A/N Hi everyone, sorry this chapter took me so long, I've had technical difficulties. Anyway, to be honest, I don't really like this chapter very much. It's got some Draco-insight to it but not much really dramatic happens. The next chapter will be much more eventful, I promise. I hope you all don't hate this too much. Whether you like it or not please review.
Anyway, I've got a mission for you all…should you choose to accept it. I've worked out that if everyone who has this story on their alert list posts a review, then we might be able to get to 100 reviews!! How good will that be!! I promise if you succeed in this mission then I will put some super-cool Hermione/Draco interaction in chapter 6.
Thanks to larubinita, as always.
xxx
Keeping Up Appearances
Chapter 5
She looked at the police officer standing to her right, trying desperately to hear what he was saying. His voice was quiet as though he were speaking to her from a great distance rather that just a few feet away.
"Go on, Miss Granger, which one was it?"
She looked around, trying to work out where she was. She was in a small, dark room. There were no chairs, no tables, nothing except a huge window on one wall. She realised she was stood behind a two-way mirror. Looking through the glass she recognised four people standing in a line, each with a number above their heads. First was Ron, then Lord Voldemort, then Harry and finally Malfoy.
"Three," she heard herself say, "Number three. Harry."
The policeman nodded and said something into his radio. A few moments later, two other officers entered the room on the other side of the mirror, one holding handcuffs and the other a heavy-looking baton. To Hermione's horror, they didn't approach Harry but instead Malfoy. Without a word, he was struck with the club on the back of his head by one while the other cuffed his hands behind his back.
"No," said Hermione, turning to the policeman by her side, "It wasn't him. It was Harry. Stop them!"
"It's okay, Miss Granger," he replied, not taking his eyes off the scene, "we know it was him. We know you meant to say number four."
"No!" she cried, feeling more frantic as Malfoy was dragged, unconscious, to his feet. "It wasn't him!" She shook the policeman's arm desperately but he paid her no attention, as though she wasn't even there. Frenzied, she began to bang on the glass, trying to make someone hear her but no-one paid her any mind.
"NO!" she shouted one more time, tears rolling down her cheeks, "IT WASN'T…"
"DRACO!" Hermione sat up suddenly in her bed and it took her a moment to realise that she was awake. Her pyjamas were soaked and sticking to her body, and she was amazed to find tears rolling down her cheeks. Her breathing was rapid and she lay back down, trying to calm herself.
That was strange, she thought. She glanced at the clock by her bed and discovered it was only four a.m. Sighing deeply, she tried in vain for several moments to work out what her dream meant but eventually decided on only one thing: 0it was too early to be thinking so in-depthly. With this thought she turned over and went back to sleep. By morning her dream was forgotten.
For the first time in days, Hermione woke up feeling something other than gut-wrenching grief and depression. She felt angry. She could feel her blood boiling as she thought of the things Harry had said to her in the library the night before and how stupid she was to think they might have actually changed their minds and want her to be friends with them again. If they could be so callous about how little her friendship had meant to them, then so could she.
She got out of bed and stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom, hands rested on the sides of the sink, and surveyed her appearance. She looked worn, tired. But despite this, there was something new: a spark in her eyes that hadn't been there when she had gone to bed last night. She stood up straight and brushed her hair back out of her eyes.
She felt different as well. She felt empowered and strong. She was sick to death of moping around as though the world had ended and wasn't going to do it anymore. With a slight smile at her reflection, she turned away and stepped into the steaming hot shower. Over the last week, she had made a spectacle of herself more times than she would like to in a lifetime. First, over her fight with Malfoy; secondly, when she passed out in Dumbledore's office, (she cringed slightly as she recalled the incident) and then last night when she had argued with, and slapped (that memory made her smile a little), Harry in the library. No doubt, by now, she would be the talk of the school.
Oh well, she thought, let them talk.
She dried her hair into waves and applied the makeup that her mother had given her but she never wore.
If I'm going to be stared at then I might as well look good.
It was Saturday so no uniforms were required so she dressed simply in a pair of jeans and a red vest top. When she was done she stood before the full-length mirror in the corner of her bedroom and looked at herself.
One more thing to get ready.
She let her expression fall into a cool, controlled mask of indifference. It wouldn't be an easy thing for her to maintain. Hermione, after all, usually wore her heart on her sleeve, but she would try. She was fed up with people seeing her break down and she was determined it wouldn't happen again.
She thought, briefly, of Draco Malfoy who wore his mask as a permanent feature, never letting it falter for an instant. Years of being the son of the most notorious Death Eater in the world would probably require the ability to hide your emotions. In fact, the only time Hermione had ever seen any indication from him that he was anything but a cold, malicious Death Eater in the making was the previous night when he had given her his Transfiguration notes without a single snide comment. This act had confused her greatly and she had laid awake late thinking of his motives. The thought had crossed her mind that, perhaps, he was actually a decent human being but she quickly pushed it aside, instead deciding to settle on the much more likely explanation that she was his project partner and he didn't want her to drag his grade down because she was under-prepared. She didn't allow herself to think about him any longer and she picked up her book bag and headed down to the Great Hall for breakfast.
Her confidence vanished almost the instant she laid eyes on the doors of the Great Hall. She could hear the chatter of hundreds of her fellow students on the other side of the heavy wood and her nerves took over.
Last night, Hermione Granger slapped the Boy-Who-Lived, rather publicly, across the face. She could imagine the rumours that were circulating about her motives and she cringed. No doubt she would be Public Enemy Number One for smacking the so-called saviour of the wizarding world.
She sighed in exasperation and raked her fingers through her hair.
Why couldn't I have hit Ron? she thought with frustration. Yes, there would still be gossip and speculation but no-one would have felt as though she had physically assaulted one of the greatest heroes in history.
She spun around, deciding to simply skip breakfast and head to the library where she could hide out in her little, secluded spot and catch up on her homework, but before she could take a step forward the image of Madame Pomfrey's foreboding face appeared in her memory. If she was discovered to be missing any more meals, the school nurse would come down on her harder than a tonne of bricks and she would, no doubt, be kicked of her healing internship before it had even started.
Hermione sighed and turned back around to face the doors. She could do this. She didn't have a choice. Taking a moment to compose herself, she straightened her back and held her head high, once again fixing her mask firmly in place. With a final deep breath, she pushed open the doors to the Great Hall and stepped inside.
The noise level dropped almost the second her hand touched the door handle and nearly every face in the bustling Great Hall turned to look her way. Hermione didn't falter at her greeting and continued the walk forwards, with her head up, towards the emptier end of the Gryffindor table. The walk seemed to take forever, with every footstep echoing around the massive room. Out of the corner of her eye she spotted the boys already sitting down with Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil stood at either side of Harry, apparently in the midst of fussing over his so-called 'injury'. Though Hermione would have loved to turn and face her former friends and get a good look at Harry's face and see if her hand had left a mark she didn't dare. She could only maintain her composure as long as she kept her eyes straight and focused on the chair she was heading for.
Silence continued to ring around the Hall until Hermione sat down and reached for a nearby piece of toast then the noise erupted as though someone had suddenly turned up the volume. All around her people were whispering, some trying to be subtle in their gossiping and others rather unashamedly.
"Oh, Harry," Parvati's voice rang out above the crowd, "your poor face. Are you okay? She didn't hurt you too much, did she?"
Hermione cringed inwardly - being very careful not to make her discomfort obvious - at the vengeance the Patil twin put into the word 'she'. It would appear that she had managed to turn the whole of the Gryffindor house against herself as well as her two best friends. She had known that morning when she woke up that public opinion of her would be less that favourable, but hearing her own housemates talk about her as though she were a Slytherin still hurt. She tried desperately to give herself a pep talk in her head and keep her back straight as she ate.
What do you care what Parvati thinks? she thought. You are stronger than this. If you can survive Harry and Ron turning their backs of you then you can certainly handle the rest of them.
She nodded to herself slightly and reached for the scrambled eggs, glancing down at her watch as she did so. The morning she had promised herself that she would spend at least 20 minutes at breakfast. That seemed like an appropriate amount of time to eat and prove to the school that she was not going to be phased by the boys' actions anymore. Her watch told her that she had been there for ten minutes already.
Halfway there.
As she ate, she tried to discretely listen to the conversation her old friends were having further down the table.
"I don't know why she did it either," Ron was saying even though his mouth was stuffed full. "She just went mental. One minute me and Harry were doing our homework in the library, the next she had marched over and demanded that we give her our Transfiguration notes. She didn't even say 'please'. Then, when Harry said that he hadn't finished with them yet, she just smacked him. She's a complete nutter, that one. Don't know how we put up with her for so many years."
Despite her best efforts, Hermione's mask fell upon hearing Ron's words and she felt tears begin to sting in her eyes.
To Hell with 20 minutes. This is too hard.
She dropped her fork onto her still-full plate and reached down for her bag from the floor. She was getting out of there.
"Hermione." She looked up at her name, slightly startled that anyone was actually speaking to her, and looked into the kindly face of Ben Thompson. "Do you mind if I join you?" he asked.
She gaped at him momentarily, knowing she probably looked liked an idiot, weighing up the options of staying or leaving. Finally, she shook her head to clear her thoughts.
"Yes, of course, Ben," she answered and he smiled, sitting opposite her. "I wanted to thank you anyway. For catching me the other day."
Ben grinned, "No problem. I always like to save a damsel in distress."
Hermione laughed. For the rest of her breakfast, she and Ben chatted about mainly meaningless things. He did not ask her about her fainting incident, nor did he mention her fight with Harry. He simply asked her whether she was feeling better and offered her his notes from the Potions lesson she had missed. She was grateful, both for his notes and his discretion, and by the time she had finished her breakfast and exited the Great Hall she had been in there thirty-two minutes.
Draco Malfoy paced backwards and forwards in his dorm room, still holding the piece of parchment in his hand. He knew better by now than to open a letter from his Father in the Great Hall and so had waited until he got back to his dormitories, and dismissed Crabbe and Goyle, until he opened it. He was not happy with its contents and they were the cause of his now irritated pacing. He stopped and sat down at his desk, placing the letter in front of him, re-reading it.
Draco,
As you already know, this is a very important year and I intend for you to play a vital role in it. The Dark Lord has received intelligence that there is some sort of quarrel going on between Potter and his Mudblood girlfriend and he feels that he could use this to his advantage. Therefore, he requires for you to find out as much information as possible about the conflict and pass on anything that may be of use to him through me.
I expect for you to approach this task with your full efforts. It is a great honour that our Master has asked for you, personally, to conduct this mission and I hope you appreciate that.
This is a great step for the Malfoys and I know that you will complete it with all the greatness that I expect.
Your father,
Lucius Malfoy
Malfoy scoffed at his Father's signature. He always felt the need to sign his letters in the same way as though Draco didn't know who his father was and so needed him to put his name at the bottom of his correspondence. He knew that Lucius was really putting his full name as a reminder to his only son that he was, and always would be, a Malfoy and was expected to behave as one.
This, though, was not the part of the letter that was causing him distress. It was his new 'mission' as his Father called it.
Draco knew that Lucius Malfoy had served the Dark Lord since he had first come to power. The operative word being 'served'. For as long as he could remember, Draco had been taught the pureblood ideals that his father lived by so determinedly. That they as Malfoys were superior to many other pureblood families because of their long heritage, let alone those whom had contaminated their blood by marrying half-bloods or, worse, Muggles. All through his childhood, Draco had heard and accepted this and, don't misunderstand, he still believed so now. He knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he was better than most, if not all, of the other students in this school. This was the problem. The Malfoys were too important and too distinguished to be 'serving' someone else. They should be the ones with all the power. The ones other people followed and obeyed.
Draco remembered the exact moment that he realised for the first time that perhaps his father was wrong to be working for the Dark Lord. The moment he realised his father was nothing more than a slave.
Draco awoke on his seventeenth birthday feeling excited. Not because, as most people did on their birthdays, he would be getting presents or a cake or a party. He would, of course be getting those things but they were not the reason for his excitement. It was because that night his father would be taking him to see the man who, up until today, Draco had just heard about in wonderful stories.
It was dark when Lucius knocked on his son's bedroom door and told him it was time. They both dressed in black and Apparated to an ancient-looking house in the middle of nowhere.
As he stood outside, looking up at the building, Draco couldn't help but be slightly disappointed. He expected the Dark Lord to live in great wealth and luxury. A castle. This house, though once grand, was run-down and in desperate need of repair. It was shabby, the once-white paint peeling from the stone walls and the windows broken.
"Son." Draco tore his eyes away from the house and towards his father. "This will be one of the greatest moments of your life. Take it all in."
I am, Draco thought, that's the problem.
He didn't voice his opinions though, instead just nodded. He watched his father pull up his black hood, covering his bright hair, and place the pale Death Eater mask over his face. Draco copied the motion of putting up his hood but he didn't have a mask yet. For the first time that day, he felt nervous. He knew that Lucius fully expected the Dark Lord to welcome his son with open arms but Draco wasn't so sure. He knew Voldemort had a volatile temper and he was terrified that he would say the wrong thing and be killed on the spot. Taking one deep breath, he followed his father into the old house.
The inside was just as run-down as the outside and Draco scowled as his expensive black cloak brushed against the dusty floor. They entered a room that looked as though it was once a dining room but now it was empty of furniture apart from one high-backed chair at the far end. Sitting there was the Dark Lord himself. His appearance was nothing short of terrifying and Draco did as he had been instructed and attempted to take in as much detail as possible. Lord Voldemort was tall, thin, and snake-like with unnaturally white skin, wide scarlet eyes and slits for nostrils. He was cloaked, unsurprisingly, in black and in his fingers he twirled his wand absent-mindedly.
"My Lord," Lucius stepped forward, without hesitation, and walked forward until he reached his Master. He fell to his knees and bowed at the Dark Lord's feet, touching his forehead to the bottom of Voldemort's robes.
Immediately, Draco felt sick. In his eyes, his father had always been strong, taking shit from no-one. When he entered a room, he radiated authority and commanded order. Yet, here he was, bowing at the feet of another man as though he were nothing but a House Elf. For the first time in his life, Draco looked at his father as weak. Didn't he know that as a Malfoy he could rule the world? But, he was here now following someone else.
"This is my son, Draco."
Voldemort locked his eyes on Draco's and he could feel him attempting to read his thoughts. Immediately, more by instinct that anything else, Draco blocked him. He was very skilled at Occlumency, having been taught it from a young age and he was glad of that fact now. He realised, bitterly, that he had picked possibly the worst moment to start to have doubts about the Dark Lord and it would require all of his skills to hide that fact.
Voldemort laughed sickly. "Very good, Young Malfoy. It would not do to let just anyone into your head. Come here."
He did as he was told, walking towards the man that all his anger and hate was now directed towards. It was because of this man that his father had been sent to Azkaban, and it was only due to the Malfoy's wealth and good connections that he had got back out again. His supposed 'Master' had done nothing to release his right-hand man from that hell-hole of a prison.
When he reached Voldemort, he bowed at the waist. He had no intention of grovelling like his Father had. The Dark Lord surveyed him for several moments before he spoke.
"So, Young Malfoy, you wish to serve me as your father does?"
In his head, Draco was screaming 'NO' but he could not let his mouth betray his thoughts else he would be killed where he stood.
"Yes, Sir," he replied, keeping his face cold and hard.
Voldemort nodded, as though considering. "Young Malfoy," he spoke after what seemed like an age, "Wait outside. I would like to speak to your father alone."
Malfoy nodded and bowed, slightly surprised at the sudden dismissal, but eager to get out of the room as soon as possible.
As soon as the doors shut behind him, Draco leaned against a nearby wall, letting himself sink to the ground, no longer caring if his clothes got dirty. The speed at which his new realisation had hit him came as a shock. His whole life had been planned out for him before he was even born and he had accepted it. He would attend school and perform with all the standards expected of a Malfoy until he was old enough to join the forces of Lord Voldemort like his father had when he had left Hogwarts. He would rise up through the ranks quickly, after all he was his father's son, and he would dedicate his life to the cause.
But in a matter of five minutes that had all come crashing down. The moment he had seen his father grovelling at the feet of that man, everything had changed. He was a Malfoy and he would NOT spend his life obeying others. He would be obeyed. He knew his father wouldn't see it like that though.
At that moment, the doors reopened and Lucius walked through them. Draco jumped to his feet quickly.
Malfoys do not sit on the floor.
His father was too happy to notice his son's lack of decorum, however.
"Good news, Draco! You have impressed the Dark Lord. He wishes you to receive the Dark Mark next week."
Draco had felt like his world was spinning and to this day he couldn't remember how he had managed to get home without alerting his Father of his traitorous thoughts. As he sat down on his bed at Hogwarts he let the letter fall to the floor. He had managed to convince his Father to put off him getting the Dark Mark for another year, insisting it would be too dangerous while he was still at school and so close to Dumbledore. Lucius had been reluctant but had agreed and Draco was set to receive it on the night of his graduation.
Since then, Draco had spent his time thinking up ways that he could get out of it but so far he had been unsuccessful. He had managed to keep up his façade of future Death Eater in front of both his parents and fellow students whom were also due to join the group before long.
He supposed that, perhaps, this whole mess was the reason for his momentary insanity the night before when he gave Granger his Transfiguration notes. At the time it was an impulsive thing. He had, of course, seen her big blow up with Potter. He'd noticed the moment she stepped through the door.
Obviously, he was angry at her for showing him up in Potions and he'd been on his feet, ready to give her a telling off when he had noticed the way she was breathing rapidly and wringing her hands. She was nervous, scared even. He definitely knew that look. So he had stopped to watch and couldn't believe his eyes when he saw the confrontation between the so-called Golden Trio and Granger subsequently slapping Potter.
Now, Draco had respect for anyone who could give Harry Potter a good whack, even if it was Hermione Granger, and he found he wasn't so much angry at her anymore, but rather curious. Of course, being a Malfoy, he saw his own personal advantage to the situation in front of him and realised that giving Granger his Transfiguration notes would be an effective form of rebellion against his father, even if he didn't know about it. He had lost all respect for the man and was willing to do almost anything to get back at him for being such a disappointment.
Draco no longer had any intention of following in his Father's footsteps and certainly had no intention of becoming Voldemort's slave. But now, he glanced down at the slightly crumpled letter at his feet, he was being forced to become his spy which was almost as bad.
With a sigh, Draco went back over to his desk, took out a fresh piece of parchment and started writing.
Father,
I understand my task. So far I have not noticed much out of the ordinary. The Mudblood, Weasley and Potter do seem to be having some sort of row but it doesn't appear to be anything serious. They have had several arguments over the years, mainly due to Weasley being such a hot head, but nothing of any importance and I do not believe this to be any different.
I will continue to do my duty, of course, and inform you of any developments.
Your son,
Draco Malfoy
Draco put down his quill and re-read his letter.
Yes, he thought, I will play the perfect future Death Eater.
A/N There you go everyone. Don't forget your mission!!
xx