Chapter 17
Homecoming
The last few weeks of the term had her numb. She was blank. Her mind reeling and searching for explanation where there was none. Harry and Ron paid close attention in her new mood. They treated her like a piece of glass. Her time in the DA was the best part of it. She found the energy to focus on her skills then. It gave the small spark of happiness.
Then came a depressing day. Harry and the Weasleys, gone from their beds. No one had thought to wake her. She was worried sick. The breakfast table was empty. She stared at the open seats in front of her with a hole widening in her heart.
It was like she'd awoke in a nightmare. Not a soul to belong to in the entire school.
McGonagall was kind enough to explain what happened. It hurt to be left behind.
Her mind was with Harry. What happened in his dream, it sounded awful. More so, she knew her best friend would need her more than anything. Everyone else would be too worried about Arthur Weasley to realize how traumatizing it would be for Harry to have endured such a vision. It'd become a struggle for him after Cedric. He tossed and turned most nights. He was tortured by the death of Cedric and the weight of survival. Survivors guilt, they called it.
Hermione walked the corridors of the castle with no place in mind. Her feet felt restless. Her mind hated stagnation. She wanted something else to think of other than the growing threat on her friend's life and the agonizing heartbreak of almost killing and thus losing Draco as a part of her life.
She, somehow, was drawn back to the dreary old clock tower to relive her sadness. This time, her jumper stayed on. Another was wrapped around her shoulders as she crossed her legs on the floor and just thought through it all.
The frosted white tops of the Haunted Wood showed in the distance through the blistery cold. Branches overstuffed with crisp white snow dipped low. The bark was a dark slice up through the solid white. She squinted to make out the individual bodies. Most were blended together, a mass of snowy branches of evergreen trees.
Creaks of the lonely clock tower groaned through the winter air. The cold wind shifted and bended and prodded the metal structure. Hermione listened to their pace for a while. It was a steady rhythm to anchor her mind to.
Then, something else was joined in the noise. Shuffling. It sounded below the open air of the tower.
Hermione ventured close to the railing edge and leaned over until only the tips of her shoes touched the floor to peer inside the pendulum space where two mounds stood, bundled beneath layers of fur and coats. They were solid black. Neither had a face since their scarves wrapped around the bottom half of their faces.
Silver and green striped scarves. Slytherin.
She gasped. They hadn't followed her for weeks. Draco kept a farther distance than them, but they did not follow anymore.
Crabbe and Goyle. What was there to gain?
Hermione decided to cease the shivering and head back inside. Soon enough it would be time to depart to London. King's Cross Station. She descended down the stairs, surprised that Crabbe and Goyle were absent when she reached the bottom and intended to walk back inside when the fluttering of an owl caught her attention. The call split the calm air. It dipped down suddenly, narrowly missing the snow-covered cobblestones of the courtyard and flew with a mad panic.
She pulled out her wand and stopped the creature with a simple "Embolus" spell. It was Errol: the Weasley family owl. In his pause, he was able to regain the limited sense he had. The creature dropped down to the ground. He shook out a single wing. His long brown feathers ruffled in the gust of Scottish wind as it pushed through their rung of dense plume to hefty single feathers stretched beneath pale grey flesh.
Her fingers wagged at the silly creature. A cat treat as his reward. He hopped up, letter all but forgotten as he gulped the treat back in his throat. It was from Ginny.
The parchment was ripped from its envelope and read eagerly.
Mione, I hadn't been given a chance to write a letter last night. We are safe at Grimmauld Place As is Harry. Dad is okay. He is in St. Mungos. Told us not to worry. Like that's possible with a Mum like we got. Harry is not himself. He has taken to isolating in other rooms apart from us. I think he feels guilty. I'd talk to him if he'd give me more than a moment before dashing off. Ron says he'll come round. Speaking of my brother, who is tapping at my shoulder now, he wanted me to ask again for you to come spend the holiday with us. I told him that we can handle things here. You go on and enjoy the holiday with your parents. Give them my best. Merry wishes to you. I can't wait to see you again. Love, Gin.
Her heart was calmed that they were safe. She pressed the letter against her chest with a teary sigh of relief. Safe. Grimmauld Place was protected. In it's walls, Harry was hidden and protected well. The ancient Black home, Number 12 Grimmauld Place, rested within London city limits, hidden away in plain sight where muggles and Death Eaters alike might not look. It was forgotten by family. They were most long gone.
Sirius Black carried on his legacy, great distaste to the portraits. The former masters and mistresses of the house whispered nasty things to Hermione as she passed through their historic halls. She made sure to touch their frames as she passed. Just let them feel her muggle blood engrain into their pure wood.
The fur of her boots turned cold as she trekked through the snow. Its hefty heaps fell from the slanted slopes of the castle. Her legs raised high and plunged through the fluffy white. A soft crunch answered each step.
She thought of Harry. Harry, her dear frightened friend. She couldn't imagine what he felt, but she knew how he was. The attention of being The-Boy-Who-Lived was a great weight that he never truly became comfortable with. An entire world knew his name when he just wanted to know himself. The cold stung her teeth as she frowned. Cold seeped in through the tip of her nose.
A vision in the state of a dream that was real. It was more than coincidence. Godric, think what have might have happened to Arthur if Harry hadn't seen what he did. One less Weasley might have lit up the world with that goofy grin and welcoming hug.
Still, something was hidden in the depths of Harry's scar and it was being discovered too slowly. The connection with Voldemort was strong. Harry looked through into his mind. What was to stop the wizard from peering in through Harry's own eyes? Perhaps, control him as a pawn in his own demise?
It was a big job for Ronald and the other Weasley's to undertake. They had a father to be concerned for. It was not like Ron was the best with emotional support either. He liked a silent tongue as to seem more masculine in the eyes of witches when all Harry would need was a verbal guide through his own feelings. The wizard liked to think through them, talk a bit.
He'd been pushing his feelings down all year. It was making him withdraw all the more.
It was a task Hermione felt insecure in Ron's supervision.
The castle was drafty in the winter and summer months. Air pockets of frigid air always seeped in. She stomped the snow off her boots, vanished the evidence and water, and strode through the corridors, fully outfitted for a glacier hike, as the last few moments in the castle were there.
Of course, there was a single wrong turn.
She found it darkened. The shadows grew longer as she walked. The hair on the back of her neck stood on end. She stopped. Something was there. She felt it. It moved through black with ease. And it was an all too familiar feeling that her body relaxed rather than tensed.
Her face hardened as she turned. There, in a single ray of light, stood Draco.
Since that day in the Haunted Wood, his face blended in with the changing foreground of the castle. She couldn't recall seeing him in that time.
All at once, she knew why. She was attracted just as she was repelled.
"Are you well?"
His voice, the sound of a thousand angels hit her ears.
Her heart throbbed in pain. His eyes were twisted, coursing over her in concern, restrained by what she believed was fear. That she deserved.
She was a monster. She almost murdered him.
It was lucky that he did not strike her down in full revenge. It would appease the guilt she felt along with the crushing desire for him to comfort her.
"I am," she answered.
All their time together, she could not remember a time where he asked of her like that.
It was wrong that it gave her hope. She chastised herself for the childish dreams of that hopeless romantic in her. Hadn't that girl died already?
No. She was alive and well. She thrived. In his presence, those hopes were all too well reminded. Hermione knew the swirl in her belly, the tingle in her thighs, that rush at her tongue that wanted his tongue against hers. It was a devious plot. Devious. She knew what she was capable of. Her magic showed just what she did to the ones she loved. Draco was almost thrown to the ground and pierced by splintered pieces of wood at the rejection of her feelings. No matter how much it hurt, she had to stay away. His safety was compromised near.
She stepped away. "I should be going."
Her footsteps echoed through the empty hall. It rang in her ears. Piercing. Sharp. Screaming.
Stay.
"Is that what the mighty Gryffindor does when it meets a challenge?" Draco snapped. "Does it retreat back to the den to the comfort of what it knows?"
She stopped. Her body resisted. Her mind wanted to.
Draco was ethereal in his glow. The dark surrounded him in that corridor, yet his face, his hair, it burned bright in the shred of light there was. His sharp jawbones cut through that dismal atmosphere. The grey of his eyes ignited a fire in whatever they touched: powerful and overwhelming. Muscles of his cheeks tensed and relaxed as he stood in indecision.
That was a wizard who once cared enough to read her mail. Unbelievable how things changed.
"Comfort? What comfort is there to be had?" She scoffed in a rather sardonic manner.
"Don't ask me." He shoved his hands into his pockets as he approached. "A serpent moves in different ways. It slithers for one."
Hermione lifted one corner of her mouth. Again, his charm was irresistible. He wielded it as a lasso to bring her back close. There he was, a foot away from her, and she was deep in need for his comfort.
Draco eyed her face very closely. It left her woes a text from him to discern just at wrinkle of her forehead.
He touched a single curl beside her ear. "I miss you, pet."
She wanted to stomp her feet against the ground and cry. He made it so hard. Too hard.
"We can't do this," she said. "I can't."
It is not safe for you, Draco. Please realize it.
"Fine, Granger. You don't have to be a ball buster. I'm here, you know? You ought to know."
The exact opposite of what she was thinking.
"What are you talking about?"
"You're a vengeful witch, you know that?" He sucked in his breath. Whatever it was, it took a great effort. His teeth clamped into his slim bottom lip as he regarded his next move. His knuckles were lost to the length of his hair as he ripped through his carefully styled do. She almost grew concerned for the disregard to his appearance. It was not characteristic of him. "I'm sorry. There you have it. I said I'm sorry."
Hermione's jaw dropped. The literal crack of her jaw vibrated through the empty corridor.
He growled. "You need not rub it in. I won't repeat it."
Her mind reeled with joy. For what, she was uncertain. He apologized!
Draco Malfoy knew the words 'I'm sorry' and what's more: he said them to her.
"I paid my penance, don't you think? Three weeks of utter silence is punishment enough. Silly me, for believing you might approach me when you were ready. What can I expect from a Gryffindor? I've got to reclaim her every single waking moment," Draco said. "Three weeks. You know how long I had to sit and watch Weaselbee take liberties that should earn him curses? What happens between us doesn't mean that I'd rather have you drooled on by that numpty. Do you know how mental that's made me?"
"You deserved it."
He casted her a foul glance. The quick whip rested just behind his lips ready to strike down her defiance of him, but it was kept at bay as he weighed the options of what it meant to have a pet know the control they had.
Draco growled a soft one at the back of his throat. "Just don't do it again."
That growl rose some primal urges of her own. They dampened when she remembered just why she was angry at him in the first place.
"Don't call me stupid!" She retorted.
"I was shocked. What'd you expect me to say?"
"Oh, I don't know. 'Hey Hermione, I know you just admitted you love me and I care enough about you to acknowledge them even if I don't feel them'. Or how about doting on me so that I might be more compliant rather than pissing me off so that I'll do literally anything to spite you?"
He looked away. "Well, sure, when you phrase it like that, it's so easy."
She crossed her arms. That was not going to work. That little Slytherin deflection that got them out of almost every conversation slightly discomforting.
If Draco wanted to continue – Godric please let him want to continue – then he had to put forth effort, too. Being his pet was hard. Her friends despised it. Harry's imagination disallowed any positive outcomes of the friendship, as she had told them it was, and grumbled about it in his foul moods. Hermione was the one who wore the weight of it. It was time that Draco did some.
"Honestly. Do you care about me or not?" Her hands clenched onto her biceps unable to release until she knew his answer. Or rather, that he said the words she longed to hear.
Draco sneered. "I'm here, aren't I? Don't push your luck, pet. I've said many things I'm not accustomed to saying."
She clicked her tongue against her teeth in distaste. Her eyes turned away from his beauty. It was too distracting.
Her chin was pulled rather harshly up to meet his gaze just inches away from his own face. "You forget who I am. I've warned you. I shall not stop until I have you, pet. All to myself. Whether it suits or not. My feelings are invested in this little venture. Thanks to you, I haven't the time to prowl around for dates since you require copious amounts of attention." Her heart went aflutter. Did he just say that he cared for her? That's what it sounded like. "Now that we've gotten all the mushy stuff out of the way, go get your things. The train will be here soon."
One moment she basked in the warmth of his attention, the other left wanting more as he released her.
"Hurry, too. I don't like to wait."
She bit her bottom lip. "You'll be waiting?"
Waiting. For her.
"Not long," he said. "My pet does not keep me waiting long."
Hermione heard those words and flew to Gryffindor Tower for her trunk. The other girls were there. Still unpacked. Romilda danced around the room as music streamed through a gramophone. She used her wand to fold the endless stream of clothes from the chest of dressers beside her bed. Her hair was dense with dark ebony curls. It was a more beautiful version of Hermione's wiry fuzzy mess of caramel hue that made her a mop head.
Romilda Vane was similar to Lavender and Pavarti. They spoke of cute boys. Draco was often a topic of discussion. The girls painted their toenails and gave each other piercings with a sharp needle. Nights were like sleep overs with all her other dorm mates.
It left Hermione the odd one out. She hadn't the need for makeup or gossiping or fashion shows. They were away at school to learn. Learn. A huge opportunity deserved their full attention.
That was another divide that separated Hermione from almost everyone else in Hogwarts. They took for granted their magical education. A family of wizards knows what their future is because they've been told from an early age of the school they will attend and what it's like. Using magic everyday is a privilege they don't realize.
At home, Hermione was expected to live a muggle life when she was not one. It did not bother her. Her parents were muggle and they were the two greatest people she ever knew. Still, she disliked being disabled by her upbringing at a place where she was expected to learn right in line with the others.
What a blessing it was to have a school. When she was young, she thought her life might become a mess with her magic. She could be used as a weapon. She might hurt someone by accident. Control. There was no way to learn control without a wand.
The wooden trunk rested at the edge of her bed, neatly packed just as she had done the night before. Her things were organized. Her books, stabilized. It was all there.
Except one thing.
"Come on, you. Time to go."
She laid the crate atop her bedspread. A plush pillow rested on the bottom. There were little toy mice inside. An enchanted water bowl would fill when it was emptied. A little charm was set to happen halfway through; a hand would reach down and scratch his ears a time or two to keep him settled. It was his first long crate ride. She was not so sure how the finicky creature would take it.
The white cat yowled at the crate. His tail twitched.
She sighed. "It's just for the train ride. Hogwarts Express doesn't allow animals to roam free. Mum and Dad will let you out in the cab."
He walked in with an attitude. His tail pulled the metal grate door behind him. She latched it with a sigh. Drogon was more of a drama queen that she preferred in a familiar.
"Your attitude is not my fault," she spoke into the cage. "I'm not the one who made the bloody rules."
Over her shoulder came a soft giggle. It was Romilda.
The witch wore a brilliant white smile. She was very pretty. Her sharp eyebrows were dark and expressive on her forehead. The natural luster of her lips was ruby red, pursed together in an attractive little heart that made many wizards dazzled. Her voice was that of gentle silk as she spoke; it was never too loud nor aggressive.
Romilda radiated her confidence in her walk. Her hips swayed. Head parallel with the floor, unbothered of what might make her crown fall off the tip of her head. She was never afraid to speak her mind. That was a Gryffindor trait. She spoke with knowledge and sureness of her own beliefs but was never condescending. A refreshing thing in a school with so many smart people convinced of their own prowess.
Hermione smiled. "He's a bit stubborn."
"You talk to him like he's sentient." Her voice hummed in gentle peaks and crested no higher than a mumble. The idea of her attractive manner was not lost to Hermione. She was the epitome of perfect from her attuned mind to her ample shaped body.
"He is sentient," Hermione answered.
She smiled. "You know what I mean."
It was clear to her dorm mates that the cat understood more than other cats. Theirs were rarely able to navigate out the portrait hole, yet Drogon often roamed the halls with freedom.
Also, he was too tidy. He moved forgotten socks from their piles on the floor to their owners delicately placed atop their pillow so they wouldn't miss them. A small wicker basket held his toys and every night he brought them back to their basket. He dragged a knitted hat (one Hermione made for the house elves of Hogwarts) to sit in front of the hearth. All strange behaviors for a typical cat.
"He knows more than he lets on," Hermione said. "They all do."
"He's something different. You know, the day you bought him, I thought it was Draco Malfoy."
Hermione wrinkled her brow. "How do you mean?"
"Merlin, can't you see it? We all do. The thing acts just like him," Romilda chuckled. "It even looks like him too a bit. I told Su Li that it was the strangest thing to become friends with a wizard and just happen to get a cat that is similar. We thought for a while that it was him. We'd even called him Draco a few times to try to trick him into acknowledging his name."
She never saw the resemblance before. Drogon was a sweet white cat that looked out for her. He was her best friend and familiar.
However, the more she thought about it, the more she understood what Romilda meant. Drogon was proper and moody, standoffish with people and often attached at Hermione's side. She checked inside the cage at the little creature. He sat, tailed wrapped around his body with a straight back. The brilliant blue of his eyes watched her just as closely as she watched him.
It was obvious now that it was a train of thought that the cat was the essence of Draco Malfoy. Their behavior mirrored the others. It made her question her bond with the animal. If it was so much like Draco, why didn't Draco love her back but the cat did?
She puzzled on it as she descended the staircase down the bubbling excitement of the corridors, the last chance to connect before term end, and out the gates. A tower was formed of the student's trunks. They were deposited with the caretaker, Mr. Filch, so they would be loaded onto the train. Another space with fluttering wings and soft meows was the deposit for their pets. Drogon was added to the pile.
Her lips gave him one last smile before the ride. "See you in London. Be good."
The cat gave a high-pitched whine. She shook her head. "I can't take you with me. It's against the rules, you know."
Drogon was not happy to be left. He glared as she walked away. His animated tail twitched with his anger.
From Merlin's Gate there was a worn path down to the platform where a black and red train engine waited. Steam rose from its stack. The students were stretched amongst the grounds down to the place that would take them back to their families leaving the castle and its problems behind.
It was different for Hermione. She was driven right to the heart of her problems on the train. London. It was home. It was her parents. It was the muggle life that she grew up in. Hogwarts was the special place that she cherished like a beloved grandparent's house. She yearned for it in times of discomfort and depression. It was a part of her heart she loved. The place she became who she was meant to be.
Merlin knew that life outside the wards was not safe for her. There were plots afoot. Ones that plagued her thoughts with paranoia. She disguised her parents in public so they would not be recognized. Their ride home was longer with the detours and repelling spells. She clouded her family home with charms and spells and wards. Everything she could think of.
Something changed in the world. She'd felt it at the TriWizard Tournament. An awakening.
Ripples vibrated the air she walked. Her presence was strong and unyielding. People knew her power without seeing for themselves just what she was capable of. Somehow, they knew. They felt it.
Dumbledore's Army was the formed around the idea that she would learn to protect herself from the coming onslaught of invading forces willing to rip her away from her friends for dark missions. It was the idea that she might be alone in the shadows with venomous beasts that brought the determination to learn Harry's skill. His natural ability to survive.
She studied his motions. How he moved with a wand, where his eyes went, how rigid or relaxed his knees were. It was a lesson every meeting that she never forgot. Her motions mimicked his. Her arms, her eyes, the slight tilt of the head. Harry turned her to a capable predator.
"Happy Christmas, Hermione." It was Neville. She waved.
"See you next year," Seamus joked.
The sea of red scarves filtered through a doorway onto the perceived Gryffindor vestibule. There was another for yellow, blue and finally green on the end. Hermione stepped in way of the green railcar as it was the point of Draco's statement that they ride together.
His notable blonde hair was nowhere to be seen through the sea. His black suit and platinum hair were absent.
Hermione slowed. It was awkward to be there without Draco. She felt a stranger through their ranks, deeply knit and widely disgusted at muggleborns.
A thought of turning away crossed her mind. Not even Crabbe or Goyle were there to be a safety net. Where the bloody hell was he? He made a point for her to rush if he was going to take his sweet time?
It was the typical Malfoy behavior. She groaned.
"Hermione! Hey! Over here." A blonde witch with glasses waved her down toward the end of the train. "Ride with me."
She nibbled on the end of her finger. "Sorry, Daphne. I'm supposed to wait for Draco."
"I believe it is first come first serve," she said with a grin. "If he wants you, he can come and look. I'll not curse him."
It was easier than searching the entire train for him. Hermione shrugged and hopped on.
Hermione and her friends preferred the private cars rather than the open cars. Slytherins rode in some private cars but their biggest hang out was the end car that was an open array of seats and benches and tables where a few played chess.
Daphne wove through the crowd. Her hips wiggled through a tight archway where two wizards blocked the flow with their conversation. She dipped her eyes low and whispered, "Excuse me."
They did not acknowledge the Gryffindor in their carriage or the fact that she was muggleborn. They moved aside and continued their talk.
In the corner was a wrapped bench of brown leather cushions, a small table centered, then another bench across. Daphne slid all the way inside. Hermione followed.
"It's so calm," Hermione commented offhand. "Godric, if it were Gryffindor…"
"Just you wait," Daphne said. "It can turn in an instant."
The chess games were quiet. They both stared in total concentration of the board in front of them.
Blaise Zabini caught her eye across the train car. He was alone. A single book rested in his hand. Arthurian Legends: What's Fact and What's Fiction. His eyes gave no hint to what resided beneath them. The passive nature of his face remained the same as they stared at one another.
"Ello Theo." Daphne wiggled in her seat. "Meet our new mate. Hermione We've stolen her from Draco's clutches."
"Draco, you say?" The slender wizard adjusted his tie with unease. "He'll be back for her soon enough."
Hermione broke away from Blaise's gaze to greet Theo. "I'd doubt the first place he'd look would be here."
Daphne snorted a chuckle. It was cute. The soft sound of a pig as it snorted in pleasure. It made Hermione smile, even if Daphne blushed behind her hand. "If he knew any better, it'd be the first place he'd look. You know, not many of us get to have friends with other houses thanks to him."
"Don't forget Parkinson," Theo added.
"Who could ever forget Pansy?" The witch mocked. "You know who she is writing now? Adriano."
Theo's brown brows leapt to the edge of his face. "The one - ."
"The very one."
Hermione listened to Daphne's tale of meeting her one true love at a party of Blaise's where his cousin from Italy appeared. They were both entranced by the end of the night and agreed to write one another. It was kept rather quiet just how intimate it was, but by the fury Daphne felt, it was presumed rather serious.
"After I told her that seducing Draco was a bad idea, she got Adriano's address and has started getting chummy."
That statement hit Hermione's ear with a sharp ringing. Pansy wanted Draco back enough to seduce him? Had something happened between them?
"Sorry?" She interjected. "Pansy seduced Draco, you said."
"Tried." Theo made a point to emphasize the word. "There was no success."
"Good riddance. You ask me, Draco is better off."
Theo tapped his fingers around the edge of the table. He moved them faster than the eye could see. His fingers were a blur. It was a great distraction to the story.
She removed her arms from the vibrating surface to focus on Daphne.
"But why? Isn't she the one who broke up with him?" Hermione asked. "Why would she want someone back after that?"
The train signaled its readiness with a long blow of the whistle. It lurched. The motion of the train set her belly on fire. She wondered if she'd made the right choice in the Slytherin carriage.
There was a long-guarded glance from Theo to Daphne, as if their eyes argued without words. She watched them communicate in a series of eye motions and faces before Theo looked down at his fingers in defeat.
"It's you that's got her all bothered," Daphne revealed under her breath. Her eyes shifted about the car in search of a betrayer of their whispers or perhaps the source of their gossip herself. "She suspects that this thing between you and Draco is more than him torturing you. That's why she seduced him. She's worried that you're going to win Draco's heart."
If they only knew how impossible that was.
"That's ridiculous," Hermione said. "Muggleborns and purebloods don't go together."
Daphne's lip twisted into a guarded smirk. "Let's like you two get on alright."
Hermione's mouth hanged open. What did that imply?
"Pardon?"
"I'm not one to judge, alright? We all have our vices," she muttered. "You've gotten entangled in a deadly web of Draco's own doing. Had I other allegiances, I'd have doubts as to the security of either of you. You best look after yourself, Hermione. It is not in Draco's nature to take risks over anyone. He - ."
The conversation was stopped with others approached. One of them being the blasted witch herself. Pansy appraised Hermione in the seat with a deep scowl. The friend beside her, a curvy witch named Millicent, was taken aback by the Gryffindor's presence too. Her eyes widened. She glanced at Pansy with a disagreeable look in her eye.
It forced a false sweet smile from deceiving lips. "Haven't you heard? She's one of us now."
"Since when?" The witch barked. Her voice was rather unfortunate for a girl.
"Ask Draco." Pansy waved a dismissive hand. Her body slid in the seat next to Theo. Her arm laced around the back edge; one knee rested beneath her as the other leg extended beneath the table. "No matter. Just ignore her. That's what I always do."
Millicent plopped down on the other side of Pansy and left Theo ultimately smashed against the window with no hopes of escape from their group now. It was very clear that neither witch wanted the seat beside the muggleborn. Their hands were very hesitant to touch the shared table.
Daphne held her breath as the demoness waved her wand over top the table with the intent to have it scoured clean from Hermione's assumed ilk. The two girls shared a soft moment as they looked on helpless to the tactics of Pansy Parkinson's arsenal that were entirely formed with the glee of reminding Hermione of her blood status.
It was Pansy's greatest thrill to rile others. Hermione knew it only fed her ventures when there was reaction. She opted for passive. Her eyes glanced down at her nails as she'd seen Daphne do a million times.
"What were you all just talking about before we showed up?" Millicent asked. Her voice was a deep somber tone. It barked out with statements. Hermione couldn't help but jump a little each time she spoke.
How much we hate the pair of you, Hermione thought to herself until her head hurt.
Theo thought quicker than Daphne. "The missing Weasleys."
That put a rather strange tone over the table. Each Slytherin turned to Hermione as if she was the source of information. A curious subject matter for them, sure. It was not widely broadcast that they were pulled out in the middle of the night.
Tension filled her lungs.
"Well?" Pansy questioned. "What about them?"
Gossip was king to her. All she yearned for was information to spread as a spewing fountain of useless knowledge that was valued only for the momentary triumph of being the smartest in the group for a single fleeting minute.
"Harry Potter went with them," Daphne said softly.
Pansy was not impressed. "We knew that. Blimey. Am I the only one possible of extracting the information? Granger, where did the weasels go? I can't presume to pray they were all expelled at once. Umbridge isn't that good. Yet."
Her eyebrows raised as if the possibility for her friends to be removed because of their family name existed. It unsettled Hermione's belly.
Where was Draco?
"I - ."
"Granger. Fancy seeing you here." It was from halfway across the railcar. Terry Higgs had rose out through the sea of silver and emerald to stand tall as a crowning achievement from the house. One of the few worth noting.
Higgs was at her side in only a moment. A guarded sign of happiness was atop his face. He wore his rugged casual clothes rather than his school robes. His hips were hugged tight in a pair of light washed jeans. The taut fabric of his shirt smothered his torso. There were almost visible indentations of his ab muscles.
Her body turned from tense to overwhelmed. The sensations of the moving train car rocked her gently, the seat below pushed against her arse like a comforting hand, distrust of the Slytherins and the anxiety of being outnumbered in their midst while she waited for Draco's rescue. The shine of Higg's earring did her in. She was pushed over the edge.
She was alight. She knew it was so wrong to crave Terry. Draco hated the wizard. It was the bane of all his own life that there was a wizard like Terry Higgs interested in her.
Bodies were odd things to embody. It responded in ways that her mind was not certain she would. There were emotions of respect for Terry. He was a kind wizard. A friend, in a way. It was true that his sexual appeal was appeasing to her eyes. A fact her body would not deny.
But Draco. He made those feelings come to life. His fingers were the first ones to delve inside her flesh and rub her desires to a boiling point. She had tasted his tongue in hers. The length of his hand memorized the outlines of her breasts, her nipples, the soft divot at the base of her throat.
It was Draco she wanted. Higgs was just a pleasing distraction.
Hermione gave a shy wave. "I know. It's becoming a bit predictable."
The other fifth years were surprised at his emergence. Terry Higgs was a superstar on the Quidditch Pitch and within their own house. It was said that he was the Cedric Diggory of Slytherin, which saddened the fact all the more than Cedric was a friend of his. That nickname picked at a wound rather than healed it.
Pansy narrowed her eyes in pure hatred before they fluttered through her dense lashes up at him. "Is that a new shirt, Terry? I just love the fabric. It looks so soft. Can I touch it?"
There was a tension as Pansy ran her hands down his chest. Daphne definitely nudged Hermione's ribs a few times.
"Stealer," Daphne cursed in the slightest of whispers.
There was substantial evidence that Pansy was a witch to pursue objects to steal them away rather than enjoy them.
"Ooh. It is soft." The witch gave a cheeky grin with her tongue tucked into her cheek. "But what's underneath is not."
Terry Higgs spotted the open seat next to Hermione. Pansy's eyes widened when she noticed his gaze. Her fingernails poked into Millicent's arm. The effort of her fingers turned white against the unmoving witch.
"Milly can move for you, Terry. Go on, Mill. Move."
Millicent looked at Hermione with a furrowed look. "I don't want to."
"I'll take it then," he said. Their eyes locked as he eased into the seat next to hers. "Haven't seen you round the Pitch much."
She tucked a stray, bothersome curl behind her ear. "Have you ever tried to study up there? It's impossible."
"I thought you stopped coming because someone stopped you." It was clear he meant Draco. There was no one else to stop her.
"Nope." She shook her head. "I just prefer the library where it isn't freezing."
It was a mixture of feeling when she talked to Terry. One, she felt betrayal. It was one of Draco's rules – the only one he enforced aggressively – to stay away from other wizards whom he believed were interested in her. How sad it was that he believed it impossible for wizards and witches to remain friends. Not all intersex relations were sexual.
Then there was the same bloom of happiness that Terry felt comfortable enough to talk to her. The last time they spoke was on the Pitch where she explained that she was one of Draco's 'things'. Not pleasant to remember. She recalled it without pride.
Draco had changed her. The effects were still unmeasured. She knew that there was a piece of her that was attracted to his darkness and control. The fight was incredible. Her body filled with tingly anticipation whenever he neared with a hard look in his eye.
Hermione was ashamed of that. She held herself to a higher standard than most and often was physically repelled by witches who swooned over his jawlines as if the wizard underneath was merely a trophy to be earned. Now, she was one of his trophies. One that he hadn't done enough to earn. But therein lied the question. What all had he done by his venture? Had he sealed his fate in death or had he spared hers? That was the looming curiosity: What had he done?
There was an undivided attention at their conversation. Eyes of every color and interest strayed from focus to watch Hermione and Terry talk. Their ease of conversation and soft smiles ran a heightened contention throughout the train car. In the quiet, it was easy to notice.
Terry asked after her holiday plans. She was happy to oblige, that she planned to ski in France with her parents. Something softened between the Slytherins. Daphne poked Hermione's ribs and with an excited smile said, "Hey. I know what that is."
"Really?" Hermione said in relaxed disbelief.
"Sure." The witch nodded. "My aunt has a villa in the Swiss Alps. They cut the landscape much to my aunt's chagrin, but I think it looks fascinating."
Higgs nodded. "Fascinating, indeed. What is the purpose of it? Do you score points of some kind?"
"Not exactly," she said. "You can. There is skiing in the Olympics, but my family just pleasure skis. We like to cut through the slopes. The views are incredible. And it takes a fair bit of concentration to get back down the mountain, so it can be rather freeing. Mentally."
Theo was suddenly confused. "But how do you win?"
"You don't. It's just for fun. Leisure."
"Like flying," Terry added. "It's like Quidditch but not."
"Exactly," Hermione said with a smile.
Unlike what she imagined the Slytherin common room to be crafted in dark ebony wood and silver hardware, the train vestibule solely used to transport Slytherin house was fashioned entirely in deep walnut wood with brass fixtures fitted with brown leather and a few embroidered cushions of beige. It was filled with benches, some of wood and others of leather.
Slytherins were speckled throughout the entirety of its length. Windows lined both sides in an unobstructed view as it passed along the outside. The castle disappeared from view as they plunged through the wildness back to the bustling city of London.
Draco stepped through to the open carriage, saw Hermione amongst the members of his own house and was briefly startled until a cold look landed upon Terry Higgs at her side. He walked up to the table without a word. The molten silver of his eyes tried to melt Higgs to nothing.
Alas, he remembered his manners. The gentleman he was raised to be surfaced as he greeted his classmates in his cool voice.
"Started the fun without me, did you?" His eyes laid in Hermione's gaze.
She was instantly relaxed to her seat. The tension in her stomach melted away to pure butterflies.
"We were just talking of our holidays," Hermione explained before any other Slytherin had the mind to rile him with a lie. It was far too easily done. "Join us…oh."
There was no more room at the table. Everyone shifted in discomfort.
The tension quickly rose throughout.
Hermione, herself, was set on edge. "That's alright. I can move."
His eyes hadn't left Terry's face for a minute. It was obvious he was not thrilled with the wizard's presence. The say-so stayed tightly closed.
"Higgs and you can switch spots," Draco suggested in a shockingly lightened suggestion. "Don't worry. Daphne doesn't bite."
Daphne adjusted the bracelets on her wrist. "Shows what you know."
He shot a cold look.
There was an awkward shuffling of bodies as Higgs slid out of the booth, then Hermione, and they moved past one another and slid back in. However just as she was going to sit down, Draco's fingers touched her side. She paused.
His touches were words. Statements. It meant that she was to wait. He took her place beside Terry, stretched out his knee and tapped it for her. Heat rose to her cheeks in a bright blush. All the fifth years noticed the odd request.
"See. Now we all fit," he said with a satisfied smirk.
One hand steadied her lower back with just a few of his fingers gently pressed into her arse. She was finely attuned to it as they bounced along on the track. His other hand was displayed protectively against her knee. More than once, Terry glanced at the hold.
She didn't care. It was Draco who owned her. It was Draco who took the time, the patience, the care to tend to her as hard as she fought him away. In the beginning things were different. She liked Higgs for that reason. It was a time when she was unable to see the worthiness inside of Draco Malfoy.
Now her heart was torn open and stitched crudely together with his name on it.
It would always be there, each painful, bloody pump would remind her of who she thought of.
Hermione wished she'd just found him in his own private car. They could speak. Freely. Not with the eyes and ears of their nosey classmates near.
Ginny's letter crinkled in her pocket once. It reminded her of reality. Harry. Arthur's attack. All at once, it crashed back into the happy recesses of her mind to confront the lingering dark thoughts of worry there.
She had to forgo the family excursion. Harry Potter, her best friend, needed her more.
How would Draco take that news? Her eyes watched him as he was careful not to emit too much tenderness toward her in the presence of his house mates. He was rigid. His tone to her was rather cold. Colder than necessary. She wrinkled her nose in distaste when he said the word 'mudblood'.
It was a glaring reminder of the different worlds they hailed from. To Draco, it was proper to use vulgarity toward those assumed below their stature. At least in muggle culture it was still considered poor breeding to speak openly about prejudices.
Hermione listened Draco and his friends offer up holiday plans as if in competition for the most lavish ridiculous Christmas ever. Theodore Nott was going to the Caribbean on a yacht with the Minister Of Magic for the West Indes. It was a premier, exclusive holiday filled with beautiful women and the richest of the richest of the Americas. Millicent was related to the Belgium royalty. She was going to attend a thrilling holiday in a castle with the Belgium prince, who happened to be an eligible bachelor.
"They aren't like those filthy muggles," Millicent commented. "These are clean. They're royalty. Prince Arrick has been raised with magical nannies. Some of the thrones closest confidants are of magical blood."
Hermione prickled at the remark. She tensed her jaw tightly closed.
"Oh, yes. Those muggles aren't the bad kind. You know, the uncivilized." Pansy made a point to cast a sharp eye toward their muggleborn companion.
"I've met several muggles on my excursions," Theo felt confident enough to add. He shouldn't have. "They are rather levelheaded. But they acknowledged the importance of secrecy. Lesser muggles haven't the intelligence to understand the wizarding world. They're like house elves. They've got their uses but aren't fit with any power."
Elves had much power. They were incredibly powerful with magic that was bonded to their souls, used more efficiently and possessed possibilities not found in the human race. To believe elves were without strength was a fallacy.
It showed just how delusional and pompous some of them were. Their eyes looked down upon creatures assumed below their positions. None of them thought about how they got were they were. Whose power put them in their places. Who tended their estates when a creature could murder their entire family as they slept. Who knew where vaults were and family heirlooms hidden within ancient family homes.
It was difficult. No, torture.
Never in her life had she withstood such anguish as she was forced to sit in the company of others, unable to react sternly. It was morally decrepit. She was coated in a dense coat of their bias. It set into her bones. She ached for a shower to rinse off their ugliness from her soul.
How she summoned the strength to endure was unknown. The moment the train stopped, she flew from her seat out to the platform, ready to dash back to her parent's auto and forget the interaction ever happened.
Draco was swift in his pursuit of her. He had a hand on her trunk just as she lifted it.
"Good girl," he said under his breath. "Good girl."
She was frustrated to the point of tears. Any other moment she might have leapt into his arms to hear the words. But now. It was difficult to even look at his face.
"I forgot how tough it is," her lips murmured. "I've forgotten just what being your pet means."
It was easy to be blinded by the thrill of desire. Hogwarts isolated its students to focus on education, but it crippled them from the strength of reality when it fell down around them.
Hermione was not under her own control. Her lips were only to open when given permission by Draco Malfoy. Or else, it would be both of them on a chopping block.
She brushed her dense curls aside, forced her despair away, and let a painful sigh rip through her.
"Write me," he instructed as his hand left her trunk. "I will not write back, but I want a letter every day from you."
"What?" Her nose wrinkled and brow furrowed. "You expect a letter but can't be bothered to send one back?"
He glanced over his shoulder. A hand ran through his blonde locks. "Just do as I say, pet."
The platform surged with students of Hogwarts. Parents awaited their return with open arms. A few tears were shed for first years whose parents were unaccustomed to long absence of their child. They were reunited with embraces, kisses upon their cheeks and endless smiles.
Through the crowd, Hermione spied her parents. They were a pair of long-legged blondes. Their eyes were a sky blue, brilliant and innocent in their big-eyed stare. Their lips exaggerated a natural lip line. They waved shily.
Hermione choked back a chuckle. Her parents looked ridiculous!
"Are those your parents?" Draco asked. His brow quirked into a puzzled feature.
She stuck her tongue in her cheek. "Happy Christmas, Draco."
"Happy Christmas…Hermione."
He strode through the crowd with his head held high. A cloud of black that parted smiles of warmth. The frigid gaze in his eye stole away the glee that was present on the platform.
Through the crowd, she saw another. Platinum hair and long black robes. It was Lucius. His blue eyes appraised his son with a level chin, never looking down at him. There was a relaxing in his stern features. It was hardly endearing, but for a monster that he was, it was the best he could do, she supposed.
Hermione watched Draco gulp. Through the distance, she saw his weight shift, confidence gone.
Blue eyes flashed in her direction. Their gaze sliced up her flesh with their appraisal, instant scowl upon his face. Lucius regarded her lower than the scum of the Earth.
Something about Draco's behavior made her nervous. His anxiety made her feel frightened for him. The attention of his father attracted his.
Both the Malfoys watched her on the platform. The attention of the world might as well turned and stared. It felt much the same.
Worries of Draco's safety immediately entered her mind. Voldemort was alive. Draco's father was a known Death Eater. Perhaps his safety was compromised. Because of her.
Hermione swallowed down all her pride. She lowly bowed in their direction.
She crossed her fingers that it would register as respect to the pair. Her teeth sank into her bottom lip.
They were gone the moment she looked back. Each Malfoy descended into their own cloud of darkness.
The two strange blondes approached. Smiles on their faces blown wide in startling size.
"Hello dear," The man said. It sounded nothing like her father. "We've missed you."
"How was the ride in?"
She forced a friendly smile to the foreign faces. "I have loads to tell you both. Let me find Drogon and we can go."
The blonde man grabbed the trunk with a single hand. His biceps bulged beneath the taut of his shirt. The blonde woman rubbed his shoulder with a soft smile as they started to follow.
Their strange voices hummed behind her as she located her crate. Oxygen filled her lungs. Her hands grasped the handle, ready to greet the little creature inside, when she spied a flickering white tail out the corner of her eye.
Hermione glanced inside. Empty.
Sure enough, it was Drogon who walked the platform as if he belonged there with the rest of the school as they stomped the pavement, attention away from their feet. It was with one misstep that he'd be injured. The cat, on the other hand, was unbothered. He strutted. His white tail flickered high above his back as a lightening rod.
"Can't you listen to me just once?" She hissed as he greeted her with a meow.
Her parents were immediately drawn to him. His white fur a magnet to their fingers. Drogon examined each face close as they scratched his body. Hermione saw the concentration in his eyes. Each face was looked up and down before he looked at the other face, equally confused and interested. Finally, he looked up at Hermione.
"Let's go home," she hummed.