to get a little peace and quiet. Is that too much to ask?"

"I guess not," Hermione said grudgingly. "As long as you acknowledge that you have indeed been nicer, and it's natural that I would be weirded out by this, considering our recent relationship."

"Weirded out?" Draco smirked a bit. "More muggle slang? I'm sorry I've been weirding you out, Granger. I'll try not to."

"That's all I ask," she said, giving him a little smile. "Now, why do you need a break from your fellow Slytherins? I mean, I can't stand to be around them, but I thought you thrived on their worship and obedience."

"It's nice to have minions," Draco conceded, "and they mean well - shut up, I can feel that look on your face - but emotional support isn't high on their list of skills."

"You need emotional support?" Hermione said, raising (both) eyebrows. "Did you run out of hair dye?"

"Funny," Draco said. "I can see you ran out of brushes; hopefully Potter's a shoulder you can lean on."

"Touché."

"My mother," Draco said, deciding to indulge himself a bit and confide in her. He knew that no matter her faults, she wouldn't say anything. "My mother's still not back. She hasn't contacted me or my father. I can't really talk about that with them."

"I'm sorry, Draco," Hermione said sincerely. "I didn't realize. There really hasn't been any word at all? You must be out of your mind with worry."

"Nothing," Draco said, "and my father seems to think it's completely fine. If I were married to him, I would want to run away, too, I guess. I just don't understand why she hasn't contacted me at all. It's not like her. We've always been close. Maybe it makes me sound like an enormous mama's boy, but I can't believe she would leave to me fend for myself with Father Dearest."

"Has he been worse since she left?"

"Luckily we don't have to see each other much," Draco said. "I can stay here for my breaks until I hear from her. I've gotten a few letters from him. You know, the usual: 'why are you such a disappointment, why was I cursed with such a son,' that kind of thing."

"Draco that's really horrible," Hermione said. Her natural empathy made it impossible for her to feel anything other than concern for him. If nothing else, her parents had always loved and supported her. It was difficult to rely on them for much help within the wizarding world, but at least home was always a safe place for her. "Has he always been like that?"

Draco wondered if he should be so open with anyone, let alone Granger, but it felt really good to be honest for a change, and he knew that no matter their relationship, she would never use this sort of information against him. "Sometimes he likes to play the dutiful father. Hell, maybe he's even sincere about it once in awhile. You know, when he's not busy practicing his hex work on me."

"Draco, can't anyone do anything about it? What about your mother, when she was home? Surely she didn't sit by and watch?"

Draco shrugged, uncomfortable with the intimate conversation but not willing to pass up the chance to speak freely. "What can anyone do, really? Mother kept him at bay most of the time, but she could only do so much. It's not like she approved or anything."

"Does he hurt her, too?"

"No, he knows I'd kill him," Draco said vehemently. "He wouldn't dare."

Hermione unconsciously reached over and grasped Draco's hand; although shocked, he didn't pull away. "I'm sorry you have to go through that, Draco, I really am. I've seen you with your mother; she will contact you when she can. She wouldn't want you to suffer, worrying about what's happened to her."

Draco looked at her for a long time, not speaking, just keeping his hand in hers. Presently the intensity of his gaze unnerved her; she pulled her hand away and stood up, putting distance between them.

"I should go," she said, blushing. "I won't tell anyone you're up here, and I won't bother you anymore."

"It hasn't been a bother," Draco said, still looking at her and trying to piece together his current muddled feelings.

"Okay," Hermione said. "I'm glad we talked, I suppose. If you really want peace between us, I won't work against it."

"Good," he said. "I think we could us a little peace, don't you?"

She nodded, avoided his eyes and left the owlery.

When Hermione returned to the almost deserted Gryffindor Tower, she met a very unwelcome sight: Ron, pouring over her notebook with a disbelieving look on his face. Furious, she rushed over and snatched it away from her.

"What are you doing?" she yelled. "That's mine; how dare you go through my things?"

"What the hell is that, Hermione?" he demanded, grabbing her arm. "I just picked it up and it fell open, and there it is, in big letters: 'Who killed Ginny?' For Christ's sake, Hermione, you have my name in there! I saw it!"

"You had no right to read it!" she snapped back, yanking herself out of his grip.

"What is it?" Ron practically screamed at her.

"It's mine," she said.

"No, you don't get to do that," he said. "Why are you writing that shit down? Fletcher killed my sister; you know that, Hermione. Why are you still obsessing about it?"

"Why aren't you?" Hermione returned hotly. "I don't believe he did it, and I intend to find out the truth. This is mine, my work. I think I deserve the truth."

"You think I did it?" he asked incredulously, his face the same flaming red as his hair. "Is that what you're trying to say? I read that page, it had my name with a big fucking question mark! Are you serious?"

"Someone did it, and it wasn't me!"

"So you think it was me." All the fight went out of Ron then, and he stared at her with a broken look.

"I don't know," Hermione said. "I don't know what to think."

"You think I killed my sister," he said in the same listless voice.

"Mundungus didn't do it," Hermione said, refusing to meet his eyes. "Someone paid him to confess, and arranged for the Azkaban version of Club Med for him. The only one who has that kind of power is your father. Why would he do that, if he wasn't covering for someone?"

"Me."

"I don't know, Ron," Hermione said again. "I don't really think so, but something's going on, and I need to find out. You know I don't remember that night. Anything could have happened."

"Right. Well, obviously the most logical idea is that I snuck in, killed my sister, knocked out you and Harry and then my dad covered it out. Obviously."

"Ron-"

"No, I guess I know where I stand, Hermione. No wonder you're so angry about me and Lavender; you're worried I'll bump her off next."

"That's ridiculous."

"Is it? Have you shared your theories with Harry and Draco?"

"Of course not."

"Keep it that way." He gave her one last black look and stalked over to the boys' stairs, leaving her alone.