Chapter 4. The first school day
The push.
More.
One more.
Rough, deep.
The last one.
Draco leaned his forehead against the stone wall, breathing hoarsely and still tightly squeezing the thigh of the most attractive Gryffindor girl. A slender, swarthy Indian was very good, except that she smelled of strawberries too sweet.
That's so simple. He fucked this girl not undressing her, just unbuttoned his fly and pulled up the girl's skirt to the waist, in the corridor of the dungeons, behind a large column.
She was to blame; he didn't start it. Holy shit! He almost didn't have to do anything! A couple of wine glasses - and she was the first to go. Half an hour of twaddling about nothing, a few touches - and she is already whispering that she doesn't mind walking.
He couldn't understand this.
He fucked the Gryffindor girl, who intruded to him by herself. It's over.
Draco pulled away from her, put his dick out of her, almost immediately fastening his trousers. Patil adjusted her skirt and sleeking her hair, reached to him for the kiss. This is expected, but he is not so cruel as to alienate her now, whoever she is. He responded to her kiss without much enthusiasm - it will be the end of all anyway.
Parvati didn't look like a fool, although she was famous as one of the most important gossip of the school. It means that she won't blemish her reputation.
Draco wasn't mistaken.
"You won't tell anybody about this, right?" she looked into his eyes apprehensively.
"What do you take me for?"
She smiled in embarrassment and looked down.
"Well, so…"
"Go first, I'll later."
Patil quickly nodded and headed for the living room. Draco looked at her.
He looked at his watch - half past four. Surely everyone is asleep. He didn't think it was late. The wake begins after three hours. Does it make sense to go to bed?
Suppressing a yawn, Malfoy trudged into the bedroom, took his bag with books and went to the shower. Cool water gave a deceptive feeling of vivacity. To be sorry for there's no coffee in Hogwarts.
There are more than two hours left before breakfast.
I have time, he thought and stepped toward the library.
It was astonishing for Hermione to wake up with a wonderful mood and smiling wide. She didn't have nightmares during her sleep. There is no weakness, the head doesn't hurt at all, and it's even frustrating for her, because she wanted so much to try a new spell! She just wants to drink water.
Aguamenti! It automatically sounded in her head, and then her hand waved as usual. The glass on the bedside table was immediately filled with cool water. After making three large sips, Hermione went to the mirror.
There's no bruising under her eyes, her face is not swollen, her hair ... Well, her hair is as usual.
It seems that the consequences of the hangover, with that her parents were so actively frightened, are greatly exaggerated. Hermione washed her face quickly, brushed her teeth, combed her hair and braided her unruly hair. Why she has so much energy?
Before breakfast another twenty minutes, so that it's possible to have time to carry out the plan.
There is a book in her bag since last year. Horrible, terrible book! If she and her friends didn't need information about the Horcruxes, Hermione would never have touched this garbage. She will have to tell McGonagall that she's ashamed. Because she stole this ancient edition straight from Dumbledore's office. To apologize and say rehearsed speech, that this was the forced measure and they didn't read nothing extra.
The last look in the mirror.
The uniform is ironed, everything is relatively decent on her head, the bag is almost closed from the textbooks. She is ready.
There was no one in the living room. Either everyone has already left for breakfast, or else they are asleep. Or maybe it's just embarrassing to look at each other after yesterday. Interestingly, will the wall of principles grow again between the faculties after that evening?
Out of habit Hermione went to the transfiguration cabinet, but not to the director's office, and she didn't fail - McGonagall was preparing for the lesson.
She was lucky here, too. The director was not indignant, didn't scold her and saying that she didn't doubt her honesty, signed a paper on permission to the forbidden section, so that Hermione could safely return the book.
Bullshit.
Draco walked, maliciously squeezing the scribbled parchment and thinking about what he had read. He didn't learn anything new.
... focus on touching the thoughts of the enemy, cleansing your mind ... – in the book said.
Well, it's like Bellatrix's lessons.
... to collect energy in the solar plexus by effort of will and mentally send ...
Such a bullshit! In the solar plexus? The energy? He snorted.
... it is easiest to develop this force on the sleeper, because his mind is most open to external influences. Concentrated magician will not be difficult to catch scraps of memories of the enemy in the arms of Morpheus, however, in order to influence them, you need a long practice ...
And on whom should he practice? He absolutely didn't want to get into the wet dreams of his roommates.
Draco winced from this thought.
Spying the dreams of virgin Gregory? That's the limit!
Occlumency was given to him almost simply, but to penetrate independently into someone else's consciousness - that's another problem. The covenant Legilimens didn't go out of his head. How much easier it would be if it was like a levitation spell! Waved, said - and it's ready. But in the first year of study Wingardium Leviosa seemed so difficult ...
Draco unfolded the parchment again and stopped, reading very attentively.
... it will not be difficult to catch scraps of memories ...
The Dark Lord did this without even using his wand. Incredible level of magic! No, Malfoy wasn't envious of him. But such things are quite deservedly admired.
The blow to the chest made him shake and drop the scroll.
"Oh!" a girl cried.
Her bag opened and the books flew across the floor. Draco bent down hastily to pick up his parchment, and caught a bewildered look.
Brown eyes, upturned nose, curved eyebrows, curl of dark hair on the shoulder.
That's Granger.
"Malfoy! What are you doing here?"
He was surprised: he can't even ask what she forgot here on first day at school, miss-the-best-student! It seems, that his habit to answer this all-knowing girl with biting words, was at his instinct level, so Draco ignored her question with great difficulty.
No more conflicts, he reminded himself.
While she was nervously gathering her textbooks, Draco's eyes drew a bulky volume intertwined with faded black skin.
Secrets of the Darkest Art, the title said.
He had already seen this. But this edition looked newer in his estate library. His hand reached for the book by itself and took it. Honestly, by itself.
"Give it back!"
Granger snatched the book from his fingers with anger. For a moment there was a fright in her eyes throwing sparks.
"You've decided to hedge?" Draco stood up, putting his parchment in his pocket.
"I don't understand what you mean," she answered lifting her chin and pressed the book to her chest.
"Oh, well, don't play the fool. The Secrets of the Darkest Art?"
"It's none of your business," Granger snorted, pretending to be indifferent. "Reparo!"
The bag seams gravitated to each other like magnets. While Granger was putting her textbooks in it, Draco stared at her with genuine interest.
Indeed! She doesn't understand!
"If you've read this book, you should know that to split a soul you need to kill a person," he said insinuatingly, narrowing his eyes slightly.
Granger stood motionless.
"How do you know about the Horcruxes?"
Damn it. Well, it's not difficult to put two and two together.
He didn't think about this. Clearly, they didn't write about the Horcruxes in any newspaper. Think, Malfoy, think!
He won't tell her that he held the Horcrux in his hands even before her hair began to grow in interesting places! And even more, don't give out the real reason for his interest in these dark artifacts.
"Once I leafed through this book," Draco looked straight in her eyes, hoping it would work.
"You're lying. This book has long been removed from the library by Dumbledore."
This name sounded like a slap in his face.
"You didn't answer my question."
"You didn't ask any question," Granger responded in similar vein.
"Do you know that you need to kill?"
"You decided," she hissed, singling out each word, "that I'm going to create a Horcrux?"
"And where did you get such an interest to the Dark Arts?"
"Did it ever occur to you," she straightened and raised her head in exasperation, "that some people can read books just out of interest?"
Of interest, indeed.
Although Draco was already beginning to understand. And because of he didn't realize earlier, he wanted to crack his forehead. Of course, she didn't take the book. On the contrary, she carried it to the library. This means that she brought it with her.
His pride didn't allow to show his blunder. Just not in front of her. No more conflicts? It seems too late.
"You still haven't answered the question."
I'd rather she thought I am dumb, he thought, she doesn't get used to it, she's been around Weasley for so many years.
"Yes, I'm aware of the murder."
"And what do you think about this?"
"And what should any sane person think?"
Is this an allusion?
"Enlighten me, then."
Granger sighed irritably and muttered:
"Only someone who has no notions of humanity is capable for killing. Do I look like someone who would have decided to do this?!" she almost shouted the last words.
No, he thought.
"Who knows," he shrugged indifferently.
It seems that it just exasperates her.
"I'm not some Death Eater!"
A ringing silence. A frightened look of brown eyes.
If Potter had been in front of Draco, the clenched fist had already been imprinted on his jaw.
Devil's bitch, it flashed through his head until he clenched his teeth and, without turning around, headed for the exit.
Trying not to think about the consequences, Hermione was running to the Great Hall.
Seriously! He won't take revenge! Honestly, she was somewhat struck by how calmly Malfoy behaved himself. If he wasn't the same vile bugger she knew, then that conversation could be equated almost to everyday life. Except her last sentence, of course.
Tell such a thing to Death Eater! Hermione expected at least a "mudblood" to her address. But…nothing. It's very, very, very strange.
He was not in the hall. As Zabini. Her friends were already finishing eating, when she sat down and, glancing at her watch, quickly began to fill the plate.
"Where have you been?" Harry asked, pushing back his goblet with pumpkin juice.
"In the library," she answered automatically and looked down.
"So early?"
"It was necessary to return the book," Hermione shrugged, opening her schedule, "the very book," she specified, not wanting to stretch the conversation.
She caught her sidelong glance as Harry nodded. Perfectly. This means she can do without any details.
Double History of Magic, Transfiguration, lunch, double Defence against the Dark Art, Arithmancy, Hermione mumbled to herself.
The owls began to fly into the hall.
Pushing aside the schedule, she quickly took up breakfast, trying not to look at Harry. She doesn't even want to think about what it's like not to wait for letters, because there is no one from whom.
Suddenly, waving its wings wide, a large black owl landed gracefully in front of her. It turned so gracefully to Hermione's head and held out a paw with a letter that she involuntarily gasped.
"Don't touch it!" Harry shouted.
Catching the surprised Hermione's look, he took out his wand and directed it to the letter.
"Aparecium," waving his wand.
Nothing happened.
"Revelio! Specialis Revelio! Umbro Defektium!"
Nothing.
"Are you finished?" Hermione untied the letter, rolling her eyes.
The owl, with hoot, flew away, not even wanting to take a treat.
"It was worth to check," her friend grunted.
"You don't have to look for anything in everything, Harry. Sometimes a letter is just a letter. Don't be like Mad-Eye."
Hermione ran her eyes through the text, recognizing the handwriting from the very first line. Though Ron tried to seem indifferent to what was happening, he still gave her quick questioning looks.
Hermione folded the parchment neatly with smile and hid it in her bag, and ignoring the questioning gaze from under Harry's glasses, hurried to the lesson.
Thinking about Zabini, about the letter and about the conversation with Malfoy, she didn't even notice that two incredibly boring classes had flown by.
My goodness! Hermione Granger thinks about the boys while studying! Nobody will believe her. However, she still wrote incoherent lecture by Professor Bins, so that it could be safely called a summary.
Transfiguration lesson didn't have anything interesting either. The repetition of the material passed and there is a black and white pillow on the table instead of the raccoon, so there is time to help Harry. Ron didn't even ask her to help him, although his beast had tufts instead of ears now, like the Muggle cap of a graduate.
Twenty minutes later, Hermione was already eating puree with green peas and looking inquiringly at Harry, who was literally drilling her with his glare.
"What?" she exhaled finally.
"Don't you want to tell me something?" his green eyes looked at her bag.
"Viktor," Hermione answered shortly.
"Hmm…" Harry exchanged glances with Ron, who squeezed the fork harder than was worth it, "And what does he want?" he asked in a calm voice, but only the blind man wouldn't have noticed how great his curiosity was.
"He is now in London and he invited me to see in Hogsmeade on weekends and just to chat," Hermione answered in the same deliberate calm tone.
"I thought we'd go together."
"I doubt that this will take much time. Viktor is very tactful, you know. I'll warn him that my friends are waiting for me. I'll see you later, in Three Broomsticks, for example."
Ron stood silently and left the table. Hermione watched him sadly.
Well, what did she expect? What if he heard about Victor, he immediately calls her on a date? If jealousy worked this way, then it happened yesterday, when she squeezed out a smile for Zabini.
"Okay, let's go," finishing her orange juice, Hermione pushed the cup away from her and took her bag.
They were silent all the way to the class. Good mood immediately disappeared.
"Do not be mad at him, okay?" Harry said awkwardly near the door.
"I didn't even think," she quickly lied and went into the classroom.
She can't decide on the first step! Is she a girl or not, after all? Cooking food in the forest - okay, she's a girl. Damn it. It's very convenient.
And although Hermione has already been sympathetic to Ron for more than one year, she has grown tired of making any attempts to get close to him. Doesn't understand the hints? It's his problems!
Harry stayed with her at the same desk, what somewhat improved her mood.
After taking out the inkwell, Hermione looked up and examined the class. Zabini, catching her eyes, smiled broadly. She was sure that Ron would notice this, therefore, without hesitation for a second, she radiantly smiled him back, rejoicing that the hateful blond hair head was turned towards her by the back of his neck in that second.
Look, Ron! That's how a guy should show his interest, she thought.
Stop. Interest? This thought appeared in her head automatically.
Why not? Someone can show sympathy for her. Can, isn't it?
Harry distracted her thoughts with a gentle push to her ribs.
"What are you doing?" his eyebrows crawled up from under his glasses.
This caused a laugh. Yeah, and it's not spring now.
Without answering, she smiled maliciously and pushing him back, opened the textbook. She can't even look at them; she knew her friends like her own five fingers. It's not difficult to guess that they are exchanging puzzled looks. So be it.
When the professor entered the classroom, everyone was quiet at once.
He looked menacingly, everyone must admit. High, stately. Wide shoulders, dark hair, short trim beard, tapering to the chin; a long curved scar across his eyebrow, heavy look. He was completely dressed in black, except vinous cloak of the mantle.
Stopping at the slate, he turned to the students.
"Full name is Boryslav Velizar Krum. In the past, I am a fighter with the Dark Arts, in a different way - Auror. For the past eight years I have been Professor of subtle points of Dark Arts at the Durmstrang Institute. I am here at the personal request of the Minister of Magic. The rest you do not need to know. So…"
The professor spoke slowly, with spacing. Hermione mentally expressed gratitude to him for this, because otherwise it would be difficult to understand what he is talking about - his voice was with a hoarse, and a rough accent leaves no doubt that he is a foreigner.
She straightened her back, catching his every word.
"As I was told, you have already passed all the magical creatures required by the school curriculum. And although your study was disjointed, I can assume that if you are sitting here alive, it means that you have learned the material well and successfully passed your exams." the professor examined the students, "This whole year we will devote ourselves to studying the nastiest creatures, their behavior, psychology and protection against them. Do you have any idea what kind of creatures are talking about?"
Parvati raised her hand uncertainly. Professor Krum nodded.
"Maybe, dementors?"
"Any other assumptions?" he looked critically at the students.
"Acromantulas?" Ron asked.
The professor was silent.
"Banshee?" Seamus inquired.
"Dragons?!" Lavender gasped.
"Human," there was a low voice.
There was a rustle, many began to turn to the last desk to find out who said it. Hermione remained seated only looked at her desk. She had already heard this voice in the library this morning.
"Mister…?" the professor asked.
"Malfoy, sir."
"Ten points to Slytherin."
There were several nervous laughs in the silence.
"Unfortunately, there is nothing ridiculous in this. Over the past year, you all could be convinced that people are the most terrible, quirky and dangerous creatures you can imagine. The dragon can breathe fire on you, the dementor can take away your soul, and only a person can cover you in battle, and then strike a blow in your back."