Call Me Psyche - Dramione

4

Hermione pretended to sleep as Harry sat at the table inside the tent pounding down his portion of the biscuits. After sitting up with Malfoy all night she was tired, but also fretful, worried about the little clues about her identity she'd let slip.

Surely Malfoy wouldn't remember that her familiar was a half-kneazle cat, any more than she'd known his family raised birds before last night. The bit about Ron playing competitive quidditch and being hazed, though – did Malfoy still know all the words to "Weasley is Our King"? How could he forget?

She ran her hands through her hair, pulling a straw of hay out of it. Would Malfoy connect Viktor Krum to her hint about her non-British first kiss? No, Malfoy might be able to believe Viktor had cozied up to her to spy on Harry during the tournament, but would he ever have imagined Viktor had gone so far as to have kissed her? Certainly not. Not even Ron had been able to believe that until Ginny's saying so convinced him.

No, she musn't panic and do anything rash like running away. If she tried to hide from Malfoy, Snape's Deluminator would just send him after them anyway. How devious of Snape to use the Deluminator he must have found in Dumbledore's office to lead Malfoy straight to Harry. That's who the magic was drawn to, not her, but to Harry. It had to be. Harry was still connected to Dumbledore's lingering magic and Snape was hoping to take advantage of it.

Snape would be furious when he found out Malfoy had wound up not with Harry but with some anonymous girl who was no use at all. At least she'd managed to frustrate that part of Snape's plan – for as long as it lasted. Keeping Harry safe long enough to finish this mission – that had been Ron's job and now it was hers on top of her own planning and research and charms. It meant keeping Malfoy occupied with this Psyche game.

She nodded against her pillow. Yes, that was why she was meeting him every night. No other reason. None at all. There was no way she was actually starting to like him.

She flipped over onto her side. The truth was that without their history muddling things between them, with Malfoy knowing she was Muggleborn but not that she was Hermione Granger, they had made a fresh start. And on this blank page Draco Malfoy was – well, he was still himself but grown up and almost charming, funny rather than cruel, generous and thoughtful and even – what was the word she wanted. Was it "attractive?"

She flipped onto her other side. Nonsense. This must be what people meant when they talked about being on the rebound. If she wasn't missing Ron so much, she wouldn't be lying here feeling her lip where Malfoy's fingers had touched it as he fed her biscuits. Had she really made those embarrassing noises? She whispered an insult at herself, fluffed her pillow rather violently, and flipped over again.

"You alright, Hermione?" Harry called from the table.

She grumbled and she pulled her pillow over her head.

In a few hours she was up again, packing her beaded bag as Harry undid the charms around the campsite. She was nearly finished when something bumped against her shin. It was the barn cat from the night before, the one who had purred so loudly as Malfoy stroked its head. It had fallen asleep as he chattered on about his own quidditch career, as if she had never seen him fly. After that comment she'd made about him buying his way onto the team in second year, he'd always played as if to spite her. It meant she'd never seen how happy the stupid game made him.

With a sigh, she stooped to gather the cat into her arms. It stretched and purred as she held it. Like a fool, Hermione closed her eyes and buried her face in its thick, soft coat, exactly as Malfoy had done.

When she raised her face, Harry was at her side.

"This was too close," he said. "We've come too close to where someone could spot us. I could swear I heard voices out here last night."