Chapter Nine, black orchids
"Hermione, are you quite certain you're feeling all right?" Ginny Weasley asked, her hair bound together at the nape of her neck and her lashes tinted with the faintest hint of mascara.
Hermione looked up from her salad, her fork dangling from her fingers. Every muscle felt tense and her face was slightly flushed. She straightened up in her chair, pushing her dark hair over her shoulders and glanced at the youngest Weasley.
"I'm fine, thank you, Ginny."
"You look pale," Ginny admitted, pressing the back of her right hand against Hermione's cheek. "You're a bit warm as well."
Hermione smiled and slowly put her fork down. The ring of metal against china made her flinch. Harry and Ron were huddled together, their faces close enough to touch. They were seated at the end of the Gryffindor table, creases in their brows and varying expressions on their faces. Ginny looked away guiltily; she always did lately, Ron looked angry and smug and Harry looked worried. It had taken three days before they had started talking to her again. Ron remained cold, his relation with Lavender rocky at best, but they seemed to be rebuilding.
Hermione sighed, before joining the boys, Ginny trailed after her with a slight raise of her eyebrows. "Something the matter, guys?"
"As if we would tell that to a traitor." Ron spat, Harry glared at his friend and Hermione's jaw tensed.
She breathed in slowly — 'think about your breathing exercises, Hermione, breathe, just breathe' — and clenched and unclenched her hands. "I have no idea what you're talking about, Ron. Harry, what's going on?"
"D.A. meeting after dinner," Harry whispered in her ear and Hermione nodded in understanding, before stiffening.
"I can't," she whispered, her hands curling into fists.
"What?"
"I can't come tonight." she explained, barely repressing a shudder.
"Why is that?" Ron asked, not looking too interested in her excuse. Hermione looked up. Draco Malfoy, flanked by Crabbe and Goyle again, entered the Great Hall. His face was unreadable but Hermione noticed his eyebrows raise slightly when his eyes landed on her. Malfoy inclined his head a bit and went to sit beside Blaise Zabini and Theodore Nott.
"It's Hogsmeade weekend," she said matter-of-factly. "I have plans."
Ron's cheeks turned pink and Hermione coldly stared at him. She seized the jug of pumpkin juice, causing it to slosh around, almost spilling over the rim and filled her goblet with shaking hands.
"With whom?"
"I—"
"With me," Ginny said. "We were having a girls' night."
Ron frowned. "What do you mean? Why can't you come to D.A.? I mean who cares if—" Harry let his head drop into his hands "—you have a girls' night. You can postpone it, can't you?"
"We could," Ginny nodded sweetly, before standing up. "But we don't."
The younger girl pushed her arms into the sleeves of her coat and Hermione exhaled softly. Harry had taken off his glasses and rubbed at his eyes. "This Malfoy business is coming between us," he said softly. "You used to hate him, you know."
Hermione snorted indignantly. "I've never hated him." she defended slowly, getting up and pulled her bag up.
"Could have fooled me," Ron told her.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "It might have escaped your notice, but what good will this stupid animosity bring me?" she asked slowly.
"Have you forgotten what his father has done?"
"Draco Malfoy is not his father! And moreover, I'm done with this stupid conversation!" she snapped back, before stomping away from the table. Several students glanced at her and Hermione quickened her step.
"You okay?" Ginny asked falling into step with her friend. "I thought you might try and murder Ron. I wouldn't blame you if you did give it a try."
Hermione snorted, burying her nose into her scarf. "He isn't worth a stint in Azkaban."
Ginny laughed loudly. "So who are you meeting?" she asked slyly.
"Malfoy, we've got a lead. I will tell you all about it when I actually know something." Hermione admitted tiredly.
The weather had turned cold clouds regularly filled the sky. Snow was falling thick and heavy in the Scottish Highlands. The mountains around the castle were barely visible through the thick snow and a frigid wind blew over the grounds. The lake had frozen solid, and the students quickened who had planned on a trip to Hogwarts quickened their step towards the gates.
The two girls crossed the courtyard, huddling deeper inside their winter cloaks. The snow creaked under Hermione's boots, and she fought to keep her balance as the howling wind buffeted her body. Her bag felt heavy on her shoulder and she silently longed to be back into the Great Hall. With the cold, only the Great Hall was remotely comfortable. The castle remained cold and the bitter wind constantly rattled the windows.
Hermione didn't understand why the teachers didn't teach them better means to keep warm than using a Self-Warming Charm. Not even the fires in the Common room truly kept the cold out.
The little town of Hogsmeade was standing like a postcard; the snow which had fallen over the night covered the cobbled streets with a thick layer of pristine white. A few footprint trails, from the shopkeepers, disrupted the snow, but otherwise, it was almost completely intact.
In a matter of seconds, the street was full of Hogwarts students. Ginny eyed the sweet shop hungrily and Hermione smiled. Hogwarts must have played a large part in the business decision to start a sweet shop in the little village. Even if the students were not allowed to visit weekly, the students still bought so much in one day, Hermione was sure it made up for the rest of the week.
"Can we?" Ginny asked, rubbing her hands together happily, "Do you have time to— you know to go inside."
"Sure, that's okay," she nodded, following Ginny to the shop. They had to push themselves through the throng of people at the entrance of the shop. The shop was packed with students, pondering which sweet they were going to take. Hermione passed the shelves of creamy chunks of nougat and honey-coloured toffees.
Hermione watched Ginny fill a paper bag with Fizzing Whizzbees. Hermione fingered a sugar quill and pursed her lips. Her parents were dentists and therefore she had practically been raised sugar-free. Her parents always told her that sweets rot the teeth and she was not really allowed to have them, but her stomach clenched and her gums itched somewhat.
"Are you going to take something?" Ginny asked, raising her eyebrows and pointing her index finger at the sugar quills.
Hermione smiled, before filling her own paper bag with sugar quills. They manoeuvred through the crowd to the counter. Hermione placed a few gold coins on the wooden table board, about to pay for Ginny as well, but the younger girl shook her head, showing her a few golden coins of her own.
"I've got it from Fred and George," Ginny explained, pushing a lock of red hair behind her ear. "They've gotten Harry's prize money from last year."
"And they've spoiled you a bit? How unlike them!"
"I suppose," Ginny admitted, following Hermione out of the shop.
"Do you have time for a Butterbeer?" Ginny asked while Hermione glanced at her wristwatch. "I would love one."
"Sure," Hermione nodded. "I'm supposed to meet him at Five, so we have more than enough time."
Madame Rozemerta's shop was crowded and noisy like always. Hermione gratefully stepped into the welcome warmth of the pub. She shook the snow off her cloak and batted the silvery ice out of her curls. They took a seat near the fire, cheerfully-blazing and warmth spreading over her back. She pulled her mittens off and stuck her hands out, in front of the crackling flames.
"What can I get you, girls?" Madam Rozemerta asked, stopping next to her table.
"Two Butterbeers, please."
Hermione took a sip of her drink and closed her eyes in bliss. There was almost nothing better than a warm Butterbeer during the cold winter days. The warm glow filled her insides and she sighed softly.
"Didn't you have plans with your friends, Gin?" Hermione asked.
Ginny snorted. "I don't really have so many plans. Mikael is rather angry and he's telling people I'm so easy," she whispered, rubbing at her cheeks. "Not in my face of course, and I did already hex him, but I know he does talk to others, and it's not favourably."
"I'm so sorry, Gin!"
"It's okay," Ginny shrugged and Hermione shook her head. It was not 'okay'. The way people treated her, treated Ginny, because of something that had been completely out of their control was disgusting. She felt a flash of that now familiar anger and was glad when Madam Rozemerta brought two butterbeers to their table.
"What are you and Malfoy planning?" Ginny asked when the silence became awkward. She had her hands clasped around her tankard and her lips pursed.
"Malfoy figured out who sold the Potion," Hermione explained. "I suppose being from an old and noble house had its benefits. Either way, the man selling these Potions is practically the only one making it."
"You're so much better at doing research," Ginny admitted off-handedly. "I tried cataloguing the books, tried picking them at random and even tried asking Madam Pomfrey, which I'll never do again, mind you, but I just found nothing."
Hermione smiled. "You don't like to read."
"No,"
"Doing research is only fun and you can only take time for it when you enjoy it, at least a little," Hermione told the younger girl.
"But you do think you can get the name?" Ginny asked, taking a sip of her butterbeer.
"I'm not sure," Hermione shrugged, "I'm not sure why Malfoy involves me into this anyway."
"You are predominant," Ginny said. "Don't get me wrong, I love you Hermione, but it is true. I dare say he thinks you can nag the answer straight out of him."
"Cute," Hermione muttered, sniffing her own tankard. "Very cute, Gin."
They drank the rest of their Butterbeers in silence, listening mindlessly to the other students. From the windows Hermione noticed the snow falling thick and heavy. She snuggled deeper into her woollen sweater and blew into her tankard. Ginny glanced at Harry with a grimace and Hermione was once again assaulted by how deep her feelings for that boy actually went.
o.O.o
When late afternoon came around, the temperature had plummeted and the had sky cleared. Shivering, Hermione pulled her cloak more tightly around herself and walked on. Reaching into her rucksack, she pulled a sugar quill out of her bag and sucked onto it. Periodically, she glanced up to check the landscape ahead of her. The sun was swiftly lowering onto the horizon.
Hermione slowly stepped into the inn, rubbing her hands together. The bar was small and very dirty, with bay windows. Hermione could barely see through them. Malfoy, his hood pulled over his trademark blond hair, was standing near one rough wooden table. Two stubs of candles were sitting on its surface and Hermione almost laughed when she noticed the annoyed sneer on his face.
The floor was dirty, so dirty it looked like there was not really a floor at all. Hermione crossed the room.
"There you are,"
"There I am," Malfoy agreed.
"Why the hood?"
Malfoy raised an eyebrow and glanced around. Several customers had their faces hidden and Hermione nodded. "Right, got it."
Aberforth stood behind the bar cleaning a cup with a rather dirty rag. Hermione pursed her lips and shook her head; slightly disgusted. The hearth was lit and Malfoy pulled a pot of Floo Powder out of his bag.
"You know how to—" he started, suddenly unsure if this Muggle-born had ever used the Floo network before
Hermione rolled her eyes, took a bit of the glittery powder and threw it into the fireplace. The powder turned the flames an emerald green and Hermione walked into the flames: the flames licked at her limbs, but felt just like a summer breeze; "Diagon Alley,"
Spinning fast, Hermione squeezed her eyes shut and waited for the roaring noise in her ears disappear. She appeared at the aforementioned destination in a flurry of limbs, stumbling out and tracing soot over the wooden floor.
Malfoy followed gracefully, not even stumbling when he stepped out of the fireplace. He glanced around imperiously, before pulling her up at her arm and raised an eyebrow. "You all right, Granger?"
Hermione nodded, glancing up at him with a small smile and followed him out of the public room, past Tom the old Bartender, and out of the pub.
The hour was growing late and Hermione almost knocked over a short bald man in her haste to get out of the pub. It was a good deal colder now and the light was nearly gone. They hurried to the back courtyard, only lit by an enchanted torch, hit the correct bricks to let them through into Diagon Alley and stumbled upon the uneven cobbled street.
Hermione had never been in Diagon Alley during the winter before — nor had she been there during such a late hour either. She couldn't help glancing around fascinated as the dark added a whole new level of magic to the old street. Malfoy almost gallantry allowed her to gaze at the magical lit shop-windows for a while, but gallantry only went so far and he hooked his arm through hers and pulled her along.
Hermione bit her tongue to keep from commenting when he started to lead her down the street, passed the several shops she had been into before. She noticed his eyes flit almost longingly to the Quidditch shop, but he kept walking. When Gringotts loomed over them, he steered them off the main street and down into a shadowy backstreet.
Hermione had never been to Knockturn Alley. It was a lot less crowded, especially when darkness fell and Hermione frowned when her eyes flitted over the strange looking people.
"Stop fidgeting." he hissed and she glared.
"You can't blame me for feeling uneasy here," she whispered back.
"I don't, but you wear your emotions too much on your face," he retorted. "When we are there I will do the talking. You are going to be silent," he told her matter-of-factly and Hermione's eyes narrowed in response.
"Who died and made you king?"
He sighed, quickened his pace and pulled her along not-so-gently. For nearly five full minutes, the pair argued about whom exactly was to speak and Hermione was half ready to hex him. Malfoy growled at her, and Hermione gave a frustrated yell. "You can be impossible."
"Have you ever met yourself?" he asked, before pulling her along over the cobbled street. Hermione was slightly surprised there was almost no snow in London while the north of Scotland was hidden under a thick blanket of the white substance. "I've been raised to play the political games, while you were raised to speak the truth and most of all speak your bloody mind at all times."
"There's nothing wrong with that!" she angrily retorted.
"Yes, there is, and now shut up!" he snapped back, before knocking on a wooden door. A middle-aged man with almost no hair and a large nose answered the door. He took one look at Malfoy's hair, before stooping low.
"Young Master Malfoy, please come in." he glanced at Hermione with a raised eyebrow. "Miss…"
"Granger," Hermione answered, "Hermione Granger."
The man nodded again. "Follow me, please."
They followed him up a winding staircase, towards the second floor. They arrived at an office and Hermione glanced around with curious eyes. The office itself was rather spacious with large windows decorated the wall. The lawns were visible through the windows, and Hermione squinted her eyes at the strange magical creature that lay under a loan oak tree.
"Ah, Mister Malfoy," a man said jovially. "And Miss Granger, I'm charmed."
"Mr Peterson," Malfoy greeted stiffly and Hermione smiled slightly nodding at the man.
Mr Peterson was a chubby short man with thinning grey hair, his pink scalp was clearly visible across the top of his head. He was dressed in a purple dress robe, and wore tortoiseshell glasses, balancing on the tip of his nose.
"Please take a seat," he said, waving them towards two chairs that had been placed in front of his wooden desk. His desk was empty, except for a mug full of quills and a notebook full of mathematic questions.
Hermione glanced at Malfoy, who gracefully stepped towards one of the chairs and sat with down with a small polite smile. Hermione followed his lead, crossing her legs and intertwining her fingers onto her lap. Mr Peterson watched them with interest.
"Your Father had already told me you were coming." Mr Peterson said, breathing on his spectacles, carefully cleaning the lenses with a handkerchief from his pocket. "I was rather surprised Lucius Malfoy let you go anywhere unsupervised."
Hermione noticed Malfoy's jaw tense and she pursed her lips, digging her nails into the back of her hands. "My father doesn't think it to be necessary to attend to business like this. He is, after all, a busy man."
"Of course," the older man answered, pushing his tortoiseshell spectacles on his nose. His cheeks had reddened and Hermione thought with a frown that this all excited him.
"Miss Granger," he asked, glancing at her with a raised eyebrow. "I don't think I've ever heard of you."
"That's possible," Hermione answered back stiffly. "I've never heard of you either."
Next to her Malfoy groaned. Peterson cleared his throat again and flicked quickly through his papers with a glare of concentration.
"We wondered," Hermione started, before sighing. "I know you make the strongest, sometimes a bit frowned upon, potions."
"Granger!" Malfoy hissed, but Mr Peterson chuckled.
"She's feisty," Mr Peterson smiled; "It's not a problem, Mister Malfoy, I think I like it."
"Hm, that's all good and well," Malfoy answered, glancing at her; the silent warning rather clear, "I take it that my father informed you of the dire of this situation?" Malfoy asked and Hermione's mouth slacked open. He sat up straight, legs crossed at the knees and hands clasped together as if he was dealing with a bothersome employee at a meeting.
"It's always business with you lot, isn't it?" the older man muttered.
"If you wouldn't mind."
"You're asking me to give away my clients." Mr Peterson told the young Slytherin matter-of-factly. "That's not something I can take lightly."
"You will be rewarded handsomely," Malfoy answered flippantly. "I want those names."
The man smirked and tapped his fingers on the table. "How much are those names worth, hm, young Mister Malfoy?"
"How much is your freedom worth to you?" Hermione snapped, crossing her arms over her chest. "I'm sure his father," she continued, pointing a finger at Draco Malfoy's blond head to accentuate her words. "would love to inform the Ministry of your— business…"
"I see," Mr Peterson muttered; a dark expression passed over his face, like a shadow falling.
"It is not needed, If you cooperate you will be financially compensated." Draco Malfoy explained again, eyeing her as if he'd never really seen her.
"I will have to get the map from my personal files."
"Well?" Hermione asked, drawling her voice in a way Malfoy always did. She saw his eyes grow wide from beside her.
He stalked out of the room, slinking through a door at the back Hermione hadn't noticed before, while muttering about 'bloody Purebloods' and 'who did they think they were'. Malfoy chuckled.
"Did you just use the father card?"
"No, I used the your-father-card," she muttered. "Seems to work wonderfully. You do realise he would have milked it for everything it was worth otherwise?"
"Yes, but I still didn't expect you to threaten her."
"Remember to ask me about Rita Skeeter when we're back at school."
"I'll be sure to do."
The door to the office opened again and Mr Peterson stepped in with a colourful file under his arm. He sat back down in his leather chair and placed the file in front of them. "I hope you both realise that most of my customers don't use their own name," he asked, an imperious eyebrow raised.
Hermione nodded slowly. Although she hadn't thought about it, that made sense. She wasn't sure if she would want to order something under her own name from here. Malfoy snatched the file off of the table, his patience finally drained and his eyes more alive in anger. This was the first time she had seen that much of emotion on his face. At least regarding the whole Love Potion incident.
She watched him studying what seemed to be a list of names. Hermione felt torn between snatching it away and glancing at it herself, and a certain curiosity; wondering what he would do. She felt his magic, actually felt it, as it emanated from him in hostile waves of pure energy. Mr Peterson seemed to feel it too, but other than scraping his chair back and clenching his hand around his wand, he did nothing.
"This is useless." he hissed and Hermione finally gave in to her desire and snatched the file out of his hands.
There were seven people who had ordered the potion in the last four months. The names were indeed all indecorously. Strange, couldn't be real. Hermione shook her head as she read over the destinations the packages had been sent off to.
"This one was sent to Hogwarts in October," she whispered, "Alfred Vane?"
"No, it was sent to Hogsmeade, Granger," Malfoy muttered and she rolled her eyes.
"Just when I thought you were clever," she muttered, before pointing at the date. "The sixteenth of December was a Hogsmeade weekend," she explained pointedly, tapping her index finger on the paper.
Malfoy frowned. "They must have sent it to the post office."
"Can't say I blame them," Hermione retorted. "With that bloody woman on the loose, it would be very unwise to send it to the castle instead."
"Don't we know a Vane?" Malfoy asked, his eyes narrowed and Hermione nodded.
"Yes, Romilda Vane, a Gryffindor," — Malfoy gave her a smug look, which she ignored — "she's in Ginny's year or the year below her, but I know who she is."
"She's not a boy though." Mr Peterson muttered and Hermione raised an eyebrow.
"You've actually met this person?"
His cheeks turned a dull pink and Malfoy chuckled. "No, I haven't. Just the name— Well, I suppose pretending to form a different sex would work…"
"I suppose it would." Draco mimicked, before pulling a … with galleons out of his pocket and dropped it on the table. "I will be taking this," he continued, snatching the file out of Hermione's hands and pushed it into his bag. "You were of some help, so we are thankful."
"But that's my client list."
Malfoy glared at the older man. "I'm sure I don't really care."
"Right," he muttered; eyeing the money with obvious greed. "Well, I suppose I could miss that list."
"You better not be selling that particular potion again," Hermione whispered under her breath but he heard her all the same. He might have wanted to argue, but in a fit of pure genius, she thought of Rita Skeeter and how she would make sure to drag his name through the mud. Love Potions might have been legal and although the victims only got blamed, they were still frowned upon. And as Draco Malfoy led her out of the door with a huge smirk, he was left trembling.
Hermione proceeded by going to his shop, bought the man out of his entire stock of love potions, before smashing them on the floor. All the while yelling about how Romilda Vane was going to get it, and how Ronald Weasley was the biggest pig-head on the planet — which had actually zero to do with the subject — and it felt good. It felt so good to finally let it all out. And when they returned to Hogwarts, Hermione clasping Malfoy's hand and Malfoy leaning slightly into her, she felt happier than she had all year.
To be continued…
A/N: And here is chapter nine. My favourite part of this chapter would be the moment Hermione smashed the entire stock of Love Potions. I really don't get how using Love Potions are not illegal. Anyway, I hope you all enjoyed this chapter!
Please comment!
Harry Potter does not belong to me, but to J.K. Rowling.