Hermione could see Ginny running a list of possible men in Hermione's life.
“You're not — with Snape, are you?” Ginny suddenly choked.
Hermione gaped.
“God — No!” she said, spluttering and waving her hands as though she were trying to ward something off. “I'm a healer! I keep a lot of things on hand. Good grief! What — why would you even—“
Ginny looked slightly abashed.
“He's just the only person you ever seem to talk to for long. Aside from Fred, who's with Angelina. Everyone else you just end up fighting with. And not in the hot and bothered, angsty sex later kind of way.”
“That doesn't mean I'm shagging him,” Hermione muttered, feeling as though her face were about it burst into flames. “He's a colleague. I consult with him about potions.”
“You just seem lonely,” Ginny said, giving Hermione a long look.
Hermione started slightly and stared at Ginny.
“You don't talk to anyone anymore,” Ginny said. “You used to always be with Ron and Harry. But even before you left to become a healer, you've seemed more and more alone. I thought — maybe you had someone. Granted, Snape would be a weird choice for a lot of reasons — but, it's a war. It's too much for anyone to handle alone.”
“Cathartic shagging is Ron's thing. Not mine,” Hermione said stiffly. “Besides, it's not like I'm fighting.”
Ginny looked at her pensively for a moment, before saying “I think that hospital ward is worse than the battlefield.”
Hermione looked away. She had sometimes wondered if it might be, but it had never been a question she could ask anyone.
Ginny continued “I think of it every time I'm in there. In the field — everything is so focused. Even when someone's injured. You just apparate them away and then head back. You win some. You lose some. You get hit sometimes. You hit back. You get days to recover if it's bad, or if your dueling partner dies. But in the hospital ward, every battle looks like losing. I'm always more traumatised after being in there than I am by fighting.”
Hermione was silent.
“You don't ever get time off,” Ginny added. “They can never spare you long enough to let you grieve. I know from Harry and Ron that you're still pushing for dark arts when you go to the Order meetings. I don't agree — but I get it. I realise that you see the war from a different angle from us. Probably the worst one. So — I'm just saying, if you had someone, I'd be really happy for you. Even if it was Snape.”
Hermione rolled her eyes.
“You should probably stop talking now if you still want that contraceptive potion,” Hermione said with a glare.
Ginny snapped her mouth shut. Hermione grabbed her satchel off the bed.
“Come on. They're in my potion supply closet,” Hermione said, walking out of the bedroom.
The vials were all stored up on the top shelf in a small box. Hermione pulled out a dozen and put them into a small pouch for Ginny.
“One a day. It's best if you take it at the same time every day. I'll make another batch this week and give you a month's supply.”
“Thanks, Hermione.”
Ginny slipped away, and Hermione packed the box back up onto the top shelf.
She had lied. Contraceptive was not a potion she kept on hand. It had been Hermione's personal supply which she had been taking as a precaution since the day after Moody approached her about Malfoy.
The next week Malfoy was in the shack when Hermione arrived. When she opened the door, he stared at her with an expression of mild irritation.
She looked at him confusedly.
“Am I late?” she asked glancing at her watch.
“No,” he said, his tone clipped.
She closed the door awkwardly and waited.
“I think we're done with occlumency,” he said after a minute.
“Alright.”
She started to open her mouth to ask him if he intended to train her in dueling but then shut it again and waited. Something about his mood unsettled her slightly.
“We'll start with basic dueling so I can see how bad you are at it,” he announced.
Hermione rolled her eyes.
“Fine,” she said. “What are the rules?”
“None for you. Do whatever you want,” he said. “I'll restrict myself to stinging hexes. I want to see how long you can last.”
Hermione blushed.
“I'll just tell you now I'm going to be awful,” she said.
“Yes. I'm expecting that.”
She glared at him, put her satchel on the floor by the door and placed a protective ward around it. Then she turned to face him.
He'd moved across the room and was leaning lazily against the wall.
“Alright.”
He reached into his robes and withdrew his wand. She cocked her head to the side.
“That's not your wand from school, is it?” she asked.
He looked down and spun it in his fingers.
“No,” he admitted. “My unicorn hair didn't handle the dark arts very well so I had to replace it. Still Hawthorn wood, but less yielding, with a dragon heartstring core. It's also a few inches longer.”
He raised his eyebrows suggestively as he said the last line.
Hermione filed the information away for future analysis. She thought there was a book on wand theory at Grimmauld Place in the Black library.
She got into dueling position.