~Chapter 11: Undisturbed~

"You're positive?"

"I'm pretty sure… yes," Daphne let out a horrendous breath of uncertainty to contradict the statement – her shoulders tensed and feeling like she'd just finished a seven-hour long Quidditch practice. "I told you! We knew this could happen; it's textbook protocol. If the department did send her off somewhere –"

"Where?"

"I… I don't know. There's no way to know where –"

"And why the hell not? Your dad's Head Auror at the bloody Ministry! Surely if anyone could figure that out, it'd be you."

She looked down, running her fingers along the soft sheets beneath her. "Not really… It doesn't exactly qualify as an appropriate topic to discuss over breakfast, now does it?"

"Well, make it a dinnertime chat then. I'm not going to play cat and mouse with these mindless Ministry robots for weeks on end – if what you're saying is true."

"They're just doing their jobs…" Daphne felt a pang of guilt swell. "Besides, how would I explain my knowledge over anything regarding this case? Everything surrounding it is confidential. No one outside the department is supposed to know anything."

A traitor. She was a traitor of the highest accord.

"What if you're wrong." It was hardly even a question, more of an accusation. "I mean, honestly. That moronic Gryffindor would get herself killed trying to face Voldemort again before risking her hard-earned title at 'bravest idiot' –"

"But if the threat is deemed large enough, the Ministry would practically force her into it," Daphne countered. "They've done it before with other cases… They'll do anything to avoid a murder on their hands; especially of anyone so significant."

'Persuaded heavily' was the exact annotation Daphne remembered reading off one of the old files. A case from back in the late 60s, one which had long since been solved and closed, now alive solely in the form of dusty old Ministry records. Records which were far too accessible for anyone who made it their mission to read them.

The case files stolen and duplicated from her father's office told much of the same mundane stories: A marriage gone bad; an ex who just couldn't let go; a coworker with some strange obsession. The multitude of Anti-Tracking Spells and Concealment Charms reported on their tattered pages had long since been cashed in on; the investigative tactics used by the Ministry were anticipated and blocked.

But this…

No, unfortunately, this they hadn't planned for.

Daphne finished quietly, "You know that house-elf thing went a step too far –"

"Oh Merlin, not this shit again!" The tone itself might as well have been a punch straight to the face. "It was already fucking dead… It's not my fault my mother insisted on keeping that diseased thing around for so long. At least it's decaying body was 'put to good use' – weren't those your exact words, Daph?"

"Good luck explaining that to the Wizengamot." Daphne began a sarcastic imitation, "…'Oh no, of course, I didn't kill the poor creature. I only stabbed it a few times, post-mortem. That's all.'… That'll go over brilliantly, don't you think?"

"Oh, shut up; quit your dramatics. There won't be a need to explain anything. Ever."

There'll be no need because the verdict of guilty would be reached faster than an old memory after dipping into a Pensieve.

Guilty. Because that precisely what they were.

Daphne let out a groan of frustration. "I hope you're right."

"Of course, I am…"

She felt a piece of hair tuck behind her shoulder, the tender motion involuntarily sending a chill down her spine. Daphne glanced up, dark eyes blending into her blue ones.

There was no opportunity to reply before the husky whisper came suddenly:

"You know how much I need you, right?"

Because of her connection to confidential information – but Daphne decided against voicing that suspicion.

"I know," Daphne nodded. "I need you, too."

"Good." The soft touch delivered to her arm induced a whirlwind of confusing emotions. "So, find out if that ridiculous theory of yours is correct."

"And if it is?" questioned Daphne.

"Then find out where they're hiding her."

"But what if I can't –"

"Shhh…" Her lips sealed shut by the press of an index finger. "You're brilliant – I know you can. No more worries right now. Got it?"

"But –"

"Stop it. Right now… Lay back, beautiful."

Daphne's body was pushed against the bed, the hand which reached in-between her thighs and the lips brushing along her earlobes forcing out all cautious doubts in one single instant. Intelligence and self-restraint were both long since gone as her unspoken objection hitched with a low groan in the back of her throat.

"You know how much I need this, don't you?"

The murmur was nearly inaudible, rough and delivered straight into Daphne's ear by a breath of warm air. It was neither about her, nor the teasing motions which drove her back to arch and whimpers to fill the space around them. Daphne felt her smile fall the tiniest bit because of the demanding question. Because of what she knew it implied and what she knew it would never be said in reference to.

Because the words meant something so entirely different to her.

xXx

Hermione cast a quick Drying Spell on her hair after she de-steamed the bathroom's gold-trimmed mirror to reveal her reflection staring back. Her damp skin practically needed one also, the wrinkles on her finger pads triggering her to question the saneness of a decision to spend nearly forty-five minutes underneath a constant stream of scalding water. She may as well have been a walking raisin by that point.

But Gods, how the hot water always soothed her into a moment of tranquillity.

Once all nightly rituals had been performed, Hermione exited the bathroom and into the stillness of her adjoining bedroom. She felt guilty for her eagerness towards upcoming sleep, the time not even past ten o'clock and her day not spent doing anything physically strenuous.

Mentally strenuous was a different story entirely.

It had rained the past two days, and Hemione vowed to herself – if it was even remotely sunny outside tomorrow – she would spend at least a fraction of her time outside. Mipsey could Apparate them into the gardens, or she could walk down to the lake by herself even. She needed fresh air. A different perspective than simply the four walls which currently enclosed her or the one person who somehow always found her.

Malfoy.

Gods, that man was going to give her a bloody aneurysm from pure aggravation before she even got a chance to regain normalcy from this.

His stunt earlier that day made her laugh more so than anything; she almost wanted to question him about it. Question why he stood there with a confused look plastered across his face. Question why he stared at her so intently as she offered him 'rubbish music' on her 'primitive Muggle contraption'. And maybe most of all, question why he constantly seemed to have this defensive stance about everything. Was it just some front as if to feign indifference and make her feel like she was the enemy? They had never got along before, but this had to be considered an extenuating circumstance. She was at least trying – damn it, she was. Though, by then, it made little sense as to why.

Why was she so set on cracking the confusing egg which was Draco Malfoy's psyche?

The confusing egg?

Merlin, she was becoming delirious.

Hermione sighed, realising no answers would come from that night alone. Perhaps none would come at all; her mother always used to stress, some things were better left undisturbed anyway. Perhaps this was one of them.

Draco dormiens nunquam titillandus.

It was the silliest thing which could have popped into her mind right then – the Hogwarts motto – a clear representation of how nonsensical she was being. But then again, maybe she had a lesson to learn from it, after all. Never tickle a sleeping dragon; even if the dragon seemingly didn't sleep and tickling meant nothing more than a pleasant hum of her vocal cords.

The thought made her lips purse together into an almost-smile as her eyes flashed over to the coffee table where her journal lay sitting.

The Sleeping Draught which Mipsey had provided touched the skin of her lips before Hermione paused, narrowing her eyes and lowering the phial before tipping it back completely.

What in Godric's name?

Unfortunately, it also seemed clear in that exact moment; some things were unable to be left undisturbed.

xXx

"Seriously, Malfoy?"

Hermione had crossed the hallway within seconds, almost surprised when the doorknob she grasped didn't present her with resistance as she charged through its closed passageway, guns blazing. She stood near the entrance now, her eyes glazed with annoyance as her assumption of Malfoy being within his study proved correct.

He was sitting at the potion's work bench, three empty phials and a textbook laid out in front of him, blond hair hanging down into his eyes as he studied the book's open pages. His attention snapped up after she'd spoken the challenging words.

"Seriously, Granger?" Malfoy mimicked with a clear twinge of annoyance.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she pressed.

"Me?" he feigned surprise. "You are aware of the social construct in which a closed door indicates for you to knock before entering –"

"Oh no," Hermione waggled her finger in his direction. "No... Absolutely not. You don't get that privilege anymore, you see. Not after earlier today… And certainly not after now."

He smirked, and Hermione could tell he knew precisely what she referenced.

"Well, if you hadn't left your door open earlier –"

"Where is it?" Hermione demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. She didn't allow him to finish; she didn't care for him to complete his petty quip regarding his strange demand that her door was to be kept constantly closed.

So what if she had left it open again – if not simply to prove a point – once he'd slammed it shut earlier in the day? He still had no bloody right…

"I have no idea what you're talking about," he replied, looking back down at his potions book as if she was nothing more than a fly buzzing around his head.

"My CD player," she explained, taking a few steps forward. "It's missing from my room, and I know you took it, Malfoy. Where. Is. It?"

"Me?" he pointed to himself with more feigned shock. "What in the world would I want with your useless Muggle shit?"

"You tell me because I'm genuinely confused… Maybe you could also enlighten me as to why someone would come into my room while I'm showering and steal my personal belongings –"

"How about you ask the thieving house-elf that you adore so much," he interrupted. "Considering she seems to know a lot about plucking items out of one's personal belongings."

So that's what this was? Payback? Curiosity? Malfoy's lifelong goal to make sure he fit the bill perfectly for the most insufferable prat she'd ever met? He was doing a marvellous job thus far.

So then why did his painted-on expression tell a different story?

He was lying, clearly. She knew it as well as he did. But the way he glanced up made Hermione pause the aggravated reply which almost passed by her lips. For some terrible reason, she had the most inappropriate urge to laugh just as she'd done earlier. At everything – at him, at her pettiness, at their ridiculous roundabout bickering which never solved anything.

But she didn't; she didn't laugh, and she didn't try to contend his ludicrous suggestion like she rightly should have. Instead, there was only silence – the wordless air flowing between them more terrible than any blaring argument.

He gazed at her in the same way he had after she'd offered him the Walkman earlier. With a speck of intrigue, a flicker of curiosity. A look Hermione couldn't read, and it perplexed her more than she wished to admit.

The expression wasn't one of anger or glaring disgust. It was the strangest thing she'd ever seen: an open-mouthed smirk with a glint of mischief. He began speaking, and she caught herself unable to form a reply once more.

"Was there something else you wanted, Granger?"

His teeth were ridiculously white. Almost distractingly so; his smile appearing as if ceramic veneers capped their unnaturally straight surface. Dental work which her parents would swoon over… except it wasn't. They'd looked like that since forever ago – a trait which Hermione remembered her thirteen-year-old-self secretively envying, loathing the boy every time he'd mock her horrendous overbite or large front teeth.

Clearly, he still deserves that loathing! Hermione's mind screamed and she snapped back to reality.

Because there she stood, within Malfoy's study, silent and staring shamelessly at his mouth. What a pity – such a handsome feature ruined by the vile things that passed alongside their perfect structure.

She nearly slapped herself for the impetuous thought. Thankfully, an idea popped into her head right then.

"No, that was all," Hermione breathed, plastering on the fakest smile possible. "Hmmm, and you know, now that I think of it, I probably misplaced it somewhere… How silly of me. Sorry, Malfoy – Enjoy the rest of your night. Keep an eye out, will you?"

Malfoy's eyelid nearly twitched because of her sudden stand down. He always did know how to bite back after heated frustration – but kindness? No, that always seemed to trip him up a fair bit more.

If it was some childish game that he wanted to play, she'd play it better. If he wanted to elicit a reaction from her – she'd get one better.

She'd get his eyebrows to shoot up, his piercing grey eyes to enlarge at the surprise from such undeserved softness. He expected her to shout with fists clenched, but instead, she solicited a different approach.

One which caused her chest to constrict.

Merlin, why was that Cauldron making the room so hot?

"Alright," he said, emulating her calmness. "I will."

Hermione stopped in midstride, forcing herself to halt at the doorway before leaving.

"Thank you. Goodnight," she said sweetly. "Oh – and, Malfoy… Just so you know..."

"What?"

"Track eleven's my favourite on there."

He scowled back, looking as if she stood there speaking a foreign language. Hermione winked, wondering what deity had possessed her to shell out the most ridiculous nonverbal cue possible.

"You know… Just in case you find it, that's all."

xXx

Draco raked his fingers roughly through strands of white blond hair once he was alone, nothing more than a bubbling cauldron and his sudden crinkling of the manuscript's pages left to fill the silence. He bent forward, opening a drawer beneath his work desk and removing the item which lay tucked away neatly within its compartment.

He hadn't meant to take it. Why would he? He had no interest in the blasted thing.

But when Granger had left her door open for the second time that day, he went in with every intention of demanding why she felt the dire need to display her presence outright for anyone who walked by.

Anyone being only him, but he wasn't going to bring up that part.

However, upon entering the room, he saw no Granger. Instead, he found only the sounds of a running shower and her shit splayed out across a table – a journal and that idiotic Muggle music player left for anyone to come in and see.

Not that looking at it was his original plan…

He didn't even know why he was drawn to the stupid thing in the first place; picking up and turning it over as if he actually cared to learn how it worked. Not even Salazar himself knew why he did it: curiously pressing a combination of different knobs on its front facing side until the contraption sprang to life and began making noises.

But when the shower had suddenly stopped, he'd panicked – the stupid Muggle piece of shit wouldn't turn off. He couldn't just leave it playing or else Granger would've known he'd been in her room and go utterly ballistic… So, Draco did the only sensible thing which he'd thought of in that hurried moment.

Right, about as sensible as going in there in the first place.

In truth, he'd planned to sneak back in and make the return while she was sleeping. He had no intent on keeping it. Why would he?

But now… no, now he'd have to burn the bloody thing.

She knew he took it; she made that fact perfectly evident. Leave it to Granger to notice the tiniest and most useless item missing from her sodding room.

If he gave it back now, it would be an admission of defeat; a representation of remorse. Precisely what she wanted and precisely what he wouldn't give her the satisfaction of. Proving that he cared about her idiotic Muggle things by trying to play some mind game with him.

After all, she had fucking winked at him. For Salazar's sake, was she drunk or something? Draco made a mental note to check his liquor cabinet at some point to verify Granger hadn't done some prying herself. For that had to be the only explanation why she had stood within his study, staring at him like a bleeding leper as she chewed at her lip.

Draco pushed out the distracting thoughts and focused on the item now displayed atop his potions workbench.

He was rather proud of himself. He'd figured out how to turn it both on and off – proving Granger blatantly wrong about just how primitive the object was – manufactured so that even a five your old could likely operate it.

He toyed with the device for a split second, flipping it over and hitting the newly discovered switch to cause a muffled sound to begin playing. A part of him wanted to fling it against a wall. However, another part of him, the annoyingly curious part, somehow won out with little persuasion necessary.

xXx

Track eleven was, in fact, rubbish.

Complete and utter rubbish that Draco wasn't even positive constituted as music, even less than whatever ruddy tune Granger was humming earlier. It was wailing with an upbeat; words that apparently Muggles were simpleminded enough to consider clever lyrics. A testimony to their inferiority – even their music radiated with ill taste.

So then stop listening…

But when that tiny little number changed to sixteen, he couldn't help but press the left arrow – after figuring out that it made the thing go back a song previous.

Fine, so track fifteen wasn't terrible.

In fact, it was so not-terrible enough that he might have pressed the back arrow again. And again. Until finally, he allowed the remainder of the songs to play out.

Not that he would ever admit that to Granger. No, she couldn't know – his giving in to temptation by listening to the stupid thing. He'd have to destroy the evidence now. Maybe frame her trusty house-elf sidekick? He could probably just order the thing to falsely confess to taking it, though it was doubtful she'd believe a word.

Draco pushed down the consideration, wondering why he even bothered to care in the first place. He could toss the thing off a roof and watch it shatter to pieces without feeling a shred of guilt. The girl wasn't poor; she could buy another or Confound a Muggle as to easily get a new one.

It was late by the time he finally turned in for the night. Draco tucked the device back into his drawer and decided the whole tossing it off the roof thing or likewise destruction could wait until tomorrow.

He exited his study, smirking to himself when his eyes flashed to Granger's door. It was finally closed, unlike the past two times. Thank Salazar – who bloody left their bedroom door wide open anyway?

He turned to head in the direction of his own room when a noise coming from behind Granger's door stopped him from walking any further. This time though, it wasn't humming. The noise was more of a whispered voice, sounding something like an actual conversation.

Was there someone in there with her? Who in the fuck could she possibly be talking to? It was bloody late; did she sneak someone in or something?

No, that was preposterous. The wards were impermeable; no one even knew she was staying there…

Or did they?

Did she owl her Gryffindor gang of misfits about his home being her newest bed and breakfast destination, and they'd lost their wits about it – swooping in now to rescue her from such a disparaging fate?

The thoughts were laughable, but bloody hell, he could swear she was still talking; his ear pressed up against the door, trying to listen to her stifled words. Frustrated and uncaring about much else, (save for finding out the source of such ruckus) he cracked open the door.

Granger's voice came through loud and clear:

"Stop."

Draco did just that, halting dead in his tracks and questioning his mental soundness right then. His body stood frozen in the entryway, his eyes gazing into the blackness of her room as light from the hallway pooled in.

There was no one in there with her. Unless they were lying in the darkness together; the consideration alone nearly enough to turn his knuckles white from the tightened grip of his wand. Draco had to force himself not to barge in and light up the entire bedroom. Thankfully, from what he could barely make out, there was only one body outlined in the blackness surrounding her bed.

"Were you talking to yourself?" he asked into the dark room.

"STOP!"

"I'm not coming any closer, relax!" Draco replied, holding up his hands as if to wave a white flag. "I heard you talking –"

"No…"

"Yes," he argued. "I did. Don't bloody lie. I thought… well, it doesn't matter. Go back to sleep, Granger. Fuck – it's already past three."

"I hate you."

Draco had almost shut the door fully before her words hit like a speeding boulder. He didn't know why they stung so much – or even why they did at all. Of course, she hated him. The fact should have been written in the stars themselves it was so blatantly obvious. Why wouldn't she?

"Trust me," he muttered through clenched teeth, wondering why the reply seemed so difficult to form. "The feeling's mutual."

"No…"

"What do you mean 'no'?" Draco spat. How dare she challenge that? How dare she question it? Of course, he hated her – she was infuriating – annoying, a know-it-all, everything he was raised to despise…

A war and the wreckage of his shattered reputation couldn't change that.

Could it?

"I HATE YOU!"

Draco took a step back from the forcefulness of her reply, the cool sting nearly unbearable by that point.

"Bloody fucking hell, calm down!" Draco felt his blood begin to boil, still speaking into the darkness and not daring to cross over the carpet inside. "Is this seriously about that Muggle radio thing? Christ, Granger – fine. You win. I'll fucking give it back, alright? If it's really that important to you –"

"No, please! Stop it – get off. GET OFF ME!"

The stomach curdling shriek which passed through Draco's ears was easily one of the most excruciating sounds he'd ever heard. A horrific reminisce of Easter break during his seventh year – the same pitch, in the same place, by the same person – her screams transporting him back to that infamous day easier than anything possibly could.

And it needed to stop.

Now.

Immediately.

Upon realising her dark figure was still asleep and thrashing between the covers, he bolted faster than a brand new Nimbus on Christmas morning, lacking any and all composure in that one impulsive move.

Draco ran inside the room, arriving at her bedside faster than he'd ever come to admit.

xXx

"Say it!"

"No!"

"Say it!" the man yelled. "Say you want me, you fucking little whore. Say you bloody love me –"

"I HATE YOU!" Hermione screamed back as he hovered above her.

"Tsk-tsk. What a shame, gorgeous. You'll either live loving me, or you'll die trying to fight this. Trying to fight us. You know you want me – you stubborn little fool."

He was quoting those bloody letters again as Hermione trashed underneath his grip, nearly paralysed from fear. "No, please! Stop it – get off. GET OFF ME!"

He obliged, but she couldn't get another word through edgewise before his Crucio hit, the man's evil cackle melding with her screams as pain seared through every vein – pumping through her heart in tune with each weak gasp escaping her lungs.

"Granger…"

"I told you not to run."

"GRANGER!"

"Please…"

"I told you, you can't outsmart me. I will have you, one way or another. Dead or alive –"

"GRANGER, WAKE THE FUCK UP!"

Hermione's eyelids shot open, gasping for air as both hands flew up to the pair of arms on either side of her own, shaking violently as if to demand her renewed consciousness.

Gone was the murky face of her attacker, and in its place now hovered one she almost didn't recognise – be it her blurry vision adjusting to the room's darkness or the genuinely concerned face she'd never seen worn by Draco Malfoy – she'd never truly know.

For that one millisecond, time stood completely still. Lying beneath the broad frame which sat adjacent, her hands clinging to his forearms for dear life, as if she was going to slip back into that other reality if she even thought about letting go.

Until she finally did.

Hermione sat up in bed, trying to regain some type of regularity in her breathing as brown eyes stayed locked to dim pools of grey. She could make out his outline now, and she waited for the belittling remark that she knew was coming. That she knew always came.

Only it didn't. Further silence passed between them, Hermione's uneven breaths and Malfoy's icy gaze being their only discernable responses.

And suddenly, without any forewarning or logical initiation, she crumbled to pieces like a toppling avalanche. Furious at herself; humiliated by the embarrassing display; weakened because of a lingering nightmare; confused as to how the dancing glow of moonlight against pale skin did unmentionable things to each sharp plane of his face.

What?

Venerable. Weak. Overemotional. Stubborn. Stupid.

Merlin, what's wrong with me?

And just as she would if Harry or Ron were the ones occupying the edge of her bed, she bent over and pressed her forehead again the nearest shoulder to lean on, silent tears spilling over and onto ridiculously soft threads of fabric.

It wasn't even a forethought; there was no deliberate planning involved, only an irrational impulse. She wept softly to keep from exploding, to keep from bottling things up and pretending that she was okay. That everything was always okay.

And so, she waited, with tears stinging her eyes and panic clutching at her chest as the blond completely froze.

She waited for his harsh words to snap her back to her senses, for Malfoy to illuminate just how irrational she was being and to shove her filthiness away from whatever expensive shirt he had on that day. Gods, what was she doing? She looked like a complete nutter right then.

So helpless…

So weak.

When he pivoted ever so slightly to force her head off his shoulder, it was in the opposite direction which she expected. Hermione's breath halted as she felt her tear-stained cheek run alongside his chest until it rested perfectly against his rising and falling sternum.

When two arms gently snaked around her hunched-over body she nearly crumbled all over again, her quiet cries morphing into sobs because Gods – why was she even doing this and why was he still bloody there? Because Malfoy showing her a shred of humanity was not something she needed right then. Or ever. Never did she need that. It felt wrong – unnatural. Completely bizarre.

So then why did his arms around her feel almost… normal?

Why didn't he say anything? Why didn't she?

Why was he allowing her to fall to pieces without giving her a single sign or signal to go off?

No answers came, and when Hermione looked up from behind wet eyes, the only thing which met her gaze was another blurry and unreadable expression, though this one softer. Completely unfamiliar coming from Draco Malfoy, but somehow strangely soothing. The only thing which lit his face was streaks of moonlight and a dim glow originating from the hallway outside.

Hermione froze this time, speechless and unable to form coherent thoughts.

He was close now. So bloody close; his own rough breaths and racing heartbeat morphing together with hers as he forced the most hypnotising eye-contact she'd ever endured. His scent was intoxicating, trace hints of cologne mixed with something else, but bloody hell, she couldn't for the life of her think straight enough to decipher what that something was. She couldn't think straight enough to do anything. She couldn't speak; she couldn't breathe.

And so, she pulled away.

Merlin, she pulled away because if she didn't – one of them surely would have leant straight in.

A/N: Ahhhh, I had so much fun writing this chapter! It's definitely one of my favourites so far, I think. xD I hope you guys liked it too, despite the ending…

Sending all my appreciation to Phinoa for the amazing feedback and help she always gives to me. Love you, boo.

Thanks for reading everyone! Please review, I adore hearing what you guys have to say! It keeps me motivated and makes me smile.

~MMM