Song Suggestion: XYLØ- "Yes and No"

A Killer Shade of Red

Hermione

Hermione weaved through the hallways of the castle towards the library, taking care to avoid people. The space darkened, void of windows. The torches lit her way.

She was so distracted, wrapped up in her mind, she almost missed the figures walking towards her, whispering furiously.

Hermione recognized the voice and pressed herself behind the first object she could find—a tapestry immortalizing Elfidra Clagg. The stitched trolls grumbled at being jostled for the first time in ages, raising their clubs with dumb expressions on their faces, swiping imaginary foes.

Hermione bit the edge of her hand to silence herself as Draco Malfoy and Astoria Greengrass rounded the corner.

"You haven't even asked him, have you?" She asked.

"Of course, I have."

"You're lying. What are you so afraid of? What's the worst he could do."

Draco stopped and raised one eyebrow.

"Quite a bit."

Astoria pursed her lips and crossed her arms on her chest. Her skin looked paler than normal, and dark circles marred her ivory skin. Hermione used to own a few porcelain dolls when she was younger, and Astoria would be indistinguishable if placed beside one.

Hermione thought she wasn't the jealous type, or the type who jumped to conclusions, but she now realized it was just because she had never been jealous before. The feeling twisted and grew wings and claws in her heart.

Hermione tried not to give away her position, but she nearly hung out the side of the tapestry to get a good view as the trolls continued to swat. The two Slytherins began walking again.

"It's not long now," Astoria said.

"You don't have to remind me. I've been trying to figure it all out, but let's just say it's ironclad."

"There has to be a loophole. There's always a loophole."

Draco sighed and rubbed his hands through his hair. He looked older than the boy that pulled her behind a building to snog senseless an hour ago. As if he let a mask drop.

"Have you told her?" Astoria asked softly.

Draco sighed.

"There's no need yet."

"This won't end well for any of us," Astoria said in a voice like glass, clear and breakable.

"Not for all of us, no." Draco shoved his hands in his pockets. "But I intend for it to work out for me." He passed her tapestry. She attempted to make everything on her body cease functioning while he passed, but the scent of his expensive cologne still found her.

Hermione

Instead of the library, Hermione tore through the hallways to her room. While she walked, she flipped the conversation she overheard in her brain, shaking it to reveal hidden coins. No matter how she turned the conversation to different angles, she couldn't figure out what made them so worried. She needed more context, which led her back to the most important question:

Why were Draco and Astoria having private discussions in the first place?

The unfamiliar feeling of drowning in jealousy overtook her. It whirled until it became a tornado, wanting to destroy the things attempting to take what she desired.

But her rational mind won out. No one wanted to steal anything from her, and it's not as if she owned him in the first place.

Anyway, what they had between them meant nothing. It was all just a little fun.

She tried to convince herself of that as she barged into the common room, ignoring the hellos of people she knew and barreled into her room. Ginny startled out of her bed, hair in a wild red halo on her head.

"Why are you sleeping in my bed… oh, never mind. I don't care. Can you help me with something?"

"Sure."

Hermione tugged off the beaded purse and dug inside, extracting the black tube of lipstick. She uncapped it, twisting the bottom until it careened upwards.

Ginny eyed the makeup in confusion, standing upright.

"Do you… want me to help you apply it?"

"No," Hermione held it out to her friend. "I want you to put it on."

Both Ginny's eyes narrowed in a shrewd look.

"This is no ordinary lipstick, is it? You're researching something."

Hermione shrugged in answer, and it was all the acknowledgment Ginny needed.

She grabbed the lipstick.

"If I do this, you have to bring me on your next adventure. I want to be a part of it. No more leaving me behind."

Hermione hesitated. She hated bringing her friends into potentially dangerous situations. What if the next adventure sent them straight to the dangerous end of Rosewood's wand? He was still around, somewhere, posing a threat just by existing.

"Fine," Hermione said.

Ginny walked towards the mirror and pursed her lips, then leaned forward and swiped a trail of glistening red on her lips.

"There's no denying it's a killer shade of red, even if its potentially nefarious. When you solve this mystery, you have to find out where they got it from."

Hermione rolled her eyes. She had never understood girls and their obsession with makeup. She'd grown to like a little mascara and gloss, but other than that it seemed a bit useless.

Ginny popped her lips and twisted. The shade of red was a perfect match for her hair.

"Any change?" Hermione asked.

"Why are you asking me?" Ginny placed a hand on her hip. "Lipstick is meant to entice."

"Of course." Hermione wanted to smack her head with the palm of her hand for being dense. Lipstick was an offensive move in the world of human courtship, meant to lure in prey.

Just as she thought it, the effects became noticeable. Her brain felt a little fuzzy, almost dizzy with euphoria. She gave a long, deep sniff to the air as she staggered forward. And as she did, she instantly remembered what this smelled like.

"Freshly mowed grass," she whispered. "New parchment and spearmint toothpaste… and… and…" Just like the last time, she refused to say out loud the last thing. Previously, she smelled Ron's hair, but it had changed with time. Now, Draco's expensive cologne lingered in the air.

"Amortentia." Ginny stepped backward in horror. "You're not going to throw yourself at me, are you? You're very pretty, but you lack the parts I like."

Hermione shook her head.

"No," she said. "It just makes me want to get closer, but I can fight it. A true love potion is more intense."

"Then what does it all mean?"

"That Astoria told the truth. It wasn't a spell. Just a trick. A bit of watered down Amortentia infused into her lipstick, not meant to be ingested." Hermione walked to her bed and sat down and clutched her head. A sudden headache pounded behind her eyes as she tried to sort it out. "It meant Ron could have fought it, if he wanted. But he liked the smell too much, reminded him of everything he loved."

"Ron's such a mess, I'm not sure why she bothered." Ginny sat down next to her.

The edges started to click together. The way Ron huffed and crossed his arms. The way Astoria hedged around the words, as if she couldn't outright tell him, as if compelled by magic to stay silent.

"She didn't do it for herself," Hermione concluded. She wanted to hate Astoria outright, but she looked just as put out as Ron, tears streaming down her face, trying to explain something.

"That's just stupid. Who else would want that Greengrass bitch to snog my brother?"

"Someone with the right motivation."

And as the words exited her mouth, everything made sense.

She knew exactly who had the right motivation.

"I'm going to fuck your girl soon, Weasel," Draco taunted. He gave a little smirk, dripping with malice. "I hope to say it to your face one day. But for now, thanks for being predictable and making it easy."

Their conversation she stumbled into earlier took a sinister tone. Familiar. Close. Even if he sneered as if he didn't like Astoria.

Draco Malfoy is the only person in the world with the right motivation to somehow con Astoria Greengrass to kiss Ronald Weasley—the only other person who held Hermione's affection.

Draco bet on Ron's desire to escape reality. It must have been like a muggle drug to his mind. Draco also engineered Hermione stumbling on it and getting angry enough to shut Ron out.

Hermione leaned her head forward. Ginny placed a comforting hand on her back. "I'm so fucking stupid."

A beat of silence and then the bed shook with Ginny's laughter.

"Finally," Ginny exclaimed. "I've been waiting for you to do something normal."

"How is this normal?"

"This is all about Draco, right?"

"How do you know that?"

Ginny rolled her eyes and held up the tube of lipstick.

"This is probably worth more than my house. Amortentia is a substantial sum of money. There aren't many wizards willing to throw down that amount of cash on something so trivial. If money's involved, there's a high chance it can be traced back to Malfoy."

Hermione slumped forward. All the energy left her body.

"So what do I do?"

Her brain and heart hurt. It felt like betrayal, like Draco lied to her. But he never did, really. He always told Hermione exactly who he was. She just never believed him.

"There's three options." Ginny eyes gained the glint of mischief that made her look Slytherin. "You can act like nothing is wrong, have your fun, and leave. That option is only for the people who don't care." Ginny gave a glance telling Hermione this option was not a good idea. "Or number two, you can leave him now. This is probably the one I should steer you. It's the route good girls with respectable futures choose. The most painful, but it'll end with a clean, severed blow."

Hermione grabbed the tube from Ginny, careening it up and down, watching the red appear and disappear as the considered.

"What's the third option?"

Hermione could never act like nothing was wrong. And she wasn't strong enough yet to sever the bond between them, the literal one made of old magic, and the figurative one made of heart strings.

Ginny flashed a set of brilliant white teeth, lips still stained red. The smell of his cologne did strange things in her mind as it always did.

The rage under her skin boiled, as if painful and hot to the touch. She was afraid if she moved too fast, she'd boil alive like Cantan Nott.

"Or, number three, you can play his game," she said. "Manipulate him like he manipulated you. Though… I must warn you it'll only drag you in deeper."

Hermione huffed out a laugh, almost expecting a puff of smoke. She should end this complicated tug and pull between her and Malfoy.

But revenge sounded delightful.

Hermione

Hermione ignored Malfoy for the next few days. He attempted to corner her, but by this point, she was several steps ahead of his usual tricks. Honestly, it wasn't too complicated. Just avoid lonely hallways where he could corner her alone.

Only in Potions was she unable to avoid him. He leaned in over their smoking potion with a glare.

"What's your problem?"

In answer, she added a cupful of gnat heads. They dropped into the liquid and turned it a bright blue, a tad shade brighter than she intended.

"I think we might have added too much Bitter root," she said.

"No, it was the Newt spleen. You sliced it when it should have been diced."

"You might be right, for once."

"You're trying to avoid the question." His blond hair brushed in front of his eyes in a way that always made her heart flutter, even before all this mess began.

"Is this about the Weasel?" He asked.

"So what if it is?"

"You're not still pining over him, are you? Because that would be a little pathetic. Do I need to remind you how you caught the wanker shoving Astoria up a wall?"

"Yes, do remind me of that night," Hermione clipped out. "Some of the details have become muddled."

Draco paused, searching her face.

Professor Gianna cut the conversation short.

"Please turn in a vial of your potion to the front. I want an essay about your process and improvement on my desk in a week."

Hermione started to gather her materials but was stopped by Draco's hand on her elbow in a position no one could see. It felt like a brand on her skin. A searing, burning heat.

"Tell me what's wrong."

Hermione huffed a breath.

"I'm not going to tell you. You need to tell me. Only after that will I decide what to do." She tugged out of his grasp. To his credit, he didn't try and grab her again. "Until then, leave me alone."

His face hardened, mouth clenched until his lips turned bloodless, as white as his hair.

Since then, he obeyed her, though she felt his eyes everywhere. In the great hall. In potions. In the library. He hovered around her like a wraith, fury as cold as a polar wind.

Hermione

Hermione found Callum in the library, with his head in a book. His mop of curly dark hair was the only thing she could see, and the sight endeared her. So few boys loved to read like she did, and it was refreshing to find one.

Hermione ignored the voice in the back of her head that reminded her Draco liked to read as well.

"Hey," she said, sliding into the seat across from him.

Callum Mason snapped his head up, answering with a wide smile. It was his best feature, lighting up his whole face from within like a glowing sun. A tooth in the corner was crooked. The slight imperfection added to his charm, like a dimple.

He closed the book and gave a sarcastic bow of his head. "Good morning, Gryffindor Princess, Brains of the Golden Trio, Hermione Granger, first of her name. What's up?"

The other people in the library stared at them, though they tried to act like they didn't, whispering to each other over books with furtive glances.

"Do you have a date to the dance?" Hermione said.

His whole body froze, and he sat up straighter.

"No. Why?"

Hermione shrugged.

"I was wondering if you'd like to go with me."

He glanced around at the other people in the room and then back at her.

"Are you joking with me? There's not someone behind the counter with a quick-quotes quill?"

"No, though I wouldn't put it past the third years giggling three tables down."

"Isn't there someone else you'd rather go with than me?"

Hermione bit her lip in amusement.

"Do you not want to go with me?"

"Are you fucking joking? Of course, I want to go with you. I just—I never thought—well, aren't I supposed to ask you?"

"It's the modern age. A woman can ask a man but go ahead and ask me, if you want."

He grinned, grey eyes sparking.

"Well, I'm never one to let good luck slide by me. Hermione Granger, do you want to go the winter ball with me?"

She winked at him with her own grin.

"Pick me up at seven. And not a minute later. I detest being late."

He gave a mock military salute.

Such a muggle thing to do. She'd forgotten he was only a half blood. He must have been raised in the muggle world, which was interesting given the house he belonged.

She stood up as he cracked back open the book to the right page even without a bookmark. As she stepped out of the library, she heard the whispers rise to a crescendo, loud enough Madame Pince shushed them.

She could almost hear them: Hermione Granger is going to the ball with a Slytherin!

Hermione wondered how fast it would take for Malfoy to hear the news. Wondered how fast Hogwarts spread gossip.

Like wildfire, she bet.

Hermione

Hermione walked into the head meeting. Three people beat her there. Callum's eyes brightened when she appeared. Draco just leaned back and placed his heel on the edge of his knee in an elegant movement. Hermione avoided looking at the spot Clara used to sit. It taunted her, a haunted place.

Instead, McGonagall perched on the edge of a separate seat, looking as feline as her Animagus.

"You're late," Draco drawled. He looked pointedly at her, as if to perform legilimency.

"I was just finishing up the last bit of planning."

Hermione plunked down a massive stack of papers, each outlining the decorations, music, and food the party needed down to the last enchanted snowflake. She'd been working on it like a mad woman as a distraction.

Draco gave a loud snort at the amount of papers she produced.

"We didn't need a book," he snarked.

Both Hermione and McGonagall threw him a sharp look.

McGonagall reached out and slid the papers toward her, rifling through them with an efficient speed.

"I can always count on you, Hermione, to give me quality work. I'll review what you've written, but I trust you've done a splendid job."

Draco gave a long sip of water. The cords of magic between them thrummed, like an invisible hand plucked a cord on the guitar. It wasn't a pleasant feeling, but it wasn't terrible either. Just made her want to wiggle in her seat.

Stop it.

Make me.

Okay then. Below her chair she twisted her hand, and the glass in his hands exploded. The shards sprinkled to the ground.

Draco choked, McGonagall gasped, Callum edged away, and Hermione smirked.

"My apologies," Draco gasped with a frown. He vanished the broken glass and its splattered contents with a wave of his wand. "I must have grasped too tight."

"You really should be more careful," Hermione said as sweetly as possible.

"I agree, Mr. Malfoy." McGonagall brushed at the front of her legs.

"Is there anything else we'll be needing?" Callum asked. He glanced between Hermione and Draco with a furrowed brow.

"Well, yes," McGonagall said. Her voice was oddly soft. Hermione knew which subject she was about to broach. "Clara Hightower was a brilliant student and wonderful friend to many. It saddens me the continued loss we must face, even after the war. Be that as it may, we still need to address the fact her absence leaves a hole. It will be your decision as a collective on what to do about it. If you wish, we'll leave the head girl spot as is. And if you wish, we can fill it with a desired candidate."

They all avoided looking at each other, locked in memories they wished to forget. The sound of Clara's body collapsing into the dirt. Her eyes open and empty.

"I vote to fill it," Hermione said.

Draco raised an eyebrow in surprise and so did McGonagall.

"Any reason for this decision?" Draco asked.

"It just doesn't feel right for it to be empty."

"And who would you suggest?" McGonagall asked.

Hermione gave one sharp look to Draco.

"Astoria Greengrass."

Draco pulled the heel of his boot off his knee, placing both feet on the ground.

"And why would you do that?" He asked, voice deadly as a blade.

He meant to intimidate in the same way his father threatened people. A question lying on the edge of a sword.

But Hermione wasn't a woman easily intimidated.

"She's third in rankings for her class, just below Callum. The spot should go to whoever earns it. Besides that, she seems to make friends with just about everyone. Wouldn't you agree, Draco?"

Draco narrowed his eyes in response. If McGonagall sensed an underlying meaning between the two of them, she certainly held her tongue. Or she just didn't care for the drama of students. Callum did though. His eyes bounced between them, as if watching a ping pong match.

"Not everyone. I find her a little inane." Draco cocked his head to the side. "Though, if that's who you vote for, I'll agree to it."

"Splendid," McGonagall said. Even in praise, her voice came out clipped. "I'm pleased to see the progress you two have made this year attempting to be civil. You've become great role models for the students. At the winter victory ball, the ministry expect candid photos together, maybe a dance. Your time in Romania has earned the interest of several countries, and the ministry will want to capitalize on that. Though you are still just students, so it is up to you."

Draco gave an elegant shrug.

"I'm willing to dance, if she is."

Dancing with Draco? The magic sparked at her fingertips at the thought. Hermione didn't know if the feeling was anger or excitement.

"A dance never hurt anybody," Hermione answered.

Draco

McGonagall ended the meeting. The old cat gave a nod, gaze lingering on Hermione in fondness. She had always favored Granger, even back when she was nothing but an annoying know-it-all sidekick.

Callum stood up next.

"Do you want me to walk you back to your dorm?" He directed the question to Hermione.

And just like that, Draco's whole body erupted with tingles. He wished to show Callum Mason exactly who he fucked with. Granger too. She asked the wanker to the dance on purpose just to piss him off. And she did it in front of some fourth years gossips, so it didn't take long for him to hear about it.

"I already promised to walk her back," Draco interrupted before Granger could answer. "You can scurry off because there's several important things I need to talk about with the head girl."

Callum paused a second, as if contemplating disobeying a direct order, which would have been really fucking stupid for someone with his pedigree. He grimaced, but the sense returned. Like a boy that's been whipped, Callum shut his mouth in a thin, ridged line and walked out the door, slamming the door behind him.

It left only a glaring Hermione in the room. Waves of anger radiated off her. He didn't even need to see the small sparks of magic at her fingertips to understand she was moments from snapping.

Draco leaned back as if unaffected, though his whole body felt tight.

"This is about Astoria," he said. "That much is clear. How did you find out?"

Hermione reached down into her damned purse, curls falling in front of her face, and withdrew a small black object.

"I assume you recognize this."

Draco sat back in his chair, assessing the situation. When he was seven, he snuck into his father's study, wishing to play with all the enchanted objects. The situation he faced was not much different. He needed to proceed with caution. Touching the wrong nerve could result in catastrophe.

"It cost forty galleons," he admitted.

Hermione uncapped it, revealing the glistening red. She placed it to her lips, swiping left and right. Then she rubbed her lips together, separating them with a pop.

Seconds later a familiar scent filled the room. When he first sniffed Amortentia as a child, it smelled of quidditch leather and the metal scent of money. It now smelled like mint toothpaste, lavender, and soap.

It went through his veins, travelling to his heart, to his head.

He wished to drag Hermione from her seat, sitting so primly on the edge of the chair. Wished to let her red lipstick smear across his face.

But he controlled himself. She was just fucking with him. He knew this by the cruel little smirk she had cultivated just for him.

"Don't go with him to the dance," he asked her. He couldn't hide the plea in the words, though he detested begging.

It bothered him more than it should. He never cared who else Pansy fucked around with. But the idea of Mason's hand on the small of her back made him want to throw another Avada.

"I can go with whomever I wish," Hermione said. He imagined himself back in his father's study, reaching out to touch a necklace only for it to turn into molten lava. "The dance will be the last day of term. The next day we leave for winter break." Hermione stood up. She stashed the lipstick back into her beaded purse and headed toward the door. "So if you haven't convinced me to forgive you by the end of the dance, don't even bother trying."

Draco stewed in his dark thoughts for hours, attempting to climb back out of the hold he dug himself. But he discovered he had no fucking clue how to woo Hermione Granger back into his arms.

Draco

Draco whisked himself along the Hogwarts hallways, pale as the ghosts. It was past curfew, but he was head boy, and it gave him leeway. He slammed into the dormitory. It didn't take long finding his target.

Callum Mason sat in one of the oversized Chesterfield leather couches perched in front of a roaring fire with a book on his lap. Everything glowed green, and the lake swished against the windows. If he looked closely, he could spot a mermaid skittering by.

"Everyone out." He pointed his wand in Mason's direction. "Except you."

It took thirty seconds for the room to clear, students scrambling over themselves to do his bidding. They learned long ago the consequences of lack of respect. The only one who forgot the lessons, it seemed, glared back at him.

He may not be able to convince Granger to forgive him, but he'd be dammed if he let her walk into that dance hanging off the arm of a second-rate wizard like Mason.

"I'm assuming you want to speak about Hermione."

"Correct." Deadly spells sat on the tip of his tongue. He had planned on entering and exiting this conversation in a calm manner, but he was in a foul mood, and his skin itched to blast something.

"Jealousy makes you look pathetic," Mason said.

Draco was so stunned he didn't respond right away. No one had ever challenged the order of things, his place at the top of the pack. The Malfoy name gave him the title, but his cruelty secured it. He had the ability to ruin people, and this little upstart decided this was the time to bark back.

"Here's what you'll do." Draco walked over and sat in the leather sofa opposite him, keeping his wand aimed. The sofa creaked, still not worn in, despite years of use. "First, you'll get on your knees and grovel. Apologize sweet enough and I may just forget your infractions."

"And second?" Mason tried to act like he wasn't affected, but he clenched his teeth after.

"Second, you'll go tell Hermione you're already going with Pansy to the dance."

The seconds ticked by as they sat there, with his wand trained on him and Callum unmoving. Finally, Callum shut his book and set it aside.

"At the start of the year, I had hoped we'd get along." Callum leaned back, putting his hand on his knee in a movement that seemed familiar. "But I'm coming to find we can't, and that there isn't room for both of us."

Draco narrowed his eyes.

"What the fuck are you rambling on about?"

Mason stood and Draco lowered his wand. No matter how much he wanted to hurt him, Malfoy power was about money, connections, and influence, not force. Draco wouldn't make his move until he knew everything about him: past, future, strengths, weaknesses, fears, and motivation. Only then could he slide Mason around on the chess board.

"One day, Draco," Mason sneered. "I'm going to steal everything from you. For now, I'll start with Hermione Granger. Cantan Nott was right about one thing… she'll be a perfect little whore. I bet she's dangerous in bed as she is out of it. After I fuck her, I'll be sure to send you my thanks for sending her into my arms."

Despite his good sense and plans, Draco snapped.

"Crucio!"

The spell bounced off a strong shield.

"Your problem," Masons said behind a blue wall of magic. "Is you've never been challenged properly. Except for little tussles with the golden boy, you've never faced an equal opponent. I promise I won't stop until you've experienced the same bitterness I have."

The shield failed, leaving them both panting, glaring at one another.

"You're going to regret this very soon," Draco said. "Your mother is a mudblood, correct? It wouldn't be hard to find out where she works. Shame for her to lose a job right before Christmas."

Mason blinked a few times.

"You've no idea what you're even saying. You must understand I have all the cards, and if you're not careful, I'll play them."

Callum smiled and left the common room, leaving Draco alone. He sunk back into the leather couch, once again alone with his thoughts.

Except this time, he had one more thing to consider. Callum Mason lied about Romania. He said he was unconscious, but he gave himself away without even realizing it.

Cantan Nott was right about one thing… she'll be a perfect little whore

He knew what Cantan had said, which means he was awake to hear it.

It only led him to the question: Why lie? Callum Mason had hidden skeletons, and Draco was determined to unearth them.