Chapter 21
Draco lay in his bed, trying to sort through his emotions. It had been a long day. A good day, if he was being honest, but a long one.
He thought about the lost look on Granger's face as she told him about her idiotic ex-friends' behavior, and his pulse raced with fury.
He thought back to the time they'd "borrowed", surreptitiously walking around the grounds together, and his heart beat faster in his chest. It wasn't fury that sped its rhythm at the thought of her, however. Over and over, he replayed how she leaned close to loop the Time-Turner's chain around his neck, or how she steadied herself by grabbing his arm, or how the setting sun lit her delicate features as they talked.
"I can't believe you'd use one of your favors just to cheer me up," she said shyly.
He looked at her out of the corner of his eye, letting a bit of his usual smugness creep in to his teasing drawl.
"And who said I'm using a favor for this?"
Granger stopped short.
"But… but we shook on it, Malfoy! I used my - my you-know-what to send us back and we shook on it!"
He raised an eyebrow, "And when, during that exchange, did I ever even say the word 'favor'?"
Her jaw dropped, although the expression of incredulity was ruined a bit by the smile she couldn't fight off.
"Malfoy, you utter arse!" She exclaimed.
"Language, Granger!"
She swatted at him.
He dodged artfully out of her reach.
"You're going to have to be a lot faster than that," he laughed, "Expert Seeker reflexes, after all."
"Oh, please!"
She rushed towards him playfully, and he jumped backwards, avoiding her again.
"Come back here! Stop that!" She commanded, laughing.
"I'll stop when you're fast enough to catch me!" He goaded, thoroughly enjoying himself as he darted away once more.
He knew that his little infatuation with her was becoming problematic. Pathetic, even. That didn't stop him from thinking about her, though. He'd never been good about denying himself things he wanted. And he desperately wanted to figure her out. To understand how Muggle-borns were any different from Purebloods.
To make her laugh again.
He started at how quickly his train of thought ran right back into dangerous territory. Instead, he fixed his attention on easier, more familiar emotions.
Anger. How in the world could Potter and Weasley ever claim to be her friends? They'd abandoned her over an unconfirmed, unrelated accident. They were daft to throw her away like that.
Arrogance. Their stupidity and thoughtlessness were laughable, honestly. Draco could never be so witless, abandoning a friend like that. He was smarter - better - than they could dream of being.
Revenge. The gits had done something unforgivable. They deserved to be taught a lesson.
Slowly, a plan began to form in his head.
He had a set of black robes he was sure he could transfigure.
Dementors seemed to be Harry Potter's weakness. If he could manage to rustle up a few willing participants, they could dress up like the Azkaban guards and scare the living daylights out of the Scarhead.
After all, Draco had gotten many a delightful reaction from his "Potter fainting on the train" impression at the beginning of the year. And Potter had already fainted a second time whilst on his broom, during a Quidditch match! Wouldn't it be all too easy to arrange a second go at it?
And, if he could pull it off, he might also maneuver Gryffindor into another loss. If he was really lucky, maybe he could even arrange for Potter's Firebolt to come to the same splintered end as his Nimbus 2000...
Yes, this could work. He could avenge Granger, solidify Slytherin's chances at winning the Quidditch Cup, and have another go at Potter - all in one fell swoop of the dragon's tail.
He had to stop himself from jumping up that very moment to find a few willing compatriots to recruit to his cause. Instead, he fell asleep with a mischievous smirk on his lips, dreaming sweetly of Potter's humiliation at his hand and a certain grateful Gryffindor girl.
…
Hermione stood in the Gryffindor stands next to Neville. Her book lay forgotten on the bench behind her, as all of her attention was sucked into the match.
Even if Harry and Ron weren't talking to her, she could still support her team, couldn't she?
Besides, it was an exceptionally beautiful day: clear, cool, and bright. She wrapped her scarf closer around herself as she cheered along with everyone else.
"Go, Go, Gryffindor! Go, Go, Gryffindor!"
Fred and George were flying close to the Slytherin stands, batting a Bludger back and forth between them. Hermione used the opportunity to crane her neck, searching for a flash of blond that would signify Malfoy's location - but she couldn't catch a glimpse of him.
Shaking herself, she refocused on the match, seeking out Harry instead.
He was so high in the air that she compulsively clenched her fists, spreading her arms out slightly as if her grounded balance could transfer to Harry through sheer will.
And then he dove.
"Harry Potter has seen the Snitch! Look at him go!" Lee Jordan's voice bellowed magically through the stands.
Harry was a streak of red, gold, and black as he bolted towards the ground. He swooped up at the last second, then swerved -
What is that?!
Hermione gasped as two huge, black figures ambled towards the pitch, right for Harry.
"Harry, watch out!" she screamed.
Her hands were clutched to her chest, and she almost hid behind Neville.
But then, amazingly, a huge, hulking form of bright white light erupted from Harry as he sped past the Dementors, knocking them over in a tangle of black robes and - was that a knee? Dementors didn't have pale knees, did they?
Hermione stared in disbelief. Quick as lightning, she yanked out her wand and conjured a pair of binoculars.
Looking closer, she made out a few shoes and a hand among flashes of black and green. She watched keenly as Madame Hooch strode over to the source of the kerfuffle and began yelling.
Even from a distance, Hermione could see how livid she was.
Slowly, four heads popped up out of the pile of robes. One of them had silvery blond hair.
At once, Hermione put the pieces together. She clenched her fists, blood running through her veins like lava.
...
"Draco Malfoy, how could you?!"
Hermione stomped towards him, hair flying. "I can't believe that you would - the nerve - the insensitivity!"
Draco blinked. "Again, Granger. Slower."
She took a deep breath and let it out with a huff, disturbing a lock of fluffy hair.
"I thought you were supposed to be my - my friend, even if you are too ashamed to show it in public!"
Draco propped his feet up on his desk in his corner of the secret room, hoping desperately that his air of indifference would cover his sudden boiling anger and needling worry.
"Didn't we decide on the term 'not-friends'? You know, hyphenated?"
"Well, even not-friends don't do that sort of thing!" she went on, "They don't torment the people their friends care about!"
"That's what's got you so angry? Your precious Potter?" Draco spat abandoning his attempt at nonchalance.
She couldn't be serious. After the way Potter and the Weasel had treated her, she still cared about them? Draco had assumed that after the trio's last heinous row, she'd finally drop them from her life. And yet, here she was, shrieking at him instead.
"Yes, I'm angry about what you did to Harry! You and your - your goons waltzed onto the Quidditch pitch, impersonating Dementors to try and scare Harry into losing the match against Ravenclaw! It was underhanded, and sneaky, and it could have gotten him seriously hurt! Malfoy, he's one of my best friends - how could you do that to me?"
Draco stood abruptly, his back ramrod straight. He held Granger's fiery gaze.
"He treats you like shite! Even as someone who's 'too ashamed to be your friend in public', I'm still a better friend to you than he is!"
"Don't you dare try to change the subject, Malfoy!
"No, listen Granger!" Draco sliced through the air with his palm, desperate to make her see reason. "Potter refused to stand up for you. He knows Weasley is being an idiot, and he still chose the wrong side!"
She faltered, then set her jaw stubbornly. "You may not be able to see it, but Harry is a good friend! He and Ron both are! They saved my life when that troll got into the castle our first year. They defeated Slytherin's monster to protect people like me. They were there for me when you called me a Mudblood for the first time! They defended me-"
"I defended you!" Draco cut in, unable to hear her say more. He didn't want to think about how he'd treated her in the past. He couldn't.
"Defended me? When in Merlin's name did you defend me?"
"Well I couldn't do anything obvious," his nose wrinkled a bit in his anger and guilt, "Subtlety is a necessity, not that you would understand-"
But Granger's eyebrows had pulled together. In her confusion, her anger seemed to fizzle.
"Wait…" Granger's eyes moved back and forth along the stone floor as if she was reading an invisible book. "Malfoy, is that what you were doing today? Defending me?"
Draco swallowed.
"Whatever you want to call it, it doesn't matter-"
Her eyes found his. Her gaze was, for once, impenetrable. It set Draco's nerves on edge.
"No, it does matter," she insisted, "Did you pull this little stunt as some roundabout way to - to stand up for me for how Harry and Ron have been behaving towards me?"
Draco clenched his fists, feeling like a caged manticore. He looked away from her.
"You did, didn't you? But… Malfoy, you do realize that's mental, right?"
Draco crossed his arms. "It's not mental, it's subtle. Just because it wasn't an over-the-top, brazen, Gryffindor action doesn't mean it wasn't meant to help."
"Malfoy, I…."
She took a small step closer, and Draco braced himself, preparing for the worst. All she said, however, was, "Thank you."
He'd wanted her to be grateful, of course. But when she'd flown into the classroom in a cloud of fury and hair, he'd felt his expectations might have been a bit off. And now that she was thanking him, and looking at him like that… he felt his instincts screaming at him to shut down, to close her out. This was dangerous.
It was dangerous to crave recognition from her like he did.
Be distant. Be placid. Be in control.
Granger continued, "While I still think that your rivalry with Harry made it far too easy to choose him as your target - and you probably didn't do it for completely altruistic reasons… well, I understand what you were trying to do. It was still a bit mental, but actually very - sweet."
Her tone started off as matter-of-fact, but it ended up warm with appreciation.
"You deserve better than them."
He'd meant it to be scathing, but the words came out in a whisper.
Her eyes latched onto him, measuring him.
Draco winced, then quickly tried to cover it up. Fuck, what was she doing to him? Her vulnerability was spreading like Dragon Pox.
He couldn't maintain his normal cold impassivity. It just melted away, leaving him a collection of whispered truths for her to see, plain as day.
"Careful, Malfoy," she said, her voice small, "If you keep that up, you won't be able to claim that I'm just a worthless Mudblood anymore."
She held his eyes as she said the word. There was something intense in them that Draco couldn't pinpoint - something that both scared him and drew him further in. Just like all of her.
He squeezed his eyes shut.
"You're not."
After a very pregnant pause, she asked, "Then what am I to you?"
Draco knew he should stop.
But he saw the look on her face when she said the word "Mudblood". He saw her pained expression when she talked about last year, when he'd been the one to use the word on her for the very first time. He'd tried not to think about it, tried to ignore the gnawing feeling in his stomach, but he couldn't deny the truth: he was culpable. He was a primary reason why she pushed herself as hard as she did.
She was trying to prove him wrong. To prove that her blood didn't make her inferior.
To prove her worth.
His feet moved back to his desk. With a wave of his wand, he lifted the protective enchantments.
He took out Malicious Mudbloods, Demystified and held it in his hands.
He heard her slow intake of breath.
"That's the book you were hiding from me." It wasn't a question.
He could only nod.
"I stole it. Right from my father's library. I, just - here."
He opened it to the very last page and held it out to her.
She looked at him for a moment, then took the proffered book hungrily. Her eyes zoomed back and forth across the page, drinking in the words.
It was a passage that he'd read just that morning, the author's final conclusion:
"Therefore, it stands to reason that if any Pureblood willingly suffers the company of a Mudblood, he has proven himself as witless as the filthy rabble themselves, and deserves to have his magic siphoned away by those violent and devious contaminators of pure magical blood."
And below the passage, he'd written his final commentary:
"Muggle-borns are spouted as complete idiots, but at the same time they can supposedly drain a powerful wizard of his magic in a mysterious way that they manage to keep secret, despite being 'inherently unintelligent'. Meanwhile, I've spent hours and hours with Granger, and she has yet to siphon anything from me. In fact, I only find my magic stronger - perhaps because of her insane study habits rubbing off on me. Besides, her extreme intelligence can't be faked (and is further evidenced by her being a complete swot). Not to mention the fact that Crabbe and Goyle, whose bloodlines are pure as crystal, are complete dunderheads. There are entirely too many exceptions to the idea that pure magical blood is what determines brilliance. There is, in fact, no evidence whatsoever that Purebloods are any different from Muggle-borns in the first place."
He watched her movements closely. He'd expected her to react more strongly to the dark book - to be repulsed or perhaps incensed. But instead she seemed… enthralled. Curious. Excited.
Finally, she spoke.
"Did… did you have to call me a swot?"
That was her takeaway?
"I wrote loads of things in there, Granger. Nice things. If you haven't noticed, I don't exactly do 'nice'. Get over it."
His tone was less gruff than he'd intended.
She looked up at him, eyes shining.
"You… Draco Malfoy, you are full of surprises."
He didn't know what to say to that.
He merely held his hand out for the book.
She closed it slowly. She reached out, reluctantly offering it to him with a tenderness he didn't expect her to have for a book that vilified her and everyone like her.
His fingers brushed hers as he took it. The usual, tingling thrill he felt at her simple touch unsettled him as it always did.
He had to stop himself from reaching out and touching her again.
A/N – Trying to get the timing right on a good slow burn is… difficult, to say the least. Hopefully it's not plunging too far ahead too quickly. Or too slowly I guess? It's hard to tell sometimes.
But, I've read and re-read this chapter enough at this point, and I wanted to get it to you – so here it is ^.^
Thank you, so much, to everyone who has read, favorited, and reviewed. And a special thank you to my previously silent guest reviewer who had such encouraging words for me. Sincerely, thank you 3