I've got some ideas brewing for a sequel to this story. IF it goes through it won't be like my previous stories. IF. I don't want to get too far ahead of myself but I'm feeling ?good? about this.
I do not own Harry Potter.
RECAP: The trio has detention with Umbridge and Malfoy's got something up his sleeve.
Chapter Eleven
The remainder of the week passed sluggishly. It was a wonder the trio made it to Sunday without another mishap or strangely, another encounter with Malfoy but when Sunday finally came the three of them made their way down to Umbridge's office in silence. A small group of other students passed them by, looking tired and nursing their hands. Hermione directed them to the Hospital Wing.
When they reached Umbridge's office Justin Finch-Fletchley was just exiting. Upon seeing the three of them there he looked stricken and promptly forgot the state of his hand.
"Oh no," he gasped, eyes wide. "Not you!" He leaned in close. "I didn't drink it! I promise!"
"Shut up," Ron hissed at him. "Go on before the old toad gets suspicious!"
Justin bowed his head before leaving quickly and the three of them entered the ugly little office. Umbridge stood at her desk, smiling her most unflattering smile. The mop of curls on her head made her look rounder than ever.
"Good, good! Potter, take a seat. Weasely, other side of the room."
Ron started to move to the other side, then paused.
"What about Hermione?" Harry asked, and Umbridge turned away from him.
"Miss Granger will have to complete her detention someplace else for lack of space," she said, walking to the door. Without looking at Hermione she beckoned to her like one would to their pet. "I will escort you to your assigned classroom."
Hermione frowned. Harry and Ron looked furious.
"Sit down, Mister Potter. The quills are on your desks. I don't think you need be reminded what your lines are. Miss Granger, follow me."
"She can stay here," Ron offered. "We can switch places."
"Sit down, Mister Weasley, or I will summon the caretaker. He volunteered to supervise your sessions and I might change my mind. Miss Granger, follow me."
Hermione followed the Headmistress warily, casting a last worried look back at Harry and Ron as she left the room. Umbridge was already a few paces ahead but it was no trouble for Hermione to catch up.
"Where are we going?" she asked stiffly.
Umbridge gave an unconvincing girlish laugh. "Only a little further down the hall. There's no need to worry."
They stopped at the door of an unfamiliar storage room and gestured to the door. "Your supervisor is inside. Won't you?" she opened the door with a flick of her stubby wand and tottered away. Hermione watched her go, suspicious, and stepped inside cautiously.
"Hello?"
The room was full of old crates and dusty trunks. A pile of broken and vandalized desks took up one corner, next to an old teacher's desk, where Malfoy sat, watching her coldly.
"Oh, for Merlin's sake." She stepped back through the door into the corridor. Malfoy followed, wand in hand.
"Get in," he snarled.
"Not in there," she said, shaking her head. "Not with you."
"That's not for you to decide," he said, pointing his wand at her. "Go in or I'll make you."
Hermione didn't move.
"Go," he repeated. "Now."
Hermione stalked into the room, seething, and he followed, closing the door behind him.
"I suppose you're too proud to sit," he said, perching on the end of the teacher's desk.
"Why are you here?" she snapped, crossing her arms.
"I'm to supervise your detention," he said crisply, tucking his wand into his pocket. "Isn't it obvious?"
She said nothing.
"If you don't sit then writing your lines won't be easy."
"For how long?" she asked stiffly, letting her arms fall back to her sides.
"A few hours, I'd warrant. Will you sit?"
She looked at him suspiciously. "This isn't an interrogation?"
"It might be, depending on how the night goes. Sit down, Granger, I'm not going to ask again."
The wooden chair scraped loudly against the floor as she sat down angrily. A long piece of parchment appeared before her, and then a long, sharpened black quill with a metal nib. Hermione picked it up, eyed the nib with a blank face.
"You know your lines?"
From above he watched how annoyance changed her expression. "Yes."
"Say it out loud for me."
Hermione grit her teeth. "I must not tell lies."
"While you should keep that in mind, Granger, Umbridge found a better one for you."
"And what would that be?" she asked icily.
"For you, it's 'I must not reach above my station'," he said, and Hermione rolled her eyes to the right, clenching her jaw.
The hurt she felt was surpassed easily by her rage. It would always amount to this, wouldn't it? At least, when people like Malfoy were involved. If she wanted to she could create her own Philosopher's Stone and people like him and Umbridge would still see her no better than a cockroach. Hermione had come to terms with this realization long ago but it still stung, especially when it was being thrown in her face as it was now.
"How lovely," she remarked sarcastically, ignoring the stinging in her eyes as she reached for the quill.
"Get ahead to writing," Malfoy said, clasping his hands behind his back. "I don't want to be here all night and I know you don't either."
"It's a shame you don't have a detention too," Hermione said, "I would dearly love to see you write 'I am a worthless bigot' over and over."
"Start writing."
"You should keep that in mind, too," she said. "You've said you're trying to teach me a lesson and I want to return the favor." She gave him a bold smile. "It's only fair, right?"
Malfoy chose not to respond, but gestured calmly to the desk. Hermione bit the inside of her cheek and lowered the quill, bracing herself.
She wrote the first line as if she were taking notes like any other day in class-calmly and fluidly in her large, tidy script. Before she could start the next one she gasped and grit her teeth, forcing herself not to clutch her hand.
Letters flowered onto her skin, blooming in red. Each curve in every individual letter was a fresh stab of pain; her fingers trembled and she tried not to let her tears fall. Blood droplets collected where the skin and tissue was cut open by a magical force, but when she tilted her hand up to stare at it, the droplets trickled down her wrist slowly and the wound shone fresh and white above the smear of red, in her own handwriting.
I must not reach above my station.
Malfoy was watching her, eyes gleaming strangely. They made eye contact-Hermione struggled not to reach for her wand to aim a blinding jinx at him. He inclined his head, staring pointedly at the parchment, and Hermione prepared herself to write another line.
I must not reach above my station.
I must not reach above my station.
I must not reach above my station.
And so on.
As she wrote Malfoy watched. Sometimes he got bored of sitting still and would take a stroll around the room, ignoring her slight gasps as the pain began to grow greater.
The parchment seemed to have no end-no matter how long she wrote she never came close to the bottom of the roll. With every line the cuts reopened and closed shortly after, her hand turned redder and redder.
After what felt like the ten thousandth line, she paused, wondering if rubbing it was a good idea. It probably wasn't but it did sting quite badly...
She looked away from her hand and started in shock when she found him standing beside her, and in result almost dropped the quill. In her surprise she'd clenched her left hand and the wound smarted freshly-she gave a shuddering gasp and held it to her chest.
His voice had gone so soft she barely heard it over her own wild heartbeat. He'd leaned in, like he was checking her work.
"The more you pause the more you'll feel it," he murmured. "Write faster."
Frowning in confusion, Hermione shook him off. "I don't want your advice."
"Fine." Malfoy shrugged and sat back on the teacher's desk while she resumed her lines, wondering what had prompted him to say that.
A while later she stopped again, breathing hard. What time was it? It was hard not to cry. She looked at her hand.
I must not reach above my station.
I must not reach above my station.
I must not reach above my station.
"I want to know what you said to Pansy."
She jumped again.
"Stop that," she hissed, leaning away. He'd come in close again while she'd been distracted. She could still feel how his breath had tickled her ear. "What are you talking about?"
"I want to know why my best friend spends most of Potions class laughing it up with you for company and then comes to me later saying I should treat you better," he said, advancing towards her again. "I want to know what sort of shit you fed her to make her suddenly rush to defend your side."
Hermione stared at him, perplexed. So Pansy's friendliness hadn't been an act after all. The news was a strange relief.
"Maybe she's just a better person than you," she said curtly, and began writing again. Malfoy's hand wrapped around her wrist. Hermione tried not to gasp in pain-his thumb pressed over her mutilated skin.
"I didn't tell her anything," she said angrily, trying to pull away. "Now let me go."
"You must have said something," he hissed into her face. "She won't talk to me now and I want to know why."
"Did you ever think it was because you're an awful person that no one wants to be around?" He squeezed harder.
"I'm warning you-"
"Don't cut me off, Draco Malfoy." Hermione wrenched free. His nails raked across her skin before he let go. Hermione shoved him away, eyes watering in pain. "I didn't have to tell her anything. I don't even know how she knows about this unless you told her so don't lay the blame on me now that she knows how awful you are. Anyone with good sense would have done the same."
Malfoy looked furious. "I didn't ask you, Mudblood."
Hermione picked up the quill again and focused back onto her parchment. "Yes you did. Now stop talking, you're giving me a headache."
Malfoy came closer. "Finish your fucking lines."
"You know, I'd be able to get on more quickly if you were to leave," she said calmly, writing again. The back of herhand burned and stung but she turned her face to stone and didn't react.
Suddenly his hand slammed down onto the parchment and she was forced to stop. Hermione grit her teeth and looked up.
"Was that your aim?" he asked, voice dangerously low. "To turn Pansy against me?"
"I had no aim other than to finish our potion," she said. "Only you would think I'd have some motive behind every little thing that I do."
"But you do, don't you," he said softly. Without realizing it his hand smeared her newest line and came away red with blood. "That encompasses your whole being, doesn't it. Everyone knows all you've ever wanted is approval." He leaned in, eyes narrowed. "Acceptance."
"Once, perhaps." Her glare matched his. "Now I know better."
"I don't think you do."
"What's more," she continued right over him, "I don't need yours, nor have I ever sought it."
She turned back to her notes with an air of finality, ignoring his rigid figure. There was a beat were she thought he might speak up again but he stood still, eyes flashing as if trying to restrain himself but suddenly he turned away, shoulders raised and tense. Hermione didn't fail to notice the way his fists were tightly clenched-as she wrote she kept her ears pricked in case he tried anything funny again but he stood motionless as a pillar. They remained that way until he spoke again, many minutes later.
"Time's almost up," he said woodenly.
Hermione repressed a sigh of relief. "Excellent."
Malfoy turned around just as she'd paused to let the stinging recede. Her hand had gone stiff-it was hard to move it without feeling pain. Her skin felt papery dry-the cuts bled fat droplets as she tried massaging her wrist.
"I'd ask if you've learned your lesson but I know your answer."
"Then why bother mentioning it?"
Hermione at last reached the end of the parchment and dropped the quill. The parchment rolled back up into a scroll, ink still gleaming. Malfoy eyed it.
"Congratulations," he said drily, "I reckon you're the first to reach the end of the parchment."
"How jolly," she replied, "what's my prize?"
"You get to leave this room and a final warning."
"Oh, I 'get' to leave the room?"
"Isn't that a relief?" he asked with a taunting smile. "Of course, I'd hoped Umbridge would allow me to keep you longer but she had her own ideas. I suppose we can always talk some other time but for now I want to make some things clear before you go."
He stepped close. "Stay away from Pansy."
Her eyes narrowed. "Why?"
"You've done enough damage," he snapped. "I won't have you telling her more lies."
Hermione placed her hands on her hips. "First of all I don't think she'd like that you're making decisions for her. I don't care if you believe me or not but we didn't talk about you at all. Not everything I do revolves around you."
"For once, I think you're right, Granger," he said, crossing his arms. "It seems lately it has been my turn, to my utmost displeasure."
"Is that what's made you so paranoid, then?" she asked scornfully. "You'd think Umbridge would let you take a break. It must be exhausting for you to constantly be thinking up stupid theories about me. Following me about every day-either you're really committed to this job or you fancy me." This she said with a straight face-it had been her intention to deliver the last part with a saucy look in her eyes to mock him, to throw that joke he'd used in her first interrogation into his face but anger kept her face rigid.
The way he tensed meant he'd understood it anyway. He narrowed his eyes at her for half a second.
"'Theories' you call them," he spoke after some time. "Some of them have been proved correct, Granger. That's enough to lead me to believe the others might be as well."
Hermione looked at him coldly. "Define 'correct'."
"I put a tracking spell on your quill, Granger. I knew you were up to something. It's no coincidence all the times I've run into you."
The hairs on her arms stood at end. Hermione frowned. Of course. How had she not realized that earlier? She'd suspected, but hadn't been able to come to a solid theory. Idiot. Idiot! "Yes, I thought as much. I'll make sure to destroy it later."
He smirked and went to linger by the door. "I almost found you out, didn't I?"
"No."
"Yes, I did," he said. "You looked about to faint when we went into that room. You hid something in there."
"If by something you mean my peculiar study habits, then yes."
"Don't fly your broom around the subject," he snapped.
"I like my privacy. That is the central point." A drop of her blood dripped down onto the floor where it spread to the size of a knut.
Malfoy gave a snort of laughter. A lock of hair fell across his eye and he pushed it back. "I know what you're hiding. I won't stop until you've confessed."
A second blood drop joined the first. Another joined soon after and the stain grew to the size of a sickle. Malfoy eyed it, stone-faced.
"When can I leave?" she asked.
"You don't have to leave just yet," he said, loosening his tie. A flash of something unidentifiable passed his eyes. "Tell me everything now and you needn't risk the possibility of a second meeting."
She approached the door, which he still blocked. "The only thing I want to tell you is to back off," she said. "Although I'm sure once I burn that enchanted quill it'll happen soon enough."
Malfoy leaned towards her, a haunting smile on his lips. "Don't be so sure. Remember the promise I made you, Granger," he said in a low voice. "You can save yourself by telling me everything now. This is your last chance."
"At what? Mercy?" she laughed. "My, how kind of you."
"Don't mock me, Mudblood."
"I believe you already have my answer," she said.
Malfoy stepped away from the door, a strange light shining in his eyes. "So be it."
Hermione ignored him and exited the room. Draco stayed behind, angry, his eyes fixed on the floor where the small puddle of her blood had formed. Suddenly aware of his hand being wet, he looked at his palm and found it alao smeared with blood, and he froze.
Harry and Ron were waiting further down the corridor. Not a word was spoken between them as they left. When they'd settled in the common room Hermione conjured three separate bowls and poured the dittany into them. The three of them sat there in silence for some time.
"How'd it go?" she asked them when the silence had grown to great to bear.
"No tea," Ron said, grimacing as he tried to flex his hand. "Just lines."
"Really?" Hermione said, shocked. "Why no tea?"
"If she's heard from me that the DA doesn't exist then I doubt she's going to keep pushing it," Harry said. "At least we don't have that to worry about anymore.
Speaking too soon, she thought. Out loud, she said, "She may believe it, but Malfoy doesn't."
"What do you mean?"
"That day he cornered me by the Room of Requirement, he knows something was up then."
"That's only a hunch," Ron said. "He's got no evidence."
"You've just reminded me of something," Hermione said, turning pale. "I'll be right back!" She darted up the stairs. The boys exchanged confused looks.
She returned, carrying her quill in her hand and a determined look on her face.
"I didn't realize we'd be taking more notes," Harry said. Ron let out a hoarse laugh. She shot them a look that wiped the grins off their faces.
Hermione stalked over to the fire and threw the quill into it without preamble.
"Er-I hope you've got a spare," Ron said.
"That was my spare," she said, still staring into the flames. "And that was how Malfoy's been able to tell where I am."
"Tracking charm?" Harry asked. Hermione nodded as she sat back down, and slipped her hand back into her bowl.
"I should have known," she muttered, scowling. "All this time...So much could have been avoided!"
"Now that it's gone we'll have a better chance," Ron said, but even he didn't sound sure.
"He'll still be able to find us," she said. "But it'll take more effort now."
"What did Malfoy say?" Harry asked.
"From what he told me I assume he and Pansy Parkinson had a fallout of sorts. Didn't like that she and I got on rather well during Potions and now he's brought himself to believe I brainwashed her into believing my side of the story."
"How so?"
"I'm not sure. He said something along the lines of her wanting him to treat me better."
"Blimey," Ron said, looking rather taken aback. "I guess she's all right, then."
"Maybe I should talk to her," Hermione said. Her hands twisted a fold of her skirt. "Get her account of what happened between them."
"Be wary of Malfoy," Harry warned.
"When aren't we?" she replied, rolling her eyes. "He had the gall to tell me this was my last chance to come clean before he presumably comes through on his threats."
Ron spat into the fire. "Blistering sod."
"I'll be careful from here on out, of course," she assured them, "just like before."
"If we keep it up long enough he's bound to get tired of repeating himself," Harry said thoughtfully. "Umbridge has it on my word that the DA never existed. I don't know why she's letting Malfoy run around like this."
"Probably to appease his father," Ron said, sniggering. "She'd do anything for him."
"Eugh."
The three of them fell asleep almost immediately after, too worn to climb up to their dormitories. The hour was already very late, but it still came as a surprise when not too long after the last clumps of students began making their way down to breakfast, dull-eyed with longing for more sleep but led forward regardless by their grumbling stomachs. Hermione was the first to wake, and quickly put away the bowls of Dittany.
Ron and Harry woke soon after, yanking off their ties and made futile attempts at smoothing their hair. Ron wiped at the corner of his mouth, but by then the common room was empty again save for them.
Basking in the silence of the late morning, they lolled about, unsure of what to do. Hermione rolled off her socks and rubbed at the marks left by sleeping in them overnight. She wiggled her toes in the soft carpet.
Harry was looking out the window rather wistfully. The sky was clear and the weather sweet-they could see distant forms of Quidditch players in the pitch.
Hermione and Ron knew where his thoughts had strayed at once.
"You know Lee Jordan and Dean said you could borrow their brooms anytime, mate," Ron said. "Fancy going down to the pitch?"
Harry was up at once. The troubled look had fled so quickly from his face it was rather jarring to see the change-Hermione wondered when she'd last seen him smile like that. When had any of them smiled like that in the past month? It was sad to think of. Unaware of her thoughts, he turned to Hermione.
"Will you come too?"
"You already went to the library yesterday morning," Ron reminded her as she opened her mouth.
"I know that," she snapped, swatting him. "I was going to say yes."
"Oh. Sorry." He ran a hand through his hair. "I'll get the brooms?"
"Cheers," Harry said.
Hermione stood. "Well, let me fetch my cloak and we'll get going."
Already she was unfastening her robes, heady with the prospect of a morning well spent when Harry caught her wrist and she stopped. The redness around his eyes couldn't mask the alertness there, focused on the back of her hand. It took a moment for her to remember why.
"Silly, isn't it," she said, joining his horrified stare. The sting of the phrase had gone but she knew it wouldn't last forever. There had been and would continue to be times when she would feel inferior but now was not going to be one of them, and certainly not because of this. The only thing that really did hurt was the thought that Malfoy's words at last had made a mark on her. Literally. She'd entertained hope of the scars fading in time but examination of Umbridge's quill and Harry's own scars were enough to banish them. They could call Umbridge a fool all they wanted but the woman really knew how to design a lasting punishment.
Harry's own scar beamed up at her from where he held her hand.
"We almost match," she said softly.
"Malfoy chose that phrase, I'll bet," he said. "Wish we could choose one for him."
"Oh I've already picked one out, and more," Hermione said, smiling. "Maybe I'll get him in his sleep and write it on his forehead with everlasting ink. It would be worth the punishment."
"Ready?" Ron bustled back into the room, carrying two brooms. Harry let go of her hand carefully to not upset the cuts.
"Let's go."
The morning was brisk and clear. Ron and Harry zoomed off at once, tossing a Quaffle between them. After only a few minutes Fred, George, Ginny and Lee-Jordan joined in. More than once they called for Hermione to join them but she declined, still feeling the effects her detention. What little sleep she'd gotten hadn't been enough; her eyes felt heavy and her head throbbed. The blue flame she'd conjured inside the little jar burned bright and merry, warming her to the point of dozing off every now and then. She'd used it to melt away the snow from the general area around her. After jerking awake for the third time she decided to just give in, since the day was so nice and she didn't want to go back inside by herself.
The boys had left their robes behind. Hermione gathered them into a bunch and settled herself as comfortably as she could, curling onto her side. The woosh of the brooms flying past and the shouts of the Gryffindors grew annoying even as she slipped back into her nap-Hermione cast a Silencio around herself and dozed off at once.
When she awoke Ginny and the boys were all standing in the middle of the pitch, talking amongst themselves. Hermione stretched and pushed at her hair, keeping an eye on them in case something was wrong and she didn't know it yet, but there was no need. They were all red in the face from the exercise, windswept and undoubtedly sore but grinning nonetheless, Harry especially so. Hermione smiled. It was a good sight to see. Her hand still throbbed but she paid it no mind as she gathered the robes again to meet the group down in the pitch.
Lastly she pocketed the jar and while turning to make sure she hadn't forgotten anything, accidentally locked onto a pair of silver eyes and froze, her shout of surprise died in her throat.
"How long have you been there?" she hissed, cheeks flushed in anger.
"Feeling better?" Malfoy asked, motioning to her hand. He sat calmly, fully aware of the fact that he was in the Gryffindor stands. The slight breeze ruffled his hair and he leaned forward, settling his elbows onto his knees, watching her carefully.
"Don't pretend to care," she hissed, shivering. "Gods, were you watching me sleep?"
"I'll never be so bored that I'll resort to that for entertainment," he said, scoffing. "So no, I wasn't. I came out for a walk and I saw you waking from the field and I thought I'd say hello."
Hermione gathered the mass of robes to herself and rolled her eyes, put her hand on her hip. "So soon? We just spent all night together, give me some distance, please. I can only take so much of you. Although if you insist, Valentine's day is coming near-I'd rather you just send me flowers and break my heart via owl."
The corner of his mouth twitched upwards though his eyes kept their steel.
"All jokes aside," she said, "stay away from me. You following me around like this, people will start to talk."
"I know you're hiding the truth, Granger, and I don't give a fuck about what others think."
Hermione cocked a brow. "Even your parents?"
He said nothing.
"I thought so." She turned and left.
