Chapter 14: Potion Problems (Hermione)
“I think something awful happened like an accident or something and he couldn't come,” said Hermione as she sat on her bed in the girl's dormitory, leaning against the headboard. Ginny sat at the foot of the bed. She had never heard back from Silverhawk and it had been weeks.
“I can't believe he didn't come,” said Ginny. “You've been all gooey about him for months.”
Hermione sighed. “I have not been gooey.”
Ginny raised a questioning eyebrow. Fine.
“Maybe a little gooey,” said Hermione.
“Still. I'm sorry you got stood up.”
“He didn't stand me up. Something happened... why didn't he come?” Hermione shoved her face in her hands. “What if he did come and when he saw me, he left?”
“That did not happen. No one in their right mind would take one look at you and walk away.”
“Maybe he was apparating to London and got splinched.”
“Exactly,” said Ginny smiling. Somehow imagining that Silverhawk had been in a horrible accident was making her feel slightly better than thinking he had stood her up. It wasn't something she was proud of.
“He could have gotten hit by a muggle bus.”
“And he couldn't send an owl from a muggle hospital,” said Hermione. She waited for Ginny to join in and give her another reason for Silverhawk's absence but Ginny just had a concerned, pensive look on her face.
“What is it?” asked Hermione.
Ginny reached over to her trunk and pulled out the Quibbler.
“The Quibbler?”
“It's from Christmas.”
Hermione took the Quibbler and read the front page article. “Nargles attacks continue in Romania?”
“Not that one. This one.” Ginny flipped through a few pages and pointed at an article.
“You-Know-Who spotted in muggle London.” Hermione read the cover. What on earth? “What are you trying to say?” She was not in the mood to worry about Voldemort tonight.
“Well,” said Ginny. “Maybe... I mean you were in muggle London that night... what else would he be... and you don't know his name. Think about it. It explains everything. Someone saw him and so he had to run before they got pictures. Wow... you could be dead right now.”
Hermione's mouth fell open. She thought they'd gotten past this. Ginny had lost it.
“Silverhawk is not Voldemort.”
Ginny shrugged. “All I'm saying is the last time I wrote to someone and I didn't know who it was it turned out to be Voldemort.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. It was impossible. She tossed the Quibbler over to Ginny's trunk. “I think your biased.”
Ginny laid back on the head. They remained in silence for a moment. “How long did you stay there by yourself?”
Hermione laughed, the awful memory of that night flashing back. “For awhile, until Draco freaking Malfoy showed up.”
“What?” Ginny shouted and sat straight up.
“Please. Do not ask.” Hermione paused ”Come on. We should get to class. I've got potions.”
Snape was standing at the front of the classroom looking even more sour than usual. Hermione sat between Ron and Harry who were discussing quidditch across her. And, for some reason, that Hermione could not possibly understand Draco Malfoy was sitting across the room from where he normally sat (which was next to Pansy). Instead, he was sitting squarely in front of them.
Hermione tried to focus on making her potion but it was becoming difficult because her mind was always on Silverhawk. She just wanted to hear from him. She was probably going to have to get used to the idea that Silverhawk was never going to talk to her again. That thought made her dizzy.
She was chopping some squid tentacles, their slippery, purple juices dripping all over her hands. It's was pretty disgusting and not the easy thing to do but she had it figured out.
Malfoy turned around and looked squarely at her but said nothing. Her eyes flickered to him and the back to the tentacles she was slicing.
“Hermione,” said Malfoy. Hermione froze. He had never (ever) called her Herminoe before. They hadn't spoken since that night at the park. “How do you do that?”
Ron and Harry were both staring at Malfoy now, their eyes fixed and furious. Hermione adjusted uncomfortably, trying to decide whether or not she should answer.
“Do what?” she sighed.
“Cut the tentacles into slivers like that. Every time I try I just mangle them.”
Was Draco Malfoy asking her for help? This had to be a trap, but she didn't know how.
“Like she's going to help you,” spat Ron. Hermione glanced over at Ron. She probably shouldn't help him.
“How are you cutting them?” asked Hermione. Malfoy scooted over so she could see his process. He was holding the knife loosely at the end and trying to cut length wise up the tentacles but they kept slipping away.
Harry was gaping at her like she'd just done the unthinkable. Really, she had.
“What am I doing wrong?”
Huh? Did Malfoy just say he was doing something wrong? This was getting weirder and weirder and weirder...
“Uh,” said Hermione. “You need to choke up on the knife.” Malfoy scooted closer to her, gripping the knife. She sighed. “Like this.” Hermione's face flushed as she placed her hand on Malfoy's and slid it up the handle of the knife. Her fingers lingered briefly on his skin. His eyes met hers. Her stomach lurched and she pulled away. “Just cut them horizontally. That should help.”
“Thank you, Hermione,” said Malfoy as he turned back around to face his cauldron.
Harry and Ron were both staring at her, eyes wider than she'd ever seen.
“Seriously,” Harry whispered. “What was that?”
Hermione shrugged. “I have no idea.” She really didn't.
That lunch an owl came for Hermione. It was from him. From Silverhawk. Her heart pounded as she opened it. He didn't tell her where he had been, or mention meeting her again. That was all right. They could just write letters their whole lives.
That would be enough for Hermione... well, almost.
Her hand on Draco's...
Hermione pushed the thought away. She only wanted to think about Silverhawk.
Dear Silverhawk,
I hope your important project goes well. I'm sure it means a lot to you and whatever means a lot to you means a lot to me. You don't know how happy I am to hear from you. I so miss our conversations. Nothing, nothing, would make me want to give them up. When I write to you, the pain in the world seems duller, and all the joy so much brighter.
Yours always,
Vinewood
