Bad Reputation

The Quidditch Field

The newest rumors spread like Fiendfyre: Draco Malfoy has made a new and very public conquest in Hogsmeade. Cho Chang takes credit for being the tall girl with straight, black hair he'd fucked against the bricks of the Three Broomsticks with nary a Contraceptive Charm in sight, whispering sweet nothings into her ear until he finished — and vanished — into the night.

Nobody can claim a direct eyewitness view of the rendezvous. When pressed about how and when it all began, Cho shakes her head virtuously. Malfoy the slut has given, she has received, her wild oats are sown, and she's back to her search for a real boyfriend she can actually take places.

Fury over Malfoy's lechery rises, led by those he's disappointed most: the romantics. He begins receiving a shove in the hallway here, a Jelly-Legs Jinx there. When Hermione sees it happening, she starts to intervene, but a strong glare from him stops her in her tracks. Words of ice follow: "Back off, Granger."

Don't defend me.

He begins making uncharacteristic mistakes in Potions class and — Ginny's heard — in Quidditch practice. When Hermione tries to speak to him in the corridor, or even in more discreet settings, he shuts her out.

Ginny's noticed some uncharacteristic behavior in Hermione herself: inattention in class. Writing to the end of a piece of parchment and continuing to write on the desk. Brushing her teeth for fifteen, twenty minutes at a time, staring glassily into the mirror as the brush goes back and forth.

"Hermione, are you — " Ginny looks keenly at her. "Is there something, or someone, going on?"

What is going on?

She isn't even sure how to count how many times they've kissed. Did the first lesson count? Did the kiss in the alley count? What was their first kiss, even? And why is she counting?

She swears Ginny to secrecy, and then, in a far-off spot on the lawn, shakily tells her everything. As Hermione spills it all out — the negotiation, the agreement, the first lesson, the trip to Hogsmeade, the kiss goodbye — Ginny's eyes grow rounder and rounder until they almost pop out of her head.

"I knew it!" she crows. "I knew the stories couldn't be true. He fancies you, Hermione. And more than that, much more, if that kiss was anything like what you describe."

She wraps Hermione in a warm, comfortable hug. Hermione breathes in her almond shampoo and sighs gratefully. She and the boys may have grown apart, but Ginny endures.

"I want to believe that — I really do. But what if I'm wrong? What if it really is just physical? He runs so hot and cold. Like I'm the thing he wants most...or the thing he's most ashamed of wanting. It hurts me when he pulls away, Ginny."

"As it should. He's a bloody moron for it. And you should tell him that. But Hermione," says Ginny, "maybe it isn't entirely about you. He's under a lot of stress right now. Maybe he doesn't want to drag you into his problems. Or doesn't feel ready to give you everything you deserve. Maybe...you should talk to him?"

"I would, if the idiot would let me!"

"Give it time, love. I have a feeling he'll come to you."

Sure enough, two days later, a note is in her pocket, slipped in who knows when.

Professor. Quidditch field. Midnight.

She doesn't want to go. She wants to punish him. Then she decides punishment is best delivered in person.

He's flying against the backdrop of the full moon. His hair is a smaller, tousled moon radiating its own light. He cuts long, smooth arcs through the sky. Thought in motion: figure eights, spirals, helices, difficult knots. His right self, his whole self. When he sees her, he lands smoothly in the grass, kicks the broom aside and walks slowly toward her.