----------------------------------------------------------SOOTHING-------------------------------------------------------------
At first guess, it was about seven o' clock in the morning. Was it a Friday or a Saturday? If it was a Friday then Hermione was extremely late for school; but if it was a Saturday, she was up really early. Which one was it? As her senses became more alert, a familiar scent reached wafted through Hermione's nostrils. She inhaled deeply. It smelt so ... nice. Definitely familiar. She racked the corners of her whirlwind of a mind to place the scent, but it was to no avail. Her thoughts were too hazy. The scent was sharp, with a hint of freshness about it, and it soothed her, calming her down.
She opened her eyes slowly, and the first thing to greet her sight was a deep green, woolly blanket covering her. She hadn't realized how warm and comforting the blanket was until she actually became aware it. She snuggled further into the blanket, shying away from the biting cold. The scent hit her again, and she realized where it was coming from: the blanket. She buried her nose in the blanket, breathing in its scent slowly. Ah.
Wait a second, Hermione stopped breathing. Where did this blanket come from? Surely if she owned this blanket she wouldn't have been so obsessed with this wonderful scent? She pulled the blanket away from her face and took in her surroundings. She definitely wasn't in her bedroom, nor was she in anyone else's. Then she saw the fireplace and the crimson couches. So she was in the Common Room! How did she get here?
She sat up – from the couch – and wiped blearily at her eyes. She looked down at herself and was shocked to realize that she was still in her clothes from yesterday! How bizarre. I must have fallen off to sleep then, she surmised. She patted her clothes absent-mindedly, and felt a stickiness on her jersey. She pulled her jersey away from her skin to get a better look at the source of the stickiness. A white substance of sorts. Hmmm, wonder where that came from?
She jumped up from the couch, startling Crookshanks who was curled up in a ball at Hermione's feet. "Sorry, Crookshanks," Hermione whispered, bending down to pat her cat affectionately.
A door opened to Hermione's left, and she turned her head. So Malfoy had also just gotten up.
"Morning," Hermione said, a small smile on her face. Today, she would try to be nice.
Malfoy nodded at her, and ducked his head so that she couldn't see his face. Why wouldn't he look at her? Malfoy walked to their small kitchen. He popped open the fridge, and pulled out the bottle of pumpkin juice. With his back turned to her, he poured himself a tall glass, and gulped down the whole thing in a few seconds.
Even though Malfoy had practically insulted her (again) by not replying, Hermione tried again. "Do you know how I came to be here on this couch?" she asked, motioning towards the couch she had been sleeping on.
"Nope," Malfoy replied shortly. He was pouring himself another glass of juice.
"I must have fallen off to sleep then," Hermione said, her eyes following his movements. A few moments of uncomfortable silence filled the air, and she said, "Do you know where this blanket came from, then?"
"Absolutely no idea," Malfoy replied sharply, placing his glass in the sink.
Hermione lifted her eyebrows. Why was he acting like this? Not that she wasn't used to it, but still...
"Okay, then," she said slowly. She turned around, bent down, and folded the blanket. When she was done, she placed it neatly on the couch. "Well, it's certainly not mine. I only have red blankets, to co-ordinate with my house colours ..." she trailed off, as a sudden thought flew into her mind. She banished it as soon as it came, knowing that the idea was utterly implausible.
Malfoy didn't say anything – surprise, surprise – instead, he walked right passed her. Hermione breathed in sharply. His scent encompassed her, and she almost staggered backwards. The fresh, clean scent crawled slowly up her nostrils. The blanket...the blanket's scent – it matched perfectly to Malfoy's.
So it was his blanket. Why would he lie?
Draco walked towards their bathroom, pausing before he turned the knob. He twisted his head slightly, so that she would know that his next few words were directed at her. "You're going to be late," he said lightly. He didn't want to see her, to face her. His life before now had been in such a mess, he was surprised that no one had thrown it into the rubbish bin. He still looked like a mess, and he couldn't let any female look at him – even if it was just this Granger girl.
The girl didn't seem to hear what he said, because she replied differently, her words causing Draco to stiffen slightly. "And do you know how I got this sticky substance on my jersey? I only noticed it this morning." Her tone was casual, light, but Draco was clever enough to know that she was getting irritated with him with all of his non-answers. He knew people. Yet, he couldn't tell her the truth.
He placed his hand on the knob, turning it. The door swung open. "No, Granger, I don't."
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, even though she knew he couldn't see her. Fine, but she knew he was lying. She knew people.
Muggle Studies was fourth period. Hermione was practically trembling head to toe with excitement. She hurried to the classroom, and waited outside, joining the end of the line. Professor Pinkle wasn't there yet, so the class was filing outside the door along the wall. Hermione chatted amicably with Dean, discussing the homework. Hermione felt someone stand behind her. This wasn't unusual, as there were still plenty more students to come, so Hermione ignored the person and continued to talk to Dean.
"Hermione!" someone called out. Hermione automatically turned around to see who was calling her. Draco Malfoy was the person standing behind her. Hermione's eyes widened slightly, and then narrowed, as his she smelt his scent. Bloody annoying scent. Malfoy looked at her coolly and said, "I decided to come today."
Hermione nodded. "I can see that. But thanks for pointing it out," she smiled sweetly at him.
Mild surprise at her blatant use of sarcasm filled his eyes momentarily, and before Hermione could count to three, it was gone.
"Hermione!"
Hermione turned her head, and found Ronald at her side. "Morning, Ronald," she smiled – genuinely, this time. "What on earth are you doing here?"
Ron scratched his nose, and said, "You left one of your books in Harry's and my dormitory the other day, and I forgot to give it back to you." He pulled out a thick book from his bag, handing it to her.
Hermione glanced at the cover, and let out a squeal. "I thought I lost it!" she said, a broad grin on her face. She cradled the book to her chest, sighing. She hugged Ron. "Thank you," she said.
Ron licked his lips, glancing around. "Er, right," he said. "Well, I need to go, you know. I'm late for class." He withdrew from their hug. He glanced at Malfoy, and narrowed his eyes slightly. He pulled Hermione to the side, and whispered in her ear, "Stay away from him, Hermione."
Hermione rolled her eyes, and was about to say something, when Malfoy said, "Let me assure you, Weasley, that my hearing is perfect."
It's a wonder you act deaf all the time, Hermione thought scathingly.
Ron's ears turned red, and he stepped menacingly forward. "You lay one hand on her, you git..."
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "I do not intend to do any such thing, Weasley," he replied sharply.
Ron hadn't moved from his position. Hermione tugged on his arm. "Ronald, you're getting late, why don't you just –"
Her words were cut off by the clickety-clack of high-heeled shoes against the polished floor. "I don't remember you being in my class, dear!" Professor Pinkle's high-pitched voice called out to Ron.
"I'm not in your class, Professor," Ron replied, still glaring at Malfoy.
"Would you like to join then, sweetheart?" she giggled. Ron closed his eyes briefly, concentrating on ridding his ears from the painful sound of the professor's voice.
"No, Professor," Ron replied, facing Professor Pinkle.
"Very well then," she replied. "In you go, class."
"How do you handle it?" he muttered in an undertone to Hermione. Hermione suppressed a smile. "Go, Ronald." She leaned forward, and placed a light kiss on his cheek. She didn't notice his ears brighten. She also didn't notice Malfoy observing them both.
Ron muttered a 'goodbye' then hurtled down the corridor to his class. Hermione followed Dean into the classroom and took her place next to him in the front.
Once the class had settled down completely, and only a few people were whispering to each other, Professor Pinkle beamed brightly at them all, her sparkly white teeth all but blinding Hermione. "Well, children," she started, "I have some excellent news for you that I'm sure you're all going to love." She laughed loudly, and when she caught a few people staring at her blankly, her laughter subsided, and she cleared her throat. She plastered the smile back onto her face. "Auditions for Snow White and her Prince Charming will start tomorrow!"
Hermione sat up straighter in her seat. She raised her hand. Professor Pinkle shot her a wide smile. "Yes, my dear?"
"Professor, tomorrow is too short notice. What if we don't have time to practise?"
Professor Pinkle laughed. "Nonsense! Just throw something together, and all will be fine." She stared at the class again, and Hermione shook her head, irritated. "If you want, children, I can give you this lesson to go to the library –"
The students immediately stood up, and rushed out of the classroom, the rest of the professor's sentence dying. Draco was the last person to leave the classroom, walking at his own steady pace.
Professor Pinkle looked at him, and said, "And I trust that you, Mr Malfoy, will be auditioning?"
Draco tried to smile politely, but couldn't. "Sorry, Professor, but I won't be."
Professor Pinkle's face fell. "Why not?" she asked unhappily.
Draco shook his head. "I just won't be, Professor. Sorry." He walked out of the classroom, slinging his bag over his shoulder, leaving behind another person whom he'd hurt.
Instead of heading to the library, he walked in the opposite direction. Two minutes later, he was outside the door of the school's fitness centre. "Alohomora," he whispered. He heard a click, and he opened the door. The torches lining the walls of the room, lit up at his entrance. He dropped his schoolbag on the floor, and walked over to one of the machines. All of the fitness machines were, of course, non-electronic, but they were powered by magic instead.
Draco realized that he needed to get into shape. He looked scrawny, and after quitting Quidditch, his body had lost its manly appeal. The machine he climbed onto – a treadmill, he thought it was called – had been magically enhanced. Such that, when you ran on it, your surroundings changed. You could change the setting from forest, to road, to mountain, anything. He tapped a few buttons, and when he looked around, the walls of the gymnasium had disappeared, and now he was on a road.
He ran. He ran and ran. Faster and faster he went, throwing off all his frustration, irritation and anger. The wind played violently with his clothes. He felt the blood pounding in his head, and sweat dripped down his face, down his back, down his chest. He could hear the thud, thud of his heart. He focused on the sound of his heartbeat and nothing else. He didn't know for how long he ran. Fourth period was probably over. Fifth period, too. But still, he ran.
He glanced at his watch. He'd been running for two hours. He slowed down into a jog, and then stopped. As soon as he stopped, his surroundings shifted. He was back in the gymnasium. He collapsed on the cool tiled floor, breathing heavily. Even though he was thoroughly exhausted, he felt free. The tension had left him. He closed his eyes, and felt his heartbeats slow down. He got up from his place on the floor.
He knew that his body would be in much pain tomorrow, but he didn't care.
He had things to do.
At six o'clock, Draco headed towards the Slytherin Common Room. He muttered the password, and stepped in. The Common Room was just as he remembered it, yet no sense of nostalgia washed over him. There were groups of people huddled in their own separate groups, talking in low tones. As soon as Draco stepped into the room, however, all talking stopped.
Pansy Parkinson stood up from her place on the couch. "What the hell are you doing here?" she hissed at him, not caring if everyone could hear her. She was probably going to try to humiliate Draco in front of the people who used to worship him. Draco didn't flinch at the loaded venom in her voice. He stared at her, narrowing his eyes slightly. "I'm looking for Zabini," he replied smoothly. He wouldn't let her win whatever game she thought she was playing.
Parkinson smirked. "You don't belong here, Draco," she said, a bitter smile on her face. "Get out."
Everybody had stopped what they were doing. Their eyes bounced between Parkinson and the Malfoy, waiting to see who would attack first.
Draco took a step forward. "I belong here as much as anybody else, Parkinson. Don't you dare try to dictate to me."
Parkinson let out a fake laugh. "So what, Malfoy? You think you're our master? You want me to bow down before you and kiss your precious feet?" She took a step forward, and smiled wickedly at him. "I don't think so."
Draco drew in a breath, and tried to think of happy thoughts. Strangely enough, an image of the Granger girl came to mind. He brushed away the thought. It was probably because Parkinson's anger was so akin to Granger's. "Where is Zabini, Parkinson? Tell me now, and I'll leave you alone."
"Promises, promises," Parkinson spat. She stalked forward, her movements rigid. She stopped when she was a few feet away from him. "Get out, Malfoy. This isn't your home anymore," she snarled.
Draco narrowed his eyes. "It never was," he whispered harshly.
"What's going on here?" a male voice called out. Draco knew that voice. He turned. His former friend stood at the foot of the stairs leading up to the boy' dormitories.
"Look who decided to drop in, Blaise," Parkinson said scathingly, jerking her head in Draco's direction.
"Draco," Blaise said, surprise etched into his voice. His eyebrows were raised. "What are you doing here?" The contrast between Parkinson's tone and Blaise's was so pronounced, that Draco relaxed. Blaise was merely surprised.
"I came to see you, actually," Draco said, observing Blaise, analyzing his body language. Parkinson's eyes were shooting between the two boys. She looked at the people around her, observing the three of them. "What are you all looking at!" she barked. "Get back to your work!"
A few people rolled their eyes, but because they didn't want to start anything with Parkinson, they let it slide, and went back to their work.
Parkinson swivelled her head around to face the two boys. "Why don't you tell Draco to leave, Blaise? He's obviously deaf to my words." She glared menacingly at Draco.
Draco stared at her coldly.
Blaise said, "There's no need to do that, Pansy. Draco's welcome here anytime."
Draco shook his head slowly at Blaise.
"What?" Blaise asked.
"You all act as if this place is yours; as if I haven't lived here for most of my adolescence . That this is your home, and I'm just a visitor."
Parkinson tucked a piece of hair behind her ear. "Act, Malfoy? You are just a visitor. An unwelcome one. Now. Get. Out."
"Enough, Pansy," Blaise said, his eyes never straying from Draco's. "Draco, why don't you come with me?" Blaise didn't wait for an answer. He walked up the stairs he had just come down, and Malfoy followed him.
Blaise opened the door to his room. It was just him in this room. Draco no longer lived in here. Blaise motioned towards the couch. "Please sit. Make yourself at home." Draco ignored Blaise's last comment, and took a seat. Blaise sat down on his bed, waiting for Draco to say something.
Draco looked down at his hands. What to say? How to begin?
"Sorry," he decided on saying. Blaise nodded. He seemed to know what Draco was talking about, and Draco was thankful for that. He didn't want to explain himself.
"It's fine, man. People go through rough patches. What did you want to see me for?" he asked, cutting straight to the point.
Draco licked his lips nervously. What if Blaise said no? He stared right back at Blaise. He cleared his throat, yet his voice still came out a bit mangled. "I would like to know if it is at all possible ... if I could ..." Draco trailed off, not sure if he should explain himself first. Damn, he hated explaining.
"Spit it out, man," Blaise said.
"I want to play Quidditch again," Draco said, gritting his teeth. He mentally crossed his fingers.
Blaise's eyebrows shot up. "Sorry, what?"
"Please don't make me repeat myself."
"I heard you. I just cannot believe you."
Draco didn't say anything. He just waited.
"Why?" Blaise asked, his eyes filled with curiosity.
"I miss it," he replied simply.
Blaise regarded him for a moment or two, trying to weigh the amount of earnestness in Draco's voice. He stared at Draco for quite some time, and sighed. "You start tomorrow."
Draco wanted to smile. He really did. This was one of the few moments in his life that actually warmed his heart a little, yet he couldn't smile. "Thank you," he said, trying to inflict as much gratification into his voice as possible.
"No problem. One condition, though," Blaise said seriously.
Draco became wary. "Which is?"
"Don't up and leave us again, okay?"
Draco sighed. "Sorry about that."
Blaise shook his head, smiling slightly. "Drop it, Draco."
Draco nodded and stood up. Blaise, too, stood up. Draco walked across, and held out his hand. Blaise smiled, and shook it. "Welcome back."
Once Draco had left, Pansy glared resentfully at Blaise. "You let him back on the team? How foolish, Blaise," she muttered insultingly. She walked over to stand next to him, and crossed her arms.
Blaise stared at the door out of which Draco had just walked. "I don't think so, Pans. I have a gut feeling that he won't leave us again."
"Gut feeling?" Pansy repeated. "The same gut feeling that told you that even though Lucius and Narcissa got imprisoned, that Draco wouldn't turn cold on all of us? That gut feeling, Blaise?"
"Shut up, Pansy," Blaise snapped. "I know what I'm doing."
Pansy tilted her head and looked at him thoughtfully. She placed a small hand on his shoulder, and he looked at her. "Are you scared of getting hurt again?" she asked him softly.
Blaises nodded stiffly. Pansy pulled him into a warm embrace. "Me too," she whispered, her voice breaking. Blaise wrapped his arms around her, stroking her hair.
"Dragon fire," he said clearly. The portrait door swung forward, and he hopped in. He looked around. Granger wasn't in the Common Room. He heard soft music playing. She had left her radio on. Again.
Draco sighed, but decided not to do or say anything. Did she take that radio with her everywhere? The music came from the bathroom. He sat on the couch, paging through one of his textbooks, trying to drown out the music. The music became louder, and Draco found it difficult to concentrate on the words before him. He had read the same sentence three times already.
As the music became louder, Draco became more irritated. He stalked towards the door, and was about to rap loudly on it, when he heard singing. It sounded so...peaceful, even at loud tones. It brought back memories from the past, and Draco lowered his fist. The voice of the singer on the radio painted images that were so welcome to Draco that he didn't dare try to stop them from coming in. The beautiful images flooded his mind, and he surrendered. The chorus came, and the power of the singer's voice enthralled Draco. He closed his eyes, and sank to the floor, leaning his head against the door. He listened.
And listened.
A sweet melody. It was as if magic had invaded the singer's voice. Draco thought of his mother. And of his father. He thought of his childhood. He thought of the previous year. And this time he didn't cry. He didn't tense up. He didn't feel angry. He didn't feel stressed. The sweet, gentle music prevented that.
And then it stopped. Draco's eyes shot open. Where did the music go? He waited a few seconds for it to start again, but it didn't. The voice of misery tried to cut through, but he forced it out. Where did the music go? He silently pleaded for more. His prayers were half answered. He heard humming instead. That would have to do. His fingers tapped against the floor, creating a beat. If only he had his guitar with him. But that, he'd burned to splinters.
The door suddenly opened, and he fell backwards. He scrambled to his feet, and came face to face with Granger. Her hair was dripping wet and she was wrapped in a towel. She glared at him. "Malfoy! What on earth are you doing here?" she screeched.
Draco tried to think quickly. "I... fell off to sleep."
Granger blinked her eyes. "On the floor outside the bathroom door?" she asked disbelievingly.
"Of course," Draco said. "Listen, Granger," he said.
"What?" she snapped.
"Where's that radio of yours?"
"In my room, Malfoy. Why?"
Draco was shocked, but didn't show it. Where did the music come from, then? "Do you have any other devices that play music, Granger?" he asked.
"No, Malfoy. Now, do you mind? I need to change."
"Then where was that music coming from?" Draco asked, ignoring her comment.
Granger suddenly dipped her head to look at the floor. "That was me," she replied quietly.
Draco felt his eyes widen. He didn't care if the shock was visible on his face. That was Granger's voice? The sound of Granger's voice had left him so enchanted? He found it very hard to believe. She looked up at him then, and seeing the shock on his face, misunderstood. "Was it that awful?" she asked, biting her lip.
Draco cleared his throat. "Not really," he said. He had become really good at telling lies. Even though Granger's singing deserved much higher praise than that, he wouldn't say anything. "Not really," he repeated.
She sighed. "I really want to get the part of Snow White," she said sadly.
So that was why she was singing. She was practising. Draco saw an open door. "Why don't you practise some more then?" he asked, trying to sound indifferent. "It couldn't hurt you."
Granger looked up at him, tilting her head to the side. "Maybe you're right, Malfoy. Practising won't hurt me."
She strode away from him, and closed the door behind her. "Practising definitely won't hurt me either," he whispered to himself, settling into the couch. He waited for her singing to start.
---------------------------------------------------------to be continued-------------------------------------------------------
A/N: So sorry about the late update, but please expect it from now on. I'm absolutely loaded with homework, so I wrote this chapter for all those who seem to really like this story. Thanks for your amazing reviews. Really, thank you.
Auditions start in the next chapter.
