Smells Like Teen Spirit

Bittersweet Symphony

A/N: You can find the chapter 9 playlist on my Tumblr at canttouchthis87

May 10, 1998

They were one week from NEWTS and Hermione was perpetually on edge, constantly snapping at anyone who came near her.

"Seamus - for the last time, I'm not going to help you learn Fourth Year Charms. Perhaps had you been studying, instead of smoking up or whatever you were doing back then, this wouldn't be a problem," she snapped when the boy in question attempted to sweet talk her.

"It's the return of Urkel," Ron mumbled to Neville from the Common Room recliners, playing "Golden Eye" on the Nintendo 64.

It was an old nickname she earned in First Year, when she'd shown up having read all her books and talking endlessly about school. When she was particularly swotty, her classmates would squeak "Did I do that?" in a perfect impression of Urkel from "Family Matters". Suffice to say, Hermione was not a fan of the nickname and happily outgrew it by Third Year.

"What did you say?" Hermione whipped her head in their direction, her shrill voice carrying to where they sat.

Ron went red. "Er, nothing."

She held her chin high. "That's what I thought."

It said a lot about how much she and Ron had recovered since 'the incident' that they could now banter or communicate without either of them stuttering or running from the room. Harry informed her that Ron was now full on smitten with Hannah Abbott and the pair were set to go to the Formal together after NEWTS. Hermione was quite happy for the boy and was glad to put that moment of her life behind her.

A crowd of Fourth Years came in through the portrait door, gossiping about the newest episode of Buffy the Vampire Slayer with absolutely no respect for the Fifth and Seventh Years studying for OWLS and NEWTS, whose entire futures were on the line.

She closed her books in a huff and stalked out, planning to go to the library to get some peace and quiet.

Her plans went out the door when she peered through a window and saw Draco playing his guitar by the lake. It was raining outside but he had set up a magical awning of sorts to keep dry. She couldn't see his features precisely but knew he wouldn't typically risk letting his precious Gibson get wet.

She made her way to the Black Lake, transfiguring a spare quill into an Umbrella on the way. She found Draco, frowning as he strummed at an unfamiliar tune.

She took a seat beneath the awning. She typically loved just watching him play; the way his fingers so deftly strummed the strings and his face would scrunch in concentration. He tried to teach her guitar one fateful day over Easter Break, but she couldn't get her left hand to cooperate.

"What is that?" she asked after a few minutes, still unable to quite grasp the tune.

He frowned, looking at her nervously. "It's something I wrote."

"Really?" she asked, wide eyed, "that was quite good."

He rolled his eyes. "You're just saying that."

"No," she insisted, "please - play it again."

He nodded and complied, returning to the now familiar tune.

It was beautiful - somehow both comforting and haunting. It felt like her year in a way; full of the most remarkable wonder but also the greatest tragedy. She watched him continue to play, feeling her eyes water at the melody when he started singing.

"This is not my Ev-ery-thing,

I told her twice if at all

They came, once, to bring