Reluctant Allies
Chapter One
Primarily they ignored one another. That is, when they were in their shared common room together they did. In public (meaning in front of the faculty) they maintained a cold and reluctant tolerance; civility being too polite a term. They did their duties speaking as little as possible, though glares and other such looks of mutual contempt were frequent. In the corridors away from the watchful eyes of the teachers, however, Hermione Granger and Draco Malfoy didn't hold back. Curses, insults, sneers, taunts, even the occasional physical violence was the norm. Nothing was off-limits.
Yes, Hermione did try not to rise to his bating, but that was largely to keep Harry and Ron out of detention. The Slytherin wouldn't hesitate to tattle on the two Gryffindor boys but when it came to the Head Girl, Draco's hands were tied. Anything that happened between the two of them stayed between them, else McGonagall would strip them both of their positions. They'd been warned many times before; one more incident and new Head Students would be chosen; the Headmistress had made that very clear.
As neither wanted to give up their positions of power, they never involved teachers in their little contretemps, nor did they make use of the Hospital Wing if they could help it. It would raise too many questions.
In the Head Common room however, there was an unspoken truce of sorts. They didn't speak to one another, touch one another's things, or even look at one another if they could help it. Oh, it was clear that they loathed each others' presences, but she ignored the angry vein that popped out of his temple when in the same room, and he pretended not to notice how tightly she clenched her jaw, fighting the urge to grind her teeth.
Both kept their wands at the ready in case the tenuous pact collapsed.
Without having spoken about it, they worked out a sort of schedule. Despite them both being early risers, he would stay in his room, letting her work in the common room. He wouldn't come out of his bedchamber until she left for breakfast. Similarly, Hermione made herself scarce in the evenings after classes, spending time either in the library or Gryffindor common room, giving Draco time to himself.
This arrangement of mutual benefit wasn't out of courtesy but necessity. They only way they could cohabit was to pretend that they didn't, else they'd get themselves thrown in Azkaban, or worse, expelled (in Hermione's opinion, of course.) Any quarrels they'd had throughout the day were left at the door in order to preserve the fragile peace of their inner sanctum.
Actually, it would be a mistake to call it 'peace' however fragile.
Silence wasn't peace.
But these days it was as close as anyone got.
.
The portrait hole swung shut with a resounding bang.
Draco visibly stiffened, his quill poised over his essay, face contorting in a grimace at the intrusion. It was early evening, his time she knew,but he didn't say anything. Hermione didn't linger though. Still breathless from her race from Gryffindor Tower, she crossed the room as quickly as she could, eager to get out of his way. She closed her bedroom door behind her, setting up the usual wards for privacy and protection with many habitual but expert flourishes of her wand.
Only when she was certain of being securely inside did she allow herself to catch her breath, and really think about what she'd just learned. Or rather, what she'd just come to realise.
Breathing out in a long hiss, she let her bag fall to the floor, slowly sliding down to join it, still clutching Tales of Beedle the Bard to her chest.
Professor Dumbledore was dying.
It was almost impossible to believe, but she'd seen his burnt black hand, knew the curse, knew what it meant. The Headmaster had all but confirmed it to Harry just now, tacitly conveying that he wouldn't around forever to help Harry with the Horcruxes. It accounted for his odd behaviour. Odder than usual behaviour, rather. How were they supposed to find and destroy the remaining hocruxes without the Headmaster? How would they face Voldemort? How could the body of the Order act without its head?
Perhaps there was something she hadn't noticed, some crucial clue that she was missing, some information that meant that she was entirely wrong in her conclusion. She wouldn't mind being wrong, just this once. She would welcome the error of her logic if it meant that Dumbledore would remain to help them, not abandon them in this quagmire of desperate confusion.
It wasn't that she didn't believe in Harry… it was just that… well… his chances weren't as promising without the Headmaster.
'Don't panic. Think calmly, and rationally,' she told herself, taking deep steadying breaths. There was no point in hyperventilating on the floor of her bedroom.
She wasn't sure if Harry and Ron actually understood the implications of what they'd just discussed. Harry had seemed upset, true, but that was par for the course these days. Neither of them outright mentioned Dumbledore dying, so perhaps they hadn't come to the same conclusion.
Perhaps she was completely overreacting.
'Please let me be overreacting.'
Deep breaths.
In.
Out.
Perhaps she ought to return to the boys, confirm or quash her suspicions. Or perhaps she might be better off in the library.
Well, she wouldn't leave now, in any case. She'd wait until Draco turned in. As Head Girl she could be out after curfew, though she really oughtn't, not to the library anyway. It would be closed. The boys wouldn't mind her returning. Perhaps it was better she didn't go now after all. Give her time to think. Perhaps do her homework for a few hours to clear her head, marshal her thoughts, get her thinking logically.
.
The fire in the hearth had long since gone out. Only a sliver of moonlight slashed across the room, giving her only enough light to avoid the greater pieces of furniture. With a careful flick, she lit a single candle on the mantle, the better to navigate her way out of the common room.
It was nearing two in the morning, but she didn't think the boys would chide her for coming at such an hour. As there was an extra bed in the boys' dormitory since Dean hadn't come back that year, she'd spent many a late night there. In truth, she slept much easier in Gryffindor tower than she did in her own bedroom. For obvious reasons…
She turned to face to the closed door that led to Malfoy's room and listened carefully.
Nothing.
Holding her breath, she continued tiptoeing, careful not do anything that might wake him.
She'd just reached the portrait hole when it swung open with a whoosh!
Panic pounded through her ears but she didn't cry out. Couldn't. She was too shocked to see Malfoy standing in front of her, white-faced and looking as if he was just as startled as she was.
It didn't take long for either of them to regain their senses. In a flash they both had their wands out, pointing at the other's throat.
Perhaps it was a bit childish to be so on edge simply because they'd startled on another in the dark. Had it been any other time of day they wouldn't have reacted like this, not in their own common room anyway. But no, it wasn't childish fear, it was like deduction, bordering on instinct. Knowing that neither of them had a legitimate reason for being abroad at that hour; knowing there was no possible innocent explanation for either of them and therefore their motives couldn't be trusted.
The portrait hole still gaped open, letting in a draught. If any ghost floated passed or a portrait strolled through neighbouring paintings of landscapes, she and Draco would be observed, poised for a duel. Instant loss of Head Girl and Boy status.
"I'll lower mine if you lower yours," she whispered.
He swallowed visibly, clutching his wand tighter he quickly looked behind him into the corridor. Hermione could actually see the whiteness of his knuckles, so close they were to her face.
Terrified, Hermione realised in an instant. The boy was utterly terrified. The question was… of what, though? He hadn't been running from a basilisk, of that she was certain, but was there some other menace in the corridor from which he'd been fleeing?
"Is something out there?" she asked hesitantly.
His chest rose and fell rapidly, his breath noisy and strained. Otherwise she got no response. She wanted to peak out into the corridor to have a look for herself but she didn't dare take her eyes off Malfoy or his wand for a second. He did though. His eyes kept darting back over his shoulder. Hermione didn't know if she ought to be afraid or affronted by his lapse of attention.
Slowly, very slowly, he stepped sideways, keeping his wand trained on her. Like two strange cats sighting one another for the first time they moved hesitantly, keeping distance but always poised and ready to spring… either to flee or fight.
They circled one another until they'd swapped positions. Her back was now to the corridor and his to the rest of their living quarters.
He took a few steps back, still moving ever so slowly, as if she were a serpent that might strike at any sudden movement. Ironic, as he was the Slytherin.
His breathing had evened out somewhat, though his eyes still flickered past her out into the corridor.
Hermione stepped aside, closing the portrait. Whatever it was had been effectively blocked off; no one could get in without the password.
"You're alright now," she assured him, though it was half a question. Not that she should care, as he'd been nothing but a prat to her since day one, but she knew that she wouldn't be able to calm down until he did. It was just unnerving to see anyone that distressed. Fear, tension, panic… it was catching. And she was much affected.
She thought he nodded almost imperceptibly, though it may have been the flicker of the candlelight. In any case, he took longer and faster strides to his room, no doubt blockading himself in once he'd closed the door behind him.
If she were being honest, seeing him like that bothered her more than a trifle. If it had been Harry, Ron, Ginny, or practically anyone but Malfoy she could have comforted them, asked what was wrong. As it was Malfoy she was left only with the nagging uncertainty and unease.
She hadn't asked him if it was safe to go out there. Of course, if it wasn't, he'd have said it was so she'd get caught up in the danger. If the coast was clear, he'd have said it wasn't so as to thwart her plans and keep her inside. Either way, she'd have done the opposite of what he said.
Except she didn't get an answer at all from him so she didn't know what to do. Not knowing was always the worst. She hated not knowing. Anything was bearable so long as you knew what you were up against.
In the end she went back to her own room, and for the first time went to sleep thinking about Draco Malfoy. She couldn't get him out of her head; his ashen face, his white knuckles, his wild and fearful eyes.