COUNTERFEIT


XI

Draco Malfoy disappeared.

He never returned after the Christmas holidays. For this reason, various rumor mills brushed off their rust and began a mad attempt to keep up with the Hogwarts student body's outrageous demand for even the most far-fetched reasoning behind this sudden departure.

Pansy Parkinson proudly announced to the Slytherin table that she cried herself to sleep every night since his departure. Crabbe and Goyle wandered around like the fat, unsightly wings of a headless chicken (the head being Draco Malfoy). And Hermione . . . ? She was upset, to say the least. She bombarded Harry for any news regarding the Slytherin boy, she shirked her Head duties, and she poured maple syrup on her bacon this morning.

Hermione sighed, trying her hardest to ignore the incredulous looks Harry and Ron were shooting at each other. It was a hell of a week. Friday couldn't come soon enough. It was odd because she had never in her life at Hogwarts counted time according to the weekends; she always counted according to due dates, deadlines and lessons. This change turned her life upside down. She missed two bonus marks for her Transfiguration essay because she forgot to hand it in early. She got in trouble with Filch because she lost her watch and missed the curfew. Hermione spent days and nights wondering about the Malfoy. She reasoned that it was for the greater good, that she only wanted to keep an eye on him for Harry. She knew that wasn't the real reason, but she wasn't going to admit it.

Sometimes she would lie in her bed and wonder about the things that had passed between them. That first night on the train, in the Forest, in Hagrid's hut . . . Hermione always shivered when she made a snatch at the loose strands of that memory. He didn't have a chance to explain to her what had really happened. She missed his sudden appearances that scared her shitless, his weird ideas, and his impossible childishness that always made her feel all funny inside.

It took three weeks for Hermione to come up with the idea to owl Draco. She had smacked herself in the forehead and scowled to herself as she climbed the stone stairs to where the school owls were kept. She didn't even consider using Harry or Ron's owls, which turned out to be a smart idea, if not dumb luck.

A week later, Theodore Nott stopped her on her way to Potions and pulled her into an empty classroom. He wordlessly pulled a crumpled piece of parchment from his robes. Hermione recognized her own scrawl: Where are you? It was her note to Draco.

"Are you insane?" Nott demanded quietly. Hermione stared at him, startled and confused for a good two minutes before she slowly shook her head.

"Malfoy disappeared, Dumbledore tightened the school's security, and Aurors are patrolling the grounds – what do you think you're dealing with here?"

Hermione's eyes grew wide. Aurors? Really? Oh. She had no idea. That was very unlike her. Now that she thought about it, Harry had probably mentioned something about that . . .

Theodore Nott shook his head at her. "Malfoy can't talk to you," he said and winced, "actually, he can't talk at all right now – don't look at me like that, I cant tell you, I'm in enough trouble as is. Oh, and, you might want to make a good excuse for Dumbledore when he asks you where that school owl had gone–"

Hermione slapped him. The sound echoed around the room.

Then, silence.

"What the hell was that?" Nott yelled. Hermione raised one speculative eyebrow. "You may pass the message on to Mr. Malfoy," she said curtly. Theodore glared at her and opened his mouth to say something, but closed it. He stared at her in disbelief. Maybe she was insane. He shook his head and chuckled. Malfoy must have something up his sleeve to handle this one. "My pleasure, Miss Granger," he said, wondering how Malfoy would like being slapped, and exited.

Hermione waited until the Slytherin's cloak had whipped out the door before she collapsed onto the nearest chair. "Who needs an owl?" she said to the empty room, surprised that she had never thought of this solution. "Who needs an owl when there's Theodore Nott?"

And so the week passed. On Thursday, Nott slipped a note into Hermione's notebook during Ancient Runes. The parchment was crumpled with a million folds running through it. It bore a loopy, messy writing that Hermione didn't recognize: I didn't deserve that.

Hermione laughed. In the middle of Ancient Runes, she laughed. Her classmates looked at her in surprise, in curiosity, in annoyance. Hermione smiled dazzlingly at them all. They didn't know. They will never know.

On Saturday, Hermione cornered Nott on the deserted Quidditch pitch and gave him a watery bear hug.

On Monday Nott found Hermione in the half-empty Great Hall sitting with Harry and Ron and gave her a hasty peck on her cheek with a note from Malfoy that assured her it had to be done in front of the "two most insufferable brats from all of the fiery lakes under the devil's lair of debauchery'.

On the same Monday Hermione awarded Nott a swift jab in the ribs that had him bruising like a peach.

Nott made Hermione scream bloody murder when he grabbed her from behind by strict instructions from Draco.

Hermione followed with a heel on Nott's foot.

With Theodore Nott as the go-between, it was almost like the Malfoy boy never left, only Nott did most of his bidding with half a heart, as Draco do tend to go overboard with his instructions, especially since he wasn't the one who'd feel Hermione's wrath in the aftermath.

And so this continued for the most of January and early February. By Valentine's Day, Nott was sporting over seven cuts, ten bruises, and three palm prints across his face. He counted. Hermione, however, was in high mood. The day before the first Hogsmeade weekend of February, Nott slipped Hermione a note.

Meet me in front of the Shrieking Shack at noon, wrote Malfoy.

Hermione's breath caught in her throat. The Shrieking Shack . . . noon. Her heart skipped a beat. This was it.

She arrived at ten after, hurrying and slipping on the ice and snow, clutching her cloak close. It took forever to shake off Ron. He just wouldn't let her be. She couldn't blame him. She is still (technically) his girlfriend, and it is Valentine's Day weekend at Hogsmeade. It's only natural that he'd want her to spend time with him. Hermione told him she was going to the bathroom, skipped into Three Broomsticks, and went out the back door. She said she would meet Ron in Honeydukes, so she would have to hurry.

Her boots had not grip. Hermione pursed her lips to keep herself from swearing and kept her eyes on the road. As she neared the Shack she saw a dark cloaked figure pacing back and forth in front of the gates of the dark, snow-covered house. Her heart almost stopped beating. Hermione stood rooted to the spot and stared. The figure seemed to have sensed her there. The hooded head turned. Hermione caught a sparkle of white hair.

She screamed and ran. Towards the figure, that is.

Draco Malfoy opened his arms to receive her, but got a nice little boot embedded in his abdomen instead. He fell with a silent groan, his breath knocked out of him. Hermione lost her balance, slipped on the icy ground, and landed on him.

That was one awesome flying kick.

"Where in hell have you been?" Hermione screeched, "The entire school's talking about you, and Nott . . . don't tell me you're a Death Eater, Malfoy, after that night . . . don't you dare tell me you're a Death Eater," Hermione breathed, grasping Draco's left arm, pulling up his sleeve.

Draco recovered enough to pull his arm back. "No, no . . . Hermione! No!I swear, woman, if you don't stop–" He pried Hermione's gloved, clumsy fingers off his wrist and grabbed the back of her neck. He crushed her lips with his.

So he didn't imagine her taste. Draco had thought he distorted her loveliness with the passing of time without her. He didn't. He thought she would never come. Why would she? Most of the "messages" Nott delivered from Hermione were either violent or rude. When he first heard of her attempted correspondence he almost wept in joy.

Today was the first day he was allowed out, and he risked it to be in Hogsmeade. He was half an hour early. You can't blame him, the poor boy. When his watch finally stuck noon he began to pace. He paced for a total of five minutes (though it felt much longer) before desolation, hurt, panic, and abandonment began to eat at him. His heart rated picked up and he paced faster, until he was almost running. The moment he saw her standing there, face pale from the sight of him, cheeks pink from the bitter cold, he fell in love with her all over again.

Was it normal to fall for the same woman twice? Was it even possible? It was, apparently, in Draco's case, but he's insane. He's known that for a while. Hermione's soft lips parted underneath his and Draco took advantage of it. He nibbled her lower lip and slid his tongue in to meet hers. Draco groaned.

They stayed like this for a while, limbs entangled, lying in the snow, playing a game of battling of the tongues. Draco swore that the heat generated from their kiss melted the snow around them into puddles. Surprisingly, it was Draco who first broke away, breathing hard. But Hermione wasn't finished with him. She showered him in sweet quick kisses along his jaw and on his lips. Draco returned them. "Come," Draco breathed in between kisses, "come with me," he kissed her on her forehead, "we'll," another kiss was planted on her nose, "go to," another on her cheek, "Madame," one on each eyelid, "Puddifoot's."

"Can't," Hermione said quickly. "Harry's in there with Ginny."

Draco looked at her, surprised. "Shit," he muttered, "forgotten all about them." His naked hand protested in pain as he pressed it to the icy ground in ease himself up. Hermione pushed him down again. "No, stay," she demanded, loud, and slightly angry all of a sudden. "You listen to me, Draco Malfoy. You will tell me the truth–"

"Nothing but the truth," Draco agreed.

"–The whole truth," Hermione demanded. Draco nodded, wary. Hermione fumbled around as she pulled off her glove. She dragged Malfoy into a sitting position and placed her bare fingers to the pulse on his neck. "Are you a Death Eater?" She asked quietly. His pulse quickened. Draco could feel it. And he could see it being reflected in Hermione's anguished expression. He didn't want to disappoint her. He didn't want to see her hurt, pained, or betrayed. But there was nothing he could do.

"From the bottom of my heart, love, I had no idea you were going to be a part of my life," Draco began. Hermione gasped quietly. Her breathing became ragged. "Please," Draco begged, "listen to me, Hermione – I had no choice, I didn't, I know what you're thinking, but I didn't, I really didn't have a choice. Yes I do have a mark, yes I did accept it willingly, but a mark does not make someone a Death Eater, Hermione. Only he who bears the mark can decide whether he is or isn't a Death Eater–"

"Bullshit," Hermione spat.

Draco swallowed hard. "Please . . . "

"Prove it," she demanded, "prove it to me.

Under Hermione's steely glare, Draco lowered his gaze said whispered, "I have information."

"Regarding . . .?"

"A plot for Dumbledore's life."

Hermione gasped.

Draco grimaced. "I can't tell Dumbledore myself because he doesn't trust me. I've . . . done some thing that, uh, lost his favor."

"Hmm." Hermione raised an eyebrow. "Some things . . .? Such as?"

"Well for one thing, he knew about this," Draco said, reluctantly unlacing his left sleeve. Hermione pulled it up to his elbow. The Dark Mark grinned up at her. Hermione bit her lip. Anger bubbled throughout her body. Her piercing glower rose to smother Draco Malfoy. To her surprise, he flinched. His shoulders were hunched and his gaze locked pleadingly with hers. Hermione never would have guessed that such superior-looking and cold-colored eyes could hold so much fear and regret. Her anger was, for a second, nowhere to be found.

"What else?" she asked quietly. Draco gulped. "I broke into his office a couple times–"

"Youwhat?"

"–And Snape told him about how I led werewolves into Hogwarts, you remember, in the Forbidden Forest–"

Crack! Hermione's palm made a nice, stinging red imprint on Draco's pale skin. His head was knocked sideways and he almost lost his balance (a hard thing to do since they were sitting). Draco slowly turned back to Hermione, head lowered so he wouldn't see her face. Hermione sat seething in disbelief. What other misdemeanor had he done right under her nose without her knowledge? Her mother was right all along: men are the sons of deception. She didn't know he had something to do with the werewolves. She could have died, torn into bloody shred, or worse, made into one herself, and it would all be his fault.

"I'm sorry," Draco whispered. "I'm sorry. If I hurt you, it wasn't my intention. I know this might sound a bit far-fetched right now, but I'd be glad if . . . I'd be . . . I'd . . . please forgive me."

Hermione slapped him again, even harder. She put her whole arm into it. She had swung back and whipped him across the face. For a minute, she could only see stars.

Draco let himself fall back into the snow this time. The pain was blinding. Tears brimmed his eyes, and the only thing Draco could think of was: who knew she could pack so much power into one measly slap?

Hermione leant close. She didn't deserve this betrayal, she didn't deserve this torment. Her warm breath lingered soft and sweet on Draco's skin.

"Prove yourself to me," she whispered, breaking away, "and I'll deliver your warning to Dumbledore."

"What do you want?" Draco asked weakly.

Hermione blinked and licked her lips slowly, thinking. The one thing she wanted to know, the one thing she wanted to have. "Tell me," she said, "tell me everything about yourself, everything I want to know."


A/N:

I know it's been - what? - four months since I last updated? Five months even? This chapter only took me one day to write. Not even. I started around ten this morning and I was done by one.

I'm very, very sorry for the delay but I have been writing on fictionpress and it's hard to switch back to fanfiction mode once you get into fictionpress. But I promise more romance, more updates and a better plot. Thank you for waiting, I appreciate you response (I won't report you if you want to say something...ahem...about the delay.

Again, I'm sorry and I promise it won't happen in the future.

Please let me know what you think of this chapter (or, if you have the time, see if you can find any mistakes or typos and tell me) - PLEASE REVIEW!!