Pride and Polyjuice Potion

Chapter 16

The tumult of her mind was so painfully great, that it pulled tears out of her eyes. Any sense of gratification that she could have felt was greatly overpowered by her all-consuming disgust at his pride, his abominable pride. How could he so easily and indifferently admit to his deliberate separation of Luna and Blaise? How could he speak so cruelly of Viktor, who was nothing but the victim of his malignancy? And how he could he treat her so cruelly? He was incoherent, nonsensical, erratic, fickle, incomprehensible. Who was Draco Malfoy? After a seemingly interminable effort to define him, Hermione concluded that he could not be labelled. And she hated it. She, who always needed the answer to everything, felt violated in her deprivation of knowledge.

When Harry and the Lupins returned, drenched in rain, she was perhaps overly affectionate towards them, believing it to be the only way she could conceal her true sentiments. Her tear-stained cheeks and red puffy eyes may have given her away, and when Tonks proceeded to enquire of her health, she could sense the flow of tears returning. They poured down her cheeks uncontrollably. If Harry hadn't pulled her into a tight embrace, she would have surely drowned in her tears.

They all looked at each other in shock and confusion. When the flow of tears began to decelerate, she began a long, apologetic, breathless ramble. It was wild, chaotic and unpunctuated.

"Oh please do not look so worried spare me your concern I know not what came across me I believe I am simply too ill or maybe too tired I don't know but sad or hurt no of course not please do not worry about it there is absolutely nothing wrong with me all I need is a good nights sleep and I'll be perfectly fit and healthy tomorrow morning I am terribly sorry for my behaviour these past few days you must really think me mad I swear I'm not crazy please-"

"Hermione!" Tonks exclaimed, in attempt to shut her up. "Sorry, I don't mean to shout at you. Your endless ramble really just isn't helping anything. I'll make you a hot chamomile tea and bring it up you. Go relax, read a book, scribble something down. Anything that will help bring you some peace."

Hermione nodded gratefully and began to open her mouth again but Remus then spoke.

"Harry, go upstairs with her, will you? Make sure she's alright."

"Yes, I believe I ought to."

Harry helped her up the stairs and she immediately collapsed onto her bed.

"I don't know if you mind me asking, but what actually happened, Hermione?"

"I wish I could tell you, Harry," she whispered, just audibly enough for him to hear. Although she recognised her foolishness, didn't want to lie to him. She had been lying to him for so long. And so now she did the next best thing:
hide the truth. "But I am afraid I cannot reveal my current situation to anyone. It is something I must deal with very much on my own."

Harry nodded and did not press her further. Instead, he recognised that a change of subject had been long required.

"Let's paint," he grinned childishly.

"Paint?"

"Yes, paint. I saw Remus had some art supplies in his study, although I wonder what for? He doesn't strike me as an artist."

"Neither."

"Well, do you wish to paint then?"

Hermione gave it some thought and before saying: "why not?" with a shrug.

"Great!" He cried, clasping his hands together and ran downstairs.

He returned a few minutes later, arms full with various tubes of paint, two canvases almost slipping out of his fingers, a palette pressed against his chest, and two paintbrushes held between his teeth. He dropped them all to the floor and let out a sigh of relief.