COUNTERFEIT

IX

Draco entered the drawing room silently. The soft armchairs before him were squatted low to the thickly carpeted floor. The curtains to the room were wide open and sunlight spilt in, yet there was a mood of foreboding darkness. In one of the more colourful armchairs sat the hulking figure of the source of this dreariness. Draco felt a lump form in his throat.

"Father," Draco nodded in acknowledgement as he plopped himself down in the vacant seat facing Lucius Malfoy. He caught entirely off guard when the elder Malfoy directed toward him a seething glare that only spelt disgust and resentment.

"You have permission to cease addressing me as such," Lucius replied icily. Draco cleared his throat quietly, but that imaginary lump seemed to have gotten larger. "…Mr. Malfoy," Draco corrected himself. Lucius let out a sniff of mild satisfaction.

Draco's head buzzed with screeches of warning. The distraught and bent-double Lucius Malfoy Draco remembered from before he left for Hogwarts was nothing more than a fading memory now. The Lucius Malfoy that sat before him today was tall and demanding, his infamous glower scorching Draco for the first time. How Draco wished he was still snug and cozy in his pretty white cot back in the Hospital Wing like he was barely five minutes ago.

Apparently, in Hogsmeade the day before, Draco had subsided into a dead faint and fell through the glass door of Madame Puddifoot's. Two Slytherin fifth years who were present were responsible for bringing Madame Pomfrey to the scene. The lovesick boy's body was sheath to many shards of sharp glass, but thanks to the talents of the school nurse he was returned to the state he was in before the accident in the time span of mere two hours, however he remained unconscious for the rest of that day and most of the next too.

Madame Pomfrey dragged the poor boy out of bed the moment he opened his lovely silver eyes this morning. The medi-witch muttered something about emotional distress being out of her expertise ("I heal broken arms, not hearts.") and kicked Draco out of the Hospital Wing with three pitiless words: "Teachers' lounge, now!"

Once in the teacher's lounge, Draco (still bleary-eyed and sleep-tousled) was informed that his father was waiting for him in the drawing room beyond the connecting door. Lucius Malfoy was in Hogwarts. Draco was terrified into a headache. He was in for it, and he knew. He was long conscious of the fact that the moment the man got over the death of his real son his venomous anger and malice would be placed upon the unfortunate soul that took his son's place, making that moment the moment of this Draco Malfoy's death.

As much as he didn't want to, here this counterfeit Draco sat, facing his worst nightmare who doesn't appear to be quite done with him yet. "Your…setback," Lucius stated the word as if it meant nothing to him, "has been corrected?"

Draco discreetly rolled his eyes as Lucius scanned him for telltale scars and bruises, but of course – there were none. The boy didn't even bother to keep the displeasure from his voice, "I have fully recovered, thank you."

Lucius pointedly ignored Draco's tone and continued, "He is not pleased with this pace you have set."

Draco deliberately flashed the notorious sneer his body's former occupant was so fond of. He took note of the fire that suddenly sprang into Lucius's eyes, sparked by his simple expression. "He is also not pleased with your brush with the Ministry recently."

Lucius's nostrils flared in anger. "That," he spat between his gritted teeth, "is no concern of yours."

"Is it not?" Draco asked, feigning ignorance. "Should you reveal this premature plot my life would be a risk."

Lucius forcedly allowed himself a cold smile. "If you didn't take your sweet time, a little preview would not be so dangerous."

"I am trying my best," Draco said airily. It was an outright lie, of course, and he felt as guilty as a dead prostitute outside the gates of heaven. Lucius seemed to have a nose for guilt. "Then tell me," he persisted, "how much time did you put into the preparation?"

"Lost count," Draco said quickly, and coughed. The lies were pouring out shamelessly now, and Lucius knew it. "And you still don't have everything ready?" he smirked, "Clearly your best isn't enough."

Draco's sneer froze. His eyes hinted menace. "Yet somehow…" he paused, meeting Lucius's glare, "I've gotten further in four months than your deceased son could have ever gone."

Lucius's robes swirled about him as he shot up from his seat. "Watch your mouth, boy," he hissed slowly. He picked up the snakehead staff by his side and turned to leave. Draco watched him, tensing as he stopped at the door. "By the way, your mother wishes you to return home for Christmas," Lucius said carelessly over his shoulder.

Reluctance tugged at Draco's heartstrings, but he brushed the feeling off with reminders of his heartache the day before. He smiled brightly. "Then I'd be happy to comply," he replied with a little too much enthusiasm. "Good day, Mr. Malfoy."

Lucius exited the room without another word, but was immediately abducted by a hook nosed hawk that was prowling nearby (a.k.a. taking a break in the teacher's lounge). The hawk took the unfortunate Malfoy to his subterranean lair – the empty (or so they thought) potions classroom in the dungeons.

Lucius Malfoy wrestled his arm from the Potions Master's iron talons in annoyance and proceeded to brush off his velvet robes. "What is it, Severus?"

Severus Snape cast a suspicious glance around the empty room and whispered, "I do believe there is something seriously amiss with Draco."

Lucius looked up, startled. The Potions Master was straight-faced and deadly solemn. Lucius smirked bitterly. "And what makes you think that?" He asked. Snape retold his encounter with Draco at the start-of-term-feast and in the Forbidden Forest.

Lucius blinked. "That's it?" He said raising one eyebrow. When Snape made no reply, the Malfoy sighed. "You're angry because a seventeen-year-old boy schooled you four months ago? If that's all you have to say, Severus, then I really must–"

"No!" Severus Snape gasped in frustration. "See? This is exactly what I mean. Since when did you start calling your legal son a boy?"

Lucius rolled his eyes. "Severus–"

"And since when was the word 'schooled' in your vocabulary?" Snape persisted.

Lucius's nostrils flared in anger. "Listen here," he hissed. "One, I would never degrade my son; two, my vocabulary–"

"Lucius!"

The Malfoy was bribing his time, and Snape knew it. The Potions Master's intentions were sincere, and he made it clear enough for it to be impossible to go unnoticed. Lucius Malfoy had no excuse. He sighed. "Severus…what did you do after that night in the Forest?"

"I took to observance," Snape replied briskly. Lucius couldn't help but sense that the other man was proud of his decision. It was time for false encouragement.

"Good," Lucius nodded in acknowledgement and patted Snape on the shoulder. "Keep doing that and maybe you'll get somewhere." With that and a swirl of heavy robes, Lucius Malfoy was out the door. Snape was caught so off guard by the sudden warmth expelled from the velvet clad lump of ice that he stood rooted to the spot.

"Wait…" He looked around, slowly escaping his trance. "Wha– Lucius. Lucius! Luci–"

---

Theodore Nott waited until the Potions Master had put a good distance between himself and the potions classroom before he could breathe normally again. What wrath he would have endured if he were caught, he dared not to imagine. He looked down at the crumpled bag of aloe he clutched in his shaking hands and let out a deep breath of remorse. His disappearance would have to wait. He still had business to take care off.

He carefully poked his head out from behind the ajar door of the cupboard and took a survey off the room. He made sure no one was passing by the open classroom door from which the Potions Master had sprinted from in pursuit of Lucius Malfoy. Then Theodore slowly unfolded himself out of the confinement of the cupboard.

---

Albus Dumbledore had a habit. He liked to lick his finger every time he turned the pages of a book. It was a common habit amongst many people, so Draco didn't think much of it at first. It was his third day hiding in the Headmaster's office for a little of what he called "surveillance work". A philosopher from the East once said: to conquer one's enemy, one must know the enemy. And that's exactly what Draco was doing. He was getting to know his enemy.

His enemy is sitting with his back to him, licking his finger and turning the pages of a sizeable book, sometimes chuckling as he did so. Draco found the Headmaster's blissful and childish behaviors unnerving. The chuckling, the humming, and (some odd times) the dancing were really getting on his nerves. His patience was stretched thinner than the thinnest kind of paper, and no wonder. He has been standing, squished between the towering bookcase and the wall for four hours now. As if that wasn't enough, the Headmaster seemed to like leaning on the rickety bookshelf as he searched for books, making the delicately carved shelves press into Draco's already sore chest, knees, forehead and that one manly part.

But finally, Draco saw his angle. Here he can attack and conquer silently and stealthily. No one would ever guess. It was so simple yet so complicatedly hidden that it was brilliant. Today his work was done. To hell with Lucius Malfoy and his empty threats.

---

The third and last day of Draco's surveillance work happened to also be the last day of school before the winter holidays. For Draco, it was impossible not to look forward to his escape from the madness that was this school, yet he felt a little bit of regret and a little bit of nostalgia for this big clumsy castle and all of its dusty cobwebs. If Dumbledore was gone, this place would become a dump.

Draco trekked silently through a thick wall of snow-covered undergrowth near Hagrid's cabin. He had intended to visit the Forbidden Forest and sit upon that tree where the werewolves prowled underneath the skirt of a lovely damsel in distress, whom he had saved. She was within his reach then. And now he wondered what he had done with all the time he had to woo her and make her his.

The poor lovesick boy paused. His chest hurt again. Ignoring the stinging throbs, he continued on his way. A flash of colorful lights fluttered by the corners of his vision. Draco looked up in surprise. The lights illuminated the now empty pumpkin patch beside Hagrid's hut. On Draco's lips tugged a small smile – faerie lights, a rare sight to behold indeed. He changed his course and headed toward the pumpkin patch instead.

By the time Draco reached the hut the lights had disappeared. So he found a good hard surface to sit on and waited patiently for them to reappear like he knew they would. Everything was so deafening silent. Draco looked around uneasily. Crunch. He froze. A footstep in the snow. Crunch. Crunch. There it was again. Draco slowly rose from where he sat. The footsteps were light and quiet, so they couldn't possibly be the half-giant Hagrid's. Draco leant forward slightly and slowly, peeking around the corner of the hut to the empty lot behind the cabin. He almost leapt for joy. He sprang around the hut with two large strides and threw himself on his unfortunate victim.

Hermione Granger barely had time to scream before Draco's hand was across her mouth. "Shh…" He whispered, "I need to talk to you."

Hermione wiggled and struggled but couldn't free herself from his grasp. Her back was pressed against his chest, his right arm around her waist, his left hand released her face to grasp her around the shoulder. She stood there fuming, heart still pounding madly, and blushing as he lay his chin on her shoulder.

"Let go of me," she demanded slowly, out of breath. She felt him shake his head. She rolled her eyes, what a childish thing for him to do. "Can't we talk somewhere else?" She tried again. He lifted his head from her shoulder. "No," he whispered stubbornly into her left ear. "Listen to me. That redhead…he's your…" Hermione heard him gulp. There was a pause, then, "he's your boyfriend?"

Hermione didn't even stop to think. "Yes," she replied immediately, sounding forced to herself. Through the back of her thick winter cloak, Hermione could feel the boy's heartbeat quicken. She was immediately dunked into a sea of regret.

Draco let go of her and took a step back. That one word…it hurt. It hurt so much. She didn't move. Draco walked around her until they stood face to face. He took a deep shaking breath. "And you're happy? You've settled for that?" He whispered.

If Hermione had been in a good mood she would have laughed, but she wasn't, so she didn't. Yet, it was so true. He hit her right on the nerve. She smiled bitterly, bull's-eye. But she replied, "That is my best friend and boyfriend you're talking about." She felt a twirl of soreness in her heart. She felt nothing now but pity. Self pity for trying to fool herself, pity for Malfoy and his heartache, and pity for poor Ron, being used and lied to.

"You didn't answer my question yet," Draco's quiet voice shook. Hermione looked up at him, meeting his eye. She smiled, "Yes, I've settled for that. Happy?" She sounded bitter to herself. Draco shook his head. He looked down at his feet and sighed. "No. The question is: are you happy?"

Hermione blinked. Do you think I'm happy? She wanted to say. Do you think I'm happy, like you said, settling for that? But "Yes. I'm happy," was what she said instead. To her surprise, the Slytherin boy looked up smiling. "Did I hear a pause in there?" he teased. Hermione froze. Uh oh.

"A pause is not a sound," she said matter-of-factly, "You can't hear a pause."

Draco pouted, and Hermione was suddenly hit with a reality check. He wasn't actually Draco Malfoy. He's some unfortunate kid on Polyjuice potion (it's her theory anyway). With that, Hermione's wall of ice was gone. "But you've heard silence," Draco argued, "and that's not a sound either." Hermione stopped herself in mid-nod. What was she doing? Draco continued on, "But the point is: you've just attempted a change in topic, which means you're trying to avoid my question. You're not happy, are you?"

Hermione stood there startled. Her mind was at a blank. How could a person who she barely knows guess her every thought? "Maybe because he knows you," Needy Hermione suggested, "He knows exactly who you are. I mean, think about it, Hermione. When have you had a conversation like this with Ron Weasley? All he talks about is garbage. This boy here in front of you is a gem. He has a brain. Besides, he respects you. Ron seems to think you're some kind of make out machine. How many times have you shot him down? Think about the uncomfortable times you've spent with Ron. That boy doesn't understand the meaning of personal space. You agreed to have him as a boyfriend, not as a leech. That's why you're here isn't it? To escape the leech?"

Needy Hermione's got a point. But Angry Hermione wasn't about to give up without a fight. "But what about this Malfoy boy?" Angry Hermione interrupted. "Isn't he a leech too? How does this child keep finding you? He's evil, dark magic is written all over him. Can't trust types like these. He just had you in his death grip just now, Ron would never violate you like that."

"But you liked it didn't you?" Needy Hermione whispered, "Your heart wasn't pounding because you were surprised, your heart was pounding because he was hugging you."

Hermione scowled, at herself more than anyone else. But Draco took it as her displeasure towards him. He looked extremely upset. "You're not happy with him, yet you still chose him…" he muttered to himself. He looked up at her, sincerity and seriousness etched into his eyes. He bit his lip and asked with a trembling voice, "What makes him so much better than me?"

Hermione's heart flew out to him at once. She shook her head furiously. "He's not," she said quickly, fully aware of the tears filling up the rims of her eyes. "He's not better than you," she murmured. A single tear rolled down her cheek. Hermione blushed in embarrassment and lowered her head. Draco's hand shot out and brushed it away. His naked fingers were cold against her skin, but his intentions were as warm as a pit of bonfire.

His hand lowered from her face to her waist, his other hand rose to her arm. Slowly he pulled her into his embrace. But the angry side of Hermione still had a little more venom to spill. "What do you think you're doing?" She heard herself say icily, while quietly begging him not to let go. His arms loosened for a second, but as if he had heard her mental pleas, he hugged her closer. "Cold," he muttered against her hair. Hermione shook her head. "I'm not cold," she said, and immediately regretted it.

"I know," Draco replied airily. "But I am."

Hermione noticed for the first time that he was only wearing a jumper. Draco hadn't bothered to fetch his cloak and mitts from his dorm earlier since he hadn't planned to stay out for so long. But now, he was trembling. Hermione's natural feminine instincts kicked in. She squeezed Draco around the waist with her arms and tugged at his jumper. "Let's go inside," she suggested. With her head on his chest, she heard his heartbeat quicken. One word popped into her mind: cute. He was cute. Hermione squirmed a little at that description. She giggled.

Draco blushed. He knew she had heard his heart pick up speed. Then she giggled. He felt such warmth spread through him when she had suggested to go inside. She had said "let's". He loosed his hold on her and looked down. She looked up at him, wondering what he was doing. "Okay," he nodded, "but first…"

Hermione saw him coming closer, she saw him close his eyes. She must have closed hers by instinct too because the next think she knew, she was seeing black, and his cold soft lips were on hers. She felt fire (the pleasant kind) burning down her throat and spreading to her shoulders. His lips embraced hers. She involuntarily opened her mouth. His tongue was warm and comforting. He sucked at her lower lip, and her tongue darted out a little to meet his. His breath was warm, and he tasted nice. It was a kind of indescribable niceness, almost like sweetness, but not quite. She couldn't feel the cold around her anymore, and her brain seemed to have shut down. He was breathing into her and she into him. It felt so nice. He was teasing and gentle. Hermione was a little irked that he seemed experienced. She pulled back and kissed the corner of his mouth, and his soft lips were on hers again.

Draco's lips were moistened by her breath and he closed his mouth to kiss her on the lips again. Her hands were on his chest, massaging him. It was probably instinctive, but it felt so awesomely loving. He wouldn't really feel her because of her cloak and all, but her heat melted his heart. He pulled back, tipped his head the other way and pressed his parted lips down on hers. She lost her balance and took a step back. Her back was pushed into the wall of Hagrid's hut. Draco's hands found her gloved ones and their fingers entwined. By reflex, Draco's knee slipped between her thighs and she groaned. Crazily aroused was pretty much how Draco felt at that moment. This world was theirs, and he loved every moment of it.

Sudden barking snapped Draco out of his trance. He pulled away from Hermione gasping. The guilty couple quickly sprang apart. The barking was getting louder and closer, accompanied by shouts of "Down, Fang, down!" Hermione's right hand unconsciously rose to her lips. It was too late to run now. The hulking silhouette of Hagrid descended upon them.

"Who's there?" Came his booming voice, and an over-friendly Fang leapt onto Draco.

A/N:

First kiss, yay!

When I was writing the scene in the dungeons with Snape and Malfoy Sr., the radio in my head was screaming the Potter Puppet Pals tune: Snape, Snape, Severus Snape…it was SO distracting.

I wasn't aware for the longest time that anonymous reviewers were filtered by my account, but I fixed it so please, please, please review!

(P.S. READ MY NEW FIC: 'RIDDLEBOOK'!)