Author's Note: Here we go! I'm getting back into the flow of writing, and seem to be okay with posting an update once a week. Once the Christmas holidays come it might increase but let's wait and see. As always, I bow down to the magnificent JKR.
….
Hermione was sitting in the same spot in the library where Malfoy had fallen asleep just two weeks ago before the incident. She was peering down with narrowed eyes at her notebook and tapping her fingers impatiently on the desk. There was something big she was missing here. And she hated not knowing. She couldn't help but feel that there was some kind of darker mystery going on around them– wasn't there always? – and she couldn't quite put the puzzle pieces together yet. She desperately wanted to figure it out. It was like a wisp of something just beyond her reach that she kept grabbing at, but the more she tried the further away it seemed to get. Perhaps she was overthinking it. Hermione squinted her eyes a bit and glared at the few notes she had taken, as if they had offended her. It wasn't much, just a short list of things going on this year that she had deemed worthy of her suspicion.
The Prophecy – Chosen One?
Bourgin and Burkes, Dark Item. Set of two.
Fenrir Greyback
Draco Malfoy – possible Death Eater?
Lucius Malfoy in prison
Professor Slughorn – retired Potions teacher. Slug Club.
Snape: DADA (only one year?)
Dumbledore's hand. LEFT hand. Curse wound. Possible Dark Magic.
Malfoy's Nightmares
The Half-Blood Prince. Potions prodigy. Dangerous spells.
Harry's private lessons about the history of Tom Riddle.
She had written the list out both normally and in Ancient Runes, as well as fiddling around with some Arithmatic equations. These were all the clues she had to work with.
She couldn't help but have faith in Professor Snape, even though Harry seemed determined to despise and mistrust him. Unlike her repeated insistences to Harry and Ron, it wasn't because she simply trusted Dumbledore. Snape had never given her a reason to doubt him and, even further than that, he had actively saved their lives or worked to protect them numerous times. She knew he had contacted the Order the moment Harry had devised his crazy scheme to fly to the Ministry. And he had done far more than was necessary to help heal them in the infirmary later. He could have just hidden in his precious dungeon and simply left her dealing with a hideous, disfiguring scar on her chest, but instead she knew he had worked tirelessly with Pomfrey to minimise the curse wound. Snape had done the right thing enough times to earn her grudging respect. Even though she would never forgive him for the comment about her teeth in fourth year.
As for Slughorn, there was something strange about his appointment. And would Snape really only last one year in his new cursed job? It only increased her feeling that something bad was coming as the year went on. It infuriated her that she could sense this storm brewing, building to some kind of inevitable, devastating climax, but she couldn't sort out the possibilities in her mind.
Her biggest worry was Dumbledore's hand. She had read enough about incurable curses to feel a sense of impending doom. Her curiosity had been stirred when her Aunt Jocelyn got cancer only a year ago, so she had done some research into magical equivalents and cures. She had discovered how some kinds of dark magic grew and spread through the bloodstream of a witch or wizard, just like muggle cancer, with no hope of any treatment. It was much more rare in this world, but it still happened to the unlucky few. She had observed enough of the similarities between her Aunt's case and what she had studied about wizarding illness to see some warning signs. She hadn't expressed her concerns to Harry. He thought Dumbledore was infallible. She knew better.
As for Draco Malfoy… Well, he was another worry that gnawed at her. She had not given up her observations of him. Based on what she had seen of his behaviour these past few days, she had made another list below the first one.
Nightmares
Doesn't eat much.
Lost weight.
Pale. Well, more than usual.
Arithmancy class – clammy hands when writing an equation on the board.
Caught him hanging around the seventh floor twice.
More withdrawn than usual from friends. No sign of Crabbe or Goyle.
Doesn't seem to like saying 'Mudblood' as much.
The last one was strange. Although he still sneered at her, and bumped her shoulder when he could get away with jostling her in the absence of her overprotective friends, he had become surprisingly silent since the incident between them here in the library. She could see him almost wanting to say it when he passed her sometimes, wanting to spit it at her, but then he would just look slightly queasy and glare at her, as if she had injured him somehow.
In Arithmancy classes she noticed this in particular. The class was full of Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws, all paired up with friends, and they were the only two from the other houses. Clearly this would become an issue, if Professor Vector had anything to do about it. Already they had been paired once to complete a problem. At first they had exchanged looks of abject horror, but Vector had been deaf to their spluttering disgust. So by some kind of awkward mutual understanding, they had simply worked in complete silence to reach the answer by themselves without ever interacting. Since they were the two top students in the class by a mile they were quite capable of it, but the task had been a relatively easy one. Malfoy had stormed out of the room in a rage the moment Vector spoke up to dismiss them, having not said the word mudblood once the whole lesson.
Hermione frowned and leaned back in her cushiony library chair. Clearly Malfoy was embroiled in something this year that coincided with his father's imprisonment. While she didn't want to add flame to Harry's fire, she thought it obvious that he was drawn into some plot of Voldemort's. He had spent a lot of time in the library researching lately, although he studiously ignored her and avoided staying late so as not to repeat the incident. But he also clearly wasn't doing schoolwork, since the texts were on obscure topics and his notes were not particularly well organised into his books. If anything, his grades were dropping this year.
Her only real questions were; what was he doing? And was he doing it willingly? It was clear to her that he was suffering somehow, and that he was isolating himself from his usual school life. The sight of him in the throes of a nightmare had turned her opinion of him on its head. It was not the appearance of a proud follower or Death Eater. He seemed far too tormented by whatever it was, not his usual arrogant superior self. Almost as if he were doubting himself.
Hermione sighed and dropped her head into her hands. She just hoped that Harry wouldn't get too involved and make things worse. He could very well send Malfoy over the edge.
….
"What do you mean Malfoy isn't playing?" Ron shouted.
Hermione rolled her eyes at the over-the-top expression of horror on her friend's face. She kept reading as studiously as she could with him leaning over her with a mouthful of sausage.
"I'm serious. They've got Harper playing Seeker!" Harry said distantly. He was frowning in obvious suspicion, his hand clenched around his fork. Hermione huffed out a breath and tried to bury her nose deeper into the book.
"That slimy git! How dare he!"
Harry nodded.
"He's a ferrety little coward."
"There should be a rule against dropping out like that."
Hermione couldn't help but let out another huff of air.
"Care to share, Mione?" Harry turned to her with a penetrating stare.
She paused and met their angry eyes.
"Well…surely you should be happy he's not playing…" she said after a while of internal debating. Logically, she knew it was really pointless to get involved in any kind of discussion relating to Quidditch.
"Happy?"
"Harper is nowhere near as good as Malfoy. You will have a better chance of beating them."
Ron stared at her with his mouth wide open. She tried to smother the feeling of frustration. She really did hate all this Quidditch talk and should never have spoken up.
"That's not the point, Hermione! You just don't understand."
"Clearly," she muttered sarcastically.
"I can't believe you took Malfoy's side!"
Hermione stared at Ron for a moment before snorting.
"How on earth am I on Malfoy's uh… side?"
"You obviously seem to think he's a decent seeker or something. It's total rubbish. I'm telling you, Hermione, that filthy pointy nosed bastard couldn't find the Snitch if I shoved it up his own arse."
"Charming," she commented, lifting the book up and once again reading. And then she blocked out the rest of their conversation for fear of her sanity flying away from her.
….
Draco watched from a window as the whole school headed down in dribs and drabs towards the Quidditch pitch. He remembered wistfully a time when the only thing that seemed to matter to him was beating stupid Potter at Quidditch. And pissing off king Weasley. Now it all seemed so trivial.
Although that was a damn catchy song.
He wasn't even playing Quidditch this year. He'd dropped out. It didn't matter. Who cared about winning the House Cup when the Dark Lord had threatened to murder his parents if he didn't murder Albus Dumbledore?
Leaning his head against the glass, Draco breathed in and out deeply, fogging up the window. He supposed he should get to work. The entire school would be occupied for a while, and it was the perfect chance for him to make some progress in the Room of Requirement. But couldn't seem to find the energy to move from his spot, so he just stood there numbly, gazing down on the grounds below with a slight pain in his chest, as if he could just wish away his problems.
….
Hermione was preparing to race down to the Quidditch pitch, shoving the book she had been reading down to the bottom of her bag. She was running a little late, but couldn't summon up the effort to pretend she cared that much. She had just honestly never felt as excited about it as the other students. Obviously she wanted her boys to win, and enjoyed seeing them so happy, but she wasn't about to step out of her comfort zone to turn into some kind of groupie like Lavender Brown. A simple Gryffindor scarf would do to show her support. Some of the other girls went a bit overboard with ribbons and face paint. Although she had to admit wryly that Luna Lovegood had a lot more style than the rest.
Feeling a prickle on her neck, a common sensation these past few weeks, she turned and caught a glimpse of blond hair in one of the windows above the entrance. She frowned. Even though he had dropped out of the team, she expected him to attend the game still. Everyone went to the games.
As her frown deepened, she made a split second decision. It was probably a stupid idea, and she cursed herself as she turned around. She ran back into the castle against the tide of students heading down towards the pitch, repeating words of reproach to herself in an angry whisper.
"Hermione?" she heard Neville call as she brushed past him, "Where are you going? It starts in 15 minutes!"
"I'm coming, Neville! I just forgot something."
And then it was too late to turn back. She just hoped she hadn't completely lost her mind.
….
Draco was pacing back and forth in the third floor corridor. He was contemplating going into the bathroom nearby and washing his face to calm his tired nerves, knowing that no one would find him there. That was where Moaning Myrtle lived. But before he could make up his mind, he noticed a shadow against the wall and he spun around with his wand outstretched. Hermione Granger was standing there staring at him with wide doe eyes. Her face was flushed from running and the biting cold of the wind outside, and her hair was actually tied back neatly into a braid instead of hanging loose. But the bottom of her chin was covered up by a warm red and gold scarf that made him want to sneer at her. Instead he just sighed and shifted his footing, but didn't lower his wand.
"You should know better than to sneak up on me, Granger."
"You should know better than to point your wand at me in plain sight of teachers."
He snorted and lowered his wand with a mocking smirk, his eyes glittering dangerously.
"What the hell do you want? Shouldn't you be at the game?"
"Shouldn't you be at the game?"
He sighed and a fierce look of contempt crossed his face. He saw Granger swallow and clench her fists.
"So we're going to play these childish word games are we?"
Granger tried to look more relaxed, cocking her hip and putting her hand on her waist while giving him a direct, questioning glare. She had never looked more like a Gryffindor. He braced himself for what she was about to say, wary of the determination in her gaze.
"You know you've lost a bunch of weight this year. And you're paler, which I didn't think was possible since you're practically translucent on a normal day."
Draco blinked in surprise at her words and took a threatening step forwards.
"What the fuck are you on about? Are you stalking me, Granger?"
She snorted.
"Hardly. But I do have eyes."
Draco couldn't believe what he was hearing. Why was Hermione Granger talking about his changed appearance? If he didn't know any better, he'd say she sounded like a worried friend or parent quizzing him about his health. Just like when she'd fed Potter the other week at breakfast. She had that bossy air about her.
"You have absolutely no business sticking your nose in where it doesn't belong, you worthless little… mudblood."
He expected more anger from her, like she'd reacted last time he'd said it to her face in the library, hoping it would make her back off. He was really hoping she wouldn't notice the way he almost flinched when he said it. But instead she just rolled her eyes. He couldn't even put his finger on why it came out so hesitantly. There just seemed to be a blockage of some kind, like his mouth wouldn't co-operate with his brain. It was almost as if saying it to her only made her stronger. She would just straighten herself up, raise her chin and look more confident than ever. Which was the opposite of what he wanted. Wasn't it?
"What's wrong with you?" she challenged, "Are you insane? Or just stupid?" Draco spluttered but she held up a hand to stop him interrupting, "I don't know what you're up to this year, and I know you're up to something, but you're going to draw attention to yourself."
Draco glared at her, his blood boiling inside him, and he wanted to do something, lash out at her, anything to make her scared or unsettle her like she'd just unsettled him.
"Well maybe if you removed the stick from your ass and looked properly, you'd see that I'm fine. Better than fine – I'm having a great year now that the Dark Lord is rising. I can't wait for him to put muggle filth like you in their place."
Granger frowned at him crossly, and he felt her breath on his face as she released a sigh. He hadn't realized that he'd stalked so close to her, but he was panting and as he took in each deep breath he realised he could smell her as he towered over her. Apricots and fresh parchment. He almost spluttered and choked on it.
"Do you honestly believe that, Malfoy?" she asked more softly, the anger fading quite quickly from her expression.
Malfoy grit his teeth together and stared at her in confusion. He couldn't work out why she would ask him that. Did she have no self-preservation? He knew that Granger was fond of pity projects like the bloody house elves, but this was too much.
"Of course I do-"
"Then why do you look like a ghost this year? You're clearly exhausted…"
Draco stepped in towards her again, but because they were so close it forced Granger to press her back against the wall behind her. He heard her inhale a small gasp of surprise at the touch of cold stone between her shoulder blades, and he smirked menacingly.
She was right, of course, although he guessed she didn't really know she was right. He was a Malfoy after all, and had perfected the art of lying convincingly. But she seemed to see through it, and that terrified him. After almost seventeen years of the people around him filling his head with words of hate and disgust about muggleborns, he honestly couldn't place her in that category. She was too real. Mudbloods were supposed to be like animals, infecting the magical lines and making them weak, or so he had been told all his life. But as much as he despised her patronising attitude, her obsession with schoolwork and her infuriating bossiness and uppity righteousness, he failed to see her as anything but a powerful witch.
He could pinpoint the exact moment his beliefs about her as a muggleborn fell flat. And it was when she had let her anger consume her enough to slap him across the face in third year. The raw energy and passion in her eyes, and the magic sizzling through her hair had sent a jolt of it through him, as if he could actually taste her magic on his tongue, and ever since then he had always felt a niggling doubt about putting her in the same category as other mudbloods.
But that didn't mean she had any right to snoop around and try to imply that he couldn't look after himself. He had a job to do. His parents were depending on him. And he was expected to bring honour back to the Malfoy name. So he leaned in closer to her with a growl and his darkest look.
"I'm going to say this once, Granger, so listen closely… stay the fuck away from me, or you'll be sorry."
"Is that really what you want?" she asked in a murmur, not afraid to meet his glare with her own intense stare. He couldn't tear his gaze away from those impossibly deep brown eyes as she blinked up at him, noticing for the first time that there were lighter flecks in them that seemed almost gold in colour in this light. He shuddered.
"What I want," he spat, "Is to pretend that you don't even exist."
He wasn't sure why he said it like that, but Hermione's intense look turned confused, and she furrowed her brows as she searched his face for answers. Her eyes widened a bit and flickered over him. Draco's heart pounded and his mouth went achingly dry. Fearing that he'd said something he shouldn't have, he loomed a little closer once more to scare her, then shoved away from the wall and strode down the hallway and out of sight. He walked quickly, his strides matching the rhythm of his thudding heart as he tried not to panic and just run. It was only when he was safely inside the Room of Requirement four floors above that he let out a stuttering breath and looked down at his hands. They were shaking. Feeling like a complete idiot, he banged his fist into the wall, enjoying the little burst of pain on his knuckles. Why did the stupid bookworm have to go and get under his skin like that? His body was still crawling all over from the intensity of their strange encounter…and her obvious concern. He cursed himself for almost slipping up at the end, hoping she hadn't realised the meaning behind his parting words. He shook his head and swore to himself that he would try his best to just avoid her from now on.
But for some reason he couldn't rid himself of the scent of apricots.
….
It wasn't until later that day in the common room, while she was watching Harry and Ron playing chess, but not really focusing on them, that she came across the answer to her question.
"Oh merlin," she whispered, raising a hand to her mouth, "of course."
"Huh?" Ron was staring at her like she'd sprouted antlers, and that was about as eloquent as he could get.
"Oh…um," she blushed and thought quickly, "I just realised I got a question wrong on my Ancient Runes quiz."
Ron rolled his eyes.
"So?"
Hermione glared at him. She knew it shouldn't matter because she had been lying about it, but she still wasn't happy with his reaction.
"So it's important to me."
"Well I guess you can't be perfect all the time."
Hermione's gaze softened. She supposed, in his own clumsy way that was quite sweet of Ron. But she couldn't help noticing the jealous eyes of Lavender Brown on her, so she just smiled gently and returned her stare to the fire crackling in the grate.
"What I want is to pretend you don't even exist."
For a long time, mostly in their first and second years at Hogwarts, Malfoy had been quite happy to look down on her as if she were dirt beneath his feet. He would cringe if he came close to touching her. He never passed up an opportunity to publicly try to humiliate her and degrade her blood status. But now?
Just in the last year or so, she realised he had more often than not started to just avoid looking at her altogether. He had diverted his malicious teasing to Harry and Ron more, and she had been ignored. It was almost as if… he had realised he didn't want to acknowledge her as a muggleborn at all.
"What I want is to pretend you don't even exist."
Because if she didn't exist, then he could continue believing what he'd been taught about her kind. Because maybe on some level she challenged the idea of dirty blood. Maybe her intelligence and her insight had made him feel uncomfortable about whatever task he was doing to aid Voldemort. It was easier to hate all muggleborns in general as his family expected if he tried to ignore the one mudblood who was consistently smarter and more powerful than him in every class. She knew he had always hated that she could best him in anything, but maybe it went deeper than that. Maybe it was genuinely dangerous to his view of the world.
She shifted in her seat as she contemplated that moment earlier in the day when he had practically pinned her to the wall and looked at her with such fury that she thought for sure he would abandon common sense and school rules and just hex her. But he didn't. Instead he walked away. Well, he practically fled from her.
Hermione released a deep breath.
That left her in a strange situation. She was pretty sure they hated each other's guts, and she was certain he was working for Voldemort somehow. But she also saw the signs of some kind of deeper struggle within him that suggested that just maybe he wasn't thrilled with his role. She could well imagine what Harry or Ron would say. He's an evil git, a Death Eater, and he deserves to rot.
But if Ron, for example, had grown up in a pureblood family that was like Malfoy's, wouldn't he also believe all that ridiculous nonsense about blood purity? Surely even someone as arrogant and spiteful as Malfoy deserved a chance to make up his own mind.
Her pondering soon turned to decision-making. There was no way she could push her luck with someone like him as she did today. He wasn't stable, and he would certainly respond poorly to an all out Gryffindor attack of compassion. But was there some kind of Slytherin way she could become more involved in his life? Maybe if she made him think just enough about what he was doing, he would…what?
She shook her head. Maybe she was being naïve. But he was only her age, and she was all too aware of how young they all were to be thrust into this war. Didn't everyone deserve a choice?
"Hermione?"
Her attention snapped up to Harry sitting closer to her and staring at her in confusion.
"Yes?"
"I just called your name three times!"
"Oh I'm sorry, I was thinking about our transfiguration essay."
Harry raised an eyebrow but nodded slowly.
"Uhuh…Um, Hermione, are you alright? You seem very far away lately."
"Do I?" she asked nervously.
"Well yeh…you attended an entire two hour long Quidditch game last week, and then asked us later who won!"
Hermione blushed.
"Come on, Harry, you know I lose focus a bit while watching..."
Harry chuckled.
"Yeh, I definitely know. But Ron was pretty miffed about it."
Hermione snorted.
"Where is he anyway?" she asked, just realising that he was no longer with them. Obviously their chess game had ended without her noticing.
Harry squirmed and looked at his feet.
"Um…well…er…he's gone for a walk with Lavender."
Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise. She knew Lavender was a total groupie for any Quidditch player, but she hadn't thought Ron was interested in her too.
"Huh…that's new."
Harry patted her on the shoulder.
"I'm sure it's just a passing thing, you know how Ron gets."
Hermione stared at Harry blankly for a while before she realized he was trying to reassure her, thinking her feelings would be hurt by Ron's interest in another girl. She thought about it for a moment, and while the idea of him with Lavender was certainly enough to make her sick, she wasn't sure whether she was truly hurt or just mildly disgusted by the visual images it created.
"Yes, I'm sure it is," she replied, forcing a smile to reassure Harry, "Well… I noticed Ginny heading to the library earlier," she murmured conspiratorially, "maybe while Ron is otherwise occupied you should go help her study for Defence."
Harry looked sheepish and ducked his head.
"I'm not-"
"Oh come on, Harry, you practically drool when she walks into the room. Just go!"
"But…are you ok?"
"GO!"
"Alright," he said with a laugh and bounded to his feet with a shaky breath of anxiety.
Hermione watched him dash out of the common room fondly. Once he was gone she sunk back into the couch, determined to make the most of this unexpected alone time to think long and hard about Draco Malfoy.
….
And she would certainly have been surprised to know that at that very moment, Draco was also thinking about her.
Princess fucking Granger, he thought with a growl as he slouched on his bed with a book, having escaped the goon-squad that were increasingly annoying these days by sneaking up to the dorm room.
He couldn't believe she had tried to…
Well, he wasn't sure what she had tried to do. That was the problem. Gryffindors were usually so blatantly ridiculous with their emotions. That's what made them so fun to rile up. But he honestly couldn't figure out what had motivated Granger to approach him and make comments on his appearance. She had commented on his weight loss and general pallor. That alone made him cross. He usually noticed people staring at him or spying on him. Even Snape, the master spy, had not been subtle enough in his observations. But he hadn't been aware of the scrutiny from one muggleborn Gryffindor. And damnit, she was right as usual. He had been so occupied by his task, not to mention his increasingly dark thoughts and memories this year that he had let himself slip a bit. It wasn't his fault that normally by the time he finally drew himself away from his own mental shit-storm he had completely lost his appetite. He usually just picked at the food these days, eating just enough so that he wouldn't faint or topple over in the wind.
He felt his fists clench at the sides of the book he was holding.
So she had been spying on him. It was funny how someone clingy like Pansy could lap up his every word and practically hang off him all bloody day and not notice a damn thing, whereas one overly annoying Gryffindor bookworm had figured it out in just a couple of weeks, and from a distance. So she had seen him deteriorating and decided to confront him.
What was she thinking?
If anyone from Slytherin whose parents had connections to the Dark Lord had overheard one of her strange comments in that hallway, there would have been hell to pay. Although, he thought wryly, it would have been worse if one of them had stumbled upon him pressing Granger's soft body into the walls of the bloody castle. It certainly would have looked like a passionate rendezvous to any unknowing onlooker.
Wait…soft?
Draco stuttered a bit, choking on his own breath as his shoulders clenched with shock. Yes, her body was soft, he admitted grudgingly. He was mature enough to acknowledge that kind of thing superficially at least. She certainly wasn't the buck toothed, bushy haired freak of their younger years. Everything about her was soft now. Her skin had lost its teenage roughness and the pockmarks and blush of adolescence, and was now smooth and creamy. Her teeth were straight, giving her a frankly quite stunning smile (he had his suspicions that magic was involved in that one) and her hair had become quite manageable. The frizzy bush had dropped more heavily as she grew it longer, down to the small of her back, and now fell in thick, dense curls that entwined her delicate features. The few strands that framed her face had brushed against him, and they had been silky and smooth. And most of all she had that perfectly curved lower lip that she was always biting into…
Draco sat bolt upright in bed.
Get a grip on yourself for fuck sake!
There was no way he had just been thinking about Granger as attractive. Objectively he supposed she was good looking now, hell half the boys in Slytherin had made comments about sullying the precious princess' chastity, but she was still an uppity bitch pining after that ginger idiot.
An uppity bitch who smelled like apricots and fresh parchment, he reminded himself.
Draco felt his gut clench a bit sickly when he became aware of the slight heat tightening below his navel, roused by this train of thought about Granger.
Holy shit, he thought with a panicked start. This should not be physically possible!
Umbridge swimming in a gold bikini in the lake! Hagrid dancing the tango!
He chanted the images to himself until he felt the problem go away completely. Then he rested his head back on his pillow and released the breath he'd been holding.
He had let his mind wander too far. He could only blame the lack of food for the dizzying thoughts, and cursed himself. She was right, he needed to eat. But as he rose to head towards the kitchens, he determinedly pushed all thoughts of her to the back of his mind, where he was determined she would stay. He had other, much more important things to occupy his thoughts this year, and he couldn't let anything else get in his way. Especially not that.
….
Ok so I'm getting into the swing of things now. And there is enough groundwork to build from to get these two stubborn people going. Please leave lovely reviews!
