It was a month later and Hermione was sitting in a public library with Draco sitting across from her. "Tell me what surfing is," Hermione says, looking up from the book she was reading. 

Draco was reading as well, though while she was working steadily through a play by Shakespeare, he was forced to read a book on every sport that muggles had ever created. Grumbling, he closes the book and tosses it aside, turning his eyes to the girl across from him. 

She'd returned her eyes to her own pages, rolling her lip between her teeth as she read. Occasionally she would pause and glance up at him with her brow raised expectantly, still waiting for an answer. Each time she did, he would only smirk and refuse to give the answer, despite knowing it. It was on the fifth time that she looked up that he asked his own question, one that had been bothering him since the night he had held her while she cried. 

"What did the Weasel do that was so bad? I've noticed that whenever anyone brings him up, you get tense and change the subject," Draco says. He instantly regrets bringing up the topic in such a public place when her book slipped through limp fingers and hit the table with a deep, resonating thud.

Hermione's eyes have gone as wide as saucers and looked suspiciously glassy. He noticed that her hands were shaking, and soon after her honey skin had gone as pale as his own snowy complexion. Draco's opening his mouth to retract his question when Hermione gives herself a small shake and clears her throat. 

She blinks several times and takes a shuddering breath then picks up her book and continues reading like nothing had happened. The only way he could tell that she had react to his words at all was the very slightest tremble in her hands. Her walls had slammed down, a blank mask settling over her face, and he would applaud the skill at any other time. It had taken him years to master that sort of cover-up. 

When she speaks, her tone is brisk and detached. "There is no reason for you to be privy to that information. We aren't friends, and you certainly don't care enough, you're only curious." She flips the page in her book, the movement stiff and jerking. 

His hands curl into fists and he bites his lip before he can say anything to cause further damage to the situation. 

"You still haven't answered my question," Hermione says after a while. Her hands have stopped shaking, but there is an odd flush to her cheeks that she tries to hide by keeping her head in her book.

"Your...question?" He blows out a breath and looks up at her, tamping down on the wave of anger that was still left over from her words. 

Hermione nods, a sharp dip of her head. "What is surfing?" Draco chokes on a half-laugh, covering it up with a cough. 

"Really, Granger. If you want to change the subject, you should have picked a better topic," Draco snorts, earning him a glare from a nearby librarian. He shoots her a dark glare, ignoring the way she points angrily at a sign with the bold words telling everyone to . Turning back to Hermione, he says, "you're terrible at avoiding questions." 

She scowls at him. "You're no better. If you don't know what it is, then please tell me so I can go back to reading and you can work on finding me an answer." 

Rolling his eyes, Draco drums his fingers on the table and answers. "It's where muggles stand on boards and ride ocean waves for fun or for competition." 

"Good job, now keep reading," Hermione commands. 

"I've already read the book, so I'm going to go look around." He stands up and stalks toward a row of shelves to their right. 

"Don't go far," she calls to his retreating form. "We're leaving in ten minutes." Draco only grunts in response, already browsing through the vast number of books. 

Back at the table, Hermione was fighting to keep a passive expression. Her mind was in turmoil and her body was aching with the effort to keep from shaking. The tears she knew would come at the mention of Weasley were begging to be released, but she wouldn't show that much weakness in public again. Not after the last time. 

That foul prick of a man, hurting her the way he had, on what was supposed to be the best day of her life. The humiliation she had felt, and then having to tell the others about his horrendous actions. One hundred people, all present to see the red face of shame she bore when speaking to them. 

Hermione takes a breath and closes her book. "Draco, we're leaving now," she calls, looking over at the shelves he'd gone to. He comes bounding out, looking less tense than when he'd left. 

Holding up four books, he asks, "can I check these out?" Hermione nods and hands him her library card. "Thank you," he says, running off to the checkout desk. 

She walks over to wait by the front door, watching as he finishes up and joins her with his borrowed books. "Ready now?" 

"Yes, let's go," he says, allowing her to lead them out of the library and around the back in order to apparate without notice. 

When they reach the house, the pair go their separate ways, neither of them wanting to talk about the conversation from earlier. It was only a matter of time, though, before it came up again.