Secrets and Masks

16. Dirty little secrets

23rd February

Hermione didn't see Malfoy for days after his 'accident'. After he'd shakily dragged himself off the blood-soaked grass, battering her hand away when she offered to help him walk, Malfoy became a ghost.

She didn't see him once, no strands of white-blonde hair dashing around the manor, or even a glimmer of those shiny, black horns of his demon mask that he wore so proudly.

She'd expected him to take a few days off from their Legilimency sessions, heaven knew he needed it. Legilimency wasn't just taxing on the subject, although not as severe, extensive use still took its toll on the caster as well. With the amount of blood he'd lost, she'd expected he would give her an extra day or two before he resumed their exercises.

The first day went by without a hiccup or complaint from Hermione. And so did the second. But then two extra days of freedom stretched into three, then four, then five, and by the sixth day, she started to grow anxious.

Perhaps his injuries were worse than she'd realised? What if there was internal bleeding that she hadn't been able to stop?

No, he must have been fine. He had to be alright, because she was. She felt as strong as she ever had.

No, he was certainly alive.

Weak? Maybe.

Wounded pride? Possibly.

Avoiding her? Definitely.

1st March

Despite Malfoy avoiding her like the plague, Hermione swore she could smell him everywhere she went. Swore she could still taste the ghost of him on her tongue; blood, smoke, earth, spearmint and fresh parchment. Unmistakable, and so undeniably Malfoy that it made her head spin.

But that was nothing compared to his eyes.

They haunted her more than anything else. She was couldn't stop thinking about them, those crisp, beautiful, bottomless blue eyes were everywhere she looked, even if Malfoy himself was nowhere to be seen.

His absence gave Hermione more free time than she knew what to do with, so she channelled her extra energy into working on her mural. She hadn't realised her obsession had gotten so out of hand until she'd stepped back to admire her work, and saw that she'd painted a flower - a Peony - in the exact shade of blue his eyes were. She couldn't even remember mixing the paints to find that perfe- same shade.

She'd erased the flower with one furious swipe of white paint and stormed outside.

That was what had led her to the bench under the cherry blossom tree.

She'd been out there all morning, her face tilted towards the sky with her eyes closed while she basked in the unexpected February sun. It had been freezing last week, and although she still had a cardigan wrapped around her body, she found she didn't need to cling to it for warmth as much as she had a few days ago.

Hermione listened to a group of small birds chirping somewhere nearby. She drew a deep breath, smiling a little as the sun warmed her cheeks -

The birds stopped singing, and her face suddenly felt very, very cold.

Every muscle in her body went rigid. She didn't have to open her eyes, or hear that familiar clap of wings to know what loomed overhead, steadily growing nearer and nearer.

And if Black Shadow was here, then Malfoy would surely be with her.

Hermione wasn't sure why the thought of seeing him again instantly made her feel on edge, or why the prospect of seeing those impossibly blue eyes lit a small spark of something in her stomach. Was that nervousness? Or excitement?