Starting With a Break-Up

"Draco?"

Draco looked up from his potions essay, feeling the vague surge of annoyance and unease that had become associated with Pansy's voice. And now she had that faltering, needy tone that always meant the conversation would end with her crying and himself secretly sorry and utterly unwilling to apologize. The whole mess was her fault, not his. Somehow.

"Yes?" he drawled. "Is there something you want? And if so, is it--" he stopped. Pansy didn't like sarcasm; not when it was vicious and aimed at her. That probably had something to do with them not getting along.

"I-- can I sit down?"

"Go ahead."

She sat down on the edge of Zabini's bed and stared at Draco for a minute. At least no-one else is in here right now. We can have our little drama-fest in private. He put aside his essay and faced her. As soon as he did, she stopped looking at him, and instead dropped her gaze to the floor. She was biting the ends of her hair again; always a bad sign. But then she took a deep breath, looked him square in the eye, and said--

"Draco, we need--" she faltered. "I need--" she paused. "There's something--"

Get to the point already. I'm an unfeeling git and you're a clingy crybaby. We've already discussed this.

"Draco, I-- we-- it's not-- it's not working."

Sarcasm makes her cry. No snide comments, no matter how tempting. "I-- know," he replied, trying not to sound too condescending.

"I-- I... there's... someone else."

Draco blinked. "There's what?"

"Someone I-- oh, please don't be upset--"

"Who?" he demanded.

"No one-- well--- someone-- it's-- I'd rather not tell. But... we need to break up."

Not having a girlfriend. It was a strange thought, one that made him very nervous. They'd been together almost two years, now: since the Yule Ball back in fourth year. And the assumption that they'd end up together had probably been there longer, even if they'd both been too thick to notice it. His first thought was that there'd be no one to make out with; his second was that someone else might take first place in her affections. She was his. He might not want her, but the thought of someone else taking her outraged him. All right, Mr. Malfoy, this relationship is messed up even by your standards. There were several voices that lived in his head. This one was something between common sense and conscience. It rarely spoke, and when it did, it reminded him of Professor Snape. It seemed a very odd voice for his conscience to speak in... You're avoiding the subject. You hate everything about her. You hate her voice, her face, her habits and mannerisms. Something is wrong, and it's more than you can fix.

Do I really hate her? I... do, he realized suddenly. When did that start? I used to like her. I even thought she was pretty.

"Draco? Please say something."

Let me think, dammit!

"You... want to break up?"

"Yes."

"Permanently?"

"Yes-- well-- I--"

There was a long silence. Then--

"Draco, I love you-- but-- yes."

This has been coming for quite a while, hasn't it?

"Okay." He picked up his essay again and stared at it.

"Draco? I-- how are you-- taking this?" she asked lamely.

"I don't know. I need to think." He sounded colder than he'd intended. "Go away."

She did. He watched her shoes move out of his range of vision. He didn't look at her face. If she was upset right now, he couldn't deal with it. He needed to think.

Dear Father,

I doubt I'll be able to send this, since I don't know your current address. However, I thought perhaps you should like to know: Pansy Parkinson broke up with me today.

Draco sighed and put the letter in his pocket. It wasn't the same if he couldn't send it, and he knew he couldn't. His mother was in contact with his father, and much of the apparent drivel Draco sent to her was actually information that might prove useful to his father. But those letters were not private. In fact, the Dark Lord himself could conceivably end up reading them, a fact which made Draco's flesh creep. Draco did not want to confide in his mother, or in Death Eaters, or in Dark Lords. Then there was the fact that his father couldn't write back. All in all, writing to him about real, teenager-type concerns was not an option right now.

He was going to have a lot more time alone now, Draco reflected. He knew there was some third-year who had a crush on him, but he was most decidedly not interested. Apart from questions such as 'of legal age,' 'capable of communicating through other mediums than giggling,' and 'tolerable on the eyes,' there was the basic fact that he didn't want to put his heart on the line right then. If the exquisitely beautiful Ravenclaw seeker had fallen on her knees and begged him to date her, he would not have been tempted. Of course, she'd dated Potter, and any girl who found him tolerable was most decidedly a non-option. And he didn't trust the girl. Diggory and then Potter? Whoever's most famous, right? But the point was, even if someone beautiful and popular had been interested, he wasn't. He rather liked being free of girls.

He was spending a lot more time in the library these days, and it showed-- he'd been doing better in almost all of his classes. The downside was, if they knew he could do more, they'd expect it from now on. The upside was that he got to feel smart, a sensation he always enjoyed. He did wish Granger wasn't there so damn often, but he'd gotten used to it, and could now dismiss her as a minorly distasteful part of the scenery. He wasn't flying as much, though. During the last couple years, the rush that it had once given him was beginning to fade.

About ten days after their breakup, he decided he needed to talk to Pansy. Now that they weren't together, he was starting to remember the old days, and feel the loyalty he had felt for her back when they'd been friends. He'd know her as long as he could remember. There'd been good times and bad, of course, but he'd been attached to her. He couldn't just keep ignoring her forever. And, truth be told, he didn't want to lose her. He wanted her to trust him and rely on him like she had when they were younger.

It was all very sentimental, and sounded like his mother, and it thoroughly irritated him. Nevertheless, it drove him to do what he'd have done for almost no one else-- take the first step toward reconciliation. He wasn't going to apologize, of course, since it had all been her fault in the first place-- he was just going to say he didn't blame her or something. Maybe then she'd tell him who the hell this boy was.

Hermione had noticed how much time Draco had been spending in the library during the past two weeks. A small part of her was irritated at this invasion of her sanctum, but she knew perfectly well that the library was for all the students and not just herself. So are the books. She was pretty certain that the book he was looking for was the one she had, and he'd been a bit of a mystery to her ever since sixth year had started. He had been more emotional and volatile, but also less interested in herself and her friends. He couldn't have been said to have changed for the better, except in the sense of being more genuine, but he had certainly changed, far more than her friends realized. She had always felt a bit of a morbid fascination with the Slytherin: she wondered what sort of person could be so consistently and spectacularly vile. She had almost finished her essay. A little more knowledge of the enemy wouldn't hurt.

"Malfoy?" She kept her tone neutral. "What are you looking for?"

His head turned quickly, and he narrowed his eyes. He seemed surprised and a bit wary, but not as hostile as usual (not that that was saying much). "A book," he answered shortly.

"I didn't think you were looking for broomsticks. Which book?"

"Arithmancy and Astronomy."

"I thought so." Professor Vector had recommended the book for the essay she'd assigned them. Hermione hadn't expected anyone else to be working on it this early. "There's only one copy. Peeves threw the others into the lake. I'll be using it for a few more hours, but after that you can have it."

"All right."

He was being very close to civil. "You could also look at it now. I'm using it as a reference, mostly," Hermione found herself saying. She didn't exactly like the idea of having Draco Malfoy as a studying companion, but he was acting oddly enough that she wanted to hear his response.

She was testing him somehow, Draco realized. He couldn't quite figure out why, but she had that same cautious, intent look that she always wore when testing out a new theory. Merlin, that girl was unnerving-- not to mention annoying. Well, fine. Two could play that game. I must be very bored. I should probably find a new amusement soon, before I hurt myself.

"Fine."

Ha! She was intrigued, puzzled, curious and suspicious. Draco had been quieter than usual lately, and much more reclusive-- he'd forgotten how much he liked getting reactions out of people. He had a sudden, bizarre, and slightly disturbing impulse to do something truly unexpected and see how she reacted. Of course, it would have to be believable. He couldn't claim to have become an ardent supporter of house-elf rights, or to have fallen desperately in love with her (that was just disturbing). No, if he made a claim she'd get it, catch on to the game. He could try being polite, though; that would certainly confuse her. Well, maybe not polite-- that was beneath him-- but at this point, even basic civility would confuse and disorient her.

He sat down across from her and took out a quill and parchment. She pushed the book across the table toward him, and he took it, resisting a sudden urge to thank her. Okay, it was time to get over that idea. However fun getting a reaction might be, it was not worth being polite to Hermione Granger. Civil, though; civil was acceptable. He would be civil.