Silencio

Chapter 7

It was with her cheeks red, her head held high, and her eyes sparkling defiance that Hermione made her entrance at dinner that first night out of the hospital wing. She had had breakfast in the sickroom and she had missed lunch due to some last-minute catching up in Ancient Runes, but now she had no more excuses to avoid mealtime in the Great Hall.

She knew about the rumors about why she had been gone. Naturally, nobody believed the story about the magical virus. Of course they didn't—it was the truth! What fun was truth when there were lies to be spread?

The all-round reaction at dinner wasn't as devastating as she had feared, though. There were a few whispers and giggles as she made her way down to the Gryffindor table, but as a whole, she seemed to be old news already.

She sighed and almost sagged with relief. Without meaning to, she glanced at the Slytherin table as she passed, but the blond boy her eyes searched out was deep in conversation and hadn't even noticed her. Reminding herself that this was a good thing, she went over to her friends and sat down with her back to the room.

Malfoy had come to visit her twice while she had been in the hospital wing. The first time was after he'd received her note, and the second time a couple of days later. The first time, he had seemed really worried about her, but the second time, he had been his usual arrogant, annoying, and offensive self. He had had poor Harry in such a snit that Madam Pomfrey had threatened to throw him out for disturbing the peace. Malfoy had been the very picture of innocence until she turned her back and then he had openly gloated. Hermione hadn't known whether to be annoyed or amused so she had been a little bit of both—mostly annoyed, of course.

When her voice had faltered, and she had struggled for breath, however, he had made an excuse, collected his books, and left. He hadn't visited her again after that, and at the time, she didn't know what to make of it.

She still was far from sure.

*****

The next few days, Hermione spent trying to figure out how to get a word with Malfoy. It wasn't that she was terribly averse to speaking to him in public; no, that was his problem. It was more that she didn't fancy his friends listening in on what she had to say, and asking for a private word in front of them would be just as bad.

He still appeared terribly tired and haunted and much more serious than she would ever have thought he could be. He surrounded himself with other Slytherins and only occasionally did he seem to revert back to his old self. On one such occasion, he hexed a second-year Ravenclaw boy, just for being the only other non-Slytherin about. Except, Hermione had been about, hidden, considering her next move. After seeing the hex, though, she had turned on her heel, appalled with herself for wanting the attentions of such a bully.

Yet, most days he'd just seem to sink into deep thoughts and ignore what was going on around him. He would look human and vulnerable, and she would have an incredible urge to go to him again.

Hermione eventually ended up concluding that she did need to talk to him, and her best shot would be when they had Arithmancy together, as none of their close friends took that. Yet at the time of the resolution, that meant waiting for days for the chance. Each time she saw him after that chipped away at her courage again, but it couldn't be helped. He simply didn't allow himself to be alone these days, and she needed that talk.

He seemed to be as indifferent as he had been before she had taken ill. She reminded herself that he hadn't been indifferent while she was ill, but... perhaps that only showed that he really was human. Perhaps she didn't appeal to him anymore. Why would she, anyway? Perhaps she should just let it go....

It was during break, and people were standing about in small groups, talking. Hermione had abandoned Harry and Ron to allow them to talk about Quidditch, while making her able to retain her sanity. Malfoy was lounging on one of the castle's numerous oversized windowsills, gazing pensively at the dark and stormy sky, not even seeming to notice the bickering Crabbe and Goyle at his side. He looked oddly lonely.