The enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall this morning was tinged with red; a sunrise lingering into breakfast-time as though the bright circle was reluctant to ascend. Owls screeched overhead, circling about in the vermilion light. Draco gazed up into the surreal scene and saw the familiar feathers of his father's eagle owl as it descended towards him, the usual box of sweets in its talons not the only reminder of home it bore. The blond Slytherin reached out to retrieve the note tied to its leg, one that smelled faintly of a powdery perfume.
A soft smile graced Draco's face. It's from Mother. Unlike the sporadic letters he received from his father reminding him to uphold the family honor, this was one letter from home he had been eagerly awaiting.
"Malfoy," Crabbe wondered, already fiddling with the string tying the box shut, "is it all right if we -"
"Go ahead," he waved distractedly, not seeing the grins that lit Crabbe and Goyle's faces as their restraint broke and they began to help themselves. His grey eyes scanned the elegantly written lines upon the parchment, anxiously reading.
Draco,
It seems to come too soon for my liking - the fancy that sparks the flame of my only son's transition from boyhood into maturity. I do not know why, but I think mothers would keep their children small forever if we could, cradled in our arms. All the same, I am anxious to hear every detail. Who is the lovely pureblood witch who has enchanted my little Draco's heart? What is her name; which is her family? I know you must be very busy with schoolwork and Quidditch and so I shall not press you for details now, but I very much look forward to Christmastime, when the two of us can sit together and talk. I miss you desperately, but I know you are doing your father and I proud. I'm glad your arm is better, and I hope you'll make use of it and write me again soon. Until then,
Love from Your Mother,
Narcissa Malfoy
Beside him, Crabbe and Goyle were digging heartily into the care package his mother had sent, oblivious to his rapid descent into dismay. Somewhere a thousand miles away from wherever his heart had gone, Goyle exclaimed, "Ooh, she sent Cauldron Cakes this time! My favorite!" Draco could care less about the Cauldron Cakes or even his breakfast, which now lay most unappealingly on his plate.
The pureblood witch, he repeated in his mind. Mother thinks… she assumes… His jaw clenched; his eyes closed involuntarily. I should have expected this. Why did I dare hope she would understand?
Because you wanted it so much, that nagging voice in his mind murmured, thankfully softer and more gently this time than usual.
Draco looked up at the Gryffindor table. Potter was, of course, evidently absent; one did not simply get up and come straight back to class after falling fifty feet off a broom. And, as went the leader of the Goody Do-gooder Trio, so went the other two. Granger and Weasley, he heard, had been predictably noble and stayed closeby their friend in the hospital.
Oh, stop acting like you hate the fact that she's practically a saint, his conscience growled, you like her because she's Little Miss Sanctimonious - because you like having someone in your life you don't have to worry about hurting you.
Yes, but how long can I really keep her in my life? he dolefully wondered, deliberately trying not to look at the letter in his hands. Slowly, Draco folded it up and tucked it into his pocket, hoping he would never have to see it again. He gave the expectant owl its treat and watched as it flew away, with it yet another of his hopes. He pushed back his plate, unable to even think of taking another bite.
Unwilling to risk showing his face in the hospital wing with Weasley and Potter there, Malfoy gave up the idea of seeking out Hermione to comfort him and tell him everything would be all right, but he could not sit there numbly and continue to dwell on the letter. He practically sprang off the bench and grabbed his bookbag, mumbling a lie to his two chocolate-smeared cohorts about needing to see one of his professors before class. They nodded, too dense to question his excuse; at least in instances like this, he could be thankful for the sluggishness of their wits.
Classes were a blur, and at the end of the day, no notes had come from Hermione. Draco went to the library, wandering aimlessly through the rows of shelves. In his mind he relived the moment she had run into him there last year, of their first physical contact, and the fight that had led to their truce. The library was almost sacred to Hermione; it was her special place, her sanctuary. But without her presence, it was just… empty.
Everything was.
ooo LL ooo
Professor Snape climbed the winding stone stairs to the Owlery, order form for Dervish & Banges in hand. Furrowing his brow, the hook-nosed Potions Master read over the list once more, making certain it was correct.
And they'd best not overcharge me again, he thought with annoyance. I don't care if Hogsmeade is closer, it's worth a quick Floo to London if they're going to bill me twenty Galleons for something as rudimentary as a pewter Space Minimizing Mini-Cauldron. Highway robbery.
He had nearly ascended the staircase when he saw that he was not alone. Draco Malfoy stood by the window of the stone turret, leaning rather forlornly against the rocky wall. He was releasing a tiny Scops owl, and had a larger owl sitting beside him, a letter already tied to each leg. The boy looked up as he saw him approaching and quickly stood straight.
"Hello, Professor Snape," he greeted him, wasting no time in scooping up the second owl after the first had flown away.
"Good evening, Mr. Malfoy," Snape replied, taking up one of the Scops from the Local Delivery shelf. "How is your arm recovering?"
"Much better, thank you," Draco replied quickly, turning sideways in an effort to hide the blush of his lie. "I should be ready to start practicing again this week."
"Excellent. I look forward to seeing the look on Potter's face when he loses." Snape gave Malfoy a reassuring smirk.
Draco was slow to smile back, but he met Snape's eye with a determined nod. "Thanks, Professor. I'll see you in class." He hurried away, his usually proud chin tucked low to his chest.
Snape pressed his lips together with concern. He knew, of course, that it was truly Malfoy's worry about not winning that had made him ask for a delay in the game against Gryffindor, and that Malfoy had a perfectly good reason not to want to play against Potter again. The last time he had, he'd nearly been on the receiving end of a torture curse. Snape could say nothing to comfort his abused student or allay his justified fears. All he could do was try to build him up, to make him hopeful.
A cruel enough thing in itself, Snape thought, bitterly wondering just how many hopes had fallen through for him before his own heart had turned to stone. But it must be done. If Malfoy can't win against Potter… I dread to wonder how Lucius will react... and against him, I can do nothing.
Severus released his owl through the window towards Hogsmeade. He sighed softly, thankful for the moment alone away from the darkness of his dungeon. The frigid, gusting air and high altitude could almost make his mind drift away, if just for a second.
The truth was, Draco's situation was a stark reminder of his own unhappy past - a young wizard abused by his father, forced to bear it his pain in silence. A shiver passed through him as he recalled one particularly nasty beating; a fire-poker in his horrid father's dirty hands, the screams of Eileen Prince cutting through the darkness of the night, his own choked cries mingled with them before he'd blacked out… Snape closed his eyes. It's over, he told himself, as he did nearly every day upon waking from yet another nightmare, he's dead. But the past lived on in him, and though bruises healed and cuts mended with time, the pain never fully passed away.
The thought that Lucius was practicing the same cruelty on his son, and that he was powerless to stop it, made Snape almost nauseous. It was true that Draco had the advantages of handsomeness and wealth that he himself had lacked; and that because of those redeeming factors, Draco had been spared the ignominy of being kicked around and mercilessly teased by everyone at school, a fate Severus himself had not escaped. But Snape had learned from watching the world around him that money could not buy happiness any more than beauty could earn more than the illusion of love. Deep down he knew that, if given the choice, Draco would trade everything he had for a life he could live in peace.
Just as I would, he thought, were it not too late for me…
And then, unbidden, a thought flashed across his mind; a face, porcelain-skinned and delicate, with rosy cheeks and merry eyes, framed with raven waves, and a smile so genuine and accepting… Like a ray of moonlight streaming down into the Dark Forest and defeating the gloom wherever it touched, the memory of her presence filled his heart with warmth and life. For the first time in so long, so utterly long, he wanted…
Mentally, Snape slapped himself. Stop being such a sentimental fool. She's too young, too beautiful, and too full of joy to sink her down with your despair. Don't mistake politeness for interest or pity for love. Make no mistake about it, Severus - Hestia Jones would never think of you. And she would be right not to...
ooo LL ooo
Hermione trudged half-asleep back to Gryffindor Tower, eyelids fluttering from multiple days with almost no appreciable rest. Every few seconds she subconsciously reached a hand to her chest, feeling for the cool metallic circle of the Time Turner to make certain it was still there.
Madam Pomfrey had released Harry on the condition that he get plenty of rest. He and Ron ambled just ahead of her, yawning and lamenting the loss of Harry's broomstick.
Hermione hung back a little, trying to settle her thoughts about Ginny. She knew that, given her drowsy state, it was perhaps not the best time to contemplate starting a row with someone she considered a friend. Since the Quidditch match, however, she hadn't had the chance to think of anything but Harry. Now that he was recovered, there were things in her own life that needed resolving.
Like making certain Malfoy, and their secret, remained safe.
Hermione nervously chewed on the end of her fingernail. She would have to confront Ginny about the notes to find out if she knew anything potentially damaging. Now was a good time in one respect - that Ginny would be anxious to hear about Harry and would keep her up asking about him anyway. I guess that settles it, then, Hermione thought, bracing herself as they entered the common room and split up to go to their dormitories. Courage, Hermione. That's why you're here and not in Ravenclaw. You can do this. You have to do it.
Sure enough, Ginny was sitting up in her bed, red hair in pigtails, eyes wide. Before Hermione could even open her mouth to say that Harry was fine, Ginny shot out as if on cue, "Is Harry all right?"
"Yes, Ginny," Hermione nodded briskly, "Madam Pomfrey released him. He and Ron have already went up to bed, and I mean to follow suit very shortly."
"But Hermione!" Ginny almost squeaked. "You haven't told me anything. You spent all that time in the same room with Harry. Did he mention me at all?"
"No, Ginny, he didn't mention much of anything, as most of the time he was unconscious. But now that we're talking of mentioning things, do you happen to remember mentioning something to Ron about some notes I've been receiving?"
Ginny's ears and cheeks turned nearly as red as her hair. "Oops."
Hermione put her hands on her hips. "That's right, oops. Since when is my love life or lack thereof your business? You had no right, no right whatsoever, to act like some pathetic nosy parker and go whispering in Ron's ear like that about me!"
"I thought I was doing the right thing!" Ginny defended.
"By telling Ron I had some sort of secret admirer?" Hermione rebounded. "Ginny, do you have any idea of the trouble you nearly caused?"
"You complained that Ron never really noticed you," Ginny stammered nervously, "so I thought I'd tell him about those notes and make him jealous. I figured if he had any feelings for you at all, finding out some other boy wanted you would make him come out and say it."
"I don't want to have to play games with someone to find out if he likes me, Ginny!" Hermione cried, falling onto her bed and groaning.
"But that's how it works with boys," Ginny said wisely. "Do you think any of them would ever admit to liking a girl on their own? Before seventh year, that is."
"Yes!" Hermione shot back, looking up to give a bleary nod. "As a matter of fact, I do. Which is why I've given up on Ron."
"Oh?" Ginny's jaw dropped. "Hermione, are you saying what I think you're saying?"
"Ginny, honestly, I'm so tired I don't know what I'm saying. I'm so tired it looks like you have two twin sisters sitting on either side of you - that, or you're related to Hagrid's dog Fluffy and you have three heads."
The youngest Weasley pursed her lips. "All right, then. If it wasn't a secret admirer, then who sent you the notes?"
Hermione gave a very bleary version of her most dignified face. "I told Ron, those notes were from a study partner. That's all."
Ginny gave her an odd look. "But you got the first one before classes had even started."
Ouch. Busted. Hermione watched as Ginny's expression went from confused to upset.
"All right, what are you not telling me?" Ginny folded her arms expectantly. "I want details. I want to know who this mysterious admirer of yours is, and why none of us have heard of him until now."
Hermione reached for her pillow, staring at it instead of her friend. "Ginny, please don't ask me. I've promised more than one person not to talk about… him. I can't break that promise. If I did… something awful could happen."
Suddenly, Ginny's face changed. "Are you all right, Hermione? I mean, are you in trouble or something? Is somebody threatening you?"
"No, it's nothing like that," Hermione replied wearily, "I'm fine. It's just… if word gets out that he's even just friends with me, he could be in serious trouble. You have to promise never to ask about it again."
"Hermione, I don't understand. How could this person be in trouble if someone found out he liked you?" Ginny sat puzzled, shaking her head. "I mean, I could see some of those Slytherin fathers going mental if they found out their sons were dating a Muggle-born witch, but you'd never be caught dead with a Slytherin, and besides -"
"Ginny, stop!" Hermione cut in anxiously, realizing that in her exhaustion she had given her too much information, and that Ginny had very nearly guessed what was really going on. "You mustn't say anything more. Please."
Hesitantly, Ginny nodded. "All right. I'll leave you alone. But if you're in any kind of trouble, Hermione, you have to tell me. You have to tell Ron and Harry, too. We're your friends. How can we help you if we don't know what's going on with you?"
"I promise, if I need help, I will tell you," Hermione agreed. "Now… can I please go to sleep? I just have... " she yawned. "So many classes, you know?"
"I know." Smiling now, Ginny reached over to hug her friend. "Absolutely, get some shut-eye. You deserve it. I only wish I could have stayed with you and Ron. Hermione, do you think -"
But the only thing that escaped Hermione's lips in reply was a long, agonized snore.
"Okay, then. Bedtime," Ginny surrendered in a whisper, drawing the curtains closed around Hermione's bed. "But just so you know - agreeing not to ask you questions doesn't mean I won't be keeping my eyes open."
ooo LL ooo
In the shadows of the abandoned History of Magic room that had become his and Hermione's meeting place, Draco Malfoy paced edgily back and forth. The blond Slytherin shook his head, waving his wand at the decrepit, rusty clock on the wall to ascertain the time. "She's late," he murmured nervously. "Maybe she didn't get my note. Maybe she's still sleeping. Maybe she just doesn't want to see me."
"Or maybe she just woke up, maybe she just found your note, and maybe she got here as soon as she could because she missed you."
Draco whirled round to find Hermione staring back at him, smiling broadly. They embraced, and he held her at arm's length. "Bloody hell, go back to bed. You look exhausted."
"Not a chance," she laughed, pulling him against her and resting her head on his shoulder. "You're stuck with me, bags under my eyes and all."
"Just don't fall asleep on me, you baggy-eyed wretch," he chuckled, squeezing her as he might a beloved teddy bear. "And by the way, I missed you too."
Hermione grinned, then pulled away to look back at him. "You know, you look like you haven't been getting much sleep either. Come to think of it, you look a little thinner as well."
Draco sighed, shrugging. "It doesn't matter. I'll be all right."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Draco, don't do this. If something is wrong, you can tell me. You know you can trust me."
"I do know that. I just -" He paused, struggling for the right words. "All right, fine. I wrote Mother a letter, telling her I fancied someone, and… well, when she wrote me back, she assumed it would be a pureblood girl. I knew Father would insist on it, but I didn't think she would, and…"
"And, you were hoping someone in your family besides you could accept me," Hermione finished, biting her lip. "Oh, Draco."
"Are you angry?" he asked, grey eyes wide with anticipation.
"Angry? Don't be stupid! Draco, I can't tell you what it means to me that you did that. That you would want to tell your mum about me."
Her beau shrugged. "Father and I may not get on so well, but…I wanted her to know," Draco admitted. "And I suppose I wanted advice on this whole 'girlfriend' business too, as I've never really had one before."
"Girlfriend?" Hermione beamed, laughing despite herself. "Is that what I am?"
"Unless I find out you've been loving up on Weaselby on the sly," Draco teased. "I know how hard it must be for you to resist his charms. That uncombed red hair, the vacant expression -"
"Draco!" she gasped, exploding with mirth as she smacked him with both hands. "I'm going to get you for that!"
He took the opportunity to scoop her hands into his, and reminded her softly, "You already have me."
"I know." She brushed a soft kiss across his expectant lips. "And I'm not giving you up, either, so don't think you can get rid of me."
Draco snapped his fingers. "And here I thought I could ditch you just in time to keep from having to get you a Christmas present. Oh, the rotten luck!"
"I don't need gifts, Draco," Hermione told him sincerely. "Just a little time with you every now and again, before we have to go back to the real world and pretend we're what everyone else wants us to be."
"That's all I want, as well," Malfoy shrugged in affirmation. "Although I'm not saying a Sugar Quill or two in my stocking wouldn't be nice… or perhaps a polishing cloth for my broom…" He scratched his chin thoughtfully.
"Already have your list made out, do you?" Hermione laughed, shaking her head. "Wow. The boy who has everything still has a list for Father Christmas. Who would have guessed?"
"Oh, come now, Granger," Malfoy teased, taking that moment to tickle her sides, "don't you want anything? Perhaps a book that never runs out of pages for you to read?"
"Malfoy!" she howled, collapsing into his arms. The unexpected loss of balance sent them tumbling to the floor, and that only made them guffaw even louder.
"Ouch," he couldn't help but chuckle, clutching his ribs, "why is it every time I get near you, some part of my general anatomy gets injured?"
"I'll show you injured!" Hermione warned, this time trying to find his ticklish spots and use them against him.
Their play was sweet and innocent as they rolled about on the floor, tickling, laughing, as though there were nothing and no one in the world outside that shadowy little room. Draco and Hermione had never really had the chance to just be children, carefree and silly; around others, neither felt safe enough to let their guard down and enjoy themselves. But their trust had already grown so implicit that with one another, they did not fear to do just that.
Later, as they shared one more fleeting kiss and promised to try to see each other in Hogsmeade before the Christmas vacation, they would each reflect that this one lighthearted moment, however short, had been the happiest moment of their lives.
ooo LL ooo
Hestia Jones looked up from the manuscript, blinking hard. She felt like her hazel eyes were about to cross.
All her life, she had loved to read, and the internship at Salem Institute's library had been positively wonderful. So when Obscurus Books in Diagon Alley offered her a position, she'd jumped at the chance. Of course, that had been before she realized that not all books were interesting, and that some writers seemed determined to be verbose and make every possible grammatical error, a problem exacerbated by the fact that half the time their writing was illegible.
Hestia made a face. You know, I'm not so sure this whole copy editor thing is working out for me, she had to admit. Of course, I'd rather be eaten by flobberworms than go tell my family another job didn't work out.
The truth was, she was getting discouraged. Her personality seemed to clash with the British wizarding community something monstrous. She'd left after only a week at the Daily Prophet, having had a disagreement with Rita Skeeter, who apparently didn't want to hear that the Auto-Editing Charm in her Quick Quotes quill had gone faulty; and she'd stayed only two hours at Madam Malkin's as a fitter, before being chased out by a tiny army of attacking pins and needles after she'd said one set of her women's dress robes seemed a little "old-fashioned."
Hestia rubbed the back of her neck and stared out the only window, where the first snow of winter was sprinkling like powdered sugar into Diagon Alley. It was true that she had missed her family something awful, but she was starting to remember why she so seldom came home. Every time I come back here, I feel out of place, she thought miserably. I can't even remember the last time I saw a friendly face, and... wait a minute! Isn't that - no way!
To her amazement, she did indeed see someone familiar. Not a friendly face, per se, Hestia acknowledged inwardly, but by Merlin, it'll do.
"Just taking my break," she called to the publisher, a thin, bent old wizard with thick glasses, "back in a few minutes!"
Grabbing her coat, she raced outside into the cold just as it was beginning to snow. Darn British precipitation, she thought wretchedly as she held up a lock of her hair and saw that it was beginning to frizz and curl. Oh, well. Too late for vanity now.
The person ahead of her was long-legged and moved rather quickly; it was all she could do to keep pace. Thankfully, he soon ducked into a the warm orange glow inside a nearby pub. Taking a deep breath to calm her nerves, Hestia crossed her fingers and went inside after him.
ooo LL ooo
A/N: Sorry this chapter took so long to churn out. Thanks for bearing with me!