You'll be the Death of Me

Chapter 79

Hermione knew before she opened her eyes that she was lying on a bed. Her head ached from the blow she was beginning to remember and she groaned with the effort it took to sit up. She stilled at the sight of Neville at the bedside. For a brief moment she saw relief flash across his face, before it hardened and she was met with hostility.

"Talk."

It wasn't a request, it was an order, and judging by the look in Neville's eyes it was an order he was not going to allow her to refuse.

Hermione reached downward for where she thought her wand would be and froze at the emptiness in her pocket. Neville's jaw tensed at the action, and his nostrils flared slightly- clearly not at all happy that she would have used her wand against him- but he said nothing, and seemed to reign in whatever anger he felt at the moment, which she was sure must have been a lot. If the whites of his knuckles were any indication of his rage. Hermione examined the boy in front of her, suddenly very aware of how much he had filled out over the current school year and for the first time in her life she was frightened of him.

"Where's my wand?" Hermione demanded, trying to push down her fear so that it wouldn't show and doing a miserable job of it.

"Do you need it right now?" Neville challenged airily, reminding Hermione strongly of Draco.

"Give. Me. My. Wand."

"So you can hex me and go running off to tell anyone who will listen what you saw here tonight? No, I don't think so."

Hermione looked around and wondered if she could beat him to the door. If she shut the bedroom door and sprinted to-

"Godric-bloody-Gryffindor, Hermione," Neville cursed, his voice losing his calm restraint. "I'm not going to hurt you."

"Then give me my wand."

"You really believe I would hurt you?" Neville asked, astounded at the idea that she could think such a thing. "You really think me capable of hurting you?"

"I'm beginning to realize I don't know you as well as I thought I did."

"Why? Because I'm with Malfoy?"

"Because you've kept it a secret."

Neville was silent for a few moments, his breathing the only telltale sign of his anger. Hermione wondered if she was wrong, if she was being unfair, but at the same time she didn't feel comfortable sitting there on a bed, wounded and without her wand. Maybe all her near death experiences with Harry were catching up to her, maybe she was just paranoid. Either way she wanted her wand desperately.

"You are going to talk," Neville said slowly. "I want to know why you're here and how long you have been here. You are not leaving this room without talking to me and I swear to the gods I don't believe in, Hermione, if you try to leave without talking, or you lie, I won't hurt a single hair on your head, but I'll snap your wand in two."

A sharp pain hit Hermione in the stomach at Neville's words and the room started spinning slowly. She felt nauseous from the encounter and her fear now transferred from herself to her wand, which might as well be her third hand.

"I was here the whole time," she admitted, looking down and taking a few deep breaths to calm herself.

"The whole time? That being..."

"I've been following you since you left the common room this morning," Hermione said between her teeth, aware how deep her hole was getting. She nervously looked up at Neville through her hair. He paled at her confession, and now it seemed he was going to be the one to get sick.