Roman Holiday

Chapter Seventy-One

"Where have you been?" he repeated - a bit quieter than before, but no less annoyed. Hermione analysed his tone for possible shades of ‘worry’ or ‘fear’, and came up blank.

Nope - it was ‘anger’ and ‘suspicion’, pretty much all the way.

"Let go of me," she said, irritated, and when he didn’t immediately comply, stepped down hard on the arch of his foot, hard enough to make him yelp.

"Be thankful it wasn’t your balls," she snapped, shouldering past him to sink onto the bed and ignoring his look of injured reproach. "I’m warning you now, Draco Malfoy - I’ve had a long day, and I’m tired. So if you’re here to give me a hard time, you can just go away and plan a nice little ambush for breakfast tomorrow, after I’ve had some sleep. I’m not in the mood to take your crap."

That took the wind out of his sails, she thought smugly. He opened his mouth as if to argue, then closed it again and limped gingerly over to the chair nearest her, contenting himself with a dark look in her direction.

"It’s a fair question," he said sulkily. Hermione raised a skeptical eyebrow.

"It is!" he insisted. "If you must know, I’ve been sitting on an apology for weeks - ever since the night before the inquest. And finally I got up the nerve to sneak up here and deliver it, last night - and then you didn’t come back." He glared at her. "What was I supposed to think?"

That made her more kindly inclined toward him, but she wasn’t about to show it - if he was determined to take his temper out on her, he could damn well grovel a little longer. "You could have asked around," she pointed out with a touch of asperity, and Draco scowled.

"I didn’t want to ask any of the professors, for fear of getting you in trouble," he said, then added - a trifle waspishly - "You are a Gryffindor, after all. And …" - this, a bit more reluctant - "if you were with Potter or Weasley, or …" He grimaced, then looked her straight in the eyes, gloomily defiant. "Well, then, I didn’t want to know. Okay? Happy now?"

Hermione sighed, torn between exasperation and sympathy.

It was impossible to stay angry with him, it really was.

"I wasn’t with anyone," she said, "not that way. I had a job interview. In Cairo. For next year."

His mouth made a little ‘o’ of surprise, and he whistled softly. "Did you get it?"

She nodded, and his eyebrows shot up.

"You took it? You’re leaving Hogwarts, too?"

At this, he looked so disbelieving that Hermione wasn’t sure whether to laugh or to be insulted. "What?" she demanded, and he shrugged.

"Well, it’s one thing for me," he said defensively. "I mean, I’ve burned my bridges well and truly, haven’t I? Not a proper Slytherin anymore -" here he hesitated, thinking, no doubt, of Sal - "at least by current standards. And not really cut out to tag along with Potter and Weasley either." His lip curled. "Father in Azkaban. Mother too much of a lush to manage her own affairs …"

"You aren’t responsible for them," Hermione pointed out sharply. "They made their own choices - you’re not pulling their strings! And you’re not a tagalong - Harry and Ron like you." She frowned at him. "Christ, you’re gloomy. Next you’ll be saying that what we had wasn’t worth anything, either."

Draco shrugged, his face a careful blank. "It’s over, isn’t it?"

Hermione wanted to shake him. "You idiot," she said, her capability for irritation suddenly returning tenfold. "It’s never over, haven’t you figured that out yet?"

At the flicker of hope in his eyes, she wanted to groan.

"Just because it didn’t work doesn’t mean it wasn’t good," she finished, and turned away so she wouldn’t see his face fall again.

He made a skeptical sound somewhere in his throat. "I don’t buy that," he said; "it sounds pretty, but it doesn’t make sense. If it was as good as you say, why didn’t it work?"

Unspoken: why didn’t you love me? Hermione rubbed her aching temples.

"It’s not like a broomstick," she said. "Just because we don’t suit doesn’t mean we’re broken, after all. We’re just not ready for forever yet - I’m not, and you aren’t either, whether you want to admit it or not."

She fought back a yawn. "It’s not just Hogwarts anymore; the whole world’s out there, and I want to see it. And much as I love you - and yes, I do," she said stubbornly at the look of disbelief on his face, "you were right - I don’t love you the right way. Not enough to give up my freedom. And not enough to ask for yours."

Whether those words were right and true, she wasn’t quite sure - exhaustion was settling over her like fog, blocking out sight and sound by degrees. They seemed about right, at least to her ears. But Draco still looked mulish.

"I would have given it to you," he said, and Hermione felt her patience fray and snap in the same instant.

"I didn’t want it," she said, too tired to be gentle. "And I still don’t."

Draco winced.

"Well," he said, and that one word encompassed a world of desolation. "That’s about as clear as you can make it, isn’t it?"

At her look of distress, he shot her a world-weary, meant-to-be-reassuring smile. "It’s okay," he said. "I’ve got the message - ‘cut your losses’. Don’t worry about me."

Her head was pounding. "I’m sorry," she said helplessly, and he shook his head.

"If it’s the truth," he said, "you’ve got nothing to apologize for."

At the door, he turned.

"Write me, at least?" Hermione nodded.

"Of course."

Awkward silence.

"See you around, then," he said finally, and Hermione echoed him.

"Right. See you."

**

And then, just like that, the rest of the term was gone in a flurry of farewells and final exams, as if she’d inadvertently bumped a Time-Turner the wrong way and blinked herself a month into the future. Her professors, her classmates, her friends - Harry, Ron, Ginny, Sal - she made the rounds to each one in turn, during her final week at Hogwarts, parroting familiar words through a dry throat. Of course I’ll write. Of course we’ll stay in touch. We’ll always be friends, of course.

Of course, of course, of course.

She wanted it all to be the truth, and she was scared it wouldn’t be - scared in a way that didn’t show, like a small white bird beating at the prison of her rib cage. Let it out, let it show, and she just might lose her nerve, might just stay.

The last night, she didn’t sleep, just sat on the bare-stripped bed, clutching her pillow over her fast-beating heart, and tried not to panic.

Morning came, tremulous at first, then stepping sweet and sure over the horizon. She watched it through her window for the last time, watched Hagrid emerge yawning from his cottage and ruffle Fang’s ears, and turned shaking away - from fear or excitement, she didn’t know which.

Leave, but don’t forget, said the small voice in her head. Take it with you, as much as you can - as much as you can bear to.

If it were only that easy.

She Reduced her trunk to the size of a deck of cards, juggled it absently from one hand to the other, and turned to take a last look around her bedroom.

"I’ll miss you," she said softly, and heard her own voice come back to her from the bare stone walls; eerie and thin, more like the child-Hermione who had arrived that first year than the girl she was now.

"Hermione! Come on - we’ll be late!"

Harry’s voice floated up the stairs toward her, disturbing her rêverie. She pocketed the trunk and moved toward the door.

The carriages were waiting for them in front of the castle, their wheels shifting impatiently on the loose stones. Hermione caught sight of two red heads bent together, and started to hurry over to them.

"Miss Granger."

She spun around, and found Snape at her shoulder - as forbidding and icy as ever, wearing the same glower he’d worn the first time she’d raised her hand in his class.

Some things, Hermione thought, never change.

Or don’t they?

"Your bracelet’s caught on your sleeve," he said, and watched impassively as she tried unsuccessfully to disentangle herself. "Here - allow me."

A few deft twists - oh, hint of almond, of long-evaporated lemon, as he bent over her arm - and her sleeve fell free. "Thank you," she said, and saw his thin mouth soften for an instant in what might have been a smile.

"It was my pleasure." He let go her hand. "Good luck, Miss Granger."

"Thank you," she said again, and stood staring at him; foolishly, oddly dejected - what, no declaration? no word of encouragement? - until she heard Ron call her name.

"Hermione! They’re leaving!"

The carriage was dancing to be off. A last scramble, an outstretched hand, a bit of a laughing scuffle. They clattered away, and she forgot to look back.

He who hesitates is lost.

**

They had boarded the train, had ordered a last nostalgic round of Chocolate Frogs and butterbeer from the pink-smocked witch with the cart, and were nearly halfway to London when Ginny looked over at Hermione, did a double take, and gave a little cry of wonder.

"Oh, that’s beautiful, Hermione," she breathed. "Is it from Draco? Did the two of you make up?"

Puzzled, Hermione shook her head ‘no’, then followed Ginny’s gaze to her bracelet - and felt a sudden loosening in her chest, as the tight near-panic that had gripped her for the past week gave way to blessed, blessed calm.

Where the sapphire had been, dangled a tiny, exquisitely carved charm - a scarab beetle, the Egyptian sun-totem and symbol of protection. She held it up to the light, marvelling at the detail, at the creamy translucence of the green stone from which it was carved.

"What is that?" Harry asked, peering at it. "Jade?"

Hermione’s lips curved. "No," she said. "It’s malachite. I’m sure of it."

The train swept on toward London, toward the future. Fingering the little green scarab, Hermione watched Scotland flash by, receding into the past, and smiled to herself.

Whatever was out there, she was ready for it.

**

END BOOK ONE

**

Author’s Note:

Thank you to all of my many reviewers - I assure you that it is your constant support and encouragement that made this fic possible. Stay tuned for Jewel of the Nile, the next book in the series, shortly forthcoming as soon as I tie up a few plot ends - I promise you lots of Cairo and Surrounding Environs, a suitably gruesome and complicated Indiana-Jones-type plot, letters to and from all the Folks Back Home (yes, including Draco and Snape!), and some serious William Weasley flirtations.

For spoilers beyond that, you’ll just have to wait. J Thanks again!

Anna