Chapter 25

"My boobs look like they're about to pop out," observed Hermione, staring critically at her own reflection in the mirror.

The lady pretending to be reading a magazine at the front desk gave an audible sniff of disapproval. Although, she couldn't deduce whether it was in response to the horrible way this pink dress sat on her or her insulting tone regarding the Gladrag's very own item, she suspected it was the former.

"Why didn't you just let her offer us advice like she wanted?" she whispered quietly to Ginny.

"Because she would've convinced you to buy the most expensive one in this store, and I'd have to listen to her grating 'oohs' and 'ahhs' and won't be able to decide on my own. Besides – " she came nearer to adjust Hermione's bust line, causing her to blush, "- she's got an awful taste. Look at what she's wearing. This one looks ace, by the way. Doesn't it, Ariana?"

"Erm," began Ariana.

Ginny must have anticipated her objection, and she swiftly turned around again to finger her own burnt gold coloured number. "If you shopped half as much you study, you would've known such things."

"Well, I know one thing. I'm not buying this awful dress."

"Oh, well. Pick another then. How's mine?"

"It's amazing."

It was. The golden shimmer set off Ginny's red locks to perfection. Half a dozen thin golden chains hung down the sides of its skirt in downward parabolas, and instead of looking tacky they only added to the energy of the whole look. All it needed was a pair of sharp black pumps.

"What do you say?" Ginny asked their reluctant companion again.

She had been trying to get along well with her for the past few hours, partly on account of her being Hermione's good friend and partner, but Hermione suspected it was mostly because of her genuine curiosity about the girl. Ariana did that to you.

"You should buy it. It's pretty."

"Thanks," Ginny smiled, pleased.

Hermione began browsing through the long row of dresses, but kept getting distracted by her own cleavage. Grumbling in frustration, she was just about to march down into the changing room to change back into her jeans and sweater, when Ariana meekly stepped forward in her path, holding a fistful of teal coloured fabric.

"Try this one."

Inside the changing room, Hermione struggled with the slippery texture but her face cleared visibly as she finally managed to set it right upon her torso and stare into the reflection.

It was some variety of satin, only the subtle matte kind. The Queen Anne neckline was set wide, the embezzled cap sleeves covering her shoulders in the loveliest way. The bodice was made of darker pleats of the same fabric crossing at the center, and the column style skirt fell around her ankles in a glistening waterfall. It could be the perfect ball dress, except for just one sizable problem.

"What's with all these dresses and boobs?" she said, throwing the curtain aside and walking over to the girls. "Why does every single one of them has to have such obvious cleavage?" In the back of her mind, she marveled at the way the cloth flowed around her legs as she walked.

Ginny stared at her. She was now sporting a little black dress that did absolutely nothing for her curves.

"Sweet Merlin," she gasped, before pointing one finger in her face, "You better buy that, Hermione Granger, or I will."

"Look, I know it's real pretty – "

"It looks beautiful," said Ariana.

" – but I can't step out in front of the entire school like…like this. Why can't I find something similar to the one I got for Yule Ball?"

"Too bad Mother Nature intended for these girls to play outside, or our head girl would've had them stored away inside our ribcages," Ginny scoffed, sharing a covert look with Ariana, who grinned, the traitor. "And three years ago you had mosquito bites. Buy it, Hermione."

"You should."

"And don't think that the other girls aren't going to surpass you in that department, if that's what you're worried about. Slytherins especially. So better make it yours before some other tart snatches it off."

"You're right, though," she murmured finally, thinking of how she'd loathe leaving it now, only to find it on someone else later on the evening of the ball. "I think this one is it."

"And I guess the gold one was far better," Ginny said, glancing down at herself.

Ariana nodded behind her in the reflection.

"What are you doing over there?" Hermione called out to her at last, "You haven't tried out a single dress." Ariana tilted her head sideways to regard her as if she'd sprouted another head.

"I don't need one."

"Why not?" Ginny said, swiftly facing her.

"Because I'm not going."

"Don't be ridiculous. Of course you're going," Hermione said.

She shrugged. "Nobody is going to ask me."

"Nonsense, Ariana. Whoever said that you need a date to have a good time? …and in any case, you can come with me. That's right, we can both go together," Hermione said.

Ginny had now focused her disbelieving gaze over at her.

"Are you both out of your bloody minds? Of course you need dates!"

Hermione gave her an amused look. "That's easy for you to say. You already asked Harry."

"Boys don't always have to do the asking, you know! Use your brains, Hermione Granger. Invite the bloke you fancy. And you."

"Yes?"

Hermione had to give her credit; Ariana didn't look scared of the redhead in the least.

"Who do you fancy?"

"Err – "

"Come on now. Out with it!"

The Hufflepuff blinked owlishly behind her glasses.

"Blaise Zabini."

Draco watched Granger as she flitted around in the office, assigning her army of prefects with their tasks from a long list in her hands, at which she kept glancing every few seconds or so; the Queen bee overseeing her obedient little worker bees.

And drones with pricks.

Goldstein had seemed to have taken over the role of her assistant for the evening. He was standing nearly two feet too close to her and though it wasn't close enough for her to get finicky about his proximity, it was enough for his blood to curdle in his veins.

He was now certain the pair of them were going to show up together at the winter ball, if the way they kept making moon eyes at each other was any indication. He didn't especially care about their social plans two weeks from now...but the chit had shown up at his door at six in the morning and had all but commanded him to show up for this particular meeting, so the least she could do was throw him a glance, or better yet, tell him to leave. Even Blaise had sauntered out of the room with the instructions to hunt for adult chaperones and he hadn't even thought to take him along. He almost missed Pansy right now; but she no longer attended prefect meetings.

As she, too, had now taken to ignoring his existence. He knew he was going to have to apologize to her one of these days; holidays were fast approaching and his mother would have his head if she ever got the wind that he'd been anything but perfectly civil to his childhood friend. Yes, that and there was the tiny detail of having a convenient date on his arm for the upcoming nightmare without having to put in all the effort and brainpower to look for some other girl whom he could even marginally stand when compared to her.

Pansy, he thought quickly, compared to Pansy.

He crossed his arms over his chest and stretched his long legs over the polished surface of the table. Granger's head snapped sideways at his movement. She pursed her mouth and shook her head slowly, as if completely annoyed by his lazing around.

What now? The least he could do was get comfortable. Not like she'd told him what to do despite his being the first one to the meeting. If she expected him to sit out the whole affair without ever feeling the urge to bolt, then she had another think coming.

But before he could find any chance to do so, the prefects slowly began trickling out of the room till only Goldstein remained along with the pair of them, who apparently still hadn't run out of superbly interesting to say given how she was giving him her full wide-eyed attention. A few minutes later, after having eyed Granger a great deal and throwing one cautious glance Draco's way, he too left.

She turned away, giving the list another long look.

"Right. So that's done with, for now," she said, walking over to the table and taking a seat in the chair nearest to him. Evidently she had other things on her mind. He fought down the urge to bring his chair closer, just to see if she'd jump, but in the end he contented just by watching her.

She was looking down at the parchment in her hand, her index finger casually brushing against her lower lip as she frowned in concentration. A springy lock of hair had escaped her bun and was now idling against her temple. His gaze lowered to her eyes as they flitted swiftly from side to side, framed by long, thick eyelashes. They threw crescentic shadows onto her cheeks, which he now noticed were a warm pink and dotted with light brown freckles. Her nose was straight and a little upturned, with an adorable flare to her nostrils.

With minor effort he forced himself to look away from her mouth and concentrate on what she was saying.

"…we all know how difficult Filch can really be but fortunately he adores Snape, so you're going to get a written approval from Snape on this and we can get to decorating as soon as we can."

"Hold it there. I have to do it?"

She finally glanced up at him.

"Why not? Have some prior commitment, Malfoy?"

"Well, you made me wait two entire hours for this. I have every reason to be picky."

She rolled her eyes.

"Malfoy, you practically live next door. Of course, I had to deal with prefects first."

"By all means, keep pretending that you're the only Head in this room."

"If you made yourself useful on your own, ferret, I really wouldn't have to," she replied tartly.

"The only reason why I don't try to make myself useful is because you're an overbearing and condescending – " He stopped himself suddenly.

"What?" she arched her eyebrow in challenge.

Bitch, he had wanted to say. But he realized he was being a bit of an arse himself right now.

"Just tell me what I have to do." He grit out.

Her eyes lowered at his tone and her hands tightened a fraction on the parchment she was holding.

"I want you to contact a band," she said tiredly.

"Alright," his voice had softened off its own accord, "Which band?"

"The Ankle Biters."

He had barely a second to straighten his expression into blankness before he spoke, "No."

Her eyes met his curiously. "Why not?"

"They're shit."

She gave a half laugh at his stone-like expression. "No, they're not."

"Yes, they are," his voice was resolute.

She opened her mouth but closed it a second later, doing a fine imitation of a fish fresh out of water and at any other time he would have laughed over this but it wasn't funny anymore.

"Are you serious? Do you even know who they are?"

"I absolutely do, Granger. And I have no intention of explaining myself to you. Pick another band."

"Don't be daft. They're currently the best in all country! And it was the prefects who came up with them, and if you're so against them you should have said something earlier!"

"I don't care. Pick another fucking band," he snapped.

"No, I'm not picking some other band, you absolute prick!" she shouted, her patience finally snapped, "What the hell is your problem?"

"The Ankle Biters are not going to be playing at Hogwarts," he said evenly.

"Yeah, damn right they won't! Because you're not going to ask them!"

"That's right."

She threw him a withering glare, before tucking a lock of her hair behind her ear decisively.

"Well, once again you're managed to prove how spectacularly useless you are, ferret. If you aren't going to contact them, I will."

"Guess I'll just have to stop you from doing that, Granger."

Her eyes were huge now, having finally realized that he wasn't messing around.

"Can you tell me just why are you being so difficult?"

"No."

"Look, humor me. Convince me that they really are so horrible and we'll decide on another one."

He cocked his to the side and gauged her expression. She looked sincere and curious, but he couldn't forget who she was. She wasn't just Granger anymore. Right now, she was one of them.

"Well?"

He tapped his nails onto the table before him, thinking. Her eyes followed the movement absently.

"Do you know the name of their lead vocalist?" he asked.

She narrowed her eyes in concentration. "It's James Scarcliffe, right?"

"Correct. Five points to Gryffindor," he mocked, "Do you know what he is?"

"Um – you just said he's the lead singer."

"Among other things, but what he really is a werewolf Death Eater."

"What?"

"Did I stutter?"

Her face had gone pale. He could almost hear the gears of her mind clicking into action, and he anticipated the question she asked next.

"How do you know?"

"Do you believe me then?"

"Answer the question, Malfoy."

His mouth curved into a slow smile. "I think you know the answer to that, Granger. I know because I have seen him."

She couldn't look at him straight in the eye now. He knew she was beginning to ponder the extent of his involvement in their activities.

How does he know? Is he one of them? Are we safe?

"You have seen him at your – "

"At my house, yes. He's not very old, only a few years older than we are right now. Greyback found him," he said.

She was staring resolutely over his shoulder. He could see the understanding gradually dawn on her face. Greyback. Malfoy Manor. Death Eaters.

And he could also imagine how uncomfortable she must be feeling, talking about the real world right now – with him – two people suddenly coming to terms with their place in the order of things. It wasn't like they hadn't known beforehand – they were fully aware and intelligent. But it was easy to slide into the mundane rhythm of school and house rivalries and games and…other things, and forget about what lay outside.

"Why is he in a band, though?" she asked.

"He has talents, apparently. Maybe the Dark Lord gets a kick out of knowing he's slowly infiltrating the masses."

Her brown eyes connected with his at the mention of the Dark Lord, and something passed between them.

And what about you? But of course, she really wouldn't ask that.

"Does Professor Snape know?"

"Of course."

She folded her arms across her chest.

"Why did you tell me?"

He did a double take at the question.

"Why? Because you asked me, Granger."

"Come on, Malfoy. You could have just lied and given me a bullshit excuse. You really didn't have to tell me all that."

"What if I really did lie? Do you have any way to be sure?"

"I don't need one. I know you told me the truth. But I want to know why. What could you possibly gain by telling me all this? In fact, the way I see it, you have a lot to lose."

It took him a minute to understand her full implication, and when he did, he saw red.

"And that's what you think of me? You think I might have let you go with it without saying anything – let a fucking werewolf inside the school?!"

She raised her voice as well. "What do you want me to say? You want me to say 'Thanks a bunch, you just saved the school from a possible Death Eater attack, let me kiss your feet'?"

"No, you ungrateful cow! The only thing I wanted to do was save your skin!"

"Oh, that's rich! You really are as pathetic as I thought. I don't need saving, Malfoy, and I definitely don't have to smother you with credit for telling me!"

He couldn't believe his ears. Granger had finally gone bonkers.

"Are you even listening to yourself? I didn't ask for credit and I sure as hell don't need it from you of all people!"

"Then why did you tell me, Malfoy?" she exclaimed, "Why?"

"I don't know, alright? Merlin's right nut, I don't know what I was thinking!"

"Why don't you just tell me?"

"Tell you what?" he roared.

"Tell me that you're one of them!"

"WHAT!"

"It's true, isn't it?" her eyes were shining.

It was his turn to do the fish out of water thing. He blinked several times to clear his head, but was still unable to comprehend how Granger could possibly be so stupid. The entire tantrum and the screaming, over this!

"You think that I am a Death Eater," he said, flatly.

She only glared mutinously.

"Granger, we've been living in close quarters for nearly four months now. I can safely assume you've had an eyeful several times."

Her face was red but she remained silent.

"I'm not sporting the Dark Mark anywhere on my body, and you know that." Her eyes moved to his left arm.

"That doesn't prove anything," she bit out. She was grasping for straws right now.

He pressed the bridge of his nose between his fingers.

"Owl me the name of another band tonight, and I'll contact them tomorrow." He said without looking at her, "See you later."

Pushing both his hands inside his pockets, he slowly walked out of the office, leaving her to stare after him.

Hermione Granger couldn't believe what she was feeling. She clutched her face with both hands, fighting the mad urge to bawl her eyes out. What was wrong with her?

She knew Malfoy wasn't a Deatheater. How many times had she seen his bare arms? She had known it the first time he'd drawn his wand at her. She hadn't needed him to tell her that. She knew it in her bones. Just like she knew that one day he will be one. One day in the future, he would show her his tattooed arm and tell him that he was one of them with the same firmness that he'd told her he wasn't, barely a minute ago. He'd make fun of her for ever believing that he could be anything different.

While he had been talking about James Scarcliffe, she had imagined his face. She had visualized him sitting next to Voldemort, laughing beside his father and planning their downfall. It was easy to imagine him hating her kind, but in those few seconds, she had imagined him killing and gutting them.

It had infuriated her to a degree that she couldn't believe herself capable of. He was going to be one of them and she was mad at him for not having the mettle to ever go against what he had been born into. After having hated him so long for being insufferable, now she hated him for being a coward.

Deep down she knew she was being unreasonable and stupid. It wasn't her problem. He was right – she was supposed to be grateful that he'd at least told her – it was just that she couldn't bring herself to feel so.

Her hands had unknowingly crushed the parchment in her hands and she angrily threw it on the floor, further proof to the fact that she had really lost her mind. So she sat there taking deep breaths hoping to calm herself down and finally get on with her life without sparing another thought for Draco Malfoy. There were things to be sorted and a ball to organize.

Sighing, she reached down to pick up the ball of parchment that she had stupidly thrown, and suddenly had an epiphany.

A month ago when she had sneaked into his room to plant her pranks, she had come across a wad of paper lying before the hearth – the crumpled letter from his father…the initiation into the Ministry… the start up in December…

She fell back into the chair with a thud, flinging a palm over her forehead at her doltishness. There was embarrassment was followed by staggering relief – and that was telling in itself, so she laughed quietly to herself. There wasn't anyone around to see her, anyway.

In that moment, Hermione realized that something else was underway here, something that dangerous and exhilarating at the same time. Something unidentifiable, and that something was going to take her down.

She was going to find out what it was.

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