Breath Mints / Battle Scars

Chapter 25: XXV

December 19th, 1998

Diary,

Is there a fucking spell to make sense of things?

Draco

December 24th, 1998

She spends days planning it.

Puts in the same amount of devoted effort as she would a term essay in First or Second Year. Except, it's almost harder, because she can't expect an Outstanding. She can pour as much concentration and careful consideration into this as possible and still not be able to depend on an outcome.

Can't even be sure he'll let her finish her sentence.

It's Christmas Eve, though. She can't wait any longer. It has to be tonight.

She stands in front of her four-poster for a good twenty minutes, staring at what must be three quarters of her wardrobe strewn out across the bed. She doesn't have Ginny or Parvati here to consult. She's the only Seventh Year who chose to stay.

And warding off that nagging part of her brain that keeps insisting this is utterly ridiculous proves to be quite an undertaking.

Eventually, she settles on a pale blue chenille jumper - the forest green piece she'd had in mind seemed too pretentious. She pulls it down over a pair of simple jeans, wraps a white silk scarf around her neck and tugs on her boots.

It's only as she struggles to magically pin her hair beneath a knit cap that she realizes she never did this for Ron.

Certainly, she'd put a great deal of effort into her reveal at the Yule Ball. But it had been just that - a reveal. Her chosen moment to display herself as more than just the mousy know-it-all. And it had been for everyone. And for herself.

This, though - she's never done this with one person solely in mind.

It's...oddly exhilarating.

And equally terrifying.

Every time she thinks she's finally comfortable with how she looks, something flips like a switch and she decides she looks absurd. And it eventually becomes so frustrating that she smacks her hand against the mirror, snatches her bag off the foot of her bed and practically throws herself down the stairs from the dormitory.

She's timed everything meticulously. She cannot afford to waste precious minutes fussing over meaningless details.

But the nerves really start to set in as she walks the deserted halls, decked with holly just as the carol suggested. She has no gauge for Malfoy's reaction, and she's spent the last several days working herself into a frenzy thinking of all the possibilities. Her resolve is firm, though. She's going to go through with it, even if her knees wobble the whole way.

And they do.

By the time she reaches the Dungeons - reaches the spot Harry and Ron once told her hid the entrance to the Slytherin common room - she's pretty sure the tremors are visible.

Even so, she adjusts the pendant under the scarf and takes out her wand. Performs three magical taps on the wall - a loud knock.

Idly, as she waits, she wonders if anyone's ever knocked for Slytherin House. She pulls the pendant out from under her scarf and toys with its sharp edges between her thumb and forefinger.

And then, all too quickly, a confused and suspicious Theodore Nott materializes a few inches in front of her, like he's stepped through the wall.

She jumps back. Catches her breath.

"Granger?" His dark brows arch up like small mountains.

"Erm - hi," she manages at last, collecting herself. "Hello."