Invisible
Chapter Twenty-Six: Blaggerfuries
Bad Dream by Ruelle, Tell Me That I'm Wrong by Future Jr., and Mikansei Koukyoukyoku by ONE OK ROCK
Hermione POV
Hermione regretted snogging Malfoy.
In Fourth Year, her first and worst kiss had been Krum. It was sloppy, inexperienced, completely droll, and not anything like the romance novels told her it would be. He was too handsy, she had decided, and when she tried to pull away, he seemed to take it as a game of chase. Next thing she knew, she was on her back in the grass at the edge of the Quidditch Pitch, losing her virginity like Voldemort lost two wars. By the time the torment of it was over, she thought she'd be glad if he lost the Tournament. That way, she'd never have to see him again.
In Seventh Year, at the end of the battle, she snogged Ronald in the Chamber of Secrets. It was nice. Sweeping, romantic, all sorts of musical bells ringing in her ears. A testament to 7 years of loving feelings building and rising to culminate in one moment of togetherness. And then it fizzled out. Within weeks, all Ron wanted to do was snog and it led to Hermione sleeping with him three times in what were three of the shortest, most boring fifteen minute increments of her life. She hadn't anything to compare it to, but she knew for certain that it wasn't supposed to be like that.
Snogging Draco Malfoy was neither sweeping nor sloppy. It was fire and it was brimstone and it was volcanoes erupting and spewing their heat into the night sky. It was the showering of stars from the galaxies above, pulsars pounding round and round, and comets hurtling from somewhere to nowhere. It was the push and pull of the darkest parts of the ocean, and it dragged her down into the deepest pit of passion she knew she would never again experience with anyone other than him. Because it couldn't be possible to feel so alive with someone. It couldn't be possible to realize with one kiss that you had been dead for your entire life until the moment your lips met theirs.
And so Hermione regretted kissing Malfoy not because it had been selfish or messy or disappointing or blind, but because she couldn't think of anything worse than not kissing him, and he'd made it rather clear that he'd rather die than be with her.
Hermione firmly believed that the reason why Malfoy didn't want to accept her as his mate was because she was Muggle-born, and after every moment they'd shared together, it was devastating.
Hermione gazed out the window at the countryside as it hurtled by, her elbow propped up on the windowsill. Across from her, Blaise sat with his nose in a Quidditch magazine, reading interesting things aloud to Malfoy every so often. Beside her, Malfoy sat relaxed, his legs outstretched and his arms crossed over his chest as he listened to his best mate.
That morning had been awkward, as had the train ride.
When she woke, she realized she had no clothing, and so she'd debated asking Blaise for a jumper just to avoid having to not only wear Malfoy's jumper from the previous evening, but to avoid having to ask him for trousers, too. But by the time she opened her bedroom door, she was surprised to see a pile of neatly folded clothing hovering there in midair. She'd taken it into her room, feeling confused and a bit irritated to see that the clothing consisted of Malfoy's Fifth Year seeker's uniform top and a pair of his trackie bottoms. If he would rather be dead than mate with her, then why did he want her returning to Hogwarts after a weekend with him wearing his clothing? She'd ended up throwing the borrowed jumper back on over the top of the uniform just to hide the fact that his name was blasted across the back, and stormed down to breakfast.
The meal had been taken outside on the veranda, likely because the Dining Hall was not a place Hermione or Malfoy wanted to be inside of. Malfoy's mother's facial expression was unreadable when she caught sight of Hermione's interesting choice of clothing, but no one said anything until Blaise joined them and mentioned that Hermione was going to have a hard time making everyone believe she and Malfoy weren't a couple. The smooth way Narcissa's eyebrows arched as she looked at Malfoy was perplexing and only solidified Hermione's insecurities. Narcissa was kind and conversational at the table, of course, but Hermione couldn't help feeling out of place.
I suppose I could help him find Pureblood options, Hermione thought sadly as she watched trees and mountains zoom past. I can't just leave him to fend for himself just because he doesn't want to mate with me. It's his choice and his body who he mates with, but he doesn't have to die. I'll help him. I promised I would.
It was surreal to think about the way that Narcissa had invited her to Christmas in Denmark. It was already strange enough that Hermione was spending so much time with Malfoy, but an entire holiday with him?
She wondered what her friends would say about that. No doubt Molly would still want her to come for Christmas that year. It would be so weird to tell her that she couldn't come, and yet it wasn't totally implausible. Hermione actually could imagine herself at Christmas dinner with Malfoy and Narcissa, or sipping eggnog on a balcony overlooking the North Sea, or standing beneath a mistletoe in some extravagant sitting room.
A pang of sadness rushed through her. If he didn't want to mate with her, it stood to reason that he wouldn't be wanting to kiss her again.
"I honestly don't understand what the purpose of gold knee guards is," Blaise was saying to Malfoy as his eyes scanned a page in his magazine. "Gold is much too heavy for quick flight."
Malfoy sighed, "The heaviness helps weigh your legs down and keep you upright on the broom. Didn't we already debate this in Fourth Year?"
"We debated," Blaise said, narrowing his eyes at the blond, "but we agreed to disagree. Slow flying makes for poor playing."
"Falling off of your broom to your death makes for poor playing, too," Draco said with a bit of a smirk. He rested his head against the back of the seat. "What do you think, swot?"
It took a moment for Hermione to realize that he was speaking to her, and she jolted to life. She looked from one boy to the other and then shrugged.
"Well, I suppose golden knee guards would have pros and cons," she said softly, tucking a curl behind her ear. "The pros would be better balance and controlled flying. But the cons, aside from being expensive and superfluous, are that if you did manage to fall off your broom, they'd weigh you down and you might fall to your death either way. I'd say they're not worth buying due to the risk, especially for competitive Quidditch."
"All Quidditch is competitive," Blaise said haughtily. Then, he grinned. "But I win, Malfoy. What Queen Swot says, goes."
Hermione's lips twitched and she turned to stare out the window again. It was bizarre, sometimes, thinking of herself as at least being friends with Malfoy and Blaise. She'd sat amongst many Quidditch discussions with Ron and Harry. The only difference is they didn't ask for her opinion.
"Personally," Malfoy said, "I think golden knee guards are superfluous as well. I just know they're not all bad. I prefer regular leather knee guards. Best way to stay on your broom is to use your muscles and hold on. Become one with the broom, and all that."
"I'd agree with that," Blaise said, turning the page in his magazine. "Ah, how about this? This ad says that seekers should all be wearing no knee guards, or armor of any kind."
"What the Bloody Hell are they advertising?" Malfoy asked, sounding disturbed.
"Some sort of sleek number that goes on under your uniform. Threads are infused with a feather-light charm."
Hermione frowned, her attention pulled by the aspect of rule-breaking. "That's cheating. You can't use charms or spells to enhance your performance."
Malfoy and Blaise looked at each other and then burst out laughing. Hermione's eyes lingered on the rare sight of Malfoy giving a pure, true smile. He looked so handsome when he laughed or smiled, and she found herself wishing he would smile at her that way. Blushing, she looked away just as he turned to grin at her.
"You must be new," he said. "We all used spells and charms to get ahead. It was completely normal. Even Wood used navigational spells to influence bludger directions."
"There's no honor on the Quidditch field," Blaise said with a smirk.
"Harry didn't," Hermione said, turning her nose up. "He got by on pure talent."
Malfoy gave her a strange look. "Hm . . . I feel like I've heard that before. And I suppose next you're going to say I bought my way in?"
Hermione looked at him sharply, unable to keep her lips from curving up. "You remember that?"
"How could he forget?" Blaise snorted. "That's his most embarrassing moment."
In spite of the slight depression she was currently feeling, Hermione chuckled.
"That's his most embarrassing moment?" she said, and then she curved her hand into a fist and brandished it at Malfoy. "Not Third Year, when I showed you this?"
Malfoy leaned forward towards her, pinning her in place with his gaze. "That wasn't embarrassing. It was enlightening."
"Enlightening? How does one achieve enlightenment through being punched in the face?"
"Do tell," Blaise said, turning another page in his magazine. "I've been planning on punching Drakey-poo for a good month now."
Malfoy shrugged. "I couldn't tell you. All I know is that before that, I wasn't scared of anything other than my father."
"And after?" Hermione's smile widened.
"Don't quote me on this, but I think I was scared of you." He smirked when Hermione giggled. "And for both of your information, I didn't buy my way onto the team. Before I knew what a feather-light charm was, I was just that good at seeking."
"How come you don't play anymore?" Hermione asked, pulling her knees up to her chest on the seat.
"Been wondering that myself," Blaise said, shutting the magazine. "Why didn't you take the captain's spot this year? McGonagall offered it to you."
Malfoy sighed and laced his fingers behind his head. "Just not my cup of tea anymore, I suppose. I love to watch, and I loved playing, but I think I just want to focus on other things this year."
"I'm sure you have a lot to deal with now, wolfie," Blaise teased. "Or vampie. Whichever one you are."
"Whatever the Hell I am," Malfoy muttered, glancing to Hermione.
The reminder of the situation they were dealing with made Hermione's heart skip a beat. For a moment, she'd almost forgotten he would rather be dead than with her. She looked away quickly and back out the window. She felt his eyes on her for a moment longer, and then Blaise was talking to him again.
Hermione wondered what Malfoy truly was. All of her far-fetched theories kept coming true, and she wasn't sure what to believe anymore. Part of her wanted to just accept that they didn't know and might not ever know, and part of her wanted to make a wild guess and run with it. Her idea that he might be part incubus, part Veela, part werewolf was starting to make sense the more she thought about it. But just because the pieces fit didn't mean they were the right pieces to the puzzle. He had a "lust issue," yes, but that didn't mean anything.
The only things they had proof of were that he turned into a wolf, his bonding magic was so powerful on the full moon that it could be seen physically manifesting, he had fangs when he was challenging an alpha, and he needed blood or else he withered quite visibly day by day. The only way to test out the "lust issue" was either for Hermione to throw herself at him, or for Malfoy to throw himself at other witches or wizards. And Hermione, while she knew he probably wasn't romantically interested in her outside of what his magic was making him want to do, she didn't think she could handle watching him snogging anyone else.
Hermione shifted in her seat, wincing a bit as a sharp pain reverberated up her back. The Cream of Dittany had helped her feel better the previous evening, but when she woke up, she realized that she would need more medicine and more time to heal. She had no desire to go to Madam Pomfrey, nor did she want Malfoy's help anymore now that she knew how he felt, so she was going to have to endure it until it healed naturally.
She felt her cheeks flush as she recalled the previous evening. It was so confusing. How could he be so tender and so caring, massaging her and sitting there with her wrapped up in his arms and her back to his chest when he wanted nothing to do with her? She couldn't help but wonder if it was her blood status, or if things were just irreparable after the Revel. What felt worse was that she'd trusted him with so much, with her nudity and her body and the whereabouts of her parents, and it felt like none of it mattered to him. Not that she should truly be surprised. He was Malfoy. At the very least, he'd spent years ensuring the entire school knew that his family hated Muggle-borns. It was easy to believe that perhaps he still held those sentiments.
But Hermione was so sure that he wasn't like that anymore. She was so sure they'd had something together. It just didn't make any sense.
She looked at him out of the side of her eyes. Could it really be so? Was blood status that important to him? And was she so smitten that she wasn't strong enough to take herself out of his life if he truly didn't want her?
What she knew for certain was that he cared about her in some regard. He'd burned the chaise in the Drawing Room for her - rather, Blaise had, at his behest. He'd dueled Crabbe, one of his oldest friends, to defend her honor. He'd cut off contact with Theo, another dear friend, because of what he'd done to Hermione. He'd sought her out and massaged her hands, just to offer her reprieve. He'd tried, at least until they hit a dead end, to find out who had cursed her at the owlery. He'd at least attempted to be intimate with her, and had in some ways, and he'd kissed her. He'd kissed her. He'd taken the time to tend to her wounds and bruises without magic the night before. Malfoy kissed her.
But was it all actually him? Or was it simply a result of his transformation? Was she a witch of convenience, there to provide him with a need or service? She couldn't deny that he was not a wizard of convenience for her. As startling as it was, she fancied him. He made her feel like she could be completely and utterly herself, even if she wasn't acting "smart." She could let her guard down with him and be "dumb," and he didn't seem to notice or care.
Hermione blinked back tears, frustrated with herself for allowing her emotions to get the better of her time and time again that year. She was acting like a Third Year, weepy over whether or not her crush fancied her in return, and it was silly. Whether Malfoy fancied her or not, she would survive either way. She wasn't going to leave him to suffer through his transformations alone, either. She was a Gryffindor, and she made a promise that she intended to see through until the end. She may not ever set foot in the Manor again, and Malfoy might find her detestable, but she wasn't going to stand by and watch him die.
She hoped he wasn't an Incubus. She couldn't think of anything worse. Nevermind the fact that she had no possible clue how a person could become a demon, if he was, they were in some serious trouble. Hermione wasn't well-versed in demon lore, but she did know that it was a subject that no one was allowed to look into at Hogwarts. It had been mentioned once in Defense Against the Dark Arts in Fourth Year, and never mentioned again.
What Hermione knew for sure was that demons came from alternate dimensions to their own, and they were completely and utterly devoid of good. They were evil, and they existed to thrive on pain and torment. They were lustful, and they were greedy. They would do whatever they could to tear you away from the light and drag you down into the shadows.
Hermione remembered the night she'd gone to the Library and stayed late, remembered how she'd heard footsteps and turned to find nothing there. Had that been demonic in nature? Perhaps Malfoy or Crabbe, following her? If it was Malfoy, would he even have been aware? If that were so, could it be possible that he was the one who attacked her?
No, no. She banished the thought. It wasn't possible.
Research would have to be done, she supposed, before she could delve too deeply into theories. If he wasn't an Incubus, which they had very little grounds to think he was, then there was no point going down that path.
He glanced over at her, laughing at something Blaise was saying, and then his expression softened. His eyes searched hers, and she swallowed. It was looks like those that were the most confusing. Looks, and words like "I wish I would have given you a chance."
Cheeks heating, Hermione quickly looked back out the window, willing her heart to steady its incessant fluttering. She had to keep reminding herself of what he'd said the night before. No matter what, she had to remember that he did not fancy her, and he specifically said he'd rather die than mate with her. She had to remember that.
She focused on her thoughts about demons, resolving to go to the Library when she could and see if she could find anything tucked away somewhere that had any sort of information. If there was one thing that could keep her mind off of the Malfoy debacle, it was reading.
She dozed off after awhile, her head pillowed against the window, and when she awoke, the train was just pulling into the station. She sat up, stretching her arms up above her head and looking beside her. Malfoy was flipping through the Quidditch magazine that Blaise had brought, and Blaise was snoring softly across from them.
"Sleep well?" he asked without looking up from the page in front of him.
"I suppose," Hermione grumbled, cracking her aching neck. "I wish I hadn't napped; it makes me groggy. I'm still planning on making my second class."
"Predictable," Malfoy said, flipping the page. "Fresh off holiday, and you're thinking about school."
"Honestly, Malfoy," she said, rolling her eyes. "What, are you planning on skiving off the whole day?"
"Yes, I am, actually," he said, closing the magazine and standing up. He held a hand out to her. "Care to join me?"
She stared at his hand. Remember, Hermione, she thought frantically. She couldn't be swayed by his Devil-may-care attitude or that lazy smirk.
Hermione ignored the offered hand and rose to her feet. "I don't, unfortunately. I really need to return to some semblance of normalcy."
Blaise jolted awake then, and Hermione didn't see what Malfoy's facial expression looked like in response to her rejection. Hermione smiled down at Blaise, having found that they were becoming fast friends after the little holiday they'd all just taken. He blinked up at her.
"Have we arrived?"
"Yes," Hermione said. "It's just after breakfast."
"Oh, bollocks," Blaise groaned, hopping to his feet. "I was craving waffles. Oh well, I'll make it until lunch. Come on, you lot."
There was a bit of an awkward moment as Malfoy gestured for her to go ahead of him, and she gave him a polite smile in response. It was quite embarrassing, smiling at him as though he were a stranger on the tube, and she lamented how quickly things had changed as they all filed down the hallway of the train car.
Once on the platform, Hermione felt Malfoy's hand gently touching her arm.
"Go on ahead, mate," he said to Blaise, who was walking backwards ahead of them towards the thestral carriage. "Hold the carriage, yeah?"
"You two have three minutes. Better get your last snog in."
Malfoy rolled his eyes, Hermione gave a good, "Honestly," and then they were alone. Hermione, feeling nervous, turned to face him. He looked down at her, the breeze pulling his hair away from his face, and then he sighed.
"Things are strange," he said.
Hermione bit her lower lip. Was he mental? Of course they were strange. "They are."
"I didn't mean what I said. Last night."
Hermione's eyes met his, but she didn't believe him. "Oh?"
Malfoy took a step closer to her, shaking his head. Silver eyes pinned her in place on the platform, and she found she was having trouble breathing. Her eyes followed the movement of his hand as it came up and pushed her hair behind her ear, leaving a small trail of fire in its wake.
She wished she could believe him. Just because he was backtracking now, didn't mean anything. Hermione had years of proof and experiences with him to prove that blood status mattered to him.
"Let's hurry back," she said, her voice cracking a bit. She turned and hurried off after Blaise.
Why was he doing this? To keep her around so he didn't have to figure things out on his own? Did he realize that telling his truth would scare her off, taking his witch of convenience and turning the situation into an inconvenience?
"Took you two long enough," Blaise said.
"Shut up," Malfoy snapped, and the carriage fell silent.
Hermione snuck a glance across the carriage at Blaise, who arched one eyebrow to her. She shook her head and looked out the window at the trees.
She had no idea how things were going to be from now on, but she knew for certain that things were strange, indeed.
Harry was waiting inside the school when the carriage let them off, and Hermione's heart sank at the sight of the look on his face. Blaise reached him first, angering him by ruffling his black hair on his way by. Hermione could tell - she was in for it.
When they were a good ten feet away, Malfoy swiftly stepped in front of her, walking backwards a few steps to stop her. She stared up at him, willing him to hurry up before Harry blew a gasket.
"I'll see you around, then?" Malfoy asked, hands slipped into his trousers pockets. He smirked and his eyes swept her clothing. "To retrieve those."
Hermione lowered her eyes, smiling in spite of the strain. "Along with the robes you lent me, yes I suppose you will."
"Here," he said, and she looked down. He was holding a shrunken-down version of the Cream of Dittany. She felt a tiny bit down at the thought of her having to apply it herself, but knew it was likely for the best. After what he'd said.
"Thank you," she whispered, taking it and clutching it close.
"Don't worry about me, about feeding me," he said, tilting his head to the side. "I talked to Blaise - he says we can work something out."
Hermione nodded, feeling a bit dismayed. Even though she knew how he truly felt, it didn't change how she felt. She didn't want him to get his blood from Blaise. She wanted him to get it from her.
"But if you'd rather I didn't, then I can meet you sometime today?"
Hermione shook her head, staring intently at her shoes. "No, it's okay. It's probably better for you to -"
She felt his hand underneath her chin, pulling her face up to look at him. Behind him, she could see Harry's eyes narrowing. She bit her lower lip.
"I'll meet you later today," Malfoy said firmly, the corner of his mouth twitching up for a flash of a second. "And don't do that."
"Don't do what?" she asked as he caressed her chin for a moment. His gaze flitted down to her lips and then back up to her eyes. Harry was watching, so she blushed.
"Don't bite your lip," he said, his eyebrows raising. Then, before Hermione could react, he leaned down and pressed a kiss to the center of her forehead. "I'll see you later."
Hermione stood there, the ghost of his lips lingering on her skin as he walked on, and she quickly whirled to face Harry. He appeared flabbergasted, his jaw hanging down as he stared at Hermione. He didn't even flinch as Malfoy passed him.
Well, it's now or never, Hermione thought.
Hermione walked towards her best friend, completely aware that he was staring at her borrowed trackie bottoms, jumper, and the bit of green jersey that was peeking out. She held her head high. She didn't know what the meaning was behind Malfoy's mannerisms, but she did know what he meant when he told her not to bite her lip. She remembered sitting on the floor of his dorm room, remembered the smoldering look in his eyes when he told her that same thing.
She wondered if perhaps she ought to bite her lip more.
"Good morning, Harry," Hermione said in a clipped tone. "I'm sure you have loads to say."
"Do I ever," he bit out through gritted teeth. "I don't even know where to begin. You went on holiday with Malfoy? Furniture shopping in Diagon Alley? Where were you staying?"
"The Malfoy Manor," Hermione replied coolly, finding that it was best to tell as much of the truth as she could. She didn't want to argue with him anymore; she wanted to mend their friendship. She knew Harry was going to be angry, and she'd known he wouldn't take the news well, so she felt she might as well just accept his reaction as is. It wasn't like there was anything that could be done about the relationship between Harry and Malfoy. She supposed the most Gryffindor thing she could do was face him.
"The Malfoy Manor?!" Harry practically roared. "You went there for three days with him to the Malfoy Manor?!"
"Yes. I did."
Harry scoffed multiple times as he tried again and again to start new sentences, but instead just shook his head. "You went on holiday with Malfoy. On holiday. With Malfoy."
"We were at the Malfoy Manor, too," Hermione said with a note of sarcasm, brushing pasting her friend. "Well? Are you coming?"
Harry turned and followed after her, his trainers sounding as though they were scraping against the stone ground. He continued to mutter obscenities, including something about disemboweling Malfoy, and then they fell in-step beside each other.
"I don't know what's come over you this year, Hermione, but you've gone mental," he said. "Absolutely mental."
"Nothing's come over me, Harry," Hermione replied, turning the tiny container of medicine over between her hands habitually.
"So he's your boyfriend, then?"
"No, Harry," Hermione sighed as they walked, trying not to focus on the curious way her stomach fluttered at the thought of her being considered Malfoy's girlfriend. "He's not my boyfriend."
"Then you're just snogging?"
"Yes," Hermione said before realizing it had left her mouth. At Harry's indignant, horrified gasp, Hermione's hand snapped to cover her mouth. She skidded to a dead halt. "No! That's not what I . . . Merlin, it was one time!"
"One time is enough time for that snake to poison you, Hermione!" Harry tangled his hands in his hair and threw his head back in an exaggerated grimace. "I can't believe it. I can't believe you snogged Malfoy!"
Hermione stared at him, her chest heaving as a million emotions rushed through her mind. Trauma, at the memory of what their kiss had been preceded by. Sadness, at the thought that Malfoy could kiss her but not stomach the idea of mating with her. Shame, at the way Harry was reacting. Anger, at the way she felt so used. And loss, at the thought that she might never again feel as alive with another man as she'd felt snogging Malfoy that one time.
"Honestly, Harry?" she said, feeling thoroughly overwhelmed. "I don't give a damn what you or anyone else thinks about the way I feel about him. I'm eighteen years old, and if I want to snog Malfoy, then I will. Now. Can we please keep walking? I'd like to get to class on time."
Harry stared at her, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water, and Hermione felt exhaustion settling over her. He couldn't possibly know what Malfoy and she had been through. He didn't know what happened on Saturday. He would never know. And even though the pain of it lurked its way through her psyche, even though she wasn't quite sure how she was going to make it through the day, she felt a strange need to comfort Harry and let him know that everything was not as life-ending as it seemed. Because he had no idea what was really going on, what was quite possibly brewing on the horizon. He didn't know about Greyback, didn't know about the fact that Malfoy was a werewolf and a bunch of other possible things. And it was because he was in the dark that Hermione felt she needed to assuage his fears.
"Harry," Hermione said slowly, placing her hands against his face. "Everything is all right. Malfoy is my friend, and as strange as it probably sounds to both of us, I'm happy to have him in my life. Doesn't that matter to you?"
Harry frowned, and then one of his hands came up to cover her own. "I worry about you, is all. I worry about the decisions you're making, and how they all seem to revolve around him."
Hermione offered him a small smile. "Take solace in the knowledge that every decision I've made in regards to him, I've given ample thought to. We are friends, and I am happy."
"But haven't you stopped to think about ulterior motives? What if he's got something planned? This time last year, we were living in a tent while he did Merlin-knows-what here at Hogwarts. You know people talk about him, right? They talk about the things he did last year, and they're not good things."
Hermione leaned up on the tips of her toes and planted a kiss right on the tip of his nose. "Harry. We are friends, and I am happy."
"Well . . . All right. For now, I shall let it go and see what happens. But I'm not letting him off the wand for anything, and I'll be watching him. Closely. I'll be the judge of whether or not he's friendly."
Hermione laughed and shook her head. "You're so predictable, Harry. Come, let's be off."
They headed off into the castle together, Hermione listening quietly while Harry caught her up on the goings-on in his life. Things had gone well with Ginny at Hogsmeade, and now they had plans to write to one another and "see how things play out." This delighted Hermione, remembering how close Ginny and Harry had been before Fred's death, so to see them working things out was a joy.
McGonagall, apparently, swept through the Eighth Year common room with Bill Weasley on Friday, looking for something, and that had been the height of everyone's weekend.
When Hermione inquired as to what it was they were looking for, he only said, "She wouldn't say. When I asked her what it was, she said it wasn't a thing but an essence. Something like a trace."
Hermione found that odd, Minerva searching for what was essentially a scent and bringing Bill with her. She wondered what, if any, information that Minerva knew, and if it had anything to do with Greyback, Malfoy, or Crabbe?
Hermione did wonder, though. What exactly had Malfoy done last year to gain him such notoriety and infamy?
"Why are you limping?" Harry suddenly asked, looking alarmed. "I didn't notice it before, but now I can clearly see it."
Hermione could sense a tension brewing, so she hurriedly came up with a believable lie. "I twisted my ankle going down the stairs."
"And you didn't heal it?"
"Malfoy isn't a Healer, Harry," Hermione scoffed.
"But you know basic Healing spells," Harry said, sounding perturbed. "Why didn't you heal it?"
Hermione opened her mouth, struggling. The reason why she was limping was because Malfoy struck her so hard that she had a bruise that would likely take weeks to heal, even with Healing spells. It wasn't his fault, of course, but Harry wasn't going to see it that way. Not even Blaise and Narcissa knew the extent of her bruising, and Hermione wanted to keep everyone else from finding out about the Revel if she could.
"I just didn't want to," Hermione said, knowing it sounded lame. "I prefer to let it heal naturally. It's better for the muscle."
"No," Harry spluttered. "No, it's not."
"Yes, it is," Hermione countered. "Natural healing promotes gradual strengthening of the muscle."
"You're wrong," Harry said, and he stopped walking. "You're lying, 'Mione. What happened?'
"I'm not lying! I -"
"Yes, you are. You're lying. What is it that's happened?"
"Nothing!" Hermione said, raising her voice. It echoed around the large, empty corridor.
"All right, now I know you're lying," Harry hissed, hands curled into fists at his sides. "And you were with him when it happened. Which means it's his fault."
"No, Harry!" Hermione cried, her emotions rising up and eclipsing her. "It's not his fault!"
"Oh, so something did happen, then?" Harry was growing visibly angrier and more agitated.
"Please, Harry!" Hermione pleaded, rubbing her face with her hands. "You're simply misunderstanding me. I tripped at the Manor and fell. I twisted my ankle and when I fell down the stairs, I ended up with bruising. That's all."
Harry stared her down for a long, drawn-out moment, and then he cursed and looked away.
"All right, fine. Fine." He took his glasses off and wiped the lenses with the fabric of his wizarding robes. "But let me tell you, if I find out Malfoy's harmed even one hair on your head, he's dead."
Hermione heaved an internal sigh of relief. "Okay."
"Okay." Harry jammed his glasses back onto his face and frowned. "I hope for his sake you're telling the truth, 'Mione. You know, everyone knows where you two were"
"They do?"
"Yes," Harry said with his eyebrows raised. "They do. And everyone in the school is under the impression that the two of you are not just friends."
"Wondrous," Hermione sighed, throwing her hands up. "Well, I say let them talk. It's all they've been doing all year, is talking about me."
Harry gave a wan smile. "Somehow, I think this might be a little different. Before, they were talking out of their asses. Now they have something to back up their ilk."
"Again," Hermione muttered. "Wondrous."
O
Before lunch, Hermione approached Minerva outside of her office. They decided to walk to the Great Hall together, and Hermione did her best to ensure that her limp wasn't quite so noticeable. She didn't want Minerva to regret allowing her to leave campus for the weekend. She had a feeling it was an Eighth Year student privilege that she might rescind for the other students if she found out Hermione got hurt in some way.
"How did you fare this weekend, my dear?" Minerva asked, clasping her hands in front of her robes as they strolled. "I trust Mr. Malfoy and Mr. Zabini were respectful young gentlemen?"
Hermione smiled. "We had a wonderful time together. Narcissa Malfoy even stopped by for tea."
"Lovely," Minerva said, though there was a hint of an edge to her voice. Hermione recalled seeing Minerva dueling Narcissa at the Battle of Hogwarts, so she was unsurprised to hear it.
"Yes, it was," Hermione replied. At least, that part of the weekend was. The remainder of the weekend? Not so much.
"And how goes the search for your attacker?" Minerva asked. "Has Malfoy updated you?"
"It hasn't gone well."
"I'm unsurprised," Minerva said sadly. "I assigned Malfoy the task hoping he might be able to find things where a professor might not. Professor Weasley and I did some digging, but we were unable to find anything either. I am concerned that the attacker might go unpunished."
"Hm . . . Minerva, may I ask you something?"
"Why, anything, my dear."
"Why is it that you felt confident enough to assign the task of locating my attacker to Draco Malfoy?" Hermione looked up at her curiously. "As you well know, we haven't had the most positive or friendly past together."
Minerva looked back at her over the top of her glasses. "Hermione, I'm old, but I'm not blind. Mr. Malfoy cares for your well-being. That much is clear."
"How do you know?" Hermione asked, asking for more reasons than one.
"Hermione, my dear, students don't often duel their friends in their common rooms in the defense of people they dislike." Minerva smiled. "I was your age once, too, you know."
Hermione ducked her head, hiding a smile. She supposed Minerva was right; Malfoy wasn't exactly quiet about his sudden interest in her. It made sense that Minerva would assume that the nature of their relationship had changed. It wasn't a far stretch, even though Hermione knew what Malfoy had said the previous night.
"Speaking of Crabbe. Any news?"
Minerva frowned. "He hasn't returned to Hogwarts since the day of the Fiendfyre attack, but the Ministry has been notified. If he's spotted, he'll be apprehended."
Remembering how Crabbe hadn't been punished with expulsion for the physical attack on her, Hermione began to worry. She pursed her lips. "Apprehended? Not . . . Arrested?"
They rounded the corner, the doors to the Great Hall coming within sight. Minerva stopped walking.
"Hermione, I promise you that I have every intention of keeping him out of Hogwarts and away from you. It is clear that he holds a certain sentiment toward you that has put you in danger."
"Minerva," Hermione said, threading strength into her voice. "I know what he is. Don't ask me how I know, but . . . I know what he is, and I know that he's registered."
Minerva sighed, slowly turning to look at Hermione. "I won't ask how you discovered it, but I will admit it is a relief. I have been longing to be able to explain to you why I didn't expel him when he attacked you. I notified the Ministry, but my request for his arrest was rejected, and Minister Shacklebolt sent me a letter himself that forbid me from expelling him."
"What d'you mean?"
"A new law was passed this summer that has offered certain . . . Defenses to magical creatures who are registered. This means that when I moved forward with the expulsion, I was threatened with arrest for discrimination. It's the reason why I wasn't able to give Mr. Crabbe more than detention, but was able to expel Mr. Nott quite easily."
"When did this happen? I saw nothing about it in the Prophet," Hermione said, feeling panic and anger welling up within her. This meant that Crabbe would never - could never - be punished for his transgressions. And it absolutely reeked of Greyback. It meant that the Ministry was compromised, through infiltration, or corruption. It meant that no one in power could be trusted, and if Greyback was planning something big, Malfoy and Hermione were on their own with it.
"Neither did I," Minerva said, and she looked worried. "And when I wrote back to Kingsley, imploring him to reconsider, his reply was the same. Crabbe was to be disciplined within the confines of Hogwarts rules. No expulsion or suspension allowed."
"But that's . . ." Hermione was at a loss for words. "It doesn't make any sense."
Minerva shook her head. "It would seem that things are not going as smoothly at the Ministry as we all thought. My largest concern, however, is the students. I must do what I can to keep them safe, no matter what."
"And what if Crabbe comes back?" Hermione asked, unable to keep a certain tinge of bitterness out of her voice. Minerva wanted everyone safe, but didn't seem to realize that Hermione hadn't felt safe for one single day since arriving that year.
"Rest assured: I will do everything in my power to keep him from returning to Hogwarts," Minerva said. She reached out and drew Hermione in for an embrace. "And I apologize to you, Hermione, for not doing my best for you this year as well."
Hermione hugged her back tightly. She knew things must be tough. Losing Dumbledore and then serving under Snape while knowing he was working both sides of the fence, and then becoming Headmistress all within less than two years had to be stressful. Hermione drew up her inner strength. She may be a student, but she was still eighteen. She could take care of herself.
"I forgive you, Minerva," she said, patting Minerva's back. "I'm sure everything will turn out all right. And if the law isn't publicly known, maybe he doesn't know about it. Maybe he'll stay away simply because he fears arrest. No doubt Greyback's got him under his protection."
Minerva gave Hermione a sour look after they parted. "Ah yes. I read about that in the papers. Seems to be a lot of laws being adjusted this year."
"I was surprised, too, and . . ." Hermione trailed off, almost feeling like she wanted to blurt out what happened at the Ministry and the Revel. It wasn't difficult to lie to professors - she, Harry, and Ron had perfected that over the years - but it was not easy to lie to Minerva.
Minerva patted her cheek. "Well, dear, I'd better be getting inside. I have an announcement to make for the Winter holidays. Now, if you need anything at all, please don't hesitate to come to me. I know things have been vastly different with Mr. Malfoy this year, but I still wish for you to remain careful. Even though he has good intentions, he does have a tendency to attract darkness to him, and this is a concern worth taking note of."
Hermione nodded, giving her a faint smile and watching as she bustled off into the Great Hall. Hermione wished she could have told her what happened, wished that she could have gone to her for help or support, but she knew she couldn't. It was too much. Not only was it humiliating to even think about telling someone what happened, but it felt like it was dangerous. It was safer for only she and Malfoy to know the true extent of what went on. It was safer for them to keep it to themselves, and she knew Malfoy wouldn't tell anyone.
Minerva was right about Malfoy, too. No matter how different he seemed, Hermione needed to keep her wits about her. If not to keep her life intact, then to keep her heart from being hurt.
Hermione headed towards the Great Hall, the voices and noise from within getting louder and louder. She froze just out of sight, feeling a strange anxiety coming over her. She felt . . . Dirty, almost. Like everyone inside would know what happened at the Revel, that she'd crawled on the floor and called Malfoy her Master, and they'd judge her. She gulped and took a step backward, her heart racing.
She couldn't go in.
Turning, Hermione ducked her head down and walked away, as fast as her limping legs could carry her.
After a nap and a skipped lunch, Hermione changed into her school uniform and wizarding robes, pulling her thick black nylons on to hide the bruising on her legs. She tried not to think about the Revel and the things that had occurred at it as she made her way to Advanced Potions, knowing that there was no way anyone in school knew what had happened. The only student who had the best shot of knowing was Daphne Greengrass, but somehow, Hermione doubted that Gareth was jumping the wand to tell her what he was doing with his daughter's classmate on Saturday. Hermione forced herself to compartmentalize, wrapping her insecurity and fear into a small pouch inside her mind and tucking it away for later.
"Hey, Hermione," Ron said as she came down the dorm stairs. He happened to be leaving the common room at the same time as her, so it was no difficult feat to fall in-step beside him and head to class together. "Have a fun weekend?"
Hermione glanced up at him, but he didn't seem angry like Harry had been. She wondered if he knew about Luna being a vampire and what that meant for their relationship. It was only a matter of time before she finally followed through on what she and Malfoy had agreed upon, and that was to include Ron and Luna in what was going on with him. She wondered how she could approach it with him. No doubt Luna would be easy to talk to; it was Ron's reaction that Hermione was concerned about.
"I had a lovely time," she said, and it was partially the truth. "How was yours?"
"Oh, it was brilliant," he said with a wide smile. "I finally asked Luna to be my girlfriend. So yeah, it was bloody brilliant."
"Oh, Ronald!" Hermione gushed, the good news erasing all of her worries and fears. She reached for his hand and squeezed it. "I'm so happy for you! I'm sure she's ecstatic."
"I should hope so," Ron laughed, squeezing back. "Took me long enough to get the courage up, but I managed. I wanted to ask her before Christmas because I plan on inviting her and her father to the Burrow."
"I'm glad she said yes," Hermione said as they wove their way past younger students crowding the corridors.
"How did the plan go this weekend?" Ron asked, giving her a pointed look. Then, he lowered his voice. "You brought back the Cloak, yeah?"
Hermione nodded. It was the only piece of fabric that seemed to have survived Malfoy's transformation, though she supposed it had some sort of magical protection to make it indestructible.
"It's back in my dorm," Hermione told him. "And things went . . . How they went. I would like to talk to you both about it, but we'll need to find some time to do so."
"Is it pressing? I've got an essay to study for this week."
"Not exactly," Hermione said with a grimace. It wasn't like they could do anything with the information she'd gleaned from the registration forms, and Malfoy was going to be a werewolf-thing no matter how many days went by. "But it is important."
"All right," he said as they neared the Potions room. "I'll get back to you as soon as I can then, and see when Luna's free, too."
Before they went into the classroom, Hermione stopped him with a hand on his arm.
"By the way, I missed lunch. What was Headmistress McGonagall's announcement?"
"Oh!" Ron smiled. "She said there's going to be a special holiday celebration the night before Winter break begins."
"Like a party?"
"Somewhat," he said with a nod. "But no alcohol since all grades are invited. It's going to be in the Great Hall. I'm not sure if I'll go, though. No firewhiskey? Bloody Hell."
Hermione opened her mouth to speak again, but didn't get the chance. Someone jostled her in their rush to enter class, causing her heart to leap in her chest. She cried out in surprise and terror, stumbling forward and nearly toppling into Ron, who caught her by the elbows.
"Oi!" he said the Seventh Year student. "Watch where you're going, tosser!"
"I'm fine, Ronald," Hermione said, shaking her head out as though it could dissolve the mental images assailing her. It was difficult trying to return to normal when she had the absurd paranoia that every person approaching her from behind was one of Greyback's pack werewolves, or Demetri with his fangs, or Cecilia with her wand.
"Some people are so rude," Ron grumbled, and then he patted her shoulders. "Are you sure you're all right? You look pale."
"Yes," she said, forcing a smile. "Now, let's get to class, hm?"
Hermione sat beside Ron that day, Harry on her other side, and allowed things to feel at least somewhat normal for the class period. It was a lecture day, so all she had to do was take notes and listen to Slughorn moan about the subtle differences in human and goat bezoars.
She did glance behind herself a couple of times, seeing Malfoy with his head pillowed in his arms, sound asleep. She wondered when Malfoy was planning on approaching her to plan when they'd meet, wondered if he'd changed his mind and decided to get blood from Blaise after all.
Blaise gave her a winning smile when she turned, which she merely gave a small wave to. Some students around her gave her strange looks, but she didn't care. Blaise, Slytherin or not, was her friend now.
After class, Hermione decided to walk with Ron and Harry, feeling like perhaps it was best for her to give Malfoy some space. He'd come to her if he wanted to. Neither of her friends noticed her limp, and she carefully schooled her face not to wince in pain. The last thing she wanted to do was have another row with Harry.
But even as they walked, Hermione couldn't shake the distinct feeling that it didn't matter how normal she acted. After the Revel, she'd never be normal again.
O
"Merlin, I'm getting rather tired of seeing this in the Prophet."
Hermione looked up from her dinner as Harry plopped down in the empty space across from her. Even though she'd made up with her friends and most of her peers had left her alone about her little weekend holiday, it had become common for everyone to maintain a wide berth from Hermione at the table. Whether it was because they weren't keen on her, or because they were scared she'd snap at them because they weren't keen, it often seemed to work out that she had multiple empty spaces around her. Tonight was no different.
"Seeing what?" she said.
"Magical creatures going missing," Harry scowled, slamming his copy of the paper down in front of him. "They just keep disappearing, and no one seems to be doing a thing about it. After the last ones' bodies were found, I thought that would be the end of it, but here we are again."
Hermione frowned but said nothing. She knew it was likely one more thing being covered up by the Ministry, dealt with in the shadows like everything else. Still, it worried her. Who was capturing the creatures, and why?
"I won't be surprised when Greyback pays for their funerals, too," Harry muttered, sighing. "I don't know what the Hell's going on at the Ministry, but it feels wrong."
Hermione's eyes snapped up to look at him and she had the strangest urge to tell him everything she knew. But she couldn't. There were so many reasons why she couldn't. Harry had spent his entire childhood suffering for the wizarding world, and she didn't want him to get pulled into something else. She could handle Greyback. She could handle Malfoy. She could handle all of it.
But you're planning to involve Ron, Hermione heard her own mind point out. What's the difference?
Hermione didn't know. She didn't know why she felt okay involving Ronald and not Harry. She didn't know if it was truly because she didn't want Harry to fight a battle against another crazed madman, or if it was because she felt like Ron had been a bit more understanding where Malfoy was concerned. She knew that her heart wasn't comforted at the thought of Harry knowing everything from the Revel to Malfoy being a werewolf to Greyback being able to control him with a simple order.
"Miss Granger!"
Professor Slughorn's voice sounded out, and Hermione saw the elderly man approach from the doorway on his way to the professors' table. She smiled up at him.
"Hello, Professor Slughorn. I hope you're having a wonderful evening."
Slughorn placed his hands behind his back. "I am, thank you, Miss Granger. Now, I don't wish to interrupt your mealtime, but I wanted to come and tell you post-haste that on the weekends, my classroom is open for you to use the potions lab for whatever you need."
Hermione blinked. "Oh . . . What?"
"Your classmate Mr. Malfoy has so kindly informed me that you have a personal project you wish to work on this year, and I wanted to let you know that the potions lab will be open to you on the weekends for whatever you need." With that, Professor Slughorn wandered off to his table.
Hermione's head slowly turned and she peered down the full table to the Slytherin end, unsurprised to see Malfoy sitting beside Blaise with no plate in front of him. He was saying something to Blaise and when his eyes met Hermione's, she saw them darken a bit.
Could it be that the project Malfoy was referencing was the potion she wanted to work on for her parents? There was no possible way she'd be able to actually accomplish anything with the limited supplies at Hogwarts, but she could at least send for them in the post or procure some at Hogsmeade. Her mind was spinning.
Harry's eyebrows had disappeared beneath his fringe. "Wow. That's . . . Decidedly un-Malfoy of him. What's it for?"
"My parents," Hermione said, her lips curving up into a smile. This was just like when he'd given her the potion for her hands. "Malfoy can be very un-Malfoy when he wants to be."
"Hmph," Harry grunted, narrowing his eyes down the table. "Well."
"Well, indeed," Hermione said, and when she looked at Malfoy again, she couldn't help but grin at him.
He smirked and turned back to Blaise.
"I'm bitter about it," Harry said after a moment. "But only because even I can't deny how sickly-sweet of him that was."
Hermione laughed. "Oh, Harry."
"Is that why Ginny won't get back together with me?" Harry pouted. "Perhaps I need to ask Malfoy for some un-Malfoy tricks."
Hermione held her stomach, tears of mirth springing to her eyes as she continued to giggle. She wondered if Malfoy, with his enhanced hearing, could hear their conversation. "Harry, stop. Goodness."
"I tease, I tease," Harry said, smiling back at her. "I hate the piss out of him, but I'm not going to give you Hell for it anymore. For now. Ooh, I want to try this ham . . ."
Hermione snuck a glance down to Malfoy again, her flattery melting into confusion. If he was spending time kissing her forehead, procuring potions labs for her, then why was he so against mating with her?
Ron and Luna entered then, and Luna sat down beside Hermione, embracing her.
"I trust you had an excellent weekend, Hermione?" she asked softly.
"I did. And Ron spoke to you . . . ?"
"Yes," she said, smiling that dreamy smile of hers. Her hair was worn long and wavy to her hips, with flowers woven amongst the strands. "Soon, we can speak, if that's all right with you? Perhaps this weekend?"
"Your hair looks quite beautiful, Luna," Hermione said, peering closely at the blue flowers. She gasped a bit when she saw them glowing softly.
"Thank you," Luna said, and then she surprised Hermione by pulling one flower out of the blonde tresses. She tucked it into Hermione's curls behind her ear and then beamed at her. "It's a simple charm my mother taught me before she died. The flowers will glow when you're happy."
Hermione pulled out her wand and transfigured her unused spoon into a small mirror. She smiled at her reflection. The flower was a very pretty shade of cerulean. She wondered what the charm could be, as she'd never heard of it before. Though, Hermione wasn't well-versed in charms that weren't for practical use. The only one she knew was a smoothing one for her hair, but it wasn't quite strong enough to tame her mane.
Ron, who had sat beside Harry, was eyeing the discarded issue of the Prophet.
"My dad said something to me about that," he said thoughtfully.
"About what?" Harry asked.
"The missing creatures. Not about the ones in this article, but the previous ones. The group that they found."
"The ones who Greyback funded the funerals of?" Hermione asked, setting the transfigured mirror down on the table.
"Yeah . . . I'm trying to remember what he said . . ." Ron tapped his fork against the side of his head, spreading food in his red hair in a way that only Ron Weasley could. Then, his eyes lit up as Luna pulled out her wand and cast a spell to clean his hair. "Oh! He told me that all of the creatures were unregistered werewolves. Someone told him in the lifts."
Hermione looked alarmed. "All of them? Then why does the Prophet keep reporting their species so vaguely? And why were they skinned when they were found? Merlin, they didn't have any organs, either!"
Hermione's mind was racing again, struggling to make sense of things. Why would someone want to capture werewolves, skin them, take their organs, and discard them in the Thames? And why was the Prophet not stating their species? Hermione had thought it was a variety of creatures. Now that she knew they were werewolves, it did make a bit more sense why Greyback paid for their funerals. It was still suspicious, though.
What was going on?
"I'm not sure," Ron said. "I know about as much as you lot."
"And we know nothing," Harry said.
Hermione averted her eyes to her food. That wasn't entirely true. Hermione knew a great deal more than they did. But she still didn't know enough.
"Scoot."
Hermione paused with a fork full of peach cobbler poised just in front of her lips, her eyes sliding to the right. Malfoy stood there, the strap of his bag slung over his shoulder and a smirk settled upon his face. More than a handful of students were staring at them, and when Hermione glanced down the table, she saw the Parvati twins glaring daggers at her. Ron looked indifferent, Luna was smiling, and Harry appeared as though someone had shaved his head while he slept.
Hermione slid closer to Luna and Malfoy straddled the bench facing Hermione's side. He rested his elbow on the tabletop and propped his chin in his palm, looking directly at Hermione.
"Can I help you?" Hermione asked with an almost playful glare. It was hard to be angry with him for what he'd said the night before when he'd spoken to Slughorn for her. Harry was right - it was sweet of him.
"No," Malfoy said. "Carry on."
There was a bit of an awkward silence, and then Ron cleared his throat.
"Like I was saying . . . My dad doesn't know much. Only what was told to him in the lifts. But it's mighty strange, don't you think?" He resumed eating.
Harry glared at Malfoy for a moment before he looked at Ron. "I think it's strange that it's happened again. What could someone need the body parts of werewolves for?"
"Experiments?" Luna suggested, slurping spaghetti noodles. "Maybe someone's experimenting on them."
"Experimenting on werewolves?" The corners of Harry's lips tugged downward and he raised his brows. "Well, I suppose even though it's far-fetched, it's possible. What would the experiments be for?"
Hermione watched Ron and Harry bounce random ideas off of one another, and once again, the desire to tell Harry what she knew about the registration forms bubbled up within her. She bit her tongue, choosing instead to focus on Malfoy sitting beside her. He was watching Ron and Harry banter with mild disinterest, his silver eyes darting back and forth between the two. He looked tired, and Hermione wondered when he'd be asking her to sneak off to feed.
So absurd, Hermione thought incredulously, how easily I think the word "feed."
"So Ginny told me you were working things out," Ron said to Harry.
Harry deadpanned. "Or we could simply not discuss that in front of Malfoy."
Malfoy smirked. "Please. Don't stop on my account, Potter. I certainly don't care which witch has the misfortune of shagging you."
Harry narrowed his eyes. "Oh, no, Malfoy. I wouldn't want to put a damper on your mood. After all, it can be difficult to hear about things you won't get to experience."
Malfoy's sly reply was quicker than Hermione expected it to be. "Yes, today I lament my lack of shaggery. But tomorrow dawns a new day, Potter. Say, Granger. You're free tomorrow after breakfast, yeah?"
Hermione dropped her fork and shot him a glare so ferocious she thought his head might explode. Ron choked on his drink and looked at Harry, waiting for his reply.
"I loathe you," Harry muttered, pointing his fork at Malfoy.
"Feeling's decidedly mutual," Malfoy said, and then the hand that wasn't propping his head up reached over to pluck a bit of cobbler off of Hermione's plate. She scoffed, watching as he popped it into his mouth, his eyes studying her face as he chewed. "What? Troll got your tongue?"
Hermione pressed her lips together in a thin line, refraining from mentioning his proclivity for nonhuman food. Last she recalled, he couldn't consume anything other than rare meat and blood. And she loved peach cobbler.
Rude.
"No matter," she said matter-of-factly. "I'll just have to get a second piece. Thank you, Malfoy, for the excuse."
As she reached forward to grab another scoop of cobbler from one of the floating dishes, Luna leaned forward around her and looked at him.
"Draco Malfoy, you should be wary," she said, voice grave. "There are creatures out there that like to punish thieves."
Malfoy's fingers tapped against his cheek and his eyes widened in mock-fear. "What sorts of creatures?"
"Blaggerfuries."
"And what, pray, are blaggerfuries?" Malfoy drawled, and Hermione jolted as the forefinger of his free hand twisted around one of her chocolate curls. She kept her eyes on her plate, hoping Harry didn't notice.
"Blaggerfuries are magical creatures that float about, waiting for wizards to gather for meals. They never share and they hate when food is stolen from plates. If you steal food from another's plate, they'll gather 'round you while you sleep and seal your mouth and nostrils shut."
"What do they look like?" Malfoy's hand traveled deeper into Hermione's hair and combed the ends of it slowly, absentmindedly. His silver eyes were focused on Luna. Hermione suppressed the urge to shiver.
"Why, they're invisible, of course," Luna said, sounding awed. She sipped her tea. Hermione wondered where she heard of these supposedly real creatures, and why Hogwarts didn't teach about them in the curriculums.
"And what is their purpose?"
"To kill you," Luna said, smiling.
"Right."
Hermione took a bite of her cobbler, enjoying the taste of the peaches and brown sugar on her tongue, and she turned to look at Malfoy. Past him, she could see students watching them with mixed expressions of disgust and curiosity, and she fought the urge to roll her eyes. She understood why everyone hated him and his family, but Hermione was too compassionate to harbor hatred. She knew it was always best to forgive the people who wronged you, rather than let hatred fester and rot you from within.
Hermione spent the entire Summer watching everyone's lives move on and forward, and every day in the Prophet, more and more Death Eaters were tried and sentenced. Then, one hot Summer night, she dozed off on her patio while reading a book and had a vivid dream about Malfoy. One that when she woke from it, she was left perturbed and unsettled. One that set her to thinking about the nature of the Malfoys' loyalty to Voldemort, wondering whether it was loyalty out of true belief, or loyalty out of fear. She thought about it so much that she began to realize that the Malfoys were a family that acted out of necessity and followed a predestined path that was laid out for them long before Voldemort even existed. Traditionally, they were cowards.
Cowards survived.
She wished everyone understood that people were not all good or all bad. That just because Malfoy had done bad things, didn't mean that he was unforgivable. That he was just a kid, like the rest of the students at Hogwarts and when faced with following Voldemort or watching his loved ones die, he chose the lesser of two evils.
One of the worst parts of the wizarding world was their penchant for violence no matter what side they were on. If the side of dark had won, they would have punished the light using violence, and vice versa. It didn't matter who won: either side would have been satisfied to watch the losers burn.
Of course, after Hermione watched him standing up to Greyback the way he had, shouting "No!" when Greyback demanded he surrender, there was no way she could ever consider him a coward. Cowards surrendered. Malfoy hadn't.
What had happened during Seventh Year that caused everyone else to jump on the bandwagon of hating him? The more she was told of how evil he was then, the more concerned she became. Hermione knew she could simply ask any student who had been at Hogwarts during the war, but for some reason, she never could quite muster up the wherewithal to do so.
I think it's because I'm scared of what the answer will be.
Malfoy's fingers combed through the hair at the back of her head again, the gentle scratching of his nails against her scalp drawing her mind's attention away from her worries and up to the way the movement relaxed her. She didn't even care that everyone could see. It was quite nice, actually, the fact that he was at least sitting with them, and the most they were doing was bickering back and forth. It was better than hexing one another.
"What are you doing, Scarhead?" Malfoy sighed, his head rolling to look at Harry and the hand that had propped his head up slamming lightly down.
Harry, who had been peering at Malfoy with one eye shut and his tongue hanging out of the side of his mouth, smirked. "Just trying to imagine what you'll look like with my pumpkin juice all over your face. I'm planning on tossing it at you in 3 . . . 2 . . ."
"It'll look loads better than you do right now.".
"Honestly, you two," Hermione said, and then she pressed her fingers to her temples. "You're giving me a headache."
Malfoy's hand moved to her scalp and his fingers massaged the skin, kneading it like dough. Hermione couldn't help it - she closed her eyes and leaned into his touch. She didn't have a headache, but it did do wonders for the rest of her body.
"So . . . Ginny?" Ron said, redirecting as he continued to eat. "You're just about the only bloke I'll allow near her, so I'm rooting for you."
"That's . . . The kindest thing you've ever said to me, Ron," Harry said.
"This is pretty," Malfoy murmured. Hermione felt his fingers touching her ear as they caressed the flower Luna had given her. "Oh, it glows."
Hermione blushed and took a bite of her dessert. She felt Luna leaning into her other side, and the two shared a secret smile.
"What do you plan to do to win her over?" Ron asked Harry seriously. "Because Ginny's got a certain way about her. You can't buy her another damn dresser."
Malfoy snickered. "You bought your bird a dresser?"
"So did Ron," Harry said. "Dressers are practical. And not everyone needs to buy a girlfriend. Some of us just like to buy special gifts from time to time."
"Granger hasn't cost me a dime," Malfoy said nonchalantly.
Hermione blanched, panic blooming in her body and without thinking, she smacked Malfoy in the chest. She glared at him and then smacked him again. Then, for good measure, she gave him another smack, and he breathed out a laugh. She felt the hand that was still in her hair twisting slightly and a glint entered his eyes. It was strangely familiar.
A warning, of sorts?
"Honestly, Malfoy," Hermione said. But she didn't have it in her heart to correct him. She wasn't his girlfriend, of course, but she allowed herself to be selfish. Just this once, because it didn't feel as awful as Harry's indignant glare made it seem.
"Shut up, Malfoy," Harry sneered. "Hermione's not your girlfriend."
"And he's right; I got Luna a dresser just this weekend," Ron interjected, his eyes meeting Hermione's. Harry still didn't know the real reason why she'd asked to borrow the Cloak.
Luna's head looked up, a confused light dancing in her eyes, and Hermione quickly pinched her thigh.
"The dresser you loved, Luna, do you recall?" Hermione asked, and met Luna's eyes with silent desperation.
Luna beamed across the table at Ron. "Yes. I recall. I really needed the dresser. There's creatures that love to frequent old dressers, so it's important to replace them every year to keep them away. If not, they'll eat holes in your clothes that you won't be able to see until you put them on."
Damn. She was good.
"The day I purchase a dresser for my girlfriend as a gift is the day Emeric the Evil returns to life," Malfoy said with a huff. Hermione flinched slightly with surprise as his fingers began to comb their way through her curls again. "At the very least, purchase her an entire bedroom set. Don't be cheap, Pothead."
"Shut up, Malfoy!" Harry snarled, slamming his fist down on the table.
"Watch you don't hurt that Chosen skin, Potter," Malfoy said with a yawn. "Anger causes wrinkles, and you've got to be camera ready at all times."
"Honestly!" Hermione cried, jamming her fork into her cobbler. "You two are insufferable!"
Luna giggled. "I find it rather endearing."
Ron smiled at her, almost mischievous in the way he did so. "That's because you find everything endearing, lovely."
"I find you endearing, Ronald," Luna said, resting her chin on her intertwined fingers and beaming up at him across the table.
"Sickening," Malfoy said, and then he tugged on one of Hermione's curls. "Are we that sickening, Granger? Is that why the Patil twins look green?"
Hermione opened her mouth, flabbergasted and at a loss for words. Malfoy was more insufferable on his own than he was when bantering with Harry! He was the King of antagonization. Still, she looked past him at the twins, and he was right. They were glowering at their odd group and they looked like they were going to be physically ill if Malfoy didn't simply keel over and die right there at the table.
"Hm, perhaps we're not sickening enough. Come here," Malfoy growled. Then, he wrapped his arm around her back and hooked his hand around her hip, dragging her flush against him.
Hermione stiffened, fully expecting Harry to explode, but when she looked at him, he was turned to Ron. Her entire face turning beet red, she turned to chastise Malfoy. Her voice caught in her throat when she realized how close he was, his smirking, handsome face mere inches from her own.
"You are being more pratty than usual," she said, her hands curved around the edges of her plate. Her eyes dipped from his to his lips, which she saw curving into a deeper smirk.
"And you are being less swotty than usual. Have you come down with something?" He tilted his head to the side, his hair falling into his eyes, and Hermione lost her breath.
"Yes, of which the only medicine is distance from you," Hermione said, wrinkling her nose and scooting back to her previous spot. She tucked back into her dessert, ignoring when his hand immediately returned to her hair. There was no stopping him. He was determined to cause problems.
"You could always take her somewhere fanciful during the holiday?" Ron was suggesting to Harry around a mouthful of mash.
"I could, and I entertained the thought. But that's not the best thing I could. The best thing I could do is - Merlin, fuck! Stop it! Just stop that!"
"Stop what?" Hermione asked, wondering why Harry was angry with her for picking at the contents of her cobbler. "I don't like marshmallows!"
"No, not that!" Harry gestured towards Malfoy, irate. "He's got his snakelike hands all over you, in your hair! It's gross!"
Hermione felt like she was blushing so hard that her body was going to go into shock. Why did Malfoy have to be so . . . Malfoy? Her shoulders came up as she attempted to shrink herself down and she glanced quickly up at Malfoy. His smirk was gone and he looked irritated as he, with his hand still holding a few of her curls, snapped at Harry.
"She's mine, Potter. I can do whatever the Hell I want with her hair."
Harry looked as pale as Nearly Headless Nick. He stared at Malfoy, then at Hermione, and then at his knife. He stared at that knife for a long, long moment. He reached for the blade.
"I was going to use this for my ham . . ."
Hermione scowled, exasperated. "Harry. Friends. Happy. Remember?"
Harry and Hermione locked eyes, a silent battle of wills taking place. Even though she wished everyone could just get along, she knew that was almost impossible with their past. But Malfoy wasn't making it any easier; he was egging Harry on. And Harry was too bitter, his vision clouded by rage and hatred. Someday they might come to some sort of compromise, but for now, they just needed to be separate.
She was just going to have to face it. Harry was not going to be able to be involved in Malfoy's transformation, nor what was happening with Greyback.
"Fine," Harry finally bit out through clenched teeth. "No stabbing today."
"No stabbing ever," Hermione threatened. Then, she looked at Malfoy. "Wipe that smirk off of your face, Malfoy. You're just as much to blame for this."
Malfoy did not, in fact, wipe his smirk. He simply turned it on her and let his hand slide down to the small of her back. She felt his fingers burning through the fabric of her robes and button-up.
Hermione stood up, heaving a sigh as she turned to Malfoy. Neither one of the boys was going to let up, and trying to make them suddenly get along was like trying to bathe a kneazle. It wasn't going to happen.
"I'm off to the Library," she announced. She turned to go and then, she paused and drew up some Gryffindor courage. She cast Malfoy a glance over her shoulder. "Coming, then?"
Malfoy shot Harry a smug look and then stood up in one fluid motion. "Right behind you, Granger."
"No snogging in the Library!" Ron teased, and it was so bizarre to hear him doing so that Hermione just stared at him until he grimaced and tucked back into his food.
"I'll see you tomorrow, Hermione!" Luna said in a trilling tone. "Go ahead and keep the flower. It's charmed to live forever."
"Thank you, Luna," Hermione said, and then she gave Harry a look. "I'll see you tomorrow, Harry?"
"Yes," Harry said with a smile, and then he glared at Malfoy. "And I'll see you everywhere. Because I'm watching you, you wanker."
"Brilliant," Malfoy said, pulling the strap of his bag up onto his shoulder. "I never took you for a scoptophilic chuffer, but I'm happy to deliver. Do you prefer me naked, or . . . ?"
"You fucking . . . !" Harry grabbed his pumpkin juice and lifted it up and back, preparing to throw it. It sloshed over the sides of the cup.
"Harry!" Ron and Hermione scolded at once, both sending surreptitious glances down to the professors' tables. The last thing they all needed was detention for starting a food fight in the Great Hall.
Malfoy laughed then and Hermione caught herself staring up at him the same way she had when she'd seen him laughing with Blaise. She wished she could tell him how different he looked when he truly laughed. How the worry lines and tiredness vanished, and he lit up from within like a deluminator had just snapped him to life. She wished she could tell him that she would give up every galleon in her Gringotts account just to see him laugh more. She wished she could tell him that she liked his smile if she wasn't so afraid telling him would make him hide it.
"Now, Granger, let's be off . . ."
He leaned down, his hand still against her lower back, and she felt his lips graze her ear.
". . . . I'm hungry."
Right. That.
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