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“Hermione, are you sure you’re not overreacting?” Ron asked, remembering how Hermione acted about the House Elves and seeing the same trend in her behavior now.
“You see how Harry acts too; you tell me if I’m overreacting.”
“You’re overreacting.”
Hermione sighed. “Fine then. You just find out the password to Harry and Malfoy’s room and I’ll do the rest.”
“What?”
“I’m serious.”
“You’re crazy.”
“Ron—”
“Fine, fine. I’ll get Harry to tell me so we can meet him there to study or something.”
“Good.”
Ron shook his head as he watched Hermione walk up the stairs to the girl’s dormitory. “I tried to make her stay out of it…” he said weakly. “No one can say I didn’t try.”
Draco was not amused at this moment in time. No, he was not pleased at all. And every fibre of his being was directed at making this known to the being standing in his rooms not three feet away from him.
“And just what do you think you are doing in my rooms?” Draco hissed.
Hermione was rather impressed. No wings had sprouted yet. “Is Harry here?”
“No. Get. Out.”
“Good then.” Hermione acted as if she hadn’t heard the other two words he uttered. “I need to talk to you about Harry.”
“No you don’t. Goodbye.”
“Fine then. I’ll talk, you’ll listen, and then I’ll leave.”
“The door is behind you, please use it.”
“I won’t leave until you listen.”
“Mudblood, get out of my rooms!”
“They’re Harry’s too.”
Draco fought to control himself. “You have ten seconds. Talk.”
“I wanted to talk to you about Harry-”
“I gathered that.”
“—And his new behavior.”
Draco raised an eyebrow.
“I want to know what you feel for Harry.”
Draco blinked at her. A voice inside his brain was beginning to rant about the audacity of some people who would first walk into rooms that do not belong to them, barring for the minute how she even got the password in the first place, and would then dare ask such questions that should not be asked!
Hermione waited for the explosion that she hoped was coming. A rant, maybe, about how one Draco Malfoy hated one Harry Potter. But she didn’t get one. All she got was a strained:
“I don’t know what you’re talking about Mudblood, now get out.”
With a grin, Hermione left the room. So Harry wasn’t the only one with these types of feelings. But they were both very much in denial. Well, desperate times…
As soon as Hermione was gone from the room Draco stalked up to the picture frame. “Medusa, NEVER let her into these rooms again. And pick a new password that you like. You can tell me what it is later.”
He didn’t bother to really listen to Medusa’s reply as he headed for the bedroom and his Potions homework. Hopefully that would get this whole experience out of his head for a while.
Hermione found Harry after dinner. (Again he’d watched Draco enter the Great Hall and sit down with his fellow Slytherins before even looking at his own food.) “Harry, I wanted to talk to you.” She said as she caught up with him walking slowly towards the dungeons.
“What’s up?”
“I wondered how you felt about Draco.”
Harry looked rather like Draco did when she’d asked him that same type of question earlier. “I don’t know-”
“You pay more attention to him in classes that we share with Slytherins than on the actual subject. Heck, you watch him walk into the Great Hall for meals as well. Ron told me about what he caught you doing. Something’s going on and as your friend I would like to help.”
“I really don’t think-” He caught the look on Hermione’s face and inwardly groaned; it was the same type of look he endured with S.P.E.W. “I really don’t know yet.” He said quietly, almost hoping she wouldn’t hear him.
They reached the portrait, for which Harry was extremely grateful. He didn’t think he’d ever been so pleased to see Medusa in his entire existence. But the portrait wouldn’t open to the password.
Harry groaned and muttered about Draco and changing passwords without telling him before knocking rather loudly on the picture frame (while ignoring Medusa’s indignant shrieks) and yelled, “Draco! Make Medusa open up already!” He waited a few seconds before sighing. “He’s probably already in the shower,” he muttered, sitting down next to the portrait to wait.
He caught the look Hermione shot at him. “What?”
“You know when he showers.”
“I live with him; one does pick things like that up.”
“You lived with a few guys in Gryffindor and I bet you couldn’t tell me their showering times.”
Harry opened his mouth to retort but closed it when he realized that he couldn’t tell her all of that information.
Hermione sat down next to him. “So start talking.”
“Is there any way I can change the subject?”
“No.”
