Citations
Disclaimer: The World of JK Rowling and HP are not mine.
Summary:
The first time, she quoted Dostoevsky to his face.
Half of Hermione Granger's face was covered with long shadow, the other half softly illuminated by moonlight filtering through an overhead window. He couldn't make out the expression on her face because the dip of her mouth was dark and her eyes inscrutable. Her words were delicately turned out, but the wand in her hand made him wary.
"Suffer? Of course you don't plan to suffer." His eyes narrowed as he noticed her grip tightening around her wand. His focus was so sharp he almost missed her next words.
"If he has a conscience he will suffer for his mistake."
Malfoy didn't miss a beat. He snarled and stepped forward, his ribcage stretched with a pounding, exhilarated feeling.
This, he could fight. He was sure of it.
Chapter 1: Past Cultivation
"Why am I going there now? Am I capable of that? Is that serious? It is not serious at all. It's simply a fantasy to amuse myself; a plaything! Yes, maybe it is a plaything."
- Fyodor Dostoevsky, Crime and Punishment
Their seventh year marked the beginning of a series of close encounters. As enemies are wont to do, they would come close enough to exchange blows, eager to find intimate access to each other's failings and secrets. Hermione Granger was no stranger to the idea—there was an entire house in her school that counted her as the enemy, and she did what she knew best. She would flaunt her knowledge to flay them, use her wit to exacerbate and humiliate. Then, the same fine nerves that would often lend her that signature brilliance would often give way to a fit of anxiety behind closed doors. This was an exercise of self-control, an ongoing exercise from which there was no respite.
This was a habit that had accrued over the last few years at Hogwarts, and even in the mind of her enemies, she was steadily earning her keep. She honed her verbal sparring techniques on all eager and willing Slytherins, as they were the most eager and bitter about her standing in school, but the one who led them all was always unconsciously and unanimously the face she had in mind. The natural school rivalry and petty bigotry she found instinctively repulsive in Draco Malfoy had been the establishing mark of their linked antagonism, but the summer after their sixth year had sparked a new fervor in her that nearly matched Harry's. His attempted murder of Dumbledore had led to his actual murder in Snape's hands. This non-act sealed him to his fate as strongly as his Dark Mark that surely graced his arm.
Unlike Harry, however, she kept a strong hold on her reason, and unlike Harry, she would be returning to Hogwarts their seventh year to finish what she had come for. Vexed and worried as she was, she knew her reason for staying at Hogwarts had just as much purpose as their hunt for the horcruxes did. And despite it all—despite the impending war, the danger over her parents' lives, and her feelings for Ron—Hermione had one selfish wish to carry out. She could not resent the boys their decision if it allowed her to claim her position as Head Girl. Yes, in spite of the war, her fears for her friends and family, and the obstacle the enemy surely presented within the halls of her own school, Hermione had never felt more alive. This was it. She had a hand in all—Headship at Hogwarts, a coveted membership in the Order, and the official if not covert relationship with Ron. The challenge would merely be to stay alive in order to reap the fruits of her hard labor.
Draco Malfoy was duly unsurprised with his lot in life after his sixth year. He barely escaped with his life that night in the Tower, and he had the condemning actions of his godfather and the death of the Headmaster to account for all of the acts he could not perform. These aborted acts condemned him just as strongly as if he had carried through with them, after all. After he fled Hogwarts, Severus had taken him back to the Manor, where he found his parents playing host to the Dark Lord himself. To say that his summer went well would be a gross exaggeration, and Draco would have indulged in a dose of bitter humor if he were capable. As it was, he found himself steadily growing numb, the desperation and fear taking back seat. All it had taken was a private consultation with the Dark Lord, a couple of thick locks shorn off his mother's unsuspecting head and a few choice words to give him the impetus to obey. He had no way of knowing if his father, often in and out of doors, knew of this development and how he would feel upon seeing his wife's bright hair fall through Voldemort's fingers. Draco did not have the time to wrap his mind over fearful fancies about his mother's safety. He kept his head down and mouth shut, and participated with a zealous streak that matched the most faithful. Although he was far from hitting the clear, the Death Eaters had noticed the recent developments and things were… improving. Just as he thought he would find breathing room for him and his, Severus interceded again in ways that Draco suspected had nothing to do with the Unbreakable Vow he used as explanation. Draco, held in steadily accumulating dread about leaving his mother at the Manor alone with Death Eaters, watched his godfather with a jaundiced eye. He was certain Severus had his reasons for sending his godson back to Hogwarts for sure crucifixion at the legions of do-gooders left to avenge Dumbledore's death, he just wasn't sure he'd be alive to demand for those reasons once he'd left.
On top of it all, McGonagall had seen it fit to name him Head Boy.
What ploy did the old hag slip up her sleeve? The Carrows were set to be the deputy headmasters, an act the Prophet had trumpeted as soon as the decision had been made. McGonagall, in the month of indecision directly following Dumbledore's funeral, had seen fit to act as deputy headmistress to select the Head students prior to the Carrows' installment and had settled on Hermione Granger and… Draco Malfoy. Was this an attempt to look like she conceded authority, to foresee the events following? Would tossing Granger's name, a given in this case, with his allow wiggle room for McGonagall to appear as if she were seeking the good graces of the Death Eaters in power? Why him and not fucking Harry Potter? Would the combination of Gryffindor and Slytherin heads look like a political concession? Was she attempting to use Granger to spy on him? These explanations, while feasible, were way too transparent even for a Gryffindor to make, and while she was brave and direct, Draco had to unwillingly admit that McGonagall was also much too clever and sophisticated to be caught with such simple actions to incriminate her and threaten her hold in Hogwarts.
No, if Draco's instinct served him right, he was certain that his high ranking had much to do with the reason why Snape had stopped instructing him on Legilimency, handing him over to his aunt Bellatrix instead. While the logical jump seemed severe, if nigh on impossible, Draco was certain that these two occurrences were connected somehow. By all purposes, there was no way he deserved headship, despite his high rank in marks and athletic prowess. Trying to off the prior Headmaster would normally be all it took for his nomination to get blasted into the ground. As it was, Draco was uncertain who had nominated him to begin with—the idea that he would return to school was altogether nebulous until he received his congratulatory letter by owl a week ago.
He and his mother were indulging in the one moment that the Manor was clear of any presence save their own and having tea. Just as he reached over for a scone, a salt-and-pepper owl came flying through the open window, dropping an official-looking letter on his lap. Recognizing the Hogwarts seal, Draco looked at his mother only to find that her eyes were anchored on the letter.
"Go on dear—open it!"
The entire lack of surprise in his mother's voice seeped over the usual languid tones she used in day-to-day conversation, giving Draco a sense of prescience that often engulfed him once he knew that the adults had discussed the actions behind closed doors before, leaving him to receive said actions' consequences as a surprise. Draco reached over for his butter knife, which was already covered with jam, to cut open the letter. He ignored his mother's remonstrative hiss drawn at his indecorum, his eyes scanning the first paragraph before he closed his eyes to control his reactions.
Refusing to look into this choice further than necessary, Draco shook his head slightly to clear his mind of thoughts that were going haywire. When he opened his eyes, he saw his mother was looking at him with gray emotion, her lips thinned. She set her teacup delicately down on her saucer before standing up, her voice soft when she finally cut the silence. "Come, Draco. It's time to consult Severus to discuss the upcoming year." Draco said nothing. There was no point in fighting this—his mark had been made before his actions ever could.
Hermione stood silently on the platform for 9 ¾ station. This was the first year she came alone, and she stood closer to the wall to make up for it. She had ten minutes before the Weasleys would arrive to send Ginny off, and she wished to attract the least attention possible beforehand. Opening her purse, she dug around at the bottom of it, her nose wrinkling slightly as her fingers brushed against a scattering of cold coins, used chewing gum covered in old wrapper, and the occasional paperclip before she found what she was looking for. Pulling out a small shiny mp3 player, she plugged the earplugs in and turned it on. She had figured out the hard way that Muggle electronics reacted unfavorably to magic when she had attempted to recharge her last mp3 player and had gone without one until her last birthday. Since then, she had learned to leave it well alone until she found a way to fuse Muggle circuitry and bits with magic that was hard to rein in properly. Until then, she would just have to deal with charging her electronics through the one outlet Dean Thomas had rigged up in the Gryffindor common room two years ago. She reached in again to pull a novel from her purse, leaned against her baggage, and started to read quietly, absentmindedly popping her gum as her feet kept time with the music playing in her ears.
Draco had a hard time convincing his mother to let go of his hand. Luckily, they were early, otherwise Draco would be torn between the desire to hold her one more time and ward her off out of embarrassment. As it was, his mother's eyes had started to get that particular sheen to them, and he wanted to fend off any tears she had for the privacy of the Manor. Finally, he pulled gently away from her hands, setting them gently to her side, his eyes locked on hers. His mother smiled in that slightly bitter, mostly sweet way of hers, inhaling through her nose as she gave one, two sharp nods. He gave her a lazy kiss on the cheek, whispering promises that he would write. She turned nodded a last time before turning smartly to walk from the platform. He watched her go, the dull dread growing slightly heavier as he watched her diminish across the distance. Repressing a sigh, he pulled a cigarette out from the folds of his robes, the Head Boy badge pinned to his crisp black folds. Lighting up, he cast a surreptitious look around the station. Aside from a handful of runts he'd guess were in their second year, several couples making out on the benches to his left, he and a girl with her brown hair pulled in a braid reading a book were the only solitary individuals at the station. He looked at the reading girl, trying to see if he knew her, but the book covered her face while her feet kept time to invisible music. He could understand the desire to grab a couple of moments of solitude between the crush of family life and the mad rush of school life. He inhaled deeply, savoring the sooty taste in his mouth as the cigarette gave him the much-needed jolt and caress in the chest. Taking a cue from the reading girl, as he so dubbed her, he pulled a small hardbound from his folio. This was one of the only presents of personal value he had from his father, a gift from his fifth year birthday. Fingering one of its pages, he parted the book and began to read.
Michel Argente DeClementis, his favorite writer from the late 18th century, was the forefather of the Melancholis movement his mother so favored. His copy, read so fervently that the dog-eared pages were certain to echo the eager traces Mudblood Granger had surely bestowed upon her Hogwarts: A History. DeClementis, with his recurring motifs of fog, overripe fruit and the eyes of the multitude addressed the growing concern in Wizarding society of insomnia, nausea and anxiety regarding the modernization of Muggles in the modern world. The temptations to fold in, to give up and to merely ignore were strong themes in his politically and morally tinged essays, but his literature—his literary works were steeped in the nostalgic press of past voices and the lure of the easily made available in love and presence lived in the everyday magical life. DeClementis was a firm believer in the internal control of passions for a manipulated outcome, but his genius lay in the fact that he refused to ignore that these passions existed, regardless of the necessity to restrain them. His favorite line came from a passage in the novel he carried now, The Wards Past Cultivation. The protagonist, after wooing a witch he once thought to be Pureblooded, reprimands her with words tinged with great value, "The apparent sincerity of passion threatens to overcome the mind and at once seems to be one with magic—to be magic—this at once is the greatest lie. Therein lies the art not of magic, but of deception."
Draco had yet to find another author to capture his own thoughts as eloquently and precisely as DeClementis had. He finished the cigarette with a few sharp breaths and dropped it. As he stubbed it out with his toe, he looked around to see that five minutes or so must have passed. More students had arrived. He could see Blaise on the other side of the station saying his goodbyes to his mother. Draco turned to his book again, but as he made to do so, his ear caught the soft churn of music coming from the reading girl, whose voice softly, almost indecipherably echoed the lyrics to match the tune.
So, if there's something you'd like to try
If there's something you'd like to try
Ask me I won't say no, how could I?
Spending warm summer days indoors
Writing frightening verse
To a buxom girl in Luxembourg…
Draco listened in for a moment, his eyes fixed on the page before him yet unseeing. From the words sung, he couldn't tell yet whether the music's origins were Muggle or Magical.
Nature is a language, can't you read?
Nature is a language, can't you read?
So, ask me, ask me, ask me …
"There you are!"
A feminine voice held high in greeting met with the sound of steps hit the ground and broke the spell. From the cadence, Draco could tell a group was fast approaching, and he turned his black slightly to the sound in reflex. His nose in his book in a manner that would be at home with the swottiest of Ravenclaws, he noticed in the corner of his eye that the reading girl had heard the greeting and stopped the music somehow. It hadn't occurred to Draco to see where the music was coming from, but she pulled out what appeared to be two long white strands with one hand, the other lowering the book as her face appeared in greeting. Draco turned abruptly back to his book. The signs pointed to it: arriving bloody early, alone and wrapped up in books. He should have known it was Granger.
Hermione heard Ginny's voice, and felt her heart jump with a slight leap of happiness. Here was a shred of normalcy she could hold onto. The last ten minutes were spent with a book, but she would be the first to admit her heart wasn't in it. Her parents already in Australia with memory charms implanted, Harry and Ron gone who-knows-where looking for horcruxes, sharing Headship with Draco Malfoy… her seventh year started upside-down already, and she had hoped that her Marquez would satiate her. One Hundred Years of Solitude usually did the trick, but even so…
She put her book down just in time to free her hands and then suddenly she had an armful of Weasley and fell off her baggage with laughter. The rest of the Weasley family gathered around her, grinning at the sight of Ginny and Hermione on the floor entangled. Fred and George whistled as Mr. Weasley shook his head amidst Mrs. Weasley's clucking. Charlie helped both girls to their feet with easily. Hermione was not surprised to see him there. He was back officially from Romania for the dragon reserves here in England, and unofficially for the Order. Peering over his shoulder, Bill and Fleur smiled in welcome, both glowing from their recent marriage and honeymoon. Hermione felt her eyes well up in happiness. The Weasleys had known that Hermione had willingly severed ties with her parents by hiding them, and they had also known that her separation from the boys was almost equally as painful. Mrs. Weasley in particular hugged her several times, as if she could feel Ron through Hermione.
"There, there, child," she fretted, "Of all the times to have common sense, those boys only exert for you, you know."
She patted Hermione's cheek fondly as Ginny made a moue of pretended discontent, "And what am I, chopped liver?"
Hermione grinned, unable to help herself as she raised an eyebrow suggestively, "Now, Ginny—you and I both know that the way Harry thinks of you has nothing to do with common sense."
Ginny's face matched her hair as her family began to laugh, but she gave it as good as she got it, "And Ron thinks of you as a mere sister after all these years? Since the Yule Ball? That would make it incest!"
They all laughed harder as Mrs. Weasley gave Ginny a stern glare, but Ginny merely flipped her hair with false, wounded vanity as Hermione snorted and sidled up with her, relaxing for the first time since…
She wouldn't think about it, not now.
Listening to Ginny's easy-going voice recount the summer events and Bill's wedding to Fleur, Hermione stowed her baggage away in the overhead compartment, humming to herself as she pulled her robes out and shrugged them on. When she turned around, the air around her stilled and she took in the faces of her friends—Ginny, Neville, Luna, Dean, Ernie, Hannah, Parvati, Seamus and Lavender—and grinned toothily. The carriage erupted in thumping limbs and whoops of laughter.
"With a track record like yours, you've officially dethroned and out-swotted Percy, even!"
"Pot calling the kettle black, Ginny! I heard from reliable sources that you were made prefect this year!"
"Right then, Hermione—grant us access to the Restricted Section! There are certain sections of the library I want to explore with you."
"I'll patrol the halls with you any night, perfect prefect Granger!"
"Sorry Miss Granger, guess you got to take one for the team. Never you mind… Gryffindors, for the House Cup!"
The boys were incorrigible, but their intentions playful. Luna and Parvati hugged her, their faces pretty with happiness and pride. Even Lavender gave her a soft squeeze and her eyes clear with good intentions and easy camaraderie. This alone seemed to welcome Hermione back into the fold. She understood their actions, interpreted the good will towards her despite the somewhat arbitrary grouping they made. With Harry and Ron gone, Malfoy as Co-Head, and the Carrows in the seat for Hogwarts, they would group and cover for their own.
They had just settled down to enjoy their snacks from the sweet cart when Professor McGonagall opened their compartment, her eyes sharp but her mouth softened into a slight smile. Hermione responded with one of her own as she took in the added lines on her face. The summer had not been kind to many.
"Miss Granger, please gather Miss Weasley and Mr. Creevey to the Head compartment. Ms. Lovegood, Mr. MacMillan and Ms. Abbott, please do the same for for your respective houses. We are to meet the Head Boy there with the other prefects in ten minutes."
Hermione nodded as the rest got up to carry out McGonagall's orders. Her stomach twisted a bit at the thought of seeing Malfoy again, but she squared her shoulders and crisply straightened her blouse before she left her friends. It would not do for the others to see her apprehension—itt would make them think that she couldn't take care of herself without her two best friends. Or worse, if anything was amiss, it would remind them all of the past events in the Astronomy Tower and the impending war yet to come…
The door slid open jaggedly. She absentmindedly noticed that it needed greasing as she slid through the door with Colin, Ginny and Professor McGonagall. The Carrows were already waiting, standing together in malicious glee as they looked over the Gryffindors with anticipation. Draco Malfoy stood a couple of passes to their right, clearly not associating with the deputy Headmasters… yet. He looked crisp in his black robes and green tie, his light hair appeared silver although she knew it was blond. The lighting seemed to be influenced by the starkness of his dark grey eyes, blending the pale gold with the burnish of silver. He looked sharp and attentive, his demeanor heavy with implied actions that he seemed unable to fulfill in the springtime. Enough time had passed so that everyone in the carriage was aware that what he could not do then, he was able to do now. As a result, he was at ease in his own skin while placing fear and discomfort on everyone else. Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly; in her mind, he was a pollutant of the worst sort, and of the kind that went beyond bloodlines and heritage.
The Carrows noticed everything with a heavy-handed glee that almost put the Slytherin subtlety to shame. Hermione noticed that Malfoy cringed slightly at their triumphant greeting, their hasty and eager insults towards the Head Girl, blood traitors and other muggleborns, their coy words of praise for the Slytherins and select purebloods from Ravenclaw. Hermione gritted her teeth. Fine, she would not resent it if praise went to Astoria Greengrass, who she knew to be studious and diligent individuals, their Pureblood status notwithstanding. She glanced at McGonagall, whose lips were pursed to the point where her mouth made one clean line, and decided to hold back her desire to roll her eyes. As the eulogy ran on for twenty minutes with not-so-subtle digs at the ministry and even less subtle praise for Voldemort, even Malfoy's jaw started to clench when finally…
"Right, let's save the rest for the Welcoming Speech when the whole school is present. We have half an hour and we still have to divvy up the tasks."
Malfoy, balancing his wand with a lazy smirk, disarmed Alecto, who appeared to flutter a bit while Amycus' heavy eyebrows slammed down, his mouth open to deliver a snarl, but McGonagall nodded briskly, all business.
"Correct, Mr. Malfoy. I see Severus has done right by you. Proceed. I have certain steps and procedures I wish to familiarize our new headmasters with, and regretfully take my leave." With a fluidity that was out of the norm for a Gryffindor, McGonagall almost swept up the Carrows and took them out of the Head Carriage, leaving the Co-Heads and the Prefects to gape after her with something close to admiration, if not begrudging respect.
Maybe a few or so seconds went by before Colin coughed nervously and the moment passed. Hermione let out a soft sigh and looked around fully. Malfoy met her eyes fully for a tense second before he turned away and greeted the Prefects, his voice was soft, but it carried over perfectly.
"Draco Malfoy," he nodded in greeting, the gesture minimal yet effective, "I act as Head Boy this year for the House of Slytherin. This here," he gestured vaguely, "Hermione Granger, Head for Gryffindor." He paused for a bit and Hermione kept her face blank but waited in tense anticipation before he spoke again, "Order is important this year because the deputy Heads are… unfamiliar with the Hogwarts customs. We'll make up for it by exercising sharp judgment. First years are covered by the sixth year prefects. Hufflepuffs, work with Hagrid. Ravenclaws and Slytherins, divvy up the brats into groups and act as their guide. Gryffindors, close out the train and make sure the baggage makes it to Hogwarts." With the closing command, Ginny and Colin scowled, but Malfoy grinned at them and it was all teeth, so they kept mum. Hermione's eyebrows slammed together but found nothing that warranted open critique in front of the other prefects as Malfoy proceeded to divide the labor with ruthless precision. Hermione said nothing as he closed, but knew it was too much to hope for the meeting to end well.
"Any objections?" Malfoy's uncanny grey eyes roved across each face in the room before they settled on hers, "Any details I carelessly left out, Granger? Nothing from the resident spinster swot?" Hermione's lip curled slightly, and he smiled, "Ah yes, being rather quiet and cautious yourself, Granger… without your two bodyguards to lunk you around, suddenly you find your maidenly position at stake." Ginny took a defensive stance and began to step forward, but Hermione laid a gentle hand on her arm, and shook her head. Malfoy quirked an eyebrow at this and addressed Ginny nastily, "Since when do blood traitors take orders from Mudbl—"
A huge, wet sneeze filled the compartment, drowning Malfoy's words out. Eyes all turned to Luna, who smiled hazily before pulling out a handkerchief with enthusiastically embroidered bees and beetles on the hemline to blow her nose gustily.
"Oh dear, please excuse me," she said, "I haven't sneezed all summer. I think something here set off my allergies."
The prefects gaped at her, incredulous, and Malfoy glared. Luna smiled mistily before wiping her nose and putting the handkerchief back into her pocket. Pansy Parkinson shoved over to stand by Astoria Greengrass, snarling, and Blaise Zabini shuddered at her lack of hygiene. Hermione's lip relaxed from the sneer and she exchanged humorous looks with Ginny before Padma and Hannah started laughing. That signaled the end of the Prefects meeting.
They all moved to clear the compartment and Ginny sidled up to Hermione, her eyes sparkling, the humor from Luna's antics carrying over as she leaned in to say, "What do you say to a game of Exploding Snap? We could—"
"You go on ahead, Ginny," Hermione said, cutting her off gently but firmly.
She had seen the look Malfoy sent her while the others were laughing. He was calling her out on her prior silence and challenging her with his eyes. She knew she had to confront him and clear the air so they could settle into some sort of routine once they established a system of shared antagonism. It had happened in the prior years, and it would continue again. It was just—well, the stakes had never been higher than they were now. She anticipated the clash of words and with a weariness that anticipated the confrontation, she had the prescience to know that this year would either make her or drive her into an early grave. She just hoped that Malfoy would be able to keep up. His wit had kept him up to speed for the most part, but this year she desperately needed it so it would keep his mind off of attempting the murder of other people. This black humor surprised Hermione. The idea of desperately needing Malfoy to match her with verbal fodder to keep him out of trouble was one thing, but to find humor in keeping him from fulfilling his duties as a Death Eater… now, that was a whole other can of worms she was sure would spill open once one of them crossed the line.
She suddenly noticed that the carriage seemed empty except for the breath and still motions of one, and she was well aware of his eyes on her back. In a movement that was as soft as it was fluid, Hermione turned around, pulling her wand out of her bracelet with one arm behind her back before she turned to face Malfoy. The smile he greeted her with was one of malicious hospitality, and suddenly Hermione felt afraid. Despite the fact that his entire demeanor felt heavy with the somber consequences of his recent actions, Hermione noticed that his eyes had an unsettling emptiness in their grey, a pitch not of depth but of bottomlessness, and she felt his emptiness the same way she felt her over-saturation.
Before she could think twice, she spoke clearly yet absently, "The empty vessel makes the greatest sound."
Author's Note:
First time, but couldn't resist!
"Works Cited":
The Smiths: Ask
Fyodor Dostoevksy's Crime and Punishment.
William Shakespeare's Henry V, Act 4, Scene 4.