**Author's Note: I began this story four years ago, and it is finally getting revamped and finished! Please leave your thoughts in the reviews, and I look forward to hearing from you!
Hermione was frustrated. She had an entire list of tasks waiting for her as Head Girl: tutoring, organizing the prefects' next meeting, and later she needed to find to time to speak with some terrified first years. But she couldn't do anything until she finished this damn potions essay, and just couldn't find a consistent list of ingredients and measurements for a Creatrix Potion, even though she had checked so many sources that she was almost hidden behind piles of alchemy books in the library.
With a huff of dissatisfaction, Hermione closed the last book - her final hope of finding the missing ingredient - and leaned back in her chair to plan her next move.
She could look into the more obscure books, texts where her information would be less and less likely to exist. That could take hours. Her to-do list wiggled in her pocket, charmed to do so when it was time to move on to the next item on the checklist. She didn't have hours.
Her only other option was far from preferable, and in a secret part of her heart made her just a bit nervous, though she had been careful to never show her fear to others. She doubted it would work, but it was her only choice to even have a chance to get her other tasks today.
She would ask Snape.
Decision made, Hermione packed her bag and left the library. She spent her walk practicing what she would say, hoping to make this visit as smooth as possible, and wasn't paying adequate attention to where she was walking. Which explains her complete and utter surprise when she rounded a corner to Snape's door and ran smack into a warm, hard chest wrapped in a green and silver sweater.
The collision caused her books stuffed with scrolls to slip from her hands and fall to the ground. Quickly she dropped to her knees to gather what had spread in every direction, and picked up one scroll only to realize it was stuck under a pair of muddy shoes. Hermione looked up into clear grey eyes and deepening scowl of Draco Malfoy. He insolently raised his eyebrow and slowly lifted his foot, leaving traces of mud all over her work.
Hermione hissed, "What is wrong with you?" but Draco had already whirled about and started to move down the hall without a second glance in her direction. His scowl was all that stayed, rearranging itself on Hermione's face as she seethed with hatred towards her old enemy. Even though Draco had been made Head Boy this year, opposite herself, his attitude would never change, and she would always be a Mudblood under his feet, beneath his notice. She flicked a bit of the goop off her paper and grimaced.
The irony was not lost on her.
Hermione raised her hand to knock on Snape's office, having gathered her things back together without any help, when a raised voice within stopped her. It was muffled through the thickness of the door, but nevertheless she could discern an arguement within.
The voice clearly wasn't Snape's. It lilted, even in anger, revealing Irish origins. "...You must! Even now, he is out there, waiting for you. And if you don't manage this within the year..." his voice quietened, and Hermione cast a temporary amplifying spell, her curiosity piqued.
"...I don't think I have to tell you how serious this is."
"You don't." Snape's drawling tones. "But I cannot leave now. Not. An. Option." She could hear his clipped consonants that always become more pronounced in anger.
Silence. Hermione could almost feel the tension permeating the wood. After a moment, she realized with a grip of fright that Snape's guest must be about to leave, and she scurried into a nearby alcove, just barely stepping into the shadows as she heard the office door creak open.
She pressed her back into the cold stone wall, having no desire to run into a stranger who had the nerve to demand things from Snape. The stranger whooshed by, and Hermione could only see dark robes and a flash of orange hair before the man turned the corner and disappeared, footsteps ringing in the hall.
Hermione waited several minutes before she exited the shadows to knock briskly on Professor Snape's door. He opened the door and looked down his crooked nose at her. He was, as usual, entirely self-composed.
Following him in, she said, "I'm sorry to bother you, Professor Snape. I need some help in finding the ingredients for the Creatrix Potion."
Snape gave her a sharp look. "Why?" he muttered, black eyes glittering at her.
"My potions essay." Hermione swallowed. "I thought to compare the preparation of the basic Confusing Concoction with a more sophisticated Creatrix Draught. You see, one uses plant-derived ingredients to induce chaos, and the Creatrix-"
Snape waved his hand, interrupting her. "Of course," he said. "You'll want to check out Sylvia's Stringent Solutions and Potions." He wrote down the title along with his signature on a form.
Hermione reached to take it from him but Snape held it a moment. "I trust, Miss Granger, that you will be discreet in the use of this book. It will be found in the Restricted Section. If you are not, I will make your life a living hell." He drawled out his last sentence, eyeing her.
"Of course," Hermione said eagerly, answers within her grasp. "Discreet as always."
Hermione snatched the parchment scrap and rapidly left the oppressive office once more. The very air in that room was still thick enough to clog Hermione's throat - though she wasn't sure how much of that could be attributed to her imagination. Between the cloying air and Snape's thinly veiled irritation, she wanted to spend as little time in there as possible.
Draco stomped through the halls, trailing mud. He knew it would take a simple spell to clean his boots, but at the moment he was glad to be trailing dirt through the halls for someone else to clean up.
Delicious irony, him cleaning up his father's mess, others cleaning up his. Almost as delicious as stomping on Hermione's schoolwork after she ran into him in the hall.
He allowed himself a brief grin at her shock. No matter how much he tortured that girl, she still seemed surprised every time. As though she expected him to change.
Unlikely.
His feet carried him deep into the dungeon, where he twisted the third candelabra set deep in the stone wall and entered the Slytherin Common Room. The room was made of grey stone, and thick green and gold tapestries covered the walls. The only light this late at night came from the fireplace, giving the room a dark and gloomy feel. Draco breathed deeply and began to relax for the first time all day.
A few students were still up playing cards around the fire. No one of consequence. Draco breathed a sigh of relief and sank into one of the thick leather armchairs that faced directly into the fire.
He really needed some time to think.
"So glad you've decided to show yourself," came a whisper in his ear. It was sultry and hot; a practiced sexual purr.
Pansy Parkinson's hand crept across his lapel and snaked down his chest. "You almost had me thinking you had found…other entertainment."
Damn. He had totally forgotten to find other entertainment.
"Stop," Draco said, plucking her ice-cold hand off his chest. "I need to be alone."
Pansy stepped carefully around the armchair and knelt before him. "I know what you need," Pansy softly said, "Just come with me."
Her small pink mouth was tempting. He knew just what she could do with it. He almost took her hand before he stopped himself.
"We're not together anymore," he reminded her.
"So you say." Pansy tilted her head. "But I know you, Draco. You'll come back to me. So why pretend?" Her hand was softly touching his, a small smile playing about her lips.
"I don't have the energy to deal with this right now."
"Because of Lucius?" Pansy asked innocently.
Draco immediately grabbed her hand and squeezed. He felt her knuckles grind together in his grip and made sure he saw the flicker of pain on her face before he asked, "What do you know about Lucius?"
"He's in Azkaban." Draco squeezed harder until she continued in a low voice, "But... the Death Eaters have decided he no longer belongs there."
"How the fuck do you know that?" Draco asked. He watched her eyes crease in pain as he refused to let go of her hand.
"Do you honestly think I wouldn't find out?" As predicted, the pain made Pansy's temper rise, and she spoke with a bite of anger. "The Death Eaters know about our…relationship."
"Bloody perfect." Draco dropped her hand. She nursed her bruised knuckles but still managed to raise one eyebrow in his direction.
Draco heard a cough from the other side of the room. He had to get away from Pansy before he really lost his temper in front of the other Slytherin students.
He angled his broad shoulders to shield Pansy from view, and traced her jaw with a fingertip. He then let his hand slide down until it was wrapped around her throat. Pansy's smug smile dropped away when his fingers squeezed.
Finally, Draco saw real fear in her eyes. "You breathe a word of this to anyone, and you'll stop breathing," he told her.
He let go and Pansy coughed. She reached out and caught his sleeve before he could leave. In a husky voice she told him, "I'm not afraid of you."
Draco just stared back, waiting for her to let go.
"You'll need me before this is over," Pansy warned, then turned and flounced up to the dormitories.
One of the younger card-playing students was shooting looks back and forth between Pansy's retreating form and Draco. Draco held his gaze, and then made an offensive gesture with his two right fingers and his tongue.
The student's eyes widened and he quickly looked down.
No longer as relaxed as he had hoped in the Common Room, Draco went to the Head Student Office. It was the one place in Hogwarts could ensure himself some privacy. He was supposed to be sharing the Office with Granger, McGonagall's predictable choice for Head Girl, but she always favored the library.
He dropped into the couch and expelled a large breath. Pansy knew about the plan - that complicated matters. But she didn't seem to know much. Draco would have tread carefully around her.
As if helping his father escape from Azkaban wasn't dangerous enough. Now he had to manage that impossible task while avoiding Pansy's snooping nose.
Exasperated, Draco stomped to the cabinet and pulled out an unopened bottle of firewhiskey.