Selling Souls
Chapter XI
Hermione let the silk slide through her hands, running like water across her skin. She traced a finger across the detailed embroidery and smiled.
"I didn't think you'd go for green, Hermione," a voice interrupted.
"Me neither," Hermione mumbled, dropping the skirts of the dress and turning to Ginny, who was herself admiring a blue dress with gold trim.
"It is of the finest quality," the shopkeeper said, bustling over in a flash of silk and brocade. "Made by the best dress-elves in all of Paris. Their little fingers do the most detailed of stitching, you see."
"I'm sure," the head girl responded, glancing over the long rows of dresses, all in a multitude of colours, and feeling hopelessly lost. "But I don't think it's my colour."
"Nonsense," the woman trilled in her French accent. "Green perfectly suits you, ma chérie! You will look divine. You simply must try it on."
"Well it does suit the theme," Ginny said with a shrug to her friend as the two of them were shepherded into changing rooms.
"Thanks for coming with me, Ginny," Hermione called through the thin wall, as she peeled off her school uniform, listening to the rustle of clothes as Ginny did the same in the neighbouring booth. "You know what I'm like when it comes to dresses."
"It's good to spend some time with you. I've hardly seen you this year, you've been so busy. And now organising the Ball the top it off!" That's only half of it, Hermione thought to herself, pulling the soft material over her shoulders and casting a spell that would tighten the laces at the back. She could still hear Ginny struggling with swathes of silk so she leant against the wall of her changing room to wait.
"Has Harry asked you to the Ball then?" There was a pause.
"No . . . Not yet." Was there a hint of anger in Ginny's voice? Hermione mused. "I understand that for a long time he was scared that he could lose me, or that I would lose him, but now there's no danger I can't understand why he's still being so distant," Ginny sighed.
"Don't let him make you wait forever," Hermione advised. "Show him that you're tired of waiting for him to be ready."
"How do I do that?"
"Simple. Go with someone else to the Ball. I'm sure there's a queue of guys just waiting to ask you." There was no reply from Ginny, which made Hermione sure that the red head was considering the idea. The Headgirl smiled to herself.
"So," she called, "does green suit me?" She swept out of the dressing room in a ripple of emerald silk, watching Ginny emerge from hers in a gown of beautiful blue and gold.
"I hate to admit this but you should definitely get it," Ginny admired.
The rain hammered upon the window frame as outside the whole school was swamped in murky grey gloom. You wouldn't be able to tell it was spring if not for the carpet of yellow daffodils that had suddenly sprung up on the lawn outside the castle. Draco sat on his bed staring at the piece of paper wistfully. It was looking a little tattered around the edges now, and slightly singed on one side where it had been held near to the fire. But Draco could still see Hermione's looping signature slanting across the bottom.
He had kept the piece of parchment close by ever since it had been signed but now he was beginning to contemplate whether or not he really needed it any more. What would be the harm in giving it back to Hermione? Would she run a mile as soon as she was free? Would this tug on his heart go away? He didn't want a slave; he wanted someone who would stand by him willingly. How could he ever know if Hermione was that person if the Bond between them forced her to be by his side anyway?
Of course her very touch would no longer be able to take away all the pain in his heart, but he rarely felt any anymore. Somehow her very presence had washed him clean. He felt new, he felt rejuvenated, he felt scoured of all that had been evil and hateful in him. He didn't need to guard this pathetic piece of paper to feel better about himself. He didn't need to own Hermione to know she was there for him. Or did he?
Draco was contemplating this as there came a tap on the glass pane of his window. Looking up, he saw a bedraggled owl pecking furiously at the glass, hunched up against the pelting rain. He let the bird in, which swooped over to his writing desk, ruffling its feathers and hooting mournfully, droplets dripping from its beak. Feeling an uncharacteristic amount of sympathy for the poor creature, Draco cast a charm that dried the owl and gave it a broken piece of biscuit. Fully dried, the owl appeared rather smart, with the speckled feathering that marked it as a screech owl from the Ministry. It dropped its letter on the desk as it pecked at the crumbs of biscuit.
Draco picked up the letter, which had been charmed to remain dry, and studied the envelope.
Mr. D. Malfoy,
The Heads' Tower,
5th Floor,
Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry
Turning it over, Draco saw the letter had been stamped with a wax seal depicting two wands clashing in a duel of some sort. From experience he knew that this was the seal for the department of Magical Law Enforcement in the Ministry of Magic. His fingers hovered at the seal, wondering whether to tear it open or not. He had a vague idea what the letter contained but he knew that if he opened it and found out for sure, there would be no way he would be able to hide it from Hermione. A single touch from her and she'd know, How could he hide that kind of anxiety? And he didn't want her to worry too.
No, he'd wait until after the Ball, he decided. Then . . . Then things would be different. He didn't know how, he just knew that the Ball was going to be a turning point in some way. Draco slipped the envelope into his pocket and looked down at the signed parchment that contained the most precious thing to him. Things would definitely be different after the Ball, but whether that would be for better or for worse he couldn't yet tell.
"No, not there, a bit higher . . . yes, just there is perfect!" Hermione called, supervising two sixth years waving wands, as they charmed banners of green silk to the walls. "That looks fantastic. Now if you could just do the same with the other banners." Sweeping away, the head girl dodged a pair of Hufflepuffs carrying a table and weaved her way between the columns on one side of the ball room, stopping every now and then to rearrange a flower display. There was a buzz of excitement in the air as students bustled to and fro, charming decorations into place or conjuring more leafy vines to entwine themselves around the balcony.
"Ok, that goes on the dais," Hermione ordered, pointing to one side of the hall as students carried a variety of instruments over to the stage. "And make sure you don't block the . . . Ron!" Hermione said as her best friend approached.
"Hi, Hermione. The hall is looking amazing," Ron said, wringing his hands nervously.
"Thanks, Ron. It's getting there. Sorry I haven't had time to speak to you lately, I've just been really busy."
"That's ok. I just wanted to ask if . . . Well, I don't know if you have a . . . date to the Ball yet, but I-"
"Not going to happen, Weasley," Draco suddenly interjected, having appeared from nowhere. "Headboy and Headgirl do not have dates. Granger's going to be far too busy making sure the fifth years don't sneak firewhiskey into the drinks." Ron's face coloured a bright red and he turned to Hermione, expecting her to interject. She glanced between the two, wishing she could be anywhere else.
"He does have a point, Ron. I will be busy," she said, shrugging apologetically. Ron's face darkened an even deeper shade.
"Ah, right . . . of course. I – I should have thought of that," he muttered before turning round and hurrying out of the hall.
"Ron! . . . Ron!" Hermione shouted after him but he had already disappeared around the corner. The volunteer students had all stopped to stare. Hermione sighed and rubbed her temples tiredly.
"That's it! The hall's done. Thank you everyone but you can go now! We'll see you all tomorrow!" she said, clapping her hands together and shooing the volunteers out of the door with a motion of her hands. When they had finally left, Hermione span around to look at Draco, who had a smug smile on his face.
"No dates? Since when was that decided?"
"Oh come on, I was doing you a favour. You've been avoiding him for weeks. We both know the very thought of dancing with the Weasel has had you running."
"That's not entirely true . . . but I was avoiding him."
"Of course you were. Who wouldn't?" Draco chuckled cruelly, taking a look at the hall in its finished glory.
The room was decked in vines, twisting and growing over every surface and winding around the columns, trailing from the ceilings and the chandeliers. Nestled within the leaves were small flowers of every colour. Silk banners hung from the ceiling and flowed down the walls to the floor. Ferns and flower arrangements lined the walls and brushed against those that walked by with a gentle touch. Along one wall long trestle tables formed a row, decked with rich table cloths, and awaiting the feast that would be prepared in the morning. The flagstones of the large open dance floor had been polished and shone beautifully.
Hermione walked around in slow circles, admiring her planning and handiwork.
"It will be a good night, Hermione. You don't have to worry."
"Who says I'm worried?" Draco walked over to her. In the mellow candlelight the floor shone invitingly. He wrapped an arm around her waist from behind, resting his chin on her shoulder.
"Have you practiced dancing?" he murmured. Hermione turned round and wrapped her arms around his neck.
"Who says I'm going to dance?" she smirked.
"Just one little one?" Draco asked, spinning her around. They began to sway in time to a silent beat, winding around the hall and twirling across the gleaming floor. Hermione held a hand to Draco's cheek and looked into his eyes.
"You're anxious," she stated, knowing immediately as soon as she made skin contact. "Is it the ball . . . or something else?" Draco looked at her for a second before glancing away, twirling her around once more and pulling her tight to his chest. They swayed in silence for a few minutes until he finally spoke.
"My mother has three fingers missing. Did you know that? . . . No, no one knows that." There was a sour look on his face as Hermione looked up in confusion, wondering where this was going.
"Draco, I-"
"Do you know how she lost them? . . ." Hermione's lips pressed together. She knew he didn't want an answer. Images flashed through her mind, images that weren't hers but his. They were still dancing circles around the Ballroom, pressed close together. She had almost forgotten how strange it was to be so close to this blonde boy, so unreachable yet so vulnerable, even if he tried to hide it. That's it, let me in, her heart sang.
"My - my father cut them off." Hermione's mind was filled with screams, sobbing, begging, cackling laughter, Draco's memories echoing around her head. She wanted to flinch and break away, remove the contact that swamped her vision with gruesome images, ones she had only caught glimpses of when she absorbed his nightmares. But Draco had a grip around her waist, spinning her in faster and faster circles until the hall blurred.
"He used a muggle knife . . . once because she refused to sleep with him, another time because she tried to stop him beating me . . . and once because she accidentally spilt tea on his lap. Just tea . . . It was an accident. She was the only person to ever try and protect me. She was the only person I could ever trust. And I just stood and watched as he did that . . ." Hermione saw a frightened blonde boy huddled in the corner as a man fought with a struggling woman. A teacup was lying on the floor, the rich rug stained dark with liquid. She wanted to look away, to close her eyes but she couldn't.
Suddenly Draco broke away from her, turning his back. Hermione felt dizzy, disorientated. It took her a few seconds to realise she was no longer seeing Draco's memories. Eventually she approached him.
"I don't want you to look at me. I'm weak . . . I'm so weak." Hermione smoothed her hands over his shoulders. "I couldn't protect her. I couldn't stop him from turning her mad."
"You're not weak. Not anymore." She forced him to turn around and look at her. "And he is locked away. He can't hurt either of you anymore." She kissed him on the lips, wrapping her arms tightly around him. He blinked back unshed tears, taking a deep breath, and stroked her cheek.
"You know, Hermione Granger, I think I'm becoming rather fond of you."
"And I'm fond of you too, Draco." There was smile on Hermione's lips but inside her heart a war raged.
A.N. What's this? An update? This chapter is a belated Christmas present to all my readers. Thank you so much for the reviews and support and I'm sorry that I leave such big gaps between updating. If moving countries and then moving again to start university is an adequate excuse then I'm going to throw it out there! (Not that I think it is!)
For those of you that despair with waiting, I do promise that I will eventually finish this story. But honestly if you get really impatient then send me a message to remind me. Most of my chapters have been produced simply because I've received a review or message demanding to know why I haven't updated and that has reminded me/pushed me into writing out the next one. There's no bigger incentive than knowing you have people who appreciate your story and are waiting to read more.
Thanks to everyone who reviewed my last chapter. I normally write a little thank you message back but haven't had the time lately. So if you reviewed but didn't get a thank you message then I apologise and will try to send one next time.
Finally, if you really love Hermione/Draco stories then I recommend visiting my page and click on my newly published story Founders, Keepers. It is a little different to the conventional DM/HG stories but is actually very similar in some aspects. If you like Selling Souls, then I promise you will like Founders, Keepers.
Shameless advertising over, I wish you a very Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year! Xx
Anna