Chapter XIX

Tweed in Summer

Draco was visibly relieved to see her return, but something was off between them, and had been for a few weeks. Hermione didn't know what to make of it. Their relationship had reverted to what it had been before the winter holidays, except… different. There was always a sort of tension in the air when they were alone.

They ignored it. Ran the clock out until the end of term and they were on the Hogwarts Express heading to London. Halfway through the trip, Hermione decided they needed to talk before going their separate ways. She took him into the hallway.

"Draco, I need to know what's going on."

"What's going on?" said Draco.

Hermione nodded. "Between us."

"What about us?"

Hermione sighed. "Come on, Draco. Something's wrong. Talk to me."

Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets and shrugged. "Nothing's wrong."

"Are we not…" she began, not quite sure how to voice her worries. "Don't you want…"

"You're the one who got cross at me," said Draco.

"You've been –" Well, maybe they both had been confused. And the whole incident with Pettigrew and Black – and Draco didn't know about Pettigrew, she had stuck to Dumbledore's story. After returning from the hospital, he could have been worried she blamed him for it all – Black being a cousin of sorts to him – however he convinced himself of that. So perhaps it would be best for bluntness. "If I'm going to be your girlfriend, you can't be off doing things with other girls. I won't stand for it."

"I'm not off with other girls –"

"So what've you been doing with Daphne?" Hermione cut in. "You've been getting very friendly with her. And you haven't before."

"Definitely not things," he insisted. "We've only worked on essays and homework. You've been solitary, and Daphne isn't too bad at school stuff, either."

"You seemed to be enjoying it," she crossed her arms. "More than when you work with me."

"You're serious about school. Too serious. Daphne is…"

"Prettier?" she offered, watching him closely.

He made a face. "Come on, Hermione. You're not like that. Don't be like Pansy."

"I'm like Pansy now?" Hermione exclaimed.

"No. You're not. I'm not hanging out with Daphne because she's prettier than you, so don't think that."

"Then why?"

He hesitated for a moment. "Because my father wants me to."

"Why?"

"Things are different, now. Complicated."

"How so?"

"My father… and her father… they're… working together. They want Daphne and I to get to know each other."

Hermione looked out the window. The bright, green country was streaking past them at lightning speed. "What does that mean for us?"

He shrugged, and said softly, "I don't know."

This was getting so confusing. Never in a thousand years would Hermione have guessed that she'd be spending her trip home trying to sound out some sort of relationship with a boy. It just was not her priority. Perhaps her father was right. Maybe she should wait ten or twenty years. God knows how much more work she could get done without any distractions. "What do you want?"

"What?"

Hermione looked him in the eye. "You're my best friend. If you were happier as things were?"

Draco shook his head. "I don't know."

"Okay then." She dropped her eyes to the floor.

"No, I mean… I was happier when things weren't as complicated. I know I want you, Hermione."

"I don't want things to be confusing. I need you to tell me what we are so I can understand. If you just want to be friends, I'm okay with that. I just need to know."

"No, I don't want to be just friends."

"You want me to be your girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"Good," said Hermione. "That means you're my boyfriend, and my boyfriend doesn't do things with other girls."

"Would never cross my mind."

I-I. ⌡. Γ┐

Tweed in summer. He really needed to stop.

Hermione's father was waiting at King's Cross, just like every year. He smiled and took her trunk and they walked out together to the blue sedan.

Nine months was a long time to be away. Hermione wasn't really sure why they had argued the previous summer. She knew her parents only wanted to protect her. But they really didn't understand too much about her world.

The small car was hot and stuffy, and sapped all of Hermione's energy. Or maybe that was the injury. There was a jagged scar along her abdomen, as well as countless little cuts all over her body. The doctors said they had gotten everything and Hermione would recover fully, but she would fatigue easily for a few weeks. She had certainly slept more. Nonetheless, she couldn't wait to pick out a good book, prop herself up under the tree in their yard, and read for hours with a nice, cool breeze running over her skin. Simple, relaxing, and with no chance of running into a murderous terrorist. Exactly what the doctor ordered.

They sat in silence most of the way home. Her father was more understanding than Helen. Her mother would have demanded explanations by now. "How were classes?", "I expect you received top marks?", "You didn't write to us". Well, Hermione did receive top marks. But she had also almost died, so that put things into perspective. Not that she wanted her parents to know about that if they hadn't already been told. And something made her think they hadn't.

"I'm sorry," Hermione said as they were entering Watford.

"For what?" said her father.

Hermione shrugged and watched cars pass the other direction. "Last year. I was kind of a brat."

Her father grunted. "You don't have to apologize. We all could have handled things better."

"I ruined your holiday. Mum's holiday."

"She wasn't very pleased, but you come first."

"I shouldn't have acted like a child."

"You are a child, Hermione. We forget that as much as you do."

"I'm not a child, dad," she sighed. I've killed a man.

"You're our little girl until you move out. And then you'll continue to be our girl until we say so."

Hermione snorted. "I'll be fifteen at the end of summer."

"We can revisit the topic when you're thirty, but I shouldn't think you'll make much headway." He was joking. Probably.

"I shouldn't have acted like a child."

Hermione watched Vicarage Road roll by out the window. No one would be playing there for a few months. And she'd be gone before they really got going again. She missed watching games there when she was younger. The atmosphere, the game... it was simple. Watford did good, you cheer. The other guys did good, you boo. You always have a good time.

"I know you hold yourself to a higher standard," said her father, "but you really have to give yourself some slack. Your mother expects the world from you, and I do too, but it's okay to take a break."

"I know," said Hermione.

"You shouldn't burn yourself out with your studies."

"I know."

"Seven years in one school can be daunting. Especially with it being, you know... different. I can imagine it may get intimidating. Or repetitive. I don't know what it's like, but you should really find some time to just be yourself."

"There are creatures that can suck your soul out through your mouth, dad," she said as they pulled into their driveway.

They keys jingled as her father turned the car off.

"You can't see them, because you're not a wizard," she said, turning to him. "But they're there. They feed on your fear and emotions. And if they're close enough, they can suck your soul out through your mouth."

Her father stared at her with a frown.

"You shouldn't worry, because they're kept at the wizard prison, but I do worry."

"If I shouldn't worry, why should you?"

"Because I'm a witch. Because they are disturbing. And because I'm terrified of what happens when I'm not ready for something."

"You're more prepared for anything than any other girl in the world, Hermione," her father said with a small smile, but Hermione shook her head.

"Not nearly enough."

They sat in the car for several minutes. It was hot. She knew her skin would stick to the leather seat when she got out. But it was nice to sit with her father. To pretend that everything would be okay if he was there with her. Like it used to be. Before everything. Before magic. Back when her dad was the most capable man in the world. Her protector. Her mentor. Her father.

"Your mother and I got you a gift," he said at last. "Well, your mother thought it might be a good idea. I got it for you." He reached into the back seat and pulled out a wide, flat box and handed it to her.

"What is it?"

"Just open it."

She lifted the lid off.

Inside was a yellow jersey with black stripes. A Watford jersey.

"They got a new kit this year. Thought you'd like it."

Hermione lifted it out of the box. Her last Watford jersey was old, too small, and probably catching dust somewhere in the attic. "I do like it."

"Got it with Gary Porter's name. He had a good season."

"How'd we do? The Daily Prophet doesn't have a football section." On the other side of the jersey was the bold name PORTER.

"Kind of crap. Didn't get relegated, though."

'Kind of crap' was not as much of an insult as it sounded. Her father was proud of 'kind of crap'. Nothing like supporting a mediocre team to prove your loyalty. Not like the Scousers up north who supported Liverpool just because they take home the silverware. Glory-hunters. Band-wagoners. This was the one thing which Hermione didn't mind not winning. Five-hundred and forty professional teams in England, and Hermione shared one with her father. Being a bit crap wasn't much of a price for that.

"Thanks, dad," she said, tracing the outline of the Watford badge. "Wish I saw a game with you."

Gary Porter, Watford's player of the year for 1993-1994.

That's it for year 3. Thanks to all of you for reading and sticking with me.

Final score: 19 chapters, 58,847 words.

Book 4, Chapter 1 is up, but expect a delay on updates. I want to take a month to rejuvenate, really nail down and polish the story and get ready for book 5. I should begin posting regularly around mid-September.