Disclaimer: Of course it's not mine.
Life always manages to get in the way, so apologies for the delay. I had thought, for a very short time, that I might not be able to finish this story but then I realised I couldn't possibly not finish it, it just might take a while. This chapter, which does contain the reason for the marriage (hurrah) was incredibly difficult to write. Thanks to imadoodlenoodle, who beta'd the main part of this chapter. It has changed significantly in some parts, but the core elements are the same.
Thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far!
~o~
Chapter Eleven
Of Friends, Reasons and Transformations
~o~
"Here, catch this," Blaise called out from across the pitch as he threw a Quaffle up into the air. Draco leant forward on his broom and zoomed after it, enjoying the sensation of the wind tearing through his hair as he sped up across the field. He caught the Quaffle easily, barely having to stretch out his arm. Carefully tucking it against himself, he looped around a stand and bolted back to the pitch.
"Nice catch," his friend commended fifty feet below from where he was lounging on the grass. Draco didn't smile at the compliment.
"Do two this time," he shouted, throwing the Quaffle down to his friend before coasting higher.
Blaise watched him with a sceptical eye as he retrieved the Quaffle from where it had fallen onto the grass. He should have been angry that a friendly game of one-on-one Quidditch had turned him into nothing more than a prop throwing balls into the sky, but then again he wasn't Draco Malfoy and at least he had that thought for company.
He kicked open the crate of Quidditch balls and found another Quaffle. The bludgers fought viscously against their restraints, shaking the box, and the snitch tried desperately in vain to open its wings and failed miserably. "Not today, boys," he muttered regretfully, slamming the lid down. "Oi, Draco," he cried, looking up to see where he had got to. "Do you want these or not?"
When he got no response, he kicked the crate open in frustration and dropped the balls back in, picked up his broom and took off.
Draco was floating at the edge of the outer boundary of the pitch, one leg dangling from the broom leisurely. He was leaning against the handle and watching something. Blaise slowed as he approached him, and followed his gaze which was off towards the school. He squinted his eyes to make out what Draco was focusing on, but he could discern nothing.
"Let me guess, this is about Granger," he said after a long moment that saw them both hovering fifty foot in the air. He turned to look at his friend who was swaying slightly in the wind. He was afraid he might have forgotten he was flying and fall to the ground any minute. "What's the matter with you today?" he asked somewhat indignantly where he could bare the silence no longer.
The blonde man didn't tear his gaze away from the school. "I have to tell her." They both knew what he was referring to. The reason. "She'll never understand that it's easier on both of us if she doesn't know, at least easier on me. If she things knowing will make everything better, she's wrong." He swayed slightly. "What do you think?" he asked.
Blaise shrugged. "Do you think it's right that she doesn't know?" he countered carefully, picking of a loose splinter from his broom, letting his gaze wander off to the forest above which a pack of birds were hovering.
Draco shook his head. "How the hell am I supposed to know?"
"Well I don't know do I, and I can't tell you what to do because I have even less of a clue than you do. To be honest with you Draco, this whole situation is starting to drive you insane, and in turn it's beginning to drive me insane. And that look you've been wearing permanently painted on your face recently, it's disturbing."
"And what look is that exactly?"
"The one you're giving me right now." Draco scowled. "The one that screams 'I'm angry with the whole world and I might kick the living daylights out of you if you're not careful' look. What's bought this about today?"
It wasn't just today, it was everyday. He was distracted by a cold breeze ruffling his hair. The feeling of air surrounding him so high up from the ground was the best thing he'd felt all week and cleared some of the troublesome thoughts that had been persistent in antagonising him. The warm October sun, only partially obscured by winsome clouds, tickled the skin at the back of his neck; it was pleasant, calm - peaceful. If only he could stay up there forever.
If only he didn't have this damned marriage to think about.
The thought of whether or not to tell Granger had been itching away at him for a while, plaguing him with indecisiveness. Should he put an end to her very much obvious suffering by giving her the answers she anxiously wanted? Or should he keep those answers to himself and draw out her frustration so she could feel how he felt, like being rubbed away at until you're so raw there's not much left. The old Draco would have followed any objective that led to her suffering, but then again the old Draco wouldn't have had a moments' hesitation or regret in making Granger suffer, not the way he was hesitating now.
"In your opinion," he said, turning to look at his dark-skinned friend in earnest, "what do you think I should do?"
Blaise thought about it cautiously. "I guess there are several ways of looking at it. Putting aside all personal feelings, as difficult as that may be; I think Granger has every right to know why what has happened between the two of you has occurred. How else can she realise the significance of it all, or understand the enormity of what you have done? Withholding the information from her is immoral, and," he stated with a rueful smirk, "some might say more than a little cruel. You don't attack a defenceless person do you? And you don't keep the truth deliberately from someone when you think their life is in danger."
"In theory. But I can hardly say I don't know many people that wouldn't attack a defenceless person, and neither can you."
"And so it comes to the crux of the matter. This isn't any ordinary issue because we're not talking about just anyone here. We're talking about Granger."
"So you think because it's Granger and because of our history together, I shouldn't tell her. I should be deliberately cruel because that's what I would have done in the past."
"That's not what I said, that's what you just said. That's what is going through your mind this very instant. This isn't about whether it's right or wrong to give her the answers, this concerns two people who couldn't dislike each other more. You think you shouldn't give her anything because she's a muggleborn witch who's beat you academically every year at this school, because you've been brought up to hate her and everything she represents. You think you shouldn't tell her because of that prejudice, and you're trying to convince yourself that's what you still think."
"I'm trying to convince myself not to tell her why we had to get married because that would make her suffer and that's what I should want?" he questioned, confusion straining against his features.
"Precisely - except you're not so sure anymore because you've started to doubt your old beliefs. You're not so convinced or so sure that what you've been taught is right anymore, and that makes a part of you want to tell her."
"But I can't stand her, she's insufferable."
Blaise laughed. "And so are you sometimes. Hey," he countered when Draco shot him a look, "you asked for my opinion."
"I didn't just get an opinion though; I got a complete analysis of my psyche and yet still managed to learn nothing."
"Gee, you're too kind Draco. Why don't you go and bore someone else with this if I'm not helpful enough for your liking. I'm sure Snape is a pro at heart-to-hearts."
Draco growled in frustration. His burst of temper caused his broom to jerk wildly above the pitch and he struggled to get it back under control. He pointed down at the pitch to Blaise, who nodded. They flew down in silence.
"If you're still confused," Blaise continued when their feet were firmly back on the ground, "then look at it from her point of view. Granger has absolutely no real idea about why what happened that night at your house. She only had Dumbledore's word to go on that she should marry you, and she has absolutely no idea why. Now he may have his reasons for not telling her about it, but I fail to see the benefit of such a decision aside from it driving her insane. It's like if you lost your sight all of a sudden and Dumbledore told you that Harry Potter was going to be your guide dog up until further notice. How would you feel?"
"What's a guide dog?"
Blaise laughed at that. Even for a pureblood, Draco's knowledge of the muggle world was substandard to the norm. "Don't worry; it's a muggle thing. If you're a blind muggle, you usually have a specially trained dog that helps you see or something..." he trailed off. "What I'm trying to get across is that you have to think of it like this: up until two months ago, know-it-all Granger knew nothing about you aside from the fact that you came from an extremely wealthy pureblood family fond of the dark arts and that you particularly disliked her muggleborn kind and all of those who liked them. And then all of a sudden, Dumbledore is telling her that she has to marry you for a reason she's not allowed to know about - I mean, come on. That's quite a lot to handle don't you think?"
"And what about me? Don't you think it's quite a lot for me to deal with? To-"
"I never said it wasn't. But it's not entirely her fault she was forced into it either, you had a choice remember. And you have all the facts. At least at night when you can't sleep you can go over and over how unfair and unjust it is in your head knowing the reasons why, even if it's of little comfort. She doesn't have the luxury of knowing why, and that is seriously going to mess you up."
"So I should tell her then?" he asked again.
Blaise rolled his eyes, wondering how many times he'd have to go through it. "This isn't about me, this is about you. I can't make this decision for you. But honestly, I think Dumbledore should have told her a long time ago. He has his reasons which most probably are aimed at doing what he think is best for Granger, but whether that's right or not only she can tell you." He sighed. "If I were you right now, I would give her the facts at least - so she knows what she's dealing with."
"She's desperate to have them," Draco scoffed, "I don't think she'll be so desperate when she finds out the truth, when she realises how much danger she's in."
Blaise shrugged his shoulders. "That's another matter entirely mate, and I suggest you don't mull over it too much. There not much more you can do about that, aside from what you've done. I'd rather know that there is a strong possibility I might die in the near future than have someone keep something like that from me, that's for sure. Give her the answers, Draco, if only to ease your own conscience. You owe her nothing you know. Granger just doesn't know that yet."
Their conversation came to a natural end. It was lunchtime and students had started to filter out from the castle, deciding to make the most of the nice weather and eat outside despite the cold.
"So much for my free period," Blaise lamented, throwing his broom over his shoulder and walking past Draco towards the school. "You coming to lunch?" he called back when he realised Draco hadn't followed him.
He looked lost in thought. "No. I'll grab something from the kitchens later."
"Suit yourself," Blaise replied. His tone gave the impression of disinterest but his look said something else entirely, but before Draco could question him he was walking back to the school leaving him alone.
He stood rigidly on the pitch, his broom languishing against the ground. A twig was coming loose near the bottom and he bent down to fix it, wondering how it could have possibly come unhinged. His Firebolt was his most precious belonging and he treated it as so. His fingers struggled against the bindings, and when he failed the third time at securing the offending wood back into place, he pulled it off harshly and tossed it aside.
The pitch filled with the sound of happy conversation and laughter. It grated against his skin. He got to his feet hastily, cursing each and every student he saw because they weren't in his situation, cursing them all because all they had to worry about was when the war was coming. His had already started.
He made it back to his room in record time. Placing his broom in its hold, he dropped his bag against the desk and pulled out the mail that he hadn't opened at breakfast. He flicked quickly through the letters not bothering to open them, they couldn't be important. Not one was from his parents again he noticed dismally, throwing them aside. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.
Glancing down, his eyes were drawn to his copy of the Daily Prophet. It was a habit to glance through it each morning before he ate, even if it was a poor excuse for a newspaper these days it was useful at least in shedding some light as to what was going on outside of Hogwarts, and he'd rather be a little wrongly informed than not informed at all.
A headline caught his attention. Without thinking he snatched it, flipping to the usual page.
Obituaries.
The column was getting bigger all the time. On the list of seven names of wizards to die the day before, he knew one.
It was one of the names he had been checking the paper for every day since he'd got back to school.
Henry Butterbridge.
Well, that was that, his decision had been made for him. He'd tell Granger today, as soon as he saw her. Newspaper still in hand, he walked back out into the common room and proceeded to wait for her to return.
It didn't take long for her to appear.
He heard the key turn in the lock and waited for the inevitable. It wasn't shock at the news of Henry Butterbridge's death or of the possible consequences of the Dark Lord having knowledge of what he had done that made him want to baulk. Instead it was fear of how Hermione Granger would react to what he was about to tell her. But it was too late, there was no disappearing. She was already here, and there was nowhere else to run. It was now or never. Draco would had preferred never. "He's dead," Draco said unexpectedly. It wasn't exactly how he'd planned to start.
"Who's dead?" Hermione replied, bewildered but with a sense of dread creeping through her.
"The minister who married us." Hermione stopped breathing and there was a long moment in which a painful quiet smothered them, the accusation left hanging in the air.
Draco focused his eyes on a tapestry on the wall.
Hermione felt like she'd been wiped out by a Bludger. "He's dead?" She asked desperately, stepping forward slightly, "but, how-"
"-I think you'd better sit down," Draco interrupted, tearing his eyes from the tapestry. He moved to shut the door, pulling his wand out from his cloak as he did so to cast a silencing spell over the room. Not that there was much point, silencing spells were easily broken. He turned around and was not surprised to find that she was still rooted to the spot. "I'm going to tell you everything." He declared.
"Everything?"
"Yes." He thought he saw anguish briefly on her face.
"You're going to do it now?" she inquired.
Draco moved across the room and sat down in one of the over sized chairs.
"Obviously it seems like there is no better time." He glanced at the article in the paper that lay open on the table. The photograph showed the minister, Henry Butterbridge, laughing up at him happily, a fat grin plastered across his face. Draco was too ashamed to admit that he felt sick knowing that Butterbridge was no longer alive; that he had left three children behind and that there was a possibility his death was due to his link to them.
Hermione had decided to finally do as he had told her and sat down on the sofa opposite his chair, although she was so far on the edge of her seat that he wondered if she was in danger of falling off. Such a thought would have usually given him much amusement, but not today.
"Do you think he's dead because of, well you know, because of us?"
Draco shook his head. "I'm hopeful that's not the case - witches and wizards are dying all the time at the moment, countless more are disappearing every day. It could be a pure coincidence."
"But it could also mean –"
"Granger," he cut in rudely, "even if Butterbridge was murdered because of some weak connection to us, I am quite confident that even if he was tortured, he would not have spoken our names or revealed the fact that we were married." She looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to explain. "The liquor that the minister drank that night was spiked with a Befuddlement draught, and my father personally performed a confundus charm on him as he left the manor. Henry Butterbridge wouldn't have remembered a damn thing that happened that evening when he left; he wouldn't have recognised our faces if he'd walked besides us in the street. He thought he was celebrating saving my mother's cat from up a tree."
"You and I both know that Voldemort has the ability to see past a Beffudlement draught and a confundus charm."
"Even so," he replied offhandedly.
Hermione was getting frustrated now. "Then I don't understand; why are you so worried about his death if you think there's nothing to fear?"
"I'm not worried!" Draco replied indignantly.
"Well you're acting very strange for someone who is so fine and dandy about the whole thing!"
"Do you want to listen to the rest of what I have to say, or do you want to continue to sit there in ignorance and try and psychoanalyze me?"
There were many things Hermione wanted to say to him in response to that but she made the incredibly difficult decision to keep them all to herself.
Draco sighed, his gaze resting on the intricate cover of the arm of his chair. He toyed with it. "I'm not so naïve as to think everything turns out the way it's planned out too, Granger. I'm well aware that The Dark Lord has his ways of revealing secrets that have been hidden by spells such as confundo, he doesn't face any difficulty in that regard. Secrets are normally kept hidden because the ways and means of revealing them can easily destroy the bearers mind. The Dark Lord would not have cared. And no," he added, "before you ask, an unbreakable vow was out of the question for keeping this secret. And a Fidelius charm too. Mr Butterbridge had already performed an incredibly complex and powerful spell that evening,- even if he did not remember doing so. Involving him in an unbreakable spell too? We might as well have wrapped him up ourselves and sent him straight to the Death Eaters with a stamp of his forehead he would have stood out so much. Powerful magic leaves traces; he would have shone like a beacon in the middle of a desert at night if we'd done anything else."
Hermione took a moment to process his lecture. She wanted to hurl all of the questions that she had been collecting all this time at him in one furious tirade, but she held them back. She'd waited two months to get any answers and she wasn't about to mess up this opportunity. For a moment she almost felt grateful to Henry Butterbridge. "The spell – is this spell, whatever it is, what all of this is about?"
"If you're going to understand what it is and why it's important, you first have to know the events that led to you being brought to my house that evening in August." Draco paused for a moment, trying to collect his thoughts. "Dumbledore believes that you shouldn't know what was discovered in August because he wants to protect you," Draco drawled, obvious bitterness in his voice, "Protect you like you're a porcelain doll that should be wrapped in cotton wool for as long as he sees fit. It's obviously not a courtesy he spares for all of us because he seems to be quite willing to hang me out to dry if it suits his purpose." The cover of the arm chair was starting to fray at the edges where he had been picking at it absentmindedly.
"This doesn't have anything to do with a weapon that Voldemort is building, does it?"
Draco's head jerked up to face her; it felt like she'd slapped him around the face. "How do you know about that?" he asked sharply.
She kept her face impassive. "How do you?" she countered.
He huffed. "I can't tell you."
Hermione smiled ruefully at his answer and replied with her own. "I just don't want to."
He watched her carefully with narrowed eyes. "I don't have to tell you a damn thing, remember."
"True. But you're going to - you want to. You're desperate to get this off your chest. It's eating away at you the way that not knowing is eating away at me."
Draco smirked and shook his head. "Eating away at my chest? Wrong again. And people call you the smartest witch in our year? That's abysmal."
There was a malicious gleam in his eye that sent alarm bells ringing in her head. She was off of the sofa in an instant. "Who have you told?"
"That's none of your business."
"I think it is you bastard, seeing as it concerns me. Who did you tell?" Tears were springing at her eyes and she wanted to cry, but she forced them back defiantly.
"Sit down," Draco warned as his eyes narrowed at her.
"No, you deceitful, horrid, ass-"
"Granger." The anger that had started to bubble in his chest was becoming difficult to control. He was afraid he might hit her if she didn't stop acting like a child.
Hermione turned around quickly, trying desperately to stop the tears that were springing at her eyes from spilling, to keep them from her voice. "What right exactly, do you have to discuss what happened that night with anyone when I –"
"I said sit down!" Draco yelled furiously, banging his hands against the armrest. He jumped up and Hermione tumbled backwards when she saw the look of fury on his face as he advanced her. Six years of anger and hatred were held in that one look.
Hermione swallowed nervously, glancing around the darkening room earnestly, wanting to put as much space between them as possible and yet not make any movement or do anything that would send him over the edge. She skirted around the sofa, her eyes not leaving his for a second, and silently sat as far away from him as possible.
"Do you deliberately act like this to test my resolve?" he muttered, turning his back to her and walking to the fireplace. He bent down and tossed a few logs into the grate, using his wand to light them effortlessly. "Because right now I am very close to losing whatever control I have that is stopping me from hexing you."
She watched him as he hovered on bent knees in front of the fire, light from the flames tickling the walls and catching his hair, making it shine unnaturally. It was transfixing in the oddest way.
"I'm not going to let you demean me and treat me like I'm scum just because you think you're superior," she said eventually when she had torn her eyes away, focusing on one of the tapestries on the other side of the room.
Her eyelids felt heavy and she could easily have let sleep taken her that instant.
"Oh you should, when you find out that I've most likely saved your life by risking my own. You should be down on your knees thanking me."
That got her. Hermione's eyes snapped wide open and she stood too quickly, swaying on the spot. Suddenly he was no longer by the fire but standing close to her, watching her with interest.
"What?"
"You heard me perfectly clear."
She closed her eyes briefly, trying to stop the spinning that was threatening to overwhelm her before opening them again and focusing on him.
"Dumbledore thinks that the weapon the Dark Lord is building is some sort of magical amplification device - one that can exploit the magic of a witch or wizard and channel it in for some sort of attack. Obviously such a weapon would require a witch or wizard as a sacrifice."
"A sacrifice?"
Draco noticed that was no longer looking at him, but focusing hard at a spot on the floor by her feet. "That's what I said," he stated tersely, sitting down wearily in the armchair he had occupied previously. His head ached from the strain and he rubbed his temples.
"Is it me?" she asked hesitantly, lifting her gaze to focus on his.
Draco couldn't say it.
"Does Dumbledore think that Voldemort wants me?" When he still didn't say anything she continued, "If it involves me then that would explain everything that's been happening recently." She took a deep breath, cocking her head to the side as she thought. "It obviously wouldn't be you, so wanting me is the only scenario I can think of that explains the way you've been acting towards me, and the way you look at me."
"And how's that exactly?" Draco asked blankly.
"Like you wish I was dead. Like I've committed an unforgivable crime against you and have been rubbing your face in it every day." Hermione turned to him and he could only meet her gaze for a second before looking away. It told her all she needed to know. She took a deep breath and tried to still the shaking that had taken a hold of her hands.
"He wants to use you. Only you."
"Oh." She sat down slowly, her mind a million miles away. Hearing such a confirmation was like being punched in the stomach.
"Lord knows why," he scoffed, fiddling with the armchair cover again, although they both knew of many reasons why. The logs crackled in the fireplace. "Dumbledore came to our house not long after he became privy to the information over the summer," he continued. "It was then that he asked me if I would be willing to help him protect you."
Her voice was soft when her answer to that came, barely there. If he had caught her by surprise with such an admission she hid it well. "And how did he propose you do that?"
"He had numerous ideas, but there was only one that he seriously considered might work. Our marriage was necessary to satisfy an ancient wizarding law," Draco began, diving headfirst into it. They'd been skirting around the issue too long. "The contract we signed that night was magically and legally binding, like our very own personal unbreakable vow. Without it the minister would have been unable to cast the spell on us, the spell that protects you – the spell that all of this is about."
"So the marriage was just a practicality?" she managed to say, still not managing to control her shaking hands. She stuffed them between her legs.
"Yes. If he had tried to cast the spell on us and we had not been formally married then there would have been no keeping any of this secret from anyone. Ancient, old spells that are now all but illegal have a way of broadcasting themselves and of making themselves known."
The calm that had descended between them was unnerving. "What is the spell?" she asked, trying to smother whatever serenity had settled in the room with them. It wasn't right.
"Cruor vitualamenatus," he spat. "I doubt you would have heard of it - yes, even you," he clarified when she shot him a disbeliveing look. "It's one of the forgotten spells; ancient and dangerous magic that is no longer practiced in the wizarding world because it is morally unjustifiable and downright dangerous. Few know much about the forgotten spells because they are simply that - forgotten. They were never written down in any books and over time, as their use diminished, they disappeared from common knowledge."
"But you knew about it?"
"My grandfather told me a story or two about them when I was much younger. He was in favour of bringing many of the forgotten spells back into use, he was one of the few to not condone them and spoke relatively freely of them. Most don't care for it, they don't bother listening. Many are too afraid to think of the consequences."
Hermione could barely control her curiosity, she wanted to ask him why, but that wasn't the most important thing right now. "Cruor vitualamenatus," she said slowly, trying to translate the latin. She chewed her lip as she pictured the words in her head. "Blood sacrifice, literally."
He snorted at her ability to figure it out so quickly. He figured she'd get it on her own.
"Am I right?"
She took his smirk as a yes for what it was worth. For a while only the ticking of the grandfather clock in the corner of the room dared to break the silence that stretched between them.
"When Lilly Potter sacrificed her life for Harry's all those years ago, Dumbledore told him that her sacrifice protected him from Voldemort in a way that he could not understand, and that that protection flows though his veins to this very day." She watched him carefully. "Ancient magic."
"The selfless act of someone willing to make a sacrifice to protect another, that's what Potter's mum did for him, and doing so she placed on him powerful magic, stronger than anything the Dark Lord has. That type of magic is very old, very powerful, but the only way it works is if the act of sacrifice is made wholly for the other person. You can't fake it, you can't obtain it half-heartedly. But, you can try and mimic it."
Hermione's head felt like it might combust. "Mimic-" Suddenly everything clicked. "How?"
"It works pretty much in the same way. Obviously you cannot force someone to 'willingly' make a sacrifice for you, they tried that countless time millennia ago, and it didn't work. But somehow, someone found a way around it, found a way to achieve the benefits without the high cost, so to speak, using the spell as some sort of buffer. It was used quite frequently centuries ago, but even then there were certain rules to dictating its use, including a legal marriage. You can think of countless reasons why it's hardly practiced anymore."
"So...Dumbledore is using you to try and protect me?"
"Pretty much. I offer my blood to protect yours, the spell binds us and the potion Snape makes for us helps, and the marriage satisfies the legal rules. When he gets you, and he most certainly probably will, the spell will hopefully work against him and whatever he tries to do to you won't work, at least for a little while."
"But that's...ludicrous, completely and utterly-" She paused thinking of a word that could sum up how ridiculous this whole thing was beginning to sound. "This doesn't make sense! Even if he did get to me, even if he did want to use me and this spell works, surely he will just use someone else-"
"Granger, stop rambling!"
"What Dumbledore has asked of you is completely unfair!" Hermione cried, her breath coming in huge gasps as she stuggled to maintain any semblance of control."He'll just choose someone else!"
Draco shook his head.
"Why you? If Dumbledore was so intent on doing this, why would he ask you?" She stared him straight in the eye. "Why would you do this for me? I'm the mudblood remember?"
Draco fought the burning sensation of anger and unjustness that sparked under his skin, looking away uncomfortably. "I had my reasons." His tone made it perfectly clear that those reasons were not for sharing.
"So much trouble just because Voldemort plans to...plans to use me in some sort of weapon..." She stopped fidgeting and looked up, her confusion ebbing. "There has to be something else to it surely. Why else go to all of this effort, why else put others in danger, just to protect me? He's after Harry all the time. I'm one of his best friends, and I'm a muggleborn, and I'm not too modest to say that I've been the smartest witch in our year for the last six years. Of course he might come after me to get to Harry, everyone knows that. But why would Dumbledore resort to this? There has to be something else."
"Selling yourself a bit short aren't you Granger?"
It was her turn to start shaking her head. "Not at all. I'm just not so naïve to think that my life is more important than any other, and that includes yours."
Draco didn't know what to say to that.
Hermione supposed she should be grateful that he had finally given her the answers she'd been waiting for, searching for, for months. Grateful even for what he had done, under no circumstances had she imagined in her wildest dreams that he would have done something liked this.
Hermione wanted to get up and run as far away from him as her legs would carry her, but for some reason she couldn't get them to work and so she was stranded to sit there helpless in his presence. She wished desperately that she could tear her eyes away from his face, but they seemed to not want to respond either. Her hands shuffled uneasily in her lap. "I never thought – never thought that you..." She couldn't finish.
He was looking back at her, his face wholly impassive now compared to what it was before. She wanted him to sneer or be insulting so she could have at least a moment of normalcy to clear her head. She opened her mouth to speak, but there were no words to convey what she wanted to say.
"What - what happens to you, if he tries to use me..."
"It doesn't matter."
She looked outraged. "Yes it bloody well does! What happens to the person who's made a sacrifice?"
"I think it's best if you don't know."
"Bullshit. Tell me," she pleaded, edging closer to him. A strand of hair had fallen across her face and she tucked it behind her ears for lack of a better thing to do.
"Granger-"
"TELL ME!"
"You want to know?" he drawled, his face dissolving into fury as he rose from his seat and closed the space between them. She recoiled, shrinking back into the sofa. "Do you honestly want to know?" He was leaning over her now, his hands either side of hers, but she was through with his attempts of intimidation.
"Oh no, just keep me in the dark why don't you," she hissed, bringing their faces inches from each other.
"I suppose I don't deserve to understand what you've given up, to at least try and understand-"
"Understand?! You can't possibly begin to understand what I've given up."
"Then tell me so I-"
"Worst case scenario, I lose my magic. Best case scenario, my life."
The colour flooded from her face and it felt as though a ton of lead bricks had been dumped on her shoulders as nausea pulled at her stomach. Exhaustion washed over, him being so close to her was suffocating but she couldn't move, couldn't even blink. For the longest moment they remained stuck there, frozen, until he looked away quickly and withdrew away from her, rubbing his face in his hands. Maybe he was as tired as she was. He obviously had more reason to be. She watched him warily as his words played over and over again in her head like a drum constantly pounding.
She was going to be sick.
She stood up too quickly and had to hold onto the arm rest until she regained her balance. His eyes were on her, she could feel them, but she had no idea what he was thinking and no idea of what he expected from her. A feeling that she was floating on air settled in her stomach, light and dizzy, she thought she was about to crash back down to earth again unless she got away.
"Wait – where are you going?" Draco demanded as she headed to the door and disappeared through it. He followed, surprised at how fast she was.
"Granger!" He watched as she hurried away; not really thinking about why he suddenly felt concerned about what she was about to do. "Granger, where are you –" he called out, breaking into a run when she disappeared around the corner. It didn't take him long to catch her up.
"I'm going to the library," she told him blankly, not breaking her stride.
She was clearly wrong in the head. But then so was he. "Why exactly?"
"To do some research."
He sneered. "You won't find anything to help you in the library."
She didn't agree. "I might."
Draco heard the nearly hidden desperation in her voice. "I doubt it." He grabbed her arm, pulling her to a stop in the deserted corridor. Outside the sky was clouding over and the temperature inside had dropped significanly. He felt the shiver run across her skin. "You're in shock."
"No. I'm not."
He raised an eyebrow.
"If you're worried that I'm going to tell Harry and Ron, or go to Dumbledore, there's no need. I won't tell a soul. But right now, seeing you and knowing what I know is making me feel rather nauseous, and I would quite like to keep some self-respect by not throwing up all over you." She pried his hand from her arm, gazing up at him with an expression that told him nothing, and started off down the corridor again.
He started turn around and go and find something to punch the living daylights out of when he heard her footsteps stop. His gaze drifted back to her.
"I suppose a thank you won't ever really be enough, will it?"
Draco heard the bitterness in her voice, the stone walls amplifying it. He was about to say something in return, but she'd already gone.
~o~
No one particularly liked having a double Transfiguration lesson late on a Thursday afternoon, especially the seventh years. McGonagall was particularly irritable on Thursdays, something she shared quite openly with her students, and today it was Neville's turn to be subject to her wrath.
"Mr Longbottom!" she cried out in frustration from behind her desk for the fifteenth time, her shrill voice ringing out across the room. The rest of the class sank further down in their seats lest she pick on one of them next. "Mr Longbottom, we are supposed to be transfiguring our water goblets into a bouquet of flowers cleanly and quietly, we are not trying to make our desks look like flooded plains. Clean that water up immediately and try harder. There are further instructions are on page 357 of Advanced Transfiguration should you be struggling."
Neville reddened as he started to mop up the water that had spilled from his half transfigured goblet all over his book with his sleeve. Next to him, Seamus kindly whispered a drying spell before returning to his own mess. Neville smiled gratefully.
"Where's Hermione?" Ron muttered to Harry as he turned his goblet into a weed, cursing under his breath.
Harry glanced at the empty seat next to him. When he looked up, McGonagall was watching him from behind her glasses sceptically. "I don't know," he replied truthfully as he turned to face him, picking up his wand and twisting in around his fingers. "She never misses a class willingly."
"She never misses any class, full stop." There was concern in his voice. "Where do you think she got to?"
Harry shrugged. "She seemed fine at lunch." Where was she? He'd worried the slightest bit when she hadn't come down to the Quidditch pitch like she said she would after lunch, but had brushed it aside knowing how much work she had on her plate. But missing class, that wasn't very Hermione.
"Maybe she got caught up in Head's duties or something, I'm sure there's a perfectly logical explanation." Ron didn't sound so sure.
"Maybe. I'm just worried, something's been different with-"
"Mr Potter! Mr Weasley!" McGonagall shrilled, sending them both angry glares. "You are supposed to be working in silence, not having idle chit chat!"
"Sorry, Professor," they both intoned guiltily, returning to their work in silence.
When the lesson ended half an hour later, there was a mad rush as every student hurried at packing away their things to try and be the first out of the class.
"You two," McGonagall said to Harry and Ron as they'd just put their bags over their shoulders and started walking out. "A quick word if you don't mind."
They stopped near the door, a mutual look of understanding passing between them.
McGonagall's face had softened. "Do you know why Miss Granger skipped class this afternoon?" she asked.
"Ugh, she wasn't feeling well after lunch," Harry lied as Ron shook his head and said "No."
"Smooth," Harry whispered as McGonagall crossed her arms knowingly. He shifted his bag against his shoulder. "We don't know where she is, Professor, we were just going to go and find her now." Ron nodded beside him.
McGonagall sighed. "Well then," she said briskly, "when you do find Miss Granger would you please inform her that skipping lessons for any reason other than for a genuine illness is wholly unacceptable. I don't want to see it happen again." She looked like she was about to say something else but decided against it.
"Of course Professor," Harry said, hitting Ron on the arm. "Come on," he hurried, heading out of the class.
Ron looked to Harry as they emerged into the busy hallway. "Where do you think-"
"The library. Definitely the library," Harry finished for him, setting off in that direction.
"Where else?" Ron joked, but there was a hint of anxiousness in his voice. It suited the mood perfectly.
~o~
He was losing himself. One minute he was perfectly normal, hating Granger, feeling angry towards Granger, blaming Granger...and then there was the abnormal part of him that could treat her almost civilly, almost feel some sort of protection towards her, or at least less hatred than he was used too. It was getting tiring fast; wondering which version of himself he should try and be each time he was around her.
"Are you going to say anything at all, or just sit there and brood like some hormonal teenage girl?" Blaise inquired from behind the book he was reading as he turned a page.
"I'm not brooding, I'm thinking."
Blaise laughed. "Sure you are."
They were the only ones out on the Quidditch stands that evening, occupying the uppermost level. It was dark and there was a nasty chill in the air but it was a small price to pay for relative solitude.
"Look, I'm happy to lie here and keep reading all night long whilst you continue to sit there and brood, but you told me at dinner," Blaise began, checking his watch for the time, "a whole hour ago that you wanted to talk and yet you haven't muttered more than ten words since we got here. So talk, or I'm leaving for better company."
Draco exhaled loudly in frustration, running his hands through his hair. "I told Granger."
Blaise slammed his book shut and sat up, his eyes widening in disbelief. "Say what?"
"I told her what she wanted to know."
Blaise had a manic grin on his face. "Did you now?"
"Yes. Don't say it like that."
They shared a pointed look. "Oh boy." Blaise chuckled, it seemed appropriate. The whole situation was absurd. "How did she take it?"
He shook his head. "I don't know. Reasonably well I think, at least until I told her what would happen to me if...well, if things went according to plan."
"I think I would go more than a little crazy if I had no idea of what they were and you suddenly dropped something like that on me," Blaise said diplomatically. "Especially considering your history with each other." Blaise let out a long, low whistle. "You don't waste any time do you? I was convinced that you would chicken out earlier."
"It's funny."
"You're damn right it is."
"No," Draco clarified, "its funny how one minute I can be so angry with her, to the point where I have to seriously restrain myself from wanting to hurt her, and then the next I'm almost concerned for her well being. How crazy is that? How can you jump from one to the other?" He looked out longingly at the forbidden forest. "I don't know what I'm doing."
"Draco," Blaise said carefully, not wanting to step on his toes, "why did you tell her?"
"What do you mean 'why did I tell her?', I thought you were of the frame of mind that she deserved to know what exactly was going on here? I distinctly remember saying to you less than six hours ago-"
"Alright, alright," Blaise replied quickly, holding his hands up in defence, "calm down, I know what I said. I'm not Crabbe or Goyle. But why did you do it when you could easily have backed out?"
He threw the paper folded up in his pocket towards him. "Page 12". Blaise looked at him cautiously before picking up the paper and flicking to the right page. "Obituaries," he said out loud, scanning the page. There were more than a few.
"Things have already started happening. That guy was involved." He pointed at the picture of the grinning wizard with rosy red cheeks.
Blaise screwed up the paper and threw it back at him. "That's not a reason, that's an excuse. Why'd you really tell her?"
"Because seeing her mope around the castle was more infuriating than telling her what she wants to know!" he exclaimed. "Because I'm the one that's going to lose everything, that's put everything at stake yet she's wondering around the castle acting like she's the victim all the time and it's driving me mad! I told her because I wanted her to know what I've given up, and it's not like I really had much of a choice. I wanted her to suffer because knowing is much worse than not knowing." He twisted the paper viciously in his hands.
"By the looks of things, she's been suffering quite well all by herself," Blaise said eventually. "Do you want to know what I think? I think you told her because you thought it was unfair that she didn't know, because for whatever reason that you're unaware of, you feel almost a little bit bad for her. And you can blame her all you want for this but it's not really her fault, and you know that. You offered to do this; you don't really give a crap about what happens to you - you made a choice that night in summer and now you're dealing with the consequences. Like hell you wanted to prove a point."
"I didn't agree to do this for her. She's still the mudblood, and that hasn't changed. I did this for my family, it's a means to an end and there is nothing more to it than that."
"Maybe that's how it was at first, but nothing ever remains so clear cut. Things change."
Draco kicked his foot against the board in front of him in frustration. "Nothing is going to change."
"It already has and you know that too. Either go with it, or continue to mope around and be generally an arse to everyone like you always have."
"This isn't exactly what I wanted to hear you know."
"Sorry," Blaise replied, not sounding sorry at all as he led back down on the bench, opening his book up to where he'd left off. "I'm looking to new horizons and all that rubbish. It's very refreshing."
He couldn't hold back a short laugh. "That's brilliant. That's all I need."
"Ok, now that we've successfully dodged the real bullet, lets get back to what's really the issue here. You told Granger that you've basically sacrificed yourself in order to protect her and you're angry at her for freaking out, but then again what did you expect exactly? Now you're all confused because part of you hates her for being an ungrateful mudblood, and yet some tiny almost significant part of you might just be a little bit worried about what's going on in her head."
"Only you could turn this into some soppy teen drama. I am not concerned about her. I wanted to strangle her earlier; and last time I checked, that's not a conducive sign for being concerned about someone."
"It's called conflict mate. Where did she go anyway, after you told her? I didn't see her at dinner."
"She went to the library. Probably to try and find a book on what do when your bitter enemy tells you that really, the marriage you were forced into isn't so bad really, it's the bit where your enemy has sacrificed himself to protect you from the Dark Lord, that's the real damning issue to worry about.'"
"You should probably check up on her."
"Excuse me? Zabini, what on earth has gotten into that head of yours lately? I am most certainly not going to check on her. I am not her babysitter."
Blaise stood up hastily, dusted off his robes and looked down at him with condescension marring his features. "No one said you were, but you really should make sure she's okay. What if she does something stupid to herself when you could have prevented it?"
"That's wishful thinking. She won't."
"What a waste of a sacrifice if she did though. Come on," he shouted over his shoulder as he ran down the steps with his book tucked under his arm, "it's just a quick check up, nothing taxing."
Draco rolled his eyes as he stood up and followed. Blaise always managed to turn the most sour, depressing issues into a light-hearted game.
"You know," Blaise said as they stepped into the entrance hall and began trawling the stairs, "Maybe she'll be really pissed off and throw a tantrum. I'd love to see that."
"All for seeing her suffer now are we?" Draco stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I'm having a hard time deciphering what side you're on; you're even more conflicted than me."
The hallways were pretty busy as students milled around before curfew, their trip to the library taking far longer than normal thanks to Blaise having to say countless hellos to almost every female that they passed on their way. It infuriated Draco no end. He should have been acting like Blaise, flirting and joking around like a normal seventeen year old boy; he shouldn't have to be dealing with serious matters that made him feel old beyond his years.
The door to the library swung open and Lavender Brown, the most ostentatious female Gryffindor of the lot sauntered out. She took one look at them and her eyes narrowed.
"Did you do something to her?" she asked suspiciously, glaring at Draco as she stopped in front of him.
"Granger's in there then? Excellent." Blaise smirked next to him. "Always nice to see you Brown," he said as he gave her the once over.
She regarded him for a scant second with a raised eyebrow, giving him her most appalling look before shifting her focus back to Draco. "What did you do?"
"What are you talking about?" He asked, moving to push past her. She blocked him.
"You know very well what I'm talking about Malfoy," she said, jabbing a finger at him. "Hermione is holed up in there and she won't move for anyone. Obviously, you've done something to upset her and I'm going to find out what that is, and then I'm going to force you to fix it." She scowled. "Preferably before Harry and Ron find you and do something so stupid that they get expelled."
"And what makes you think I've done anything to upset her?"
She rested her hand on her hip. "I may be blonde, and you might think I'm stupid, and heck I probably act like an idiot most of the time, but I can tell when something is not right. Hermione's been acting strangely since the beginning of term, and I doubt that its pure coincidence that it started the moment she had to share the Head Dormitories with you."
"You're sticking your nose in places it really doesn't belong, Brown."
"Am I? Good." She folded her arms over her chest and waited expectantly.
"She's upset about the ball," Blaise chimed in when it was evident Draco wasn't going to say anything. "Granger and Malfoy had a bit of a spat about his lack of input with regards to, well, pretty much everything to do with it and things got a little...heated between them."
Lavender cocked her head to the side as she continued to watch Draco. He knew she wasn't buying it, her doe like eyes practically screamed liar as they bored into his.
"Whatever," she said eventually dropping her gaze as she fluffed up her long blonde hair with perfectly manicured nails. "You're a jerk. Just go and apologize please, if your lowly Slytherin manners will allow you to do so that is. The last thing she needs right now is to be worrying about your complete disinterest in school matters."
She shot another glowering look at Zabini and pushed past them without another word.
Blaise watched her retreating figure with interest, letting out a low whistle. "Wowsers."
Draco scoffed as he walked away. "Please. She's a Gryffindor."
"You're hardly one to talk mate."
"And suddenly I'm not in the mood to joke about it anymore," he replied forcefully, pulling the door to the library open with much more force than necessary.
"I'll see you later then," Blaise called after him, shaking his head as he walked back towards the dungeons.
The library was practically empty when Draco walked in, punctuated with the faint sound of pages turning and a damp, dusty smell he had hated since his first experience of the library six years ago. Madam Pince glared at him as he walked in but he paid her no attention. There were still ten minutes left until she had to kick him out, and he would use them all just to annoy her.
It was no surprise to find Granger hidden at a table near the back, but this time, unlike before; there were no books in front of her, no work - she wasn't even trying to pretend. He watched her from behind the bookshelf; she was wedged between the chair and the table with her knees squashed to her chest, looking like a broken woman. A hand poked out from the sleeve of her cloak, lazily tracing the lines on the weathered table, hooded eyes watching her own nail chip, chip, chipping away at the wood.
Draco was caught between pity and disgust, and he wondered exactly what he had come down here to try and do. It was one thing to make light of it all with Blaise, but another thing entirely to face Granger. And even then he couldn't help but think that he shouldn't have to be doing this. Couldn't she just pull it together?
"Go away," her voice was hoarse; reminding him of where he was. Behind him he heard the shuffling of books being slammed shut and satchels being clasped as the last few students packed away their belongings. .
He stepped forward defiantly, biting back the taunting remarks that came naturally to his tongue.
He could give her this moment to sulk, to deal with what she had been told. "You need to snap out of this Granger," he told her as he sat down on the chair next to her. She didn't look up, didn't make any movement at all to acknowledge his presence. Her nail kept working away at the table. "You're going to make yourself sick."
Nothing.
"You need to know," he continued, stretching his arms out in front of him, "that I would have done this regardless of who it was or what the consequences were. I need you to understand that."
Still she didn't lift her head to look at him, didn't give him any indication that she was listening. Chip, chip, chip.
"I wanted to prove to Dumbledore that my family are serious when they say they want out of the predicament that they're in, and this is my way of doing it. It's not about you, not entirely."
Hermione turned her head away from him, her face contorting in pain. "Can you just leave me alone? I don't want to see you."
Draco leant forward. "Did you hear what I just said?" he asked, his voice rising. "You're acting like a child."
Her hand fell against the table wearily, and she sighed.
"It doesn't matter what the reasons are for you doing it, they don't matter. It's that you did. It's that it's me on the other end of all of this." Her fingers started drumming against the wood. "Do you know what it feels like," she whispered, "to hear that someone who has been nothing but mean to you since the day you met has done something like what you have for me? Can you even imagine what that feels like? I feel sick. I wouldn't want anyone to do for me what you have done...I'd rather die than have someone do that for me." She nearly choked on such an admission. "There is absolutely nothing I can do that can match what you've done for me. Nothing. That's the worst part of it all."
"Granger, I did this knowing that-"
Her face fell. "Wrong thing to say," she muttered, cutting him off. She rubbed her eyes tiredly, letting her hands linger, blocking it all out. She'd been cooped up in that seat all afternoon, her thoughts drowning her, and now she wanted nothing more than to go to bed. Harry and Ron had found her after lessons had finished, begged her to come to dinner with them, wondered why she was acting strange all of a sudden and not telling them why. Ginny had come down to try and talk to her, Neville thought she'd might like to take a walk in the gardens, heck even Padma had asked if everything was ok. She'd managed to get rid of them all easily, lying that she was stressed about school work and heads duties. Even if they didn't buy it they took the bait and went with it. Lavender had been the worst though, coming back and plonking herself down in the seat opposite her, deciding it was the perfect time to work on planning the ball and talking non-stop about it for two hours.
Hermione was grateful, she really was.
But she was confused and tired and thinking about far too many other things.
Draco waited for her to say something else but she'd withdrawn again. Without thinking about what he was doing, he reached forward and pulled her hands away from her face. "You have to try and act normal. People are beginning to suspect that something is wrong, and you're making yourself ill by acting like this. Look, this whole situation...it's difficult I know. I haven't really done anything to make it easier-"
"Just shut up, shut up." She pushed him away, even though it made her muscles ache from the strain of trying. "Don't be nice. I can't handle you being nice." Pushing herself up from the table, she took a deep breath and tried to calm her shaking legs. "If anyone should be being nice, it's me. I'm in your debt remember." She rubbed her forehead again as her eyes willed themselves closed. Why was everything spinning all of a sudden? "You're messing with my head just by being here. Please go away."
He watched her with a frown. Something was definitely wrong. Even he wasn't as pale as she was now. "Granger," he started uncertainly as he stood up, "you don't look right to me - I think you should go to the hospital wing."
She stepped away from him. "You should just go away. Please. Stop being nice one minute and horrible the next. It's hard enough without having to decipher what mood you're in."
Draco slammed a fist against the table. He wasn't even sure why he was trying. "Why are you making this more difficult than it has to be? Sinking into a depression isn't going to make this situation any better!"
"You can hardly blame me for not jumping up and down for joy." She looked at him for the first time, her eyes hollow. It was almost embarrassing seeing her so vulnerable, he turned away ashamed.
"And you can hardly blame me for getting angry at you when you make it so hard for me to act civil."
She opened her mouth to say something and then clamped it shut again, shaking her head. The air was stifling her, making her drowsy. "I'm tired," she muttered, not to him in particular as she started walking away from the table. She managed two steps before her legs gave way underneath her. She shot an arm out to try and grab onto the bookshelf in front of her but Draco's lightening quick seeker reflexes allowed him to catch hold of her before she fell.
"Please, just don't," she begged dejectedly as she tried to steady herself, struggling against his arms. "Don't."
He kept hold of her, surprised how slight she felt against him. "I'm taking you to see Madam Pomfrey."
"No!" she exclaimed angrily, trying to disentangle herself from his grip. "There's nothing wrong with me. Get off. I'm fine."
She was delirious, that much was obvious, and maybe something else too. He loosened his grip slightly and she swayed unsteadily. Draco would have bet good money that at that moment she was a lot paler than he had ever been.
"You can let go now," she said coolly, looking down at where his hand was wrapped around her arm.
He let her go of her arm roughly, his patience stretched to the limit. "Look," he said harshly, "I understand that this couldn't get any worse for you, but you've got to pull yourself together. Acting like a spoiled brat isn't going to make this any easier. Forget about me, forget about what I've done, stop thinking about what might happen, because it's all pointless. All of this," he gestured with his arms, "was done to protect you, and even though you may think it's unfair, even though you're going to protest that you didn't want any of it, it's done and you're acting like a damned ungrateful fool." His arms fell against his side.
"It's not like I'm not trying," she told him pointedly, wrapping her arms around herself against the cold.
Suddenly Madam Pince rounded the corner.
The librarian stared fiercely at both of them, looking like she might devour them. "What are you still doing in here? The library is closed, shoo!"
She ushered them both out into the corridor and slammed the doors shut.
"Moody cow," Draco muttered to himself, glancing at Hermione beside him. "Granger?" Her eyes were shut and she was swaying viscously on the spot. "Granger?" he called again.
Her eyes snapped open but the light-headedness was starting to overpower her. "I can't forget what you've told me. I wish I could, because it's making me feel sick, but I can't."
"Pretend to then," he said rudely as they started walking back to the Head's quarters together. "What's wrong with you?" he inquired when they'd ascended two flights of stairs and had set off down the corridor. "Aside from the obvious," he added when she looked at him funnily.
"Nothing," she replied meekly, her teeth chattering as she rubbed her arms.
"Cold?" The tone of his voice had changed.
She shook her head, but it was obvious she was.
Draco exhaled noisily, shedding his cloak without another thought and handing it to her.
She stared at it as if it were some bizarre offering. "It's just a cloak," he said when she didn't take it.
Her eyes caught his. "I don't need it, we're halfway back already."
"Honestly," he exclaimed, wrapping over her shoulders before she could stop him, "you are the most infuriating witch in Hogwarts." He stuffed his hands in his pockets. The way he said it was almost reminiscent of a compliment.
Hermione was left reeling from the lunacy of it all. Later that night, when she was trying and failing to sleep, she swore she would never be able to understand Draco Malfoy.
~o~
All thoughts, good and bad, are as always most appreciated.