A/N: Anyone who enjoys typing on a tablet, I seriously recommend trying the Hanx Writer. Tom Hanks is a brilliant man who gave us a typewriter for our iPads, and it's lovely. Anyway.
Chapter Nine: Prefects
Draco strode through the dark corridor in silence, his wand raised to provide just enough light to see by. Everyone else had long since gone to bed, and he used this knowledge to his advantage, certain that he wouldn't be disturbed. He didn't bother with sneaking around corners; no, he had somewhere to be, and he wouldn't keep her waiting.
He went to the library and let himself inside, shutting the door behind him. He locked it. When he turned to survey the cavernous room and its many rows of shelves, he looked for anything out of place. Finding nothing, he lowered his wand and stalked curiously forward.
"Hiding now, are we?" he said softly, though his voice carried.
"Well it wouldn't be very fun if I made this easy for you," she answered from somewhere toward the back of the room.
Draco smirked. He headed that way.
When he neared, he caught a glimpse of something out of the corner of his vision - the hem of a skirt, the swish of her hair as she moved. He spun and stepped toward her, keeping on high alert.
Her hands, out of nowhere, covered his eyes. She pressed up against his back and her breath tickled his ear.
"Guess who?" she whispered.
Draco sat up in bed, covered in sweat and shaking.
Not again.
He threw off his blankets and set his feet on the cold floor, rubbing his face furiously. He needed to get this under control. Soon it would be too late.
Sighing anxiously, Draco eyed the new robes and uniform that hung on his closet. A gold badge was pinned to the breast of his robes, bearing a large P right in the middle of it. His mother had been simply ecstatic - and, therefore, simply unbearable - since it had arrived.
Classes would be starting soon, and he still couldn't stop the dreams. They came and went in phases, so several times he went a week without one and thought he'd finally overcome it, only to be disappointed soon after. He couldn't be found moaning every night about Hermione Granger. It would ruin him. He'd already narrowly avoided discovery over the holiday, and every time he thought of it his heart dropped. It was back in July when Aunt Bella had first offered to teach him Occlumency. There couldn't be anything worse in the world than Bellatrix Lestrange witnessing first-hand the wet dreams you were frequently having about a muggle-born.
Fortunately, his mother had given the choice up to Draco. He'd declined adamantly, and she pushed it no further. He knew the offer stood, though. His aunt had mentioned it multiple times in her letters throughout the summer, which he always ignored, choosing instead to respond with the shortest, least-personal anecdotes he could come up with.
He fell back onto his mattress with a groan. Five-thirty a.m. and he couldn't go back to sleep. It was too risky.
Images from his dream, and from the last few he could remember, rolled around in his head. His brain had certainly become inventive in the last few months, creating every possible (and impossible) scenario in which he and Hermione might end up being entirely indecent together. He'd even had dreams of them meeting up in the prefect's bathroom, which he'd never seen before. He just knew it involved a rather large bathtub. Large enough to fit two people.
He wondered if she ever thought about him. The answer seemed plain, since the perfect Hermione Granger would never sully her mind with such fantasies. Probably not. Or maybe she did, and she laid awake at night letting her imagination run wild. Draco enjoyed that idea, perhaps a bit too much.
Letting out a deep breath, Draco shut his eyes. He really, really wanted to meet with her again, and more than that, he wanted to talk to her. He wanted her to look at him like she had that evening, like she really saw him. No one had ever done that before, they only wanted to go skin-deep.
But it wouldn't be possible. Especially not now, not with...
He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, he interrupted himself.
No, especially not now.
The reappearance of Voldemort had marked a significant change in how Draco's family operated, and he hated it. Aunt Bella was visiting often and also writing, less afraid of being caught by the Ministry (which seemed obsessively convinced that Voldemort's rebirth was a lie) so he couldn't escape her. His father, in addition to working very hard at the Ministry, had begun spending more nights away from the manor. This made his mother anxious.
Narcissa had taken to doting upon Draco at every opportunity, and she'd even stretched out his school shopping to last for multiple trips over several days, as to spend more time with her son. If he hadn't outright refused, she would have liked to take dancing lessons with him again.
He didn't mind the extra attention, it was the reason behind it which worried him. Ever since that day, the day Cedric Diggory died, it was like Draco's family stopped belonging to each other. Now they just belonged to him.
Draco hated him with a passion he'd never thought possible.
"Pinny?" Draco called.
With a small pop, their little house-elf appeared in the middle of Draco's room.
She bowed immediately.
"Yes master?" she said, her voice high-pitched and a little nasally. "What can Pinny be doing for you?"
"Breakfast," he grumbled, short on the patience that was required for speaking with house-elves. He wasn't very fond of the creatures.
Pinny understood completely, however, and with another small pop she disappeared from sight.
Rubbing his face, Draco groaned loudly. It was September first. Time to go back to Hogwarts.
...
Draco yanked his trunk down the aisle of the train car, looking for an empty compartment to claim. He'd said goodbye to his mother down on the platform, where she'd insisted on kissing his forehead like a little boy. In public. That alone was enough to make him flee the scene.
His pocket jingled as he walked, now filled with sickles, and for that he allowed his mother a small reprieve. As much as Draco wanted to be treated like an adult, he could still enjoy the perks of childhood, he supposed.
Lucius hadn't come with them to Platform 9 3/4. Draco wasn't personally put-out, but it did worry him. This last week his father had seemed particularly exhausted, and his pale complexion even bordered on sickly. He'd steal away during the evenings to who-knows-where, return haggard and resolute, and Draco knew exactly who to blame for those disappearances.
Voldemort. I swear to Merlin, I'll kill that man one day.
He found an empty compartment and let himself in before hoisting his bag up onto the luggage rack.
"Thought I'd find you off on your lonesome," said Pansy, stepping up behind him. Draco didn't wait for her to ask, but simply grasped her dragon-hide trunk and hauled it up beside his own. "Blaise should be late, I saw him on the platform. He picked a hell of a time to get in a row with his father."
Draco slumped into his seat. "Blaise and Mr. Zabini?"
Pansy blinked at him.
"Well, obviously Mr. Zabini," Draco continued, rolling his eyes. "I just mean, I can't imagine it. They're usually so... Calm. All of them."
"It was certainly a sight to behold," Pansy said in agreeance. "He hasn't said anything to you about it?"
"No." Draco looked out the window. He hadn't owled his friend for nearly a month now. There hadn't been much to say. "They've been on the outs for a while, then?"
Pansy nodded, eyeing Draco warily. "All summer. When I was over last Sunday, I swear his mother didn't even say hello." With a particularly un-ladylike snort, Pansy sat and crossed her legs. "Like she needed another reason to hate me. Blaise said she thinks it's my fault he and his father have been fighting. He won't even tell me what it's all about, though. It's rubbish."
Quirking an eyebrow at her, Draco smirked. "So Lady Zabini still suspects you're after her fortune, then?"
Pansy merely scowled in response, which earned her a large grin from Draco.
Mrs. Zabini had made it clear nearly a year ago that her son was to never, under any circumstances, court Pansy Parkinson. She'd said as much during luncheon last summer while hosting not only Pansy and Draco, but both of their mothers as well. Apparently Blaise's mum had assumed that Draco and Pansy were dating (why she couldn't believe they were all just friends, Draco had no idea) and when Draco nearly spit out his champagne at the thought, she'd assumed the worst. He hadn't realized just how pale a woman of her dark coloring could get.
Of course, a great argument followed; the Parkinson's weren't quite as wealthy as either the Zabini's or Malfoy's, and Pansy's mother had some choice words to share at the notion her daughter was "some scheming gold-digger." The lunch didn't last long.
By now it had become somewhat of an inside-joke between the three of them, and fortunately Blaise and Pansy could easily keep their parents from crossing paths after that. Draco found himself especially grateful for this. Not that he would ever admit it, but he suspected Mrs. Zabini would be more accepting of Pansy if the young witch were prettier. He knew it would break Pansy's heart to learn as much, and so Draco planned to never let that happen.
"So you're our other Prefect, then?" Pansy asked, her arms still crossed unhappily.
"As it turns out, yes."
She nodded. "I knew it would be one of you, I just didn't know which. And what with Blaise being so touchy these days, it seemed best not to ask."
"Has it really been that bad?" Draco asked.
"By the Zabini's standards? Yes. Beyond bad."
A mixture of worry and guilt sprang up in Draco's chest. He'd gotten so wrapped up in his own problems that he'd written off Blaise completely, and wasn't sure how his friend would react. More than that, though, was concern over what exactly had the Zabini's so unhappy.
Blaise did arrive late, just as Pansy predicted, sliding open their compartment door a minute after the train began moving. He didn't look at them at first, but remained perfectly cool and passive. Draco could see his friend's jaw clenching and unclenching, though, which gave him away.
Fortunately for Blaise, who didn't seem too keen on talking just yet, they were soon interrupted by a pretty seventh-year. The blue badge on her robes pronounced her as their Head Girl.
"Oh good, you're both here," she said to Draco and Pansy. "We're about to get started up front."
"Right behind you," Draco replied lazily. He didn't expect their first Prefect's meeting to be any fun.
He followed Pansy and the Head Girl (a Ravenclaw named Eloise) down the aisle of the train, which was still bustling with commotion as students gathered and spoke excitedly about their holidays. Most were sensible enough to get out of the way, Draco noted. Maybe he'd enjoy life as a Prefect after all, if it meant everyone else would leave him alone.
When they entered the Prefect's cabin, however, he had to stifle a groan.
"Oh no, not you," said Ron Weasley rather loudly, with a look of utter disgust aimed Draco's way.
Draco sneered. "Who the hell made you a Prefect?"
"That's enough, you two," declared a seventh-year boy. Judging by his yellow badge and air of authority, Draco guessed him to be the other Head. He looked displeased. "You won't always be patrolling with your other house member, and we need to trust that you won't hex each other the second we look away."
"If you can't handle it, there's the door," added Eloise. She puffed out her chest a bit.
With a sigh, Draco shared a look of annoyance with Pansy before sitting. They were the last pair to enter the spacious compartment, and the Heads seemed impatient to get started. While they prattled on about introductions and patrol schedules, Draco glanced around.
He of course recognized all of the chosen Prefects, and thankfully they were mostly the top of their class. The only real idiot was Weasley, who sat across from Draco, his face set in an impressive glower. Next to him, looking back and forth at the two boys and chewing her lip nervously, sat Hermione Granger.
Shite.
He'd known she would be a Prefect - hell, she'd be Head Girl their seventh year, there was no denying it - but in his distraction, Draco hadn't mentally prepared himself to see her so soon. She looked lovely as ever, her thick hair just a touch frizzy and a pretty blush on her cheeks. Her legs were crossed, much like Pansy's, but with Pansy it was a hell of a lot easier not to stare.
Keeping his face purposely blank, Draco held eye contact for only a moment before looking away. He ignored her for the rest of the meeting, not that he paid much attention to their Heads, either.
...
When Draco and Pansy got back to their compartment, Blaise had returned to his normal laid-back self. If he held a grudge over Draco's radio silence during the holiday, he didn't let it show, and soon they had launched into a debate about a few of their preferred professional quidditch teams. Pansy ignored this for the most part, flipping through the latest edition of Witch Weekly. At one point Luna Lovegood popped by to offer a copy of The Quibbler, at which Pansy laughed aloud while Blaise, wisely, remained silent.
The welcoming feast went by quickly, and wasn't much different from years past, with two major exceptions: firstly, no flaming goblet stood front and center this time, and secondly, they were graced with the presence of Dolores Umbridge. Draco thought he might like her after the first time she interrupted Dumbledore's inane ramblings.
They received their timetables the next day, along with their patrol schedules for Prefect duty. Draco, Blaise, and Pansy compared notes at once.
"Nothing to start your day like double Transfiguration with Hufflepuff," Blaise muttered.
"Oh no," moaned Pansy, "Double Potions after that. Gryffindor."
"We have Defense with that lot this afternoon, too," Blaise said.
Draco looked over his Prefect schedule, hoping to distract himself from the idea of spending so many hours with Gryffindor in one day.
"Well, at least we don't patrol until Thursday," he said.
Pansy looked confused. "What? No, on mine it says tonight."
They stared at each other for a moment, then groaned in unison.
"The least they could do is tell us who we're with," Pansy said, crossing her arms haughtily. "I knew it from the moment I saw those two. They were just chomping at the bit to push some house unity on us. What a load of bullocks."
Draco was already back to staring at his schedule. When he'd seen his times written as Thursday and Saturday evenings, he'd assumed he'd be patrolling with Pansy. And now, with his luck...
Not Granger, he pleaded inwardly. Anyone but Granger.
Fortunately, Snape wasn't as keen on house unity as their new Head Boy and Girl, and he didn't bat an eye when his classroom divided evenly into Slytherins and Gryffindors. Blaise and Pansy took a table in front, and Draco settled in next to Vince just behind them. While Vince didn't have a lot going on upstairs, per se, he did have a certain proclivity toward brewing potions, so Draco couldn't complain.
Also fortunately, with his place so near to the front of the room, Draco wouldn't need to worry about staring off at Hermione Granger all class. It was bad enough to have Blaise on his case, he didn't need Snape noticing too. This would make it much easier to ignore the brunette and focus on his studies.
Actually, their first day went quite smoothly, up until Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Professor Umbridge stood beside her desk, resembling a toad in a pink dress more than anything, and she tapped her wand against the palm of her hand while smiling grimly their way. Draco shared a wary look with Pansy before snagging a table at the back of the room, not sure they wanted to sit very close to this professor at all. She introduced herself with a high-pitched cough once the bell had rung.
Potter and Weasley sat closer to the front, and Draco could see them browsing through their books with clear distaste. As much as he hated to agree, Draco found himself unsure that this "Ministry-approved curriculum" would be of much benefit to anyone.
"Sorry, but when are we going to, I don't know, learn to defend ourselves?" asked Potter, breaking the relative silence in the room. Everyone shifted a bit, visibly uncomfortable.
"And why should you need to defend yourself?" asked Umbridge, her smile tight.
"Well, no offense Professor," said Weasley, "But this is Defense Against the Dark Arts."
This wasn't the right thing to say to Delores Umbridge, as it turned out. Draco watched avidly as the small witch grit her teeth but still smiled at her students, seemingly afraid that all hell would break loose if she let them get any wild ideas.
"Now children, let me make myself perfectly clear," she said. "We at the Ministry have carefully constructed a lesson plan that is more than sufficient enough for you to pass your O.W.L.s. By the end of this year, you will all be well-equipped with an understanding of the nature of Defense Against the Dark Arts. I sincerely hope that you haven't let any unsavory rumors cloud your judgement."
Potter bristled. "The nature of defense? That's rubbish. We need to be learning how to protect ourselves, not how to pass a stupid test."
"And just who, Mr. Potter, might we need to defend ourselves from?" Umbridge asked, her eyes alight and daring. The whole class held their breath; they'd read the articles proclaiming Harry Potter insane, and many more about his declarations that Voldemort was alive again. Most people thought it was a great lie. Draco knew the unfortunate truth, not that he'd say anything about it.
"Oh, I don't know, Lord Voldemort?" Harry snapped.
Draco sucked in his breath, much like everyone else in the room. Umbridge looked like she'd just about explode, but instead hissed something about detention, and promptly turned her attention to chapter one of their books.
While she rambled on about Ministry regulations and the profound intellect of the Minister himself, Draco couldn't keep up. His thoughts were back on Potter's exclamation, and on the boldness of it - really, was he not afraid to embarrass himself? To make himself appear any crazier than the Daily Prophet accused him of being?
Pansy laid a hand on Draco's elbow, but she didn't look at him. When he glanced over at her, he could see worry in her eyes.
They all had reason to worry, these days.
...
Draco paced in the entrance hall, the tip of his wand lit. He'd survived the last few days and made it to his first patrol as Prefect, and the mounting dread had nearly consumed him.
He leaned back against the cool stone wall, crossing his arms impatiently.
"You're late," he said, at the sound of soft approaching footsteps.
There she was - wand raised, with its light illuminating her pretty face. Hermione Granger. She smirked knowingly, and gave Draco a hungry, sultry look. Her robes parted down the front, and he could see the hem of her skirt, pulled up higher than usual, exposing her milky thighs.
"I'm sorry," she said, her voice low. "Whatever will you do with me?"
"Malfoy? Malfoy!"
Draco snapped out of his daydream, his face heating up. He hoped the dim lighting would hide his embarrassment.
No, not Hermione Granger, and certainly not the scantily-clad succubus version of her either. Ron Weasley in all his red-haired, gangly-limbed glory stood glaring at Draco, clearly not happy with this arrangement.
"You look like you've seen the Bloody Baron," Weasley said, narrowing his eyes.
"I did," Draco replied smoothly. "He's in the common room. Fancy a chat with him?"
Weasley didn't respond to that, but just scowled more darkly than before. Apparently he had no intention of running into the Bloody Baron at this time of night.
"Whatever," he grumbled. "Let's just get this over with."
They started off toward the dungeons, Ron taking Draco's lead, when a voice caught them.
"Wait," said Hermione, striding out from the main stairwell. Draco didn't turn to look at her; he knew that voice all too well.
"'Mione?" asked Weasley. Draco's stomach turned at the sound of such a familiar nickname falling out of Weasley's dumb mouth.
She strode up to the pair, standing squarely in front of them. Draco didn't turn her way, and didn't allow any hint of emotion to cross his face.
Keep it together.
"Er, Draco?" Hermione said. When he didn't respond, she kept on. "I was hoping you'd trade me shifts. Thursday for Tuesday. You'll be with Pansy, then."
He clenched his jaw, afraid to speak. For some reason he couldn't come up with anything that wasn't total gibberish.
Hermione and Ron glanced nervously at one another.
"Right then," Weasley announced. "I'll take that as a yes. Later, Malfoy."
The redhead set off confidently in the opposite direction, clearly hoping to put as much distance between himself and Draco as possible. Not that Draco was looking, or that he even planned to respond, but he could feel that Hermione stayed behind, just for a moment.
Hermione looked the tall blond up and down, her eyebrows drawn together. He seemed older after the summer, a bit more worn down. She chewed on her lip. Why wasn't he acknowledging her? How could he pretend that last June - that kiss - hadn't happened?
She wanted to ask, but it wasn't the right time. Instead she followed Ron out of the hall, leaving Draco standing alone in the shadows.
A/N: I'm sorry to speed through the beginning of the year like that, I just honestly didn't think much of it was interesting enough (on Draco's end) to include. I want to keep you guys on your toes!
Pansy and Blaise are going to play a much bigger role this year, for one. I'm enjoying the parallels you can draw between our two trios, not that Harry and Ron are featured much in this fic. Obviously they have caught Draco's attention here and there, though.
So. Draco's freezing Hermione out, which has her more than flustered and confused. And what the hell is going on with the Zabini's?
Until next time. ;)
PennyDreddful