Sugar and Spice

chapter 15

She wouldn't have been surprised if Theo and Draco had left. She wasn't just late, she was very late. Past curfew late, but as an eighth year and Head Girl she had her run of the corridors. Not that anyone would've stopped her, not with—well, she couldn't see her face, but her expression must've been that of a warning and a threat in one seeing as how both Peeves and the Bloody Baron had taken one look at her and backed through the nearest wall without comment.

Seething. That was it. Her blood was boiling and she was nearly certain her hair had crackled with little bursts of barely retrained magic at least once. Steam could've been coming from her ears a la a Pepper Up Potion and she wouldn't have been surprised, she was that. Damn. Angry.

The nerve of them, Harry and Ron but Ron especially, to act like she was out of her mind. Yes, she'd expected some confusion and maybe even some shouting and general frustration, perhaps a few barbed comments and even an insult or two—who the hypothetical insults would've been delivered by and received, she wasn't sure—but not that disaster. Merlin, the way Ron had stormed off in a tizzy and how Harry had actually had the audacity to ask if she had fallen victim to a bloody love potion. She never even said she was in love, and she hadn't denied that Malfoy had once been a total prat. If she was under a love spell her explanations would've been irrational and flighty and not come with caveats and talk of shades of gray.

But they couldn't see beyond their own shortsightedness, their prejudice.

She wasn't asking them to like Theo or Draco or even like her choice, but they couldn't even scrape together the decency to hear her out without hurling unfounded accusations and elementary level taunts? They didn't need to trust Theo or Draco, but her? They were supposed to be her best friends, they were supposed to trust her, and instead they'd looked at her like...like they didn't recognize her. Neither had said the words, but the look on Ron's face had communicated plenty. He and that fifth year who'd called her a Death Eater slag were on the same page.

And Harry, he hadn't bothered to stick up for her. He'd simply shrugged and suggested they all get some rest, as if a few hours of sleep would somehow fix everything.

Despite the hour, she'd quickly grabbed a change of clothes and hurried off to the dungeons, the desire to be with Theo and Draco something physical, an ache in her chest that nothing else would quell. If she had to knock on the damn portrait until someone answered the door, she'd bloody well do it.

She wouldn't have to. There, leaned against the stone wall was Theo and in front of him, pacing the corridor with tense, measured steps, was Draco. At the sound of her footfalls against the stone, they both turned.

"You're late." Theo pushed off the wall, the smile melting from his face as he looked at her more closely. "What happened?"

She meant to shrug and tell them what happened, but as soon as she opened her mouth a stupid sob slipped out, her shoulders curling as she—no, she was not crying. Not over Ronald Bilius Weasley, again.

"Hey, hey." Draco ran toward her. He reached out, cupping her face in his hands. His eyes were flitting quickly over her, her face, her body, taking stock of her form and searching for the source of her distress. He could look forever and he wouldn't find it because there was no physical malady to find. He shook his head. "What happened?"

Theo was there, too, right over Draco's shoulder. His expression was equally as worried, his brows two dark slashes drawn low over his stormy eyes. "Hermione."

When she shut her eyes, a tear slipped out that Draco quickly wiped away with his thumb. "Ron and Harry are here. They came to visit. I told them."

Three sentences that didn't do that utter bumblefuck of a conversation—no, interrogation—justice.

And yet Draco swore under his breath, understanding darkening his face, shifting his expression from concerned to bitter. "Let me guess, they don't approve?"