A Little Piece of Sincerity
By: Provocative Envy
OOO
“Hermione. Hermione? Hermione!” Harry shouted at her in exasperation, effectively freeing her from the trance she’d been in for the majority of the day.
“Oh. Harry,” she blinked, startled by the volume of his voice.
“Bloody hell, Hermione. What’s with you lately? You’ve been acting strange,” he explained with some concern, looking to Ron for support.
“Yeah, ‘Mione, you’ve been talking less. I almost miss the lectures on why studying is more fun than quidditch,” the redhead put in, taking a bite out of his bacon as he watched her.
Hermione felt slightly guilty at the negligence she’d exhibited regarding her two best friends; she’d tried to make Ginny understand the situation as best as possible, but she’d also sworn the other girl to secrecy. It wasn’t likely that Harry and Ron knew about her predicament. She was surprised, though, that they’d been even remotely aware of a change in her character.
“Sorry,” she said with a rueful smile, “I’ve just been stressed out lately what with exams coming up. Only a few months away, you know.”
The boys relaxed at the normalcy of her statement, their unease dissipating in an instant. They would never suspect her of lying to ease their disquiet; she could barely believe what she’d just done. Taking advantage of their unwavering trust in her scholarly nature was something that violated her strict code of ethics. She had used the stereotype they had ascribed her for a reason she wasn’t entirely sure made any sense.
She didn’t want them interfering in such a personal problem, was the thing. Ron had the most remarkable tendency to incorporate violence into nearly everything he did; Harry wasn’t much better, but generally relied on the resentment he harbored for anyone other than Hermione and the Weasleys to blindly get him through whatever quandaries he found himself in.
The difference between what she had previously endured and her current dilemma was that this was a sentimental fix, not a physical one. This wasn’t a run-in with Filch after breaking curfew, or sneaking out of her dormitory in an invisibility cloak to snitch potions ingredients from Snape. This was the sort of crisis that put her at no risk for expulsion; no, she was far more likely to get her heart broken.
And she knew that no matter their good intentions, Ron or Harry couldn’t protect her from it. There was no spell to keep her feelings at bay, no amount of brawny intimidation to dispel such a colossal emotion; if she turned out be wrong, and Malfoy had, for once, been telling her the truth, there was no relief from the pain she’d have to succumb to. No reprieve from the fate she herself had sealed by prolonging contact with him; no cure for the agony that characterized the rejection she’d have to withstand.
She’d never wanted to be lied to so badly.
OOO
Draco approached her as she was leaving dinner. He’d determined that allowing her to think he’d been wallowing in self-pity and discomfort could do nothing but help his cause. Furthermore, he planned on displaying an act of contrition so earnestly she might be moved to tears.
“Granger,” he called to her weakly, purposely averting his gaze when she turned around with an expression of annoyance marring her features.
“What?” she snapped.
“I…simply wanted to apologize for my rude refusal to acknowledge any empathy on your part the other day,” he choked out, determined to sound regretful. He had let his eyelids flutter closed and could only feel the heat of her stare as it rested on his face. She was studying him, searching for that hole in his mask; he was positive that she’d find none this time around.
“Apology not accepted,” she said in a clipped tone, more than a little disconcerted by his flawless façade of sorrow. She could almost believe him.
“I thought as much,” he sighed with enough to remorse to render her immobile.
“Malfoy.” She finally decided that asking him point-blank if he had lied was her only chance at getting a straight answer. He’d be caught off guard and more likely to slip up, she reasoned.
“Yes?” he said hopefully, willing her to say something that would divulge her vulnerability.
“Did you lie to me about writing what was on those papers?” she inquired unexpectedly.
He stopped breathing.
There’s no way she figured it out this fast, he reassured himself with only the mildest hint of dread. No one’s that intelligent. He mulled over her question, pretending to be considering a suitable response.
But someone is that desperate, he concluded sullenly. He realized that she must have been so distressed by his behavior that she’d taken her last chance and accused him of deceiving her.
He thought about what might change her mind, what might push her into believing him again.
With a grimace of contrived hurt, he pushed past her and walked quickly away. Her confusion was almost palpable in the tense silence, the only sound in the hallway the echo of his footsteps.
“Malfoy. Malfoy, wait!” she yelled, frantic that she was losing her only hope at any semblance of inner peace. Running to catch up with him, she yanked at his elbow until he was forced to turn around. She was stunned by the remorse she read clearly in his eyes.
“Who do you think you are, Granger? Asking me something like that and expecting me to dignify it with an answer?” he demanded indignantly. She had the grace to blush, and stuttered her response:
“I…I didn’t mean to…that is to say, I didn’t want to…Look, Malfoy,” she finally burst out with, getting angry by his charade of virtue. “Even you, the humble artist that transforms mere words into…into weapons, must understand how difficult this is for me to come to terms with. You, the boy I’ve apparently wasted six years despising, is the only person in the entire world who can capture everything I feel, think, and want to the point of absolute perfection.
“What do you want me to do, congratulate you on a job well done? Shake your hand and advise you to study creative writing at Oxford? I’m sorry that my natural reaction was to doubt your honesty; I’m sorry that you’ve been offended by my desire to at least have a somewhat civil conversation with you. But I’m even sorrier that you’ll always be a conceited, malicious ass that I can never, ever even like.
“So this is it, Malfoy. This is the last you’ll hear from me. No more spiteful confrontations in the halls, no more impromptu food fights to make me late for detention. No more naivety on my part and no more acting on yours. I’m begging you to forget you ever tried to coerce me into…whatever it was you were trying to coerce me into. I understand that mind games are something that it’s more than likely you’ve grown up with, and using them on poor, unsuspecting, Mudblood Gryffindors is probably a favorite pastime of yours. But try and remember this, Malfoy: what you were doing? Yeah, you weren’t just playing with my mind.”
By the end of her tirade, her ordinarily dull brown eyes were sparkling with something unidentifiable, but oddly…stimulating. Draco was startled by her passionate outburst, by the tumultuous direction her psyche had taken her.
Hermione wasn’t, by any means, the kind of girl that lost control. She was renowned for her poise and discipline; chaos was her antithesis. She thrived in orderly, strict environments where rules were enforced and upheld. Every one of her actions was carefully planned, assessed based on practicality and productivity. She loved knowledge and required facts to uphold her beliefs.
Draco had therefore never seen her collapse in such a way. This wasn’t an exhibition of weakness, like her sob session with Ginny Weasley had been. No, this was a glimpse of the power and strength she could champion should she ever break out of her traditionally conservative shell. He had just had a preview of the woman she was to become: he didn’t know if he should be honored or frightened.
She’d made him feel inadequate in those few minutes she’d spoken; dirty and common and cheap. She’d put it into perspective brilliantly with her last few words: ‘…you weren’t just playing with my mind.’ How like her to sum it up so nicely. How like her to meticulously zero in on the only part of her rant that had made any sense to him.
She’d guessed that he had been attempting to manipulate her into something. She hadn’t let herself follow that suspicion through, and had simply opted for avoiding him for the rest of her life.
Reflecting on his motives for lying to her and hoping she’d fall for it…
With a self-deprecating smile, he walked away, thinking that he couldn’t really blame her.
OOO
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