𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐆𝐈𝐑𝐋 𝐖𝐈𝐓𝐇𝐎𝐔𝐓 𝐀 𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄 [𝐝𝐫𝐚𝐦𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐞]

𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐞𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭

_____

St. Mungo's

_____

HERMIONE felt nothing but guilt.

It had been two weeks since she'd left Draco in that storage room alone, after feeding him with all those lies.

She could see the hurt on his carefully illuminated face, and hear it in his voice whenever he spoke to her, and could sense it with every silence that followed her sentences.

She wanted nothing more than to be with him, but she was far too scared of what would happen. He seemed to be the version of himself that she fell in love with it.

But she was petrified that she'd bare her soul to him, only for it to be stamped on by the animal that lived somewhere deep within. It was as though he were a ferocious predator, luring in its prey with sweetness and softness, only to strike when she got too close.

She was like little red riding-hood.

And he was the wolf.

She knew what she'd said to him was all false, but she had to keep her distance from him while he reverted; she had to wait it out and seek out his truth. It scared her, but she just had to.

Hermione treaded down the corridor now, her morning shift concluding as the afternoon drew nearer, toward the staff room for her lunch.

She hadn't spoken to Avery about this yet, and frankly, it was corroding away inside of her. She needed to set it loose, to clear her conscience, and to collect advice from the witch.

Luckily for her, Avery had been seated in their usual spot, a toasted sandwich filled with butter, ham and cheese splayed out on a plate in front of her.

Hermione quickly caught her attention, planting down into the spindly chair next to her with a heavy sigh, her curly hair gathered above the nape of her neck bouncing as she dropped, loose strands dangling over her face.

"Hey Jean," said Avery, with a cute grin at the overused nickname. 

Hermione hadn't bothered acknowledging it, the mask she'd conducted two weeks ago finally cracking as her face contorted with sorrow.

Avery immediately noticed and straightened her spine, leaning toward the brunette and piling a hand atop Hermione's, a blonde brow arching, curiously.

"Are you alright, Hermione?" asked Avery, concern laced in her tone, creases of worry lining her forehead, her hand squeezing the other's.

Conflict from before had been rising within Hermione, her heart beating viciously within the cage of her chest, her fingers trembling. There wasn't a point in hiding her hurting; it wouldn't work with Avery anyway.

"No," she said, plainly. Her vocals quavered whenever she spoke, "I need to talk to you about something."

Avery's previous wonderings only intensified as she heard the words leave Hermione's mouth. She gave a nod, ensuring reliability with the other.

Hermione sucked in a harsh breath through her nose, stringing her sentences together in her brain, coherently. She could hardly contain this any longer, she'd explode if she tried, not that she wanted to.

And with that she began with, "the night of the New Years' Eve party, something happened with Draco." 

Avery's brows were at her hairline, suggestively, a slow smirk morphing her lips. Hermione shut the idea down completely.