Breath Mints / Battle Scars

Chapter 23: XXIII

December 7th, 1998

Diary,

Fickle is a good word.

With only two syllables, it somehow captures just how absolutely fucking volatile people are. Undependable. Untrustworthy. It's this pathetic little word - it even sounds pathetic, and it's so fitting. People are fickle. Everything is fickle. Every aspect of my life.

Even I am. I'm sure of it.

But if you really fucking think about it, expecting everyone to be fickle makes them not fickle at all. I can depend on their undependability. Countermeasures.

Yeah, it might not seem like much, but it brings me comfort.

I like knowing what to expect, for fucking once in my life, and at this point I can comfortably expect to have the rug pulled out from under me at every given opportunity.

Prompt: If you could change one choice you made in the past year, what would it be?

Almost too easy. My appeal. Mother insisted on it, but if I could go back, I'd plead guilty and accept all of those initial charges.

Azkaban sounds like a lonely paradise.

Draco

December 12th, 1998

Over a week.

Over a week and they haven't exchanged a word. Haven't traded so much as a full glance or shared the same ten feet of air. Not only has he skipped the majority of the classes they have together, but on the rare occasions that he has appeared, it's as though he believes it'll physically hurt him to look anywhere near her direction.

She swaddles herself in the belief that what she feels is little more than irritation. Annoyance. Exasperation that he's behaving like a typical, childish boy in this situation, when she prides herself on repelling typical, childish boys.

Except beneath all of that, she knows what she feels.

Slighted. Hurt. Used.

And also proven right, and she abhors proving herself right in situations like this. But there was that little voice in her head all along, ringing its little alarms and nagging its way through the dark recesses of her mind, telling her Malfoy was bound to do this.

Not just bound.

Almost required.

Everything she knew about his old nature would've practically demanded that he do this, and yet...that's just it.

His old nature. She'd felt certain, growing more and more positive by the day over the past several weeks, that his old nature was dying. Giving way to something new and ultimately more.

But perhaps, after everything, the only constant with Malfoy is his unpredictability.

And ninety-five percent of her had not predicted this.

She wasted it. She wasted it.

Everything she confessed to Ginny in a drunken haze feels childish and embarrassing now.

What a waste.

"Hermione, your tea," says Luna calmly, in her way, and Hermione glances down to find it boiling in its dainty little cup.

She shakes herself free of the anger, and the bubbles subside. Ginny is watching her carefully when she looks up, a question in her eyes, but Hermione shuts it down quickly, forcing a smile at Luna.

"Sorry. Lost in thought, I suppose."

They're taking tea in the Astronomy Tower, an affair Hermione has just learned that Luna hosts every weekend. Ginny's encouraged her to come, and thankfully it's just the three of them today, although Luna has mentioned twice how Parvati and Padma usually make an appearance.