Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.

AN: I altered the bit about the potion. My mistake there.

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Chapter Twelve

Moving On Now

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The best present Hermione had ever received was a charmed radio that her parents had given her for her thirteenth birthday. It was special not only because they'd ventured to Diagon Alley by themselves to procure it; not only because it was carved out of a single block of wood that had the most exquisite detailing, no, this gift was special because it could receive the Wizarding Wireless Network and muggle radio stations too. It was an object that linked her to both words and the fact that her parents had chosen it for her added to the sentimentality. Of course, with the threat of Lord Voldemort never further than one thought away in her mind, the radio had come in particularly handy in as it allowed her to keep up-to-date with what was going on in both the magical and muggle communities in the simplest way – she just had to listen. The WWN was probably just as manipulated and twisted as the Daily Prophet when it came to reporting the news, but it never hurt to be well informed, and it was always great to hear muggle music once in a while.

It switched itself on at 4:50 am like she had programmed it to do every morning, waking her with the Weird Sister's latest hit. It was loud, fast paced and had catchy lyrics; erasing easily every hint of sleepiness that resulted from only four hours sleep a night. It couldn't be helped. She threw off the covers before the song had even reached the chorus and got out of bed, barely noticing the cold that morning as she walked into her bathroom and turned the shower on. That too was set to freezing; it was the most effective way of clearing her head and removing the very last traces of weariness that dared to cling on after an insufficient night's sleep. She showered quickly, almost mechanically; each movement perfectly choreographed so that no time was wasted.

Five minutes later she was dressed and sat at her desk, the radio relocated beside her and tuned into BBC Radio 4 so that she could listen to the morning muggle news whilst she checked her diary and made sure that all of that days homework (which had been checked over three times since completion) was ready to be handed in. The clock usually read 5:03 when this was done.

What followed was two hours of intensive, uninterrupted studying. This time was not reserved for academic study which came later in the day, but for preparatory study, for when one has been informed that they are a personal target of the Dark Lord himself, one did not simply sit on one's laurels and await for the inevitable to happen, especially if that one was Hermione Granger. Oh no. That one planned for the eventuality, and it was something Hermione was taking very seriously. Two hours each morning before breakfast were spent studying advanced Defence Against the Dark Arts spells and techniques with books she had shamelessly stolen from the restricted section of the library using Harry's Invisibility Cloak two weeks earlier. A further half an hour was spent recapping these an hour before she went to sleep each night.

Every attempt she had made to learn anything about the spell had led to a dead end. It wasn't mentioned in any of the library books that she checked,

As well as keeping up-to-date with all the news she could get her hands on, she had also taken it upon herself to spend an hour each evening trying to memorise the layout of many of the corridors that lead from the Heads Dormitories to the main entrance, figuring out which routes were the most direct or offered the best vantages for hiding. She'd taken on extra patrolling duties in order to do it, never going alone, and the upside had been that she had become more popular with the prefects for doing so. No one said anything about it if they thought it was weird for fear that she would stop doing it, and so it had quickly become customary and unquestioned.

All of that, on top of the ongoing preparations for the Halloween ball, lessons, homework and ensuring she saw enough of her increasingly distant friends - it was a wonder she wasn't more tired.

Then there were her morning runs. Hermione was the first to admit that her physical abilities were at the opposite end of the spectrum when compared to her school work, hell she was probably the worst student in the school when it came to physical fitness. She was pretty certain that should Hogwarts students be graded for fitness she would be lucky to receive a T and that simply could not do. If she was to be fully prepared for the coming months then she had to be fit both mentally and physically. At least she'd stand a better chance that way.

Running was not her forte. She'd scheduled in thirty-five minutes each morning between ten past 7 and quarter to 8; any earlier and she would be trying to navigate her way around the grounds in absolute darkness, any later and she would risk running into students on their way to breakfast. Luckily, she had discovered a way back up to the Head's Dormitory through the Castle that no one seemed to use and had thus far avoided any confrontations. Hermione didn't need anyone asking questions, it wasn't as if she could answer them.

Malfoy of course was a potential problem, hiding something like this from him was almost impossible but there was absolutely no way she could allow him to know what she was up to. He would tell her that whatever she did was pointless because it had been taken care of, he would think that she was being irrational and not dealing with the issue, and she had promised herself that as far as he should be concerned, she was doing fine, great even. She was most definitely handling the situation with grace and poise and gratitude. Everything was as perfect as it could be.

That's all he had to know.

So every morning at 7:15 she would pick up her school uniform and the wash bag that had been neatly placed by her door the night before and she would walk straight out of her room into the common room, taking care to keep her footsteps as light as possible. She would wait until she was around the corner of the corridor before she would take one of her detours and jog to the Prefect's bathroom on the second floor, and then she would head out of the castle and run around it's perimeter as best she could. The first few times had been horrific, she'd barely managed to run for a minute without her breath becoming short and her muscles aching, the cold early morning temperatures scratching at her skin, but she was improving all the time. She had to be careful to stick to places where she knew she couldn't be easily seen, and then when she was done she would head back inside and hurry up to the prefects bathroom where she would take her second shower of the morning. This one was even quicker than the first, so worried was she that she would be caught, when she was done she would put her uniform on as quickly as possible, often before she was completely dry. The wash bag and running clothes were stashed at the back of one of the drawers that housed the clean towels, she would retrieve them later.

She'd rush back upstairs and would be back in her room just as the clock tower outside would strike 8 am, her heart hammering in her chest and her legs burning, with a rush of adrenaline that was her reward for being so successful. Hermione would give herself a few minutes to catch her breath and to allow the bright red colour on her face to fade before she would straighten out her appearance and then head down to breakfast.

It was a routine so beautiful she wondered however she survived without it. Of course, even Hermione was starting to believe that all that she was doing was good for her. The way she saw it, it was the best and only way to proceed with the knowledge she had now. Her way put everything into a perspective and logical order that any other option would not. There were no guesses, no gaps, no room for mistakes in her plan; she followed it to the letter and she felt fine about everything. The best part of it was that there was no time in her day to even start dwelling on marriage and sacrifices and threats. No time at all. And that allowed her to act normal, which was a good thing because she was annoyed at herself for the way she had reacted, and she was doing everything to stop herself from acting like it ever again.

Hermione had been doing this for three weeks now, and so far no one had noticed a thing. That morning she ran around the castle and washed ahead of schedule, arriving back at the Head Dorm's five minutes early. She opened the door to the common room, her hands shaking slightly as she put the key in the lock and as she pushed it gently, her ear listening out for signs of movement from inside. Hearing none, she pushed the door open the rest of the way and headed in, taking the steps two at a time to her bedroom and carefully shutting the door behind her so he wouldn't hear.

Relief graced her as she leant against the wall, her breathing heavy as she congratulated herself. She felt so energised she thought she could do another lap or two around the castle; it felt so good.

She checked her watch as she headed over to the mirror, running her free hand through her damp hair. Her face wasn't as blotchy or red as it had been yesterday, which was an improvement she noted, running her fingers over her skin. She would have to get a new uniform soon though, her skirt was feeling lose around her hips and her sweater was all out of shape. Without dwelling on it, she reached for the concealer and dabbed it under her eyes to cover the dark circles that had become permanent features of her reflection. She pulled her hair up into a prim bun although even that was made more difficult today with her twitching hands. She shook them out as she headed over to the dresser to search for a belt for her skirt, reminding herself to make a note of needing a new uniform in her diary.

She was halfway through putting on a thin black belt when there was a knock at the door. Hermione glanced around the room quickly before answering. "Come in."

It had happened a few times now, Malfoy knocking on her door in the morning. She couldn't remember exactly when it had started. The night after everything had been revealed she hadn't slept a wink. Her mind had been too alert, too frantic to slip into unconsciousness, and so she had resigned herself to sitting in her windowsill with a blanket draped over her shoulders as she went over everything that had happened in the last two months, tossing every morsel of information she had been given in her head until she could not bear to think of it any longer.

She had thought all night about what she was going to do about Malfoy. There was no possible way that she could continue acting like she had been around him anymore. She'd slipped up too many times, lost control of herself in front of him in ways that were truly embarrassing and ways that she hated thinking of herself as having acted. The weak, crying, angry Hermione that had shown face around him was not her and was most certainly not who she wanted to be. So what if what he had told her, what he had done for her, terrified her more than what Voldemort was planning to do with her? She couldn't break down or run away and hide anymore.

She was eighteen years old now and better than that.

Hermione had to be stronger.

The next morning, they had met unexpectedly in the common room. There had been no words, no agreements, no truce. Nothing of the sort, just an unspoken understanding. And things had been different between them ever since.

He appeared in her doorway just as she had finished doing up her belt.

"Morning," she greeted him courteously as she pulled her sweater down over the top of her skirt and reached for her robe.

It was weird, this sort of civility that existed between them now. At times the truce, if that's what it was, felt like it was constantly teetering on the edge of a precipice, a fragile pane of glass balancing between two yard sticks. It was threatening to shatter every second.

She had instigated it, the morning after the incident in the library, the morning after that day of revelations.

He hovered in the doorway, already fully dressed with his books under his arm, his blonde hair fluffy and unkempt. There was a quizzical look on his face. "Are you walking down to breakfast now?"

He was always so blunt. "Yes, just give me a second," she told him as she pulled her robe on over her uniform, brushing down the creases briskly. "I looked over the rota for next month's hall monitors," she told him as she grabbed the books she needed for the day from off of her desk and the sheet of parchment covered in his elegant handwriting.

He held the door open for her and she walked out ahead of him, handing him the parchment as she passed. "Any problems with it?" he asked when they were out in the corridor.

"No," she said, a small smile tugging at her lips. "It's a rota - there's not much that can go wrong with it - you're pretty thorough. Everything looked fine to me."

Malfoy nodded, tucking the sheet into his book. "Alright. Good."

Walking down to breakfast each morning was the only time they ever really got to talk without being interrupted, or without causing a row. Hermione was having a hard enough time trying to keep Harry and Ron calm about the new situation involving her 'relationship' with Malfoy and she was eager not to rub it in their noses. Obviously Malfoy did not wish to be seen conversing with the 'mudblood' in front of his fellow Slytherin's and so this had become a sort of unspoken compromise between them. Hermione was so occupied nowadays with her schedule and her active attempts at avoiding him in the first place that it had become the only time of the day she really had to see him, and that too helped her to think less about everything that had been done, which meant she could pretend successfully at least to be normal. It all added up quite nicely.

"I think we should have a prefects meeting at the beginning of next week to dictate roles the preparations for the ball or feast – whatever you want to call it."

"That's a good idea. How about lunchtime on Monday?"

He nodded an affirmative, and she grabbed a pencil from her pocket and made a note of it.

"You're taking the potion?" he asked suddenly.

"Of course."

"Everyday?"

"Yes," she lied smoothly as they descended a flight of stairs. She refrained from saying "why wouldn't I?", because she'd read somewhere a while ago that any exposition of a lie with a question instantly aroused suspicion. She'd only forgotten to take it on that one day, she'd taken it perfectly as instructed ever since. She'd considered risking a double dose, but not knowing what was in the potion exactly make her wary of that course of action. He didn't need to know about her mistake, it was probably insignificant.

She glanced up at him from the corner of the eye.

He cleared his throat and looked away.

"You don't have to do that you know, check up on me," she said hesitantly. "Three days ago you asked me if I was coping and I said I am, just as I said I was two days before that. There's no need to keep asking. I'm doing fine. I don't want you to ask."

He shrugged concomitantly, a smirk twisting dangerously at his lips. "Since when have I ever done what you've told me to do, Granger?"

"A lot more now than you've ever done."

They fell into a silence as they continued walking through the castle. There wasn't much to say when you didn't even really know what to think.

"Is there a reason your hand is twitching?" Malfoy asked after a while. There was still a way to go before they would reach the Great Hall.

Hermione glanced down at her right arm that was hanging by her side, immediately trying to still it. She was surprised he had even noticed; she'd barely felt it.

He smirked at her when she gazed up at his face. "To be a really good seeker, you have to have exceptional senses." The tone of his voice didn't quite match the foreign look in his eyes.

"Stop it. There's nothing wrong with my hand." He gave her a disbelieving look. "There isn't. You're being paranoid and once again I get the feeling that you're checking up on me, which I have asked you several times now not to do."

Malfoy shook his head, casually sticking his free hand into his pocket like he usually did whenever he wanted to seem uninterested. "Did you know that when a person suffers from lower than normal blood glucose levels, say when they don't eat enough, then their muscles start to shake and there is a risk of neurological damage. I'd really hate to see you lose your smarts Granger."

Hermione scoffed. "What the hell are you talking about? Actually, don't answer that, I don't want to know. Just stop talking to me about me." She tightened her grip on her books. "I knew this wasn't going to work," she muttered to herself. "There is nothing wrong with my hand, or with me so stop going on about it. I couldn't be dealing with this any better than I am."

Malfoy watched her suspiciously. It was quite clear that she was lying, but then he realised what he was doing and decided to drop it. It wasn't his place, she was right. He was about to make a snide remark when something caught his eye up ahead. "Looks like troubles approaching. It's your lucky day."

"Oh no, not again," Hermione said under her breath as Harry and Ron descended the opposite stairs. Any hope that they hadn't noticed that she was walking and talking to Malfoy went forsaken - if looks could kill then Malfoy would be lying stone cold dead on the floor already with a tombstone next to his head. Without saying goodbye to him she rushed towards them, hoping to avoid a fight.

To say that Harry and Ron had found her new civility with Malfoy difficult to accept was an understatement of the highest order – they simply couldn't. It had been hard for them.

Hermione because she couldn't very well explain the truth to them no matter how much she wanted to, or the reasoning behind why suddenly she and Malfoy had become so civil in their interaction. Her fragile plane of glass was tipping under her feet, with Malfoy pulling on one side, unwittingly and her friends on the other, knowingly.

"Hey guys," she greeted them politely, hopefully, as she stopped in front of them. They ignored her, their focus fixed on Malfoy over her shoulder. Hermione turned around quickly and caught his gaze, wishing he would hurry up and disappear. He cocked an amused eyebrow at her before disappearing down the stairs with a swish of his robes. She was glad he could find some humour in this sorry picture when she could not.

"Hermione," Ron started as she turned around warily, knowing full well what she was to expect from this lecture. He was looking down at her now, his bright blue eyes softening the smallest amount. He was still angry at her, they both were. "This isn't right. You shouldn't even be walking around the castle with him like that, he's a Malfoy remember -" He raised an arm as he exhaled, too frustrated to even finish.

She turned to look at Harry, and he shrugged his shoulders resignedly.

Of course they couldn't understand what was going on. How could they? If they had accepted this new arrangement she would have been seriously concerned, but then again, she didn't even really understand anything about it herself. She was expecting too much from them.

"Please, can you both just drop it for now? I don't want to argue about this again." She bounced on the balls of her feet, wishing desperately that they wouldn't drag this out. "I'm sorry this upsets you, and that you're not happy about this situation with Malfoy. But he and I getting along somewhat as we are benefits the whole school. You both know that."

Without waiting for them to reply, she turned around and started walking to the Great Hall.

"Hermione. Something serious is going on with you." Harry was besides her in an instant, pulling at her arm so that she had to stop in front of him. He tried to catch her gaze but she fixed her eyes firmly on the stone floor. "You're keeping something from us, and I know it involves Malfoy. Why else would you despise him one day and defend him the next? Why else would you suddenly seem to find it easy to be in his company?"

"It's not just that," Ron added, coming up on her other side so that she was trapped between them, stuck in a bottomless pit of worry. "You're pulling away from us, pretending to be working, pretending that it's stress when we know that that's not you. You don't eat anymore, you look like you never sleep. Heck, your hand isn't raised half as much as it used to be in class anymore." He picked up her hand in his gently, his large hands warm and full of friendship. "Why won't you tell us what's going on? Can't you see we want to help?"

Hermione didn't flinch. She'd rehearsed what to do in this situation so many times it was almost instinct now to act perfectly normal, even thought the force of how much she wanted to tell them tried desperately to ruin her attempts.

Oh how she wanted to stop lying and pretending, to be able to share this with them so she didn't have to deal with it by herself. Keeping secrets of this magnitude from them, her best friends, felt like betrayal. The words lingered dangerously on the tip of her tongue, threatening to spill, but she reigned them back in.

What good would telling them do? One moments comfort, solace for her, followed by disaster. There was no way that them knowing would make anything better. It would only make things worse.

"How many times do we have to go through this? I'm –"

"-fine, yeah we know," Harry finished for her. "You keep saying it, but we're not buying it. Look," he said; his voice and expression softening as he lowered his head to meet her gaze properly. "I can't concentrate on Voldemort if I'm worrying about you. You have to tell us what's going on. We don't keep secrets from each other."

"I know. But there are no secrets, and there is nothing to be worried about." She gave them a convincing smile. "I'm so grateful to have both of you." She squeezed both their hands, hoping the gesture came across as reassuring. "I really am. But trust me, aside from Heads duties, planning for this feast, keeping up with schoolwork and worrying about you Harry, there is nothing I'm keeping from you." She swallowed hard. "I promise."

~o~

Thank you to everyone who reviewed the last chapter! I *shamelessly* (like pretty much everyone else that post of ) love getting reviews – I'm not plugging for more I promise, they just really make my day. Even if you hate it, I like hearing what you think and more importantly why, so thank you for taking the time.

This chapter moves forward a little bit, and although I've delayed the action somewhat to make way for some slight plot changes, it is coming soon, so bear with me.

One more thing – I'm really conscious of not making Hermione in this story a Mary-Sue. Everything that happens to her or that she thinks happens for a reason, it's not just to make her more damaged for the sake of being damaged so that she can be a damsel in distress, because she isn't. I really debated about including her losing weight in this story, as I know how it might come across, but I'm sticking with it as its subtle and hopefully does not glamourise not eating in anyway, it's just a manifestation of what is happening to her as she tries to deal with everything, an unconscious thing if you like.

Anyway, thank you for reading!