Puzzle Pieces

Section 8:

“I see your bodyguard has returned,” Hermione murmured over our Arithmancy notes, quietly enough that her voice didn’t carry past me.

We were having another study session in the library. They had become pretty common occurrences lately. She really made an excellent study partner. There was no denying that I understood concepts better when I went over them with her, and she seemed to like having company that actually *cared* about studying and wasn’t just there to humor her. Although, I suppose I should consider myself lucky that Potter and Weasley weren’t fonder of studying with Hermione in the library. If there were there with her then they probably would have seen to it that *I* was *not*. I wasn’t Draco, but I was still a Slytherin and I was certain that they wouldn’t want me around Hermione, especially since I was sure that at least one of them was in love with her. Probably Potter. Lucky bastard. He got everything else, Boy Wonder that he was; it wouldn’t be much of a stretch to believe that he’d get the girl as well.

“Bodyguard?”

“Does Malfoy prefer the term Masked Avenger?”

I bit back the urge to laugh. He probably would like the title, at that. Draco loved being seen as dashing and adventurous. I was firmly convinced that that was at least half of the reason that he wanted to pursue a career in curse breaking. Yes, the subject matter interested him and he certainly had the intelligence and skill to pull it off, but there was more to it than that. With his family’s fortune, he could have easily devoted his time after school to maintaining the family business and harassing the ministry, as his father did, watching his money and his power grow; but there wasn’t much that was terribly dashing about that. He craved adventure, with himself as the hero, or the villain. If he could have been a pirate with a short sword and a large hat in our all too modern world, he would have been. Swash, swash. Buckle, buckle.

“How did you know he was there?” I asked, instead of answering her question. “He promised he’d be discreet this time.” I had utterly given up on convincing Draco that he didn’t need to spy on our study sessions. I was tired of fighting with him, (and all too willing to give into his ‘persuasions’ in the locker room after I showed him that lovely little transfiguration spell) so I finally agreed to let the point drop. All I asked now was that he at least *attempt* to be subtle about it, and that he wouldn’t do anything to try to force me to cut off the sessions early.

“He is being discreet,” she conceded. “At least, what passes for discreet for a Malfoy. But you should probably tell him that if he really wants to go into undercover work, he should invest in hair dye. Or a hat.”

She nodded slightly in the direction of the Arithmancy stacks. Glancing over, I caught a glimpse of the torches reflecting off of platinum blond hair. This time, I couldn’t hold back a soft snicker. As usual, she was absolutely right. For Draco to pull off discretion with that head of hair would be a hard sell, at best.

“Does he still think I’ll attack you?”

I never actually told Hermione that Draco was being overprotective and spying on our study sessions out of fear for my safety, but she picked up on it quickly enough. I guess she had gotten used to people being suspicious of her. There wasn’t a year that went by that someone didn’t try to prove that she was taking some sort of potion to score higher than everyone else, or that she was sleeping with the professors, or that (this one was my favorite) she had hexed Potter *and* Weasley to make them think that they cared about her. She took it all in stride, mostly out of habit, I suspect. She knew that Draco didn’t trust her around me, but fortunately, she never made a big deal about it.

“I think he’s more worried that your boyfriend will show up and grind the Nasty Slytherin into powder for daring to pollute the Gryffindor Goddess with his presence,” I replied in answer to her question. That was true, as well. Draco finally seemed to accept that Hermione (no doubt for nefarious reasons of her own) wasn’t going to attack me, but he hadn’t quite given up on the fear that Potter would pitch a fit if he saw us together. Truth be told, I hadn’t quite given up on that fear, myself. Fortunately for me, the boy seemed to avoid the library like the plague.

She snorted. “Lucky thing, then, that I don’t have a boyfriend.”

I stared at her for a moment in surprise. “You’re not with Potter?”

“Me? With Harry? Heavens, no. I’d never do that to him.”

I looked at her incredulously. What on earth did she mean by that? “You make dating you sound like some sort of chore.”

She laughed. “Actually, that wasn’t what I meant when I said that, but nonetheless, you do have a point. How many boys would want to date a walking encyclopedia of facts from ‘Hogwarts: A History’?”

I could think of a few. Hell, I could think of *more* than a few. She honestly had no idea just how attractive she was, and just how many Hogwarts boys looked her way whenever they got the chance. But if she wanted to be oblivious to the attention she drew, then that was fine by me. I didn’t like the idea of some lovesick swain cutting our study sessions short. Things were better as they were. The other part of her statement concerned me more. “What *did* you mean?” I pressed.

“Oh, about me and Harry?” I nodded. “Harry needs my friendship,” she explained, matter-of-factly. “He counts on it; depends on it always being there. If we ever dated, when things went sour, as they inevitably would, all our mutual friends would have to take sides and it would be months before we’d all be comfortable around each other again. He wouldn’t have the friendship he depends on when he really needed it. I couldn’t do that to him. I want to make things *easier* for him, not harder. He needs me in his life as a friend, not as an ex-girlfriend.”

“What makes you so sure it wouldn’t work for the two of you?”

She shrugged. “We don’t fit. It’s like spells.”

“Spells? Your non-existent romantic relationship with Potter is like… spells?”

She smiled sheepishly. “You know I have odd habits of association. But it *is* like spells, honestly it is!”

I couldn’t help but laugh. “Alright, alright. Convince me. How is it like spells?”

“Remember what I told you, back in that first tutoring session, about the parts that fit together to make magic work?” I nodded. “A relationship is the same,” she continued. “The way two people see each other, want each other, care about each other; they’re all the puzzle pieces in the relationship. When all the pieces come together properly and fit together, the love that results from it is magical. But if the pieces don’t come together properly, then the magic can’t happen. Harry and I don’t fit. Not like that. We care about each other very much, and we fit together beautifully as friends, but I don’t *want* him like that, and he doesn’t want me. If we tried to make a go of it, it would turn out disastrously, and it’s not worth the risk.”

“So you’re telling me that you, The Girl Who Actually Has a Shot, isn’t attracted to The Boy Who Lived?”

“Guilty as charged.” She laughed again. “‘The Girl Who Actually Has a Shot’? Does anyone actually call me that?”

I smiled. “People say all kinds of things. And most of it is probably as ridiculous as the idea of you and Potter together. Anyone who doesn’t think you’re with Potter assumes that you’re with Weasley, and that isn’t true either, is it?” I wondered absently why I had to put so much effort into making my voice sound normal, but I didn’t let myself think about it for long. I was far more interested in hearing her answer.

“Ron and I definitely aren’t together,” she answered, causing me to sigh a bit in relief.

“Your puzzle pieces don’t fit?” I asked. “You’re not attracted to him?” I didn’t know why it was so important to me to make sure that she *wasn’t* involved with her best friends, the way the rest of the school had always assumed she was, but suddenly I felt like I couldn’t keep breathing if I didn’t get an answer. “You don’t want him like that, either?”

“Oh no, I’m very attracted to Ron,” she stated breezily, seeming completely oblivious to the way my jaw dropped a bit at her answer. “He’s so… explosive. He’s passionate and protective and temperamental and enthusiastic. He loves with everything he’s got, and would do, literally, *anything* for someone he loved. He makes me feel alive.” She smiled softly and I felt the sudden surge of nausea. Weasley was all wrong for her, couldn’t she see it? He could never make her happy. “But we still don’t belong together,” she concluded quietly.

“You… you don’t?”

“Nope,” she said, trying (and failing) to maintain a cheerful tone of voice. “We don’t. It’s almost as if we fit, but we don’t match. Close, but no cigar.”

“What?”

“Muggle phrase. Sorry. Anyway, you know how if you’re working on a really big puzzle, you try to put together chunks of the picture at a time?” I nodded slowly, wondering where she was going with this. “And you know how sometimes you’ll spot two pieces that *seem* like they go together? You put them up against each other, and they fit. But the more you look at them, the more you can see that they don’t *match*. One of them belongs near the middle, and the other belongs somewhere in the lower left-hand corner. They *fit* but they don’t *match*. Ron’s everything I could want in a boyfriend. We fit together quite well, really, in all the ways that truly matter. But we don’t match. I could never make him happy, and if we tried to give it a go, we’d both end up miserable. It’s a pity, but there you have it. He’s not my puzzle piece.”

“So who is your puzzle piece?”

Her eyes locked with mine for a moment before she looked away, blushing slightly. “It’s possible I haven’t found him yet,” she answered. “Then again, it’s also possible that I’m not meant to fit to anyone. I might just be a one piece puzzle.”

“No,” I stated firmly, surprising myself even as I spoke. “You’re not meant to be alone. That much, I’m sure of.”

She smiled softly. “We’re not all as lucky as you, Zabini. You found your puzzle piece when you were… fourteen? Fifteen?”

I’m sure my jaw dropped. I didn’t know how to respond. For a second, I wasn’t quite certain I still knew how to *breathe*. Did she know? Did she *really* know that my puzzle piece was right there in the library with us, attempting to hide in the arithmancy section, or was it just a lucky guess?

She placed her hand on top of mine, squeezing it softly. “It’s alright,” she whispered. “I know that you and Malfoy have been very careful to keep it all hush-hush. You have my word that I *have* not and *will* not tell a soul.”

“How did you know?” I finally managed to gasp out.

“It’s what I do, Zabini,” she replied, grinning just a bit. “I break things down until I figure out how they piece together. Malfoy is your puzzle piece. The two of you fit together, *belong* together. It wasn’t hard to see that.”

“You really think so?” I asked, unable to keep the wistfulness out of my tone. I knew that Draco and I fit together. There was no denying that. But she said we belonged together. Was that really true? Would Draco and I ever have a happily ever after when he wouldn’t even admit to anyone other than the two of us that we were together in the first place?

“I *know* so,” Hermione answered. “So it must be true. I’m a know-it-all, you know. That means that I’m always right.” She grinned at me, and I rolled my eyes.

“Cheer up, Zabini,” she ordered, punching me lightly on the shoulder. “There’s no reason to be gloomy. You love him, he loves you, and that’s all there is to it. What’s not to like about that?”

“You’re right,” I replied with a weak smile. Draco loved me and I loved him and what could possibly go wrong?

Famous last words, of course, as time would show.


End Section 8