Coping Mechanisms

15. Hermione

Hermione felt her feet carrying her up through the castle before she could stop them, her mind focused on everything and on nothing. Her stomach protested loudly, knowing everyone else would be heading to the Great Hall for lunch. But she couldn't face them; not yet. Not while her skin buzzed with unused magic. Not while her lungs hung like shriveled, dead leaves in her chest. Not while two sets of familiar eyes branded themselves behind her temple.

Hermione had always wondered if Harry had exaggerated his experience with the Mirror of Erised, but all that doubt was gone now. She already found herself resisting the urge to return to the hidden room on the seventh floor, knowing full well nothing good awaited her there. Just a dusty mirror with deceptive images and false hope.

And yet, if it hadn't been for Draco, she would have stood there all day.

Hermione wondered what he thought of her now, after she'd broken down against his chest. She was mortified by her own actions, but he'd been so close, his warmth so inviting. She wanted desperately to believe she'd only sought the comfort of his body because he'd had been the only other person around.

She wasn't so sure.

Hermione kicked herself. This was Draco Malfoy, the boy she and her friends had loathed since first year. A boy she was supposed to hate, a boy she should have been avoiding.

But is that what she wanted.

Hermione's quick footsteps slowed at the surprising thoughts that invaded her head, phantom notes of sandalwood lingering at the forefront of her nostrils. She wasn't sure what she wanted anymore.

One thing was certain, Malfoy didn't need to see her like that again.

Hermione had been so wrapped up in thoughts of silver eyes and sandalwood, that she'd made it to the third floor before she noticed a second set of footsteps echoing behind her. They were clumsy, and rushed, and she'd wished she hadn't slowed moments before. She'd almost made it to the safety of her room.

"Hermione!" Ron yelled, and she steeled herself, stopping and squaring her shoulders. She didn't turn around.

"Hermione," he said again, catching his breath as he came to her front. She kept her eyes locked somewhere behind him.

"What do you want?" she asked, the emotion gone from her voice.

"What has gotten into you, Mione?"

"I don't know what you're talking about, Ronald."

"You've been avoiding me," he started. "You've been avoiding all of us." She gritted her teeth and remained silent, willing him to go away.

"I see Malfoy is good enough for your time now," Ron spat, the hatred apparent in his voice. Her eyes flew to his.

"Malfoy also doesn't assault me in his front yard," she hissed. Ron's nostrils flared.

"No, he just gets to hear about it." His eyes shot accusing daggers at her, but Hermione held steady, her chin raised.

"Is that what this is about?" he continued, his freckled cheeks reddening. "Is this some kind of payback? I only bloody kissed you. I don't think that warrants all these awful changes. You don't need to go around cutting your hair and making Slytherin friends just to spite me."

Hermione felt her rage threaten to boil over.

"Awful changes?" she seethed. "I don't know if you know this, Ronald Weasley, but the world doesn't revolve around you. I can cut my hair when I bloody well want to, and I can be friends with whoever I bloody well want to. With or without your approval." Ron's shoulders raised in defense.