The Long and Winding Road - Part One

Somewhere in her smile, she knows…

The Beatles, 1969.

Hermione

Hermione smoothed down her mini-skirt, and walked over to the punch bowl. Ladling some of the scarlet concoction into a paper cup, she sighed. It was a good party, to be sure. Dean Thomas and Lavender Brown had organized it, and it had a Beatles-stroke-Sixties theme. But something was plaguing her…

She watched Harry spin past, dancing with Ginny to Eight Days a Week.

"Hi, Hermione!" he shouted as they spun past.

"Hi…" she called back, and sipped the punch. It tasted weak. She whacked the cup back down onto the teak table, causing some of the mulberry coloured liquid to dribble over the sides.

There was Malfoy. Characteristically, he wasn't dancing, but merely reclining in a corner, his milk white face propped on long white fingers.

What a poser, thought Hermione. So stuck up, thinking the sun shines out of his… He hadn't even bothered to dress up. It a fancy dress party after all. She glanced at her purple polka-dot miniskirt, and white halter-neck top covered in a giant purple flower design. Malfoy was simply in an oat-coloured shirt and black jeans. So boring, she thought. The rest of the seventh years had bothered to dress up and make fools of themselves in the ridiculous sixties clothes.

Seamus came over. "Care to dance?" he enquired, extending his hand. Hermione took it, and they were soon rock 'n' rolling with the best of them to From Me to You. As Seamus spun her out and twirled her back under his arm, she caught the gaze of Malfoy. He was quite blatantly staring at her, his icy silver eyes drinking in her every move. She shot him an affronted look back, and started to chat to Seamus over the beat of the music, trying to ignore the laser glances that Malfoy was inexplicably shooting her.

"Beatles fan?" he asked, raising his voice so she could hear him.

"Yeah, they're great," she replied. "My parents always used to play their songs when I was little..."

The song drew to an end, and Seamus kissed her quickly on the cheek. Hermione smiled at him, blushing prettily. He was so sweet… just not her type. She went to sit down, wishing there was something else to drink apart from punch.

Malfoy was still staring at her. Why was he doing that? And where was Pansy Parkinson? They were meant to be going out…

Hermione got to her feet restlessly, wobbling slightly in the four inch platform boots she was wearing. Deliberately turning her head away from Malfoy's perceptive, unflickering gaze, she walked to the other side of the room, where Harry was pouring himself a lemonade.

"Hi," she said softly. "Good party, isn't it?"

Harry nodded, sniffing the lemonade cautiously. "Shame about the drinks, though," he commented.

"I suppose they couldn't get any alcohol, because it's on the school grounds." She gestured at the Gryffindor common room, decorated gaudily with streamers and left-over Christmas tinsel. It was mid-January, and the Christmas spirit had weakened somewhat.

"Yeah…" murmured Harry. "I could just…"

"…do with a drink," finished Hermione for him. "I know. It's been one of those days." She stared at her platform boots for a second, pursing her lips. "Harry… You were dancing with Ginny. Are you and her-"

"No!" interrupted Harry briskly. "I mean, no," he added more softly. "I just felt sorry for her. No-one asked her to dance."

Hermione raised one eyebrow at him. "You know she still loves you, Harry. Even after all this time, she still loves you. Don't raise her hopes like that."

"It's better than ignoring her completely, and letting her sink into depression!" Harry retorted snappily. "Besides…" he added charmingly. "You'll always be my favourite girl, Hermione."

"Huh," said Hermione, but she allowed Harry to sweep her onto the makeshift dance-floor, and attempt to fling her backward over his arm, salsa-style.

"Youch," Hermione moaned. "Practice that one before you try it again, dear-heart." She stalked off to join Ron at the side of the room. He was knocking back colas like there was no tomorrow, a morose expression painted on his glum face.

"Hate to break it to you, Ron," said Hermione. "But coke doesn't have any kind of escape properties like a vodka would!"

Ron play punched her. "Have to make do with what's available," he muttered.

"Ah. You're as disgruntled as the rest of us."

Ron rubbed his eyes irritably. "Malfoy seems to be making eyes at you," he commented.

"Yeah, right!" Hermione exclaimed, forcing surprise. "He wouldn't touch a mudblood like myself with a barge-pole."

"Well, it looks like it's a mudblood's lucky day, then."

"Chuh. So… who are you eyeing up then, Casanova?"

Ron looked at her quickly, and looked away. "No-one."

"Well… what about Lavender? You've always had a bit of a thing about her…"

"No way," Ron muttered.

"Fine," Hermione replied hautily. "So what is your type then?"

"You don't want to know," Ron murmured, but Hermione didn't hear.

"Well, must network, sweetie, socialize…" Hermione got to her feet, and returned to her faithful friend, the punch bowl. She started to daydream, reminiscing about the previous year. She and Harry had gone out for three months in the sixth year. It could hardly be called a whirlwind romance. At first they had both been equally keen, but Hermione found herself doing all the running, and the excitement had petered out. She had been virtually certain that Harry had been seeing another girl behind her back, but he denied it to this day. She sighed, and ran a hand through her glitter-spangled, back-combed hair. Life was so complex when you grew up. No matter how much soul-searching she did, she still could never draw any conclusions. Did she still love Harry? Maybe, maybe not. There was a bind on her heart, and it seemed to be tugging her in different directions… Strange.

Out of pure boredom, she poured out another glass of punch, and then slugged in some coke as well. Adding a shot of pumpkin juice, she sipped it slowly, ignoring the foul taste. Life was so dull and repetitive now. Everything had slowed down to an almost deathly pace, and Hermione felt sure she would do something she might regret soon, unless something turned up to hold her interest. She happened to look down at her arm, and saw a vivid bruise, purples and blacks blossoming on her pallid skin. Odd. How had she got that? She was sure that hadn't been there when she got dressed…

She looked up. Thank God. Malfoy wasn't looking at her anymore. He was talking to a third year, a scrawny little Slytherin boy who was on the house Quidditch team. Malfoy, strangely, was now the captain, as was Harry. The third year was squawking about an up-and-coming match, and Malfoy was waving him away boredly, inspecting an invisible piece of lint on his trousers.

The party dragged on to the small hours, and gradually people started to drift off to their own dormitories. Hermione was just picking up her bag and heading towards the door, when she heard Lavender's voice call out her name. Hermione sighed deeply, and turned around.

"Oh, be a darling, and help me and Dean clear up all this mess - please! Go on Hermione, we can't do it all by ourselves…"

Hermione tried to block out the slightly whiney tones of Lavender, and nodded mutely, half-heartedly picking up a stray can from the floor, and chucking it in the direction of the waste-paper bin. The can bounced off the side, and fell several feet away from its target.

"Nice one," came sultry tones from behind her. Hermione spun around on the ball of her foot, to face the speaker. It was Malfoy.

Malfoy gazed lazily in the direction of the last dregs of people, who were dancing tiredly out of the room. "No wonder you didn't make it onto the Quidditch team. Mind you…" he said, looking soulfully into her eyes in a disconcerting manner, "you couldn't have made it much worse than it already is."

"You say that, and yet who won the House Cup last year? And the year before? That's right. Gryffindor. Besides, I have far more important things to think about than sport," she spat angrily.

"Hmm, sounds fascinating. Like what?" he asked, arching his back seductively.

"Oh, go to bed, Malfoy," she replied, turning away, unable to think of a better comeback. She bent to pick up the can, and placed it carefully in the bin, not taking any chances this time. She looked up, and noticed she was the only one doing any work. Lavender and Dean were suctioned to each other's mouths, hands roaming everywhere.

"Oh, for heaven's sake," Hermione swore, kicking at the rubbish on the floor angrily. "Do it yourself, you two. I'm off."

Lavender came up for air, gasping heavily. "Hermione…" she breathed, "we'll help you in a sec, don't go…"

"Forget it," Hermione snapped, and stormed from the room. She was half-way down the corridor, when she realised Malfoy was following her.

"Oh, piss OFF, Malfoy," she whispered loudly, not wanting to wake anyone up.

"If you like," said Malfoy, smiling briefly at her, before turning off down a staircase, that Hermione assumed must lead to the Slytherin wing.

Hermione breathed heavily. What an annoying boy. She softly clicked open the door to her dormitory, and tip-toed past a softly-snoring Parvati. Slipping between the sheets, Hermione snuggled down into the pillow, reaching up to pull the curtains around her four-poster. Lately she had been feeling ever so tired, and seemed to be sleeping before her head hit the pillow each night. That Malfoy certainly is strange… she thought sleepily, before slipping willingly into dreams.

*

Hermione was up late, for her, the next day. It was a Sunday, and of course she had done all her homework the previous day. Slipping groggily out of bed, she reeled when she saw who was in the bed next to her.

"I know," came a whisper from across the room. Parvati came and sat down on Hermione's bed. "Bit of a shock, really…"

"Did they…?"

"I don't think so," said Parvati. I think he just stayed here for the night."

Hermione looked back at Lavender's bed. She was tucked up, fast asleep, in the arms of Dean Thomas.

"Well, they're both still fully clothed," she muttered, slightly shocked. Lavender and Dean had only been going out for about a month.

Parvati stood up, and shook out her mane of raven black hair. "That girl is heading for trouble," she commented, tossing the words over her shoulder as she headed for the bathroom.

Hermione shook her head, and turned to her chest of drawers. Pulling out a powder blue robe, she slipped out of her nightdress lithely, and pulled on some fresh underwear. Pulling the silky blue material down over her slim hips, she saw Dean's head start to move, and Lavender stretch out her arms.

"Good morning," she said pointedly, as she swept past the bed and out of the dormitory.

She approached the boy's dorm, a smile playing on her lips as she recalled Lavender's shocked expression. Perhaps last night had all been a blur to her… Hermione let out an involuntary snigger, and rapped smartly on the oak paneling.

"Come in!" came Ron's voice a second later. Hermione pressed the handle down, and stepped into the room. Ron and Harry were flopped on the same bed, gazing raptly at something lying on the duvet.

"Hi," Hermione greeted.

"Um… hi," said Harry distractedly.

"What're you reading?" Hermione asked curiously, coming to sit down opposite them. There on the bed lay a small, leather-bound book, covered with neat italic handwriting on the creamy parchment pages.

"Harry…?" Hermione started. "Ron? What is that?"

Ron let out a snigger. "Seamus sneaked in the Slytherin dorms last night - while the rest of us were at the party - and he found this!"

"Ron," said Hermione sternly. "Is that someone's diary?"

"Well, what else does it look like!" exclaimed Ron, not foreseeing the warning signs. Harry tore his eyes away from the diary, and quailed at Hermione's furious expression. She snatched up the book, and slammed it shut, with a small puff of dust.

"How dare you read someone's diary? That's the most private thing anyone can ever own, and you're invading their most personal thoughts. It's disgusting!" Hermione picked up Ron's wand, which was handily lying on the bed, and said clearly, "Sera Liber."

Ron looked at her blankly. "What's that done?" he asked.

"Ron!" Hermione exploded. "Do you never listen in Charms? Professor Flitwick taught us the padlock charm only a couple of weeks ago!"

"Great," moaned Harry. "We were just getting to the good bits!"

"What are you going to do with it?" asked Ron.

"Return it to its rightful owner, obviously," Hermione snapped.

"Then you'll want to know whose it is."

"Go on, Ron, surprise me."

"Ha! Not telling!"

Hermione bit her lip and counted to ten. Sometimes she could not believe that Harry and Ron, and the rest of seventh year boys for that matter, were as old and she was. "Fine," she said calmly, and turned the black leather book over. On the back, printed in silver copper-plate characters, was the name Draco Malfoy.

"Oh, that was hard," she muttered sarcastically. "Nice one, Ron." Hermione stood up, and headed for the door. She turned at the threshold, and threw her parting comment.

"I expect you're wondering where Dean Thomas is."

Harry and Ron nodded.

Hermione tossed her hair, and smiled beguilingly. "He's in bed with Lavender Brown, in my dormitory." Grinning to herself, and clutching the image of Ron and Harry's jaws dropping to the floor to herself, she wandered down the stairs to have a late breakfast.

*

Hermione was just digging her fork into the fluffy scrambled eggs, and raising it to her lips for her first taste, when Draco Malfoy dropped himself down into the seat next to her, causing Hermione to drop her fork with surprise.

Clutching a hand to her heart, she turned crossly to the invader of the peace, and recoiled when she saw who it was.

"Damn you, Malfoy," she muttered. "I was just having a nice peaceful breakfast, and you have to bloody well come along." Her hand went to the diary in her robe pocket, but an invisible force made her withdraw her hand. Her rationality questioned this, but for a reason she could not explain, Malfoy's diary lay untouched and unknown in her pocket. She did not give it back.

"Why Hermione," crooned Malfoy sickeningly. "What's so bad about me anyway?"

Hermione shuddered, and shifted a seat down so that she did not have to sit next to him anymore. Malfoy did the same.

"You are unbelievably annoying," she said crossly. "You could have sat anywhere else in the dining hall, and you had to come and disturb me."

Malfoy snaked out a pale slinky hand, and touched Hermione's arm; which she immediately retracted. "Hermione," he said silkily. "What have I ever done to deserve this?"

Hermione spluttered with indignation. "Calling me names for seven years? How about that for starters? Let me see… 'Filthy little mudblood' ring any bells? And making Harry's life a misery with your petty comments and cheating in Quidditch, and sneaking on him to Snape, and-"

Malfoy's lips curled seductively, and Hermione had to force herself to look away, for a reason she couldn't quite fathom.

"Can't we put it all behind us? I mean, all I ever said was true, my dear. You are a mudblood, you must admit…"

Hermione shot to her feet in rage. "How dare you?" she hissed. Hermione picked up her plate of scrambled eggs, and promptly tipped the lot all over Malfoy's smug face.

"Good morning, Malfoy," said Hermione, and walked out of the Great Hall, her head held high.

*

Hermione sat down on her bed. Lavender and Dean had disappeared, and that suited her fine. Her hand went to the diary, and her fingers ran down the straight contours through the blue robe. Slowly, Hermione pulled it from her pocket, and ran her thumb down the chamois leather. It was fresh and new, and the pages of the diary were edged with gilt. The high-quality parchment pages had a faint blue and green marble pattern, and book screamed expense. Hermione chipped idly at the silver lettering of Malfoy's name with her nail, and sighed deeply. Why was she interested anyway? Up until a day ago, she had never thought about the idiotic boy at all, except occasionally when he annoyed Harry, and then it was only a fleeting flicker of mutual dislike.

"No," Hermione said out loud. She stood up, and walked to her chest of drawers. Opening the top drawer, she grabbed a thick winter jumper, and stuffed the diary inside it. Bundling the jumper into a ball, she shoved it to the back of the drawer, and shut it firmly.

Hermione sat down on bed, and pulled her book, Anna Karenina, from under the pillow. Lying back on the pillow, she kicked her shoes off, and immersed herself in the text. But thoughts were niggling at her mind, and her concentration was invaded by pervading images of Malfoy's smug face dancing past her eyes.

"Aaagh!" she exclaimed, and swore uncharacteristically. She strode from the room, tossing the book on the bed as she went. She pulled her coat from the peg by the door, and walked briskly down the deserted corridor. She ran down the various staircases, and out of the main door, into the Hogwarts grounds. It was snowing heavily, even for mid-January, and Hermione quickly pulled on her coat. She pulled her scarf and hat from the pockets, and ran out into the snow. It was a lovely free feeling, escaping the occasionally suffocating atmosphere of the school, and Hermione leapt across the snow-drifts, her shoes leaving tiny prints in the untouched virgin whiteness.

She made her way slowly across the pure crisp ground, to the large wooden shed where all the Quidditch equipment was stored, simply for somewhere quiet to sit and think. She tried to turn the doorknob, and felt her skin stick to the frost on the metal. Hermione quickly pulled her hand away, and pulled her gloves out from her coat pocket. Pulling one on, she tried the doorknob again. It still wouldn't turn. Giving an almighty thrust from her shoulders, Hermione burst the door open quickly, and she stumbled unsteadily into the shed.

"Why hello," came a smooth voice. Hermione let out an involuntary shriek, and clapped her gloved hand to her mouth.

"Malfoy!" she spat. "What the- why is it that wherever I go, you turn up?"

Malfoy stretched lazily like a cat, his smoked ice eyes glinting in the watery winter sunlight pouring in from the windows. "I think you'll find I was here first, Hermione," he said. "So perhaps you're the one who's following me." He laughed lightly, raising a pale blonde eyebrow at Hermione.

"In your dreams, Malfoy," said Hermione, turning for the door.

"Oh, going so soon?" purred Malfoy. "Are you a little afraid of me, perchance?"

Hermione felt her mouth fall open in indignation. "Fine," she said. "Fine." And Hermione sat down on the bench beside him.

"What're you doing in here, anyway?" she asked. Malfoy gestured to the sleek racing broom lying on his lap. It was the latest and best broom, one that Harry had been lusting over for months, the Devilstar. Malfoy had a tiny tub of wax balanced on his knee, and started to lovingly rub some into the handle. He looked back at Hermione for a second.

"What are you doing here?"

Hermione looked at her knees. "I just needed to get out of there for a while. Have a bit of peace. God knows, I didn't expect to find you here."

Malfoy stared at her engagingly. "Why? What was plaguing you? Were you feeling bad about tipping scrambled egg all over my head? I had to have a cold shower to get all the muck out…"

"So sorry. Nothing was plaguing me!" said Hermione, a tad too defensively. Malfoy smiled to himself.

"What?" she snapped.

"Oh, nothing," said Malfoy, a lithe grin playing at the corners of his mouth. Hermione ignored him. She stared at the row of brooms hung in formation on the walls of the shed, and the five boxes stacked on top of each other. They were, she knew, the silver containers that held the Quaffle, Bludgers, and Golden Snitch. There were various pieces of broken brooms strewn on the floor, and a red and white striped metal bar that looked as though it had once been part of one of the goal posts, propped against one of the windows.

"D you often come here?" she asked.

"Heard that one before," muttered Malfoy, laughing. Hermione groaned.

"I didn't mean…"

"I know you didn't," said Malfoy. "I do actually. Being the Slytherin Quidditch captain, well, I have to spend a lot of time working out… strategies."

"Really," said Hermione cynically, tapping her thumb nail idly against the polished rust-coloured timber of the bench. "So," she uttered boredly. "How's it going with Pansy?"

Malfoy lifted his platinum eyes to meet Hermione's. "We split up a week ago," he said softly. Hermione could tell he was trying desperately to look nonchalant, but a tiny quiver in his lower lip that most would have missed told her otherwise.

"Why?" she asked quietly.

Malfoy looked at his lap. "None of your business," he muttered piously. Hermione nodded. She understood. Her thoughts flicked back to the same time the previous year, when she and Harry had broken up. It had been messy, and painful, and had taken several months before they regained the sort of friendship they had owned previously. She suddenly felt a jolt in her hand, a very nearly irresistible urge to grab Malfoy's own terribly white hand, and show him someone… cared.

But I don't care! Hermione's thoughts shrieked in indignation. That's preposterous, illogical, completely and totally…

She slipped her hand into her pocket to keep it where it should stay, and sighed. They chatted about a lot of things, both important and totally irrelevant, and Hermione realised, with a twinge of reproach, how much she was enjoying herself. She stood up suddenly, and craned out of the lightly frosted window. The sun was slowly slipping away behind the horizon, a blue-grey scrawl hung past fairytale icing sugar fields and houses, and the clouds were climbing the increasingly dark skies.

"It's getting late," said Hermione, glancing at the delicate silver watch on her wrist, and reading it in shock. She had been in here talking to Malfoy for a lot longer than she had realised. She looked back out of the window. It had snowed a lot more, and from what she could see, the snow level had risen quite considerably.

"I'd better be heading back," she said casually.

"Mmm, me too," Malfoy agreed. Hermione picked up her coat, and walked to the door. She tried to turn the doorknob. It was stuck fast.

"Oh, Jesus," said Hermione irritably. She wrenched at it, in vain.

"Oh, come here, you little weakling," sniggered Malfoy, and strode towards the door, in a manner he obviously thought was extremely impressive to helpless girls such as Hermione. Hermione put her hands on her hips, and watched him reach for the doorknob.

"God!" he exclaimed, having made no more progress than Hermione.

"See!" she interjected.

"I wonder why it won't open," he muttered.

"It's obvious," Hermione threw back, relishing knowing more than he did. "The ice has frosted over the lock, and the cracks between the door and the doorframe. There's no way we can open the door, because water expands when it solidifies-"

"Yes, thank you, Miss Know-It-All," snapped Malfoy insecurely. "Use your wand, and get us out of here."

Hermione raised one eyebrow, and dug in her robes. There was nothing in her pocket.

"Shi-" she started, and automatically stopped herself. Frantically, she dove into her coat pockets, and then went back to her robes, flipping the pockets out. A couple of Sickles rolled onto the floor, but nothing more. "Damn it," she said. She was wearing her new robe, and stupidly had forgotten to transfer her wand from her usual robes into the new one. She suddenly whirled on Malfoy.

"Give me your wand," she said impatiently.

"Don't tell me you haven't got yours?" smirked Malfoy. "Well, well, well, wonders will never cease. The teacher's pet has lost her wand!" And he chuckled, delighted.

"I have not," snorted Hermione. "Just give me your wand, Malfoy, and I'll get us out of here."

Malfoy picked at his green Quidditch robes. "Just been for a practice," he said smarmily. "There isn't a pocket in these robes, so I always leave my wand in my dormitory."

"Oh my God," muttered Hermione, suddenly feeling faint. "There's no way of getting out, Malfoy," she muttered. She walked over to one of the windows, and managed to wrench it open.

"Hermione," said Malfoy. "You obviously think you're thinner than you really are."

Hermione shot him a degrading glance, and used all her strength to push it open to its greatest degree. Summoning up a breath, she yelled into the night.

"Help! Help!" she shouted hoarsely. "We're trapped in here… Please help…"

Malfoy shot her a cynical glance. "Look Granger," he said. "The only person who'd be able to hear us is that imbecile Hagrid, and his hut's miles away in the other direction. The wind's carrying North, he'll never hear you in a million years. I would have thought you with all your scholastic aptitude and your huge intelligence could have worked that out for yourself." He shot her a triumphant grin, and sat down on the bench.

"Well, at least I'm trying," Hermione snapped, and kicked the wall. "Unlike some people I could mention…" Malfoy merely smiled repulsively at her. Something in Hermione snapped.

"Look, you pathetic little squirt," she shrieked. "You are obviously not comprehending the situation. We are locked in here for at least the night, if not longer. We're not going to get out until someone happens to wander past, and God knows when that might happen. This is deadly serious. Now help me think of something. For one thing, I've got a major Arithmancy test tomorrow, I can't miss it!"

Malfoy tapped his long white fingers on his knee, and propped his chin on his other hand. "Now I don't know," he said thoughtfully. "It might not be so bad…" and he looked at Hermione in a way she definitely did not like. She turned away, and put her face in her hands. How was this happening? Locked in a cold shed for the night, with Draco Malfoy for company…

To be continued…