Author's Note: Sorry for taking so long! Have just been swamped with work, assignments are all due next week. :( It's going to be a busy busy week for me.
Am not too happy with this chapter. It's a little too short for my liking but I've been too tired to do any additional scenes whatsoever. And please excuse any errors as well, my editing might've been a little sloppy considering I did it in the middle of the night. :)
Hope you'll like it though. Read and review, of course!
Chapter Seven:
A Little Spot of Trouble
He's staring at her again.
She can almost feel it burning right through her skin, as though he's trying to strip her layer by layer, to see her as she really is and to read her thoughts.
It seems as though he's making no attempt to hide it now. He's staring at her openly in class, in front of Blaise Zabini and Michael Corner and Terry Boot and Ernie Macmillan and Susan Bones.
Hermione keeps her head high and her eyes trained on Professor Vector, even though all she's wanted to do for the past hour was to look right back at those grey eyes, to confront him, to ask him what he's done to her because ever since that night at the Astronomy Tower, she has been thinking of him more than ever.
It's been exactly three weeks after their late night in the Astronomy Tower and though she's been making an effort to steer clear of him whenever possible, she still finds a little traitorous bit of herself hoping that whenever she turns a corner, he will be there. That whenever she goes to the back of the library to study, he will be there. That whenever she walks down a corridor, he will be there. In short, a part of her wants to see him, that illogical part of her with no common sense whatsoever. And Hermione Granger, if anything, was born with the common sense of a matured adult.
So needless to say, she's been avoiding him. Avoiding his constant burning gaze, his little smirks when she quickly passes a momentary glance at him, his overwhelming presence when he is near her.
Yet he hasn't been making things easier for her. Though successful in keeping away from him during meals and weekends and such, she's simply unable to do the same in their small, shared seventh-year classes. With an average of six to seven students in a class, running away is not an option.
And so, she improvises by sitting as far away from him as possible.
Presently, in Advanced Arithmancy, she's sitting at the far end of the classroom, sharing a table with Neville, Ernie and Susan. She fights to pay attention solely to Professor Vector, who is currently standing in front of a complicated number chart, asking for them to decipher it.
"Mr Malfoy, if you will. What would be the simplest method to use when deciphering this chart?" Professor Vector's voice cuts across the room, directed at the slim boy lounging on his chair.
Hermione turns her head slightly, just so she can see him without actually having to face him. He has one arm rested on the table behind him as he's leaning against it, giving the impression that he doesn't care. His face sports a bored expression and a slight smile, one that boasts of superior intellect and smug complacency. "Chaldean," he drawls, his monotonous tone making it clear that he finds the question ridiculously easy to answer. "Because the lesser known method doesn't have the number nine used in its calculations, unlike the more commonly used Agrippan. So for such an old number chart like that," and he waves his hand dismissively at the chart in front of the class, "the Chaldean method would be more suited for decipherment."
With nothing to critique about his perfect response, the aged Professor merely nods at him then continues to drone on about the assigned values of letters in the Chaldean Method and how it should be properly applied to the complex number chart.
"Homework," says Professor Vector, and most of the class groans. It seems as though the heavy burden of schoolwork will never be lightened. When one assignment is submitted, another is given immediately. "I want an essay on the history of the Chaldean Method and its inefficiencies that caused the invention of the Agrippa Method. I expect to see them on my desk next Tuesday morning."
Hermione scribbles unto her new planner, noting the submission date. Her brain rapidly skims through the Arithmancy books she has in her possession and a smile touches her lips. The book that Harry had gotten her in their fifth year, New Theory of Numerology, has three whole chapters dedicated to the abolishment of the older method. But even so, she knows that she'll run down to the library after Advanced Charms to see if there are any more books to substantiate her references. She is not one to leave her essay in the hands of one author. Every point has to be cross-referenced.
Advanced Charms is next, and Hermione groans inwardly. Another double period of Malfoy staring at the back of her head, as though trying to set her hair alight. She sighs as Professor Vector dismisses the class and she packs her things into her bag, walking quietly behind Ernie, Neville and Susan, all three complaining to each other about the extremely heavy workload this year. She will have to go back to her dormitory for her Charms texts and though there's no need to rush since Advanced Charms is a good hour away, she curses herself for not simply bringing the books along with her. It's a long walk back to the Gryffindor Tower, and the time could be fully utilised in the library. Sighing once again, she bids goodbye to the three and turns to walk towards the stairs.
"Where're you going, Hermione?" Neville asks, curiosity etched in the lines of his face. "We've got Advanced Charms next."
"Yeah, I just need to drop off my books in my dormitory. See you in Charms, all right?" She replies with a tired smile.
Neville Longbottom, now far from the once bumbling student he was before, nods in understanding. "I'll save you a seat then."
She nods and turns back to the stairs, climbing them slowly and wearily. And so for once in the past three weeks, Hermione, in her exasperation, fails to notice a pair of slate-grey eyes following her back.
--
"All right, I have to ask," Blaise murmurs as they seat themselves, once again, at the table furthest away from the front. "What is going on with you and Granger?"
Without looking at his friend, Draco furrows his brows in irritation. "What are you babbling on about, Zabini?"
"I'm not stupid, Malfoy. Or blind, for that matter."
"Did I say that you were?" the blond student replies smoothly as he continues facing the front, where Professor Flitwick has climbed up his stool and called for attention, where the umber-haired girl is seated at.
"You insinuated it," Blaise speaks in a low undertone while facing the front as well, giving the impression that both boys are listening to with rapt attention. Though upon closer inspection, one will notice that both pairs of eyes – one a dashing shade of silver-grey and the other, a sparkling rich brown – are streaked with complete boredom.
"Let's not be childish here, Zabini, and start accusing each other of doing things that he hasn't done," Draco mutters as his lips only move a little. He may look the perfect picture of studiousness but his sharp eyes betray his true apathy towards class.
"Like hell I am. Don't try to change the subject, Malfoy."
"What subject?"
Blaise pauses for a while as though calming himself down. Because if there is one thing he simply cannot stand about that smirking blond git of a friend, it is the fact that Draco Malfoy certainly knows how to play dumb.
"Your attempt at feigning innocence is extremely pathetic," he finally grounds out, all the while staring at the small Professor who is waving his wand, summoning the assignment due today. Blaise smirks a little as nine heavy rolls of tightly furled parchment zoom across the room and right into Flitwick's chest, causing the tiny Professor to lose his balance and topple right off the stool.
Draco chooses to remain silent and continues to face to front, watching as Granger and Longbottom help a flustered Flitwick back up.
"So?" And this time, Draco senses that Blaise has turned to him. "What's going on?"
The boy, with his white-blond hair catching the sunlight streaming in from the windows of the classroom, shakes his head slightly even as he is facing the front, now watching Flitwick starting on the new topic of Supersensory Charms and its different sub-categories.
"I don't know," he murmurs softly, so much so that Blaise has to strain his ears in order to hear him. "I just can't help but … look at her."
Blaise pauses for a moment, wading past all the snide comments normally associated with his sharp wit. "Do you … have … feelings … for her?"
"I don't know," Draco repeats, this time shifting his eyes to look at her, completely tuning Flitwick's definition of the Supersensory Charm. "It's just … it's different."
At this point, Blaise chooses not to pursue the matter. And so both boys, the only two Slytherins in the small Advanced Charms class of nine, stare at Flitwick who is demonstrating how to perform a Supersensory Charm. In a passing glance, it will look as though they are paying attention, listening intently to the small Professor standing on a stool.
But in reality, both of them are simply lost in their own worlds.
--
Bloodcurdling screams ringing in his ears, crystal clear images of people in intense pain, green flashes flying around rapidly and tall hooded men in black cloaks. They fill his dreams at night, they haunt him. They surround him and linger in his thoughts, long after he has woken up. Every time the moon rises, his heart begins to thud rapidly in fear and loathing. Because with every minute that the moon remains glowing in the dark twilight, they become more and more real to him.
Draco sits up abruptly, his eyes flying wide open and his lips slightly parted. He is panting softly, his heart beating painfully against his ribcage. His broad chest feels strangely constricted. Heaving a deep sigh to slow his pounding heart, he draws his knees up and places his elbows on them. Leaning back against the headboard and his pillow, he rakes both hands through his tousled hair brusquely and closes his eyes.
Sleeping is never an issue to him. Never has been and never will be. Even as a pampered child, he had never found the inclination to sleep much, preferring instead to stay up in his father's library, reading and devouring information and watching his father as he worked. On several occasions, he would totter over to his mother's study and observe the lithe grace that seems to colour her every movement, subconsciously picking it up. His parents would hardly ever complain; him being their only child, they were more than happy to have him around.
Lucius taught him everything there was to know about the wizarding world while Narcissa gave him a different sort of education altogether. She taught him how to hold his head up high amidst troubles, how to summon charisma and allure in the matter of seconds, how to look and behave and be.
He wonders what they're doing right now. Sleeping, probably. Only he would be wide-awake at three in the morning, sitting up on his bed and thinking of his parents.
A breathy giggle drifts over to him from Blaise's bed before it is abruptly cut off. Without moving, a smile grows on Draco's pale lips. Another girl for Zabini means another conquest to be ticked off the rapidly shrinking list. His memory has served him extremely well and to Draco's knowledge, this is not the same giggle as he had heard two nights ago at one in the morning.
The bed opposite his starts to creak a little, and his smile grows bigger. When it comes to the luxuries of life, Draco was never one to judge. After all, how can one judge another's idea of pleasure seeking? Whatever Zabini does is his own business. Draco does not care in the slightest anyway.
As the creaking builds up into a faint rhythmic thudding, the pale boy, with his lean frame and sharp features, realises that his own body is reacting to the sounds of the affair going on directly opposite him. Sighing, he picks his wand up from his bedside table and with a languid wave; the hangings shut themselves, enclosing him in an unnatural darkness. Still, it does nothing to silence Zabini's low grunts of pleasure and the girl's muffled moans.
"Zabini, I would greatly appreciate it if you'd keep your voice down," Draco drawls with a smirk on his face, not caring about the immediate hushed 'shh!' and the abrupt ceasing of the steady creaking of the bed. He did not even care if he'd woken Nott up. All he knew is that he wanted silence. And he would never pass up on an opportunity to embarrass Zabini because sometimes, the boy just thinks that he's too good.
"Sorry, Malfoy. Didn't know you were awake," Blaise replies smoothly from within his own bed's drapes, and Draco can almost imagine the stunned look that must be on the girl's face.
"Yes, you imbecile," Draco replies.
"Ah, I apologized already, didn't I?" It seems as though the two boys are content with holding a conversation, even during such a potentially awkward moment. Draco almost laughs out loud at the hilarity of the situation. The girl must be getting rather huffy at Zabini now, daring to continue a conversation with his friend on a bed less than fifteen feet away.
"Go to sleep, Malfoy. I shall tell you about it in the morning," Blaise idly adds, seemingly not caring whether the naked girl possibly lying under his toned body would mind.
Smirking, he lies back down and pulls his comforter up to his chest. As he drifts off to sleep, an angry huff permeates the silence. Then a soft giggle, followed by a tender sigh of pleasure.
--
It's Wednesday morning and Hermione is eating her breakfast alone, accompanied only by her bulging schoolbag and the Daily Prophet propped up in front of her, leaning against a jug of pumpkin juice.
Nothing vaguely interesting catches her eye on the front page. There are articles about Kingsley's new reforms, all of which she is fully aware of, thanks to Harry and Ron's regular letters to her.
She flips to the second page and a headline printed in big bold letters scream out, 'NEW AUROR TO JOIN HARRY POTTER IN DEATH EATER SEARCH!'
Intrigued, she pulls the newspaper closer to her and reads.
Ronald Bilius Weasley, famous for aiding Harry Potter in defeating He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named just a year ago, is rumoured to be joining the Ministry of Magic's newly improved Auror Office.
While the spokesperson for the Ministry of Magic has insisted that the rumour is not true, there certainly have been speculations about Weasley's future, especially with his best friend, Harry Potter, working alongside the new Minister and his girlfriend, Hermione Granger, re-enrolled back in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry for completion of her seventh and final year.
A source close to the respected Weasley family divulges that the youngest Weasley son has indeed agreed to work under the new Minister, having rejected the offer several times before.
The source also claims that one of the major factors resulting in his quiet decision is the fact that because Granger decided to go back to Hogwarts, Weasley has been feeling "lonely" and desires to travel.
It has also been theorised that should the rumour be fact, Weasley will be headed to Albania with Potter and the older Malfoys, in an attempt to seek out any remaining Death Eaters still loyal to deceased You-Know-Who.
Many have expressed surprise and disbelief when it was announced by the Minister that Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy would be assisting him and Harry Potter in their search for Death Eaters. However, Ministry staff members are fiercely defending the Malfoys who were once followers of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named.
"Everybody deserves a second chance," says Mafalda Hopkirk from the Improper Use of Magic office. "They've put in a tremendous amount of help so far and I believe that they will continue to assist our Minister and Harry Potter."
The Malfoys were cleared of all charges against them during the infamous two month-long Death Eater trials held by the Ministry earlier this year. Perhaps their strongest defence was Harry Potter, who had testified for them. Their 18-year-old son, Draco Malfoy, has also resumed studying in Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Hermione puts the paper down slowly, her brain whirring with the information it had just processed. Ron? Aurors? But he hadn't mentioned anything of that sort to her in his letter that she had received just yesterday morning. Of course, it could just be a rumour. As her boyfriend, he certainly would not leave out such important information.
Yet the miniscule seeds of doubt have already planted themselves in her mind. Getting up quickly, Hermione runs off back to her dormitory, hoping that she will have enough time to scribble a hasty letter to Ron before Advanced Herbology starts. She knows how much Professor Sprout hates latecomers.
--
A pair of silvery-grey eyes follows her as she dashes off through the large doors, not even stopping to nod politely at those goggling students who would weakly wave to her every chance they get, as she always does. He had never understood and probably never will understand why she chooses to humour those gaping imbeciles who had only heard of her when the war was over.
Stupid idiotic spineless gits, that's what they all are.
"Do you want to follow her?" Blaise's voice cuts in on the mental image of those halfwits being skewered, writhing comically in exaggerated pain and agony.
"Sorry?"
"Don't act like you didn't hear me, Malfoy," Blaise rolls his eyes as his neat rows of teeth sink into a piece of toast with a thick layer of jam on it. "You're not deaf."
Draco chooses not to answer.
"Hypothetically speaking, if you are infatuated with Granger, I must remind you of the consequences," Blaise continues, carefully wiping away any errant crumbs around his lips.
Now it is Draco's turn to roll his eyes.
"I'm quite serious, Malfoy. I don't care who you choose to be fond of, I'm in no place to judge. But mind you, our fellow Housemates may think differently."
He sighs and bites into a particularly crunchy piece of bacon, taking his time to chew and swallow his mouthful. "Zabini, I'm not stupid. I know what everyone's talking about in regards to my family and I." Draco sips on his glass of cool water and then continues. "Nothing will happen. And even if it does, I'm more than capable of handling it."
Blaise stares at his friend for a moment, as though contemplating whether to carry on with the topic that Draco did not really touch on. Then he shrugs, his shoulders moving fluidly like calm waves in the ocean. "Whatever you say, Malfoy. Don't say I didn't warn you, that's all."
The pale boy scoffs lightly and then nods his appreciation. Standing up, he grabs his books and looks down at Blaise, still observing him carefully. "Let's go. It's Herbology now."
The other boy joins him at his side and together, they stroll out of the Great Hall amidst the evidently hushed whispers around them, making their way towards the greenhouses, trailing behind some of their Ravenclaw classmates.
--
The youngest Weasley boy was at home when Hermione's letter arrived tied to the leg of one of the school's owls. It had fluttered down to his window and landed gracefully on his desk, interrupting his work.
Having taken the letter and sent the bird away, Ron stares at the tightly rolled piece of parchment in his hands, crumpled and hastily sealed as though the sender was in a great rush to post it to him. And only one person in Hogwarts would write him so urgently.
'Hermione.' The name of his love floats through his head and he feels a dull blow to the stomach. For her to write so hurriedly … something must be wrong.
He quickly unfurls the parchment and scans it, his heart sinking lower and lower with each new sentence. It is a short letter, briskly succinct and messy, a first for Hermione, and with only one question posed to Ron. And yet after reading it through twice, he feels as though someone had reached into his chest and is now squeezing his heart tightly.
"HARRY!" He yells out, knowing that his best friend is probably in the living room reading, having a couple of days left to go before the next trip to Albania. "HARRY, COME HERE QUICK!"
Footsteps thunders up the stairs and Harry Potter bursts through Ron's door, effectively slamming it against the wall behind it. "What's so urgent?" Harry asks, slightly breathless from running up the stairs. "I was reading a re-"
Ron ignores Harry's description of the book in question and thrusts Hermione's letter at him before sinking down on to his bed, covering his face with his large hands. With the quick, erring skill of a Seeker, Harry catches it deftly and, shooting a momentary look of curiosity at Ron, proceeds to read it.
Ron,
I just read in the Daily Prophet that you're becoming an Auror.
If this is true, you (and Harry) have some explaining to do. You didn't tell me? Why? How could you have lied to me?
I want to know everything. It is the least you can do.
Hermione
Having read it thrice, just to make sure that what he thought he was reading was actually written, he slowly looks up at Ron who hasn't moved an inch. "You didn't tell her?" Harry asks, irrepressible disbelief on his face. "You … Ron … this is serious. I … How …"
"You think I didn't want to tell her?" Ron bursts out from within his hands and looks up at his friend. "You think I didn't want her to know?"
"Then … why di-"
"Because I didn't know what to effing tell her, okay? I didn't know how to tell her! Sh- She wouldn't want me to do it!"
"And you thought she wouldn't find out?" Harry frowns in incredulity. "This is Hermione we're talking about!"
"I wasn't thinking!"
"Evidently!" Harry places the letter back on the table and stares at Ron who is now staring at the wooden floor hopelessly. "So what're you going to do now? Go back and help George?"
"No!" And Ron stands up, a defiant look on his face and his fists clenched tightly at his sides. "I want to go with you and Kingsley, this is what I want to do!"
"What about Hermione? You know that she'll never let you do this. It's too danger-"
"I love her, Harry. But she has to accept that this is something I have to do," Ron replies steadfastly and then, in a quieter tone, he adds, "for Fred."
Harry walks over and claps a hand on Ron's shoulder. "She'll understand," he responds. "I just … You should've told her from the start."
"I know," Ron heaves a deep sigh. "So what am I going to do now?"
Harry looks at the distressed boy before him, and sighs. "You should see her, talk to her in person."
Ron looks up at Harry's sympathetic green eyes, his eyebrows slanted into a helpless frown. The raven-haired boy nods slowly, a consoling smile on his face. He knows Hermione as well as Ron does and with that in mind, he understands why the look on the other boy's face is one of fear and trepidation.