Invisible
Chapter Twenty-Eight: Promises, Promises
Haunting by Halsey, Ghost by Lauren Babic, Crazy by Candice Boyd, Like It Used to Be by Amerie, and Falling by Yuna
Hermione POV
Hermione woke to the faint scent of blood lingering around her nostrils, and the heavy pounding of rain outside of the castle. She laid there for a long time, long enough to miss breakfast, without ever even rolling over from the way she'd slept. She stared at the wall, wondering when she'd strayed so far from herself that she didn't even know how to react to the situation she was in with Malfoy. She almost felt like she'd broken things off with a boyfriend, even though they weren't anything more than someones to one another, and the leaden feeling in her chest made her feel like she was sinking into the floor and never coming back up.
She wondered if this was how Moaning Myrtle felt, and she wished she could drift off into endless drops of water, too.
Their argument had been nothing short of confusing. The entire study session in the Library, while enlightening, had felt like a battle. Hermione pushing at his walls; Malfoy pulling further away. The kiss in the stacks had been startling, and the bickering afterward confused her into thinking perhaps she was deluding herself about their something. Perhaps he truly felt nothing for her and all their little moments, whatever they had been building together, meant nothing. It seemed so absurd, especially given the strength of her affections for him, and what seemed like his strength of affection for her. The events of the Revel and the events that took place directly after were enough to make her think that he did care for her. However, it felt like their study session and the moments in her room afterwards had only muddied the waters even more.
She was pretending to be okay, and she knew it was because if she let it affect her - if she let herself tread the waters of it - she might drown and she wasn't prepared for that. She wasn't prepared to face the things she'd went through there, and she knew for certain that she was bottling it up and stuffing it down. She'd thrown herself entirely into the focus of other things, all because she was terrified that the flimsy costumed Hermione Granger that she presented to the world would fall apart, and then she wouldn't even know who she was anymore. She barely knew who she was right now.
Knock, knock, knock.
Hermione lifted her head and stared at the door. Was it him? Her heart leapt and her stomach twisted, and she hurried to swing her feet to the floor. Her face pulled into a grimace as she saw the puddle of her blood, tacky and dark on the floor, and she leaned down to grab her wand. She cast a series of scourgifies on the floor and her bloodied pyjamas, and then she glanced over at the vanity. Rat's nest, as usual.
She opened the door.
It was Luna.
"Good morning, Hermione," she sing-songed, hands behind her back.
"Oh, good morning, Luna." Hermione smiled, though it was less bright than Luna's.
"Hm. Do I detect a note of disappointment?" Luna tapped her chin. "Perhaps I'm not the blond you were hoping to see?"
Hermione's smile became shy and she put the hand that wasn't holding the door open on her hip. "What makes you say that?"
Luna tilted her head to the side. "Coy isn't very Hermione of you."
"Yes, well, I . . . Suppose you're right." Hermione sighed. "Is it that obvious?"
"Painfully so, Hermione." Luna tucked a strand of her blonde hair behind her ear.
"So what brings you here?" Hermione asked, changing the subject."
Luna's eyes studied hers for a moment. "It's nearly 5:00, Hermione. I came to see if you were well."
Hermione choked on air. It was nearly 5:00? How had she slept in so late? How long had she been lying in bed? Was it because of Malfoy? Just how much blood had he drained, and how much sleep did her body need? She ran her fingers through her hair, frantic as she gazed back at Luna with a guilty expression.
"I hadn't . . . Realized, I was simply . . . Oh, dear." Hermione buried her face in her hands.
Luna giggled. "It's all right, Hermione. I'm sure the castle won't crumble because you spent a mere day off. Sometimes it's best to sleep off the Beems."
"The beams?"
"The Beems." Luna blinked. "They're little fairies who attack your aura when you're stressed."
"Ah." Hermione was beginning to think that Luna's magical creatures were real, since she knew of so many. Either that, or she was highly creative. "So, did you want to come in?"
"No, I wanted to see if you were all right, and now that I know you are, it's time for dinner. Would you like me to bring something up for you?"
Hermione looked behind her at her dresser as though it would spit clothes at her of its own accord, her mouth hanging open in indecision. Would Malfoy be there? If so, how were things going to be? The waters they were navigating were tricky right now. She wanted to help him, but she did not want to be used. She'd meant what she said last night: if he didn't know what he felt for her, then he didn't deserve to be with her in any form other than necessity. She'd figure out a way to siphon out her blood for him, she'd help him figure out what was wrong with him, and she'd assist him with coping. Aside from that, she was too afraid to get hurt, and she knew her worth.
No. No, she wasn't going to avoid him. She'd made her intentions as clear as possible.
"Um . . . No," she said. "I'll come down with you. Just give me one moment?"
Luna nodded, and Hermione closed her bedroom door. She hurried to dress in her school uniform and robes and threw her curls up into a messy bun. Then, she headed back out to meet her friend.
"Sorry to keep you waiting!" Hermione put her hands on her hips and smiled. "Shall we?"
"We shall."
Together, the two girls headed out to the stairwell, and Hermione marveled again at how late she'd slept. She felt her heart sink a bit at the thought that Malfoy had taken simply too much blood. That wasn't a good sign. After his behavior the previous night, when she'd begged him not to bite her, the look in his eyes had been feral. It was clear that something was changing within him, something was off.
The conversation in the Library had been a clear indicator that he wasn't quite there. When he'd told her to shut up and then done a terrible job of pretending he hadn't said anything, she'd known right then and there that he wasn't entirely himself. And that was saying something, since three months ago, she would have fully expected Malfoy to tell her to shut up. She didn't know if she could quite call the difference a demon, per se, but it wasn't normal.
"Hermione, did you by chance sign up for the common room Christmas party?"
As they stepped off the last couple of steps into the empty common room, Hermione looked at Luna in bemusion.
"Christmas party?"
Luna pointed to a piece of parchment magicked to the wall near the kitchenette. Hermione strode over to it, tapping her chin thoughtfully as her eyes scanned the writing. It read, Eighth Year Christmas Party: Common Room, December 13th, 2019 - 8:00pm across the top and below it were a list of important tasks along with multiple lines stretched out beside them. The lines were full of one or two name signatures per task, and the tasks included things like food procurement, games, and decorations. Hermione smiled. She liked the idea of a party. It was on the last day before Winter break, and that was a perfect way to send everyone off for the holiday.
Luna came to stand beside her, her hands clasped behind her back as she rocked on her heels. "I haven't signed up yet, either. I wanted to wait and see if you had."
"I hadn't even heard," Hermione said, frowning. Had she been so wrapped up in Malfoy's condition that she'd missed hearing about a party? What else had she missed?
"Well, most things are spoken for," Luna said. She tapped her finger against one of the only two lines left blank. "We could sign up to decorate the common room together?"
Hermione nodded. "I think I'll ask Professor Flitwick for a few spells we can use to charm the decorations to do some unique things. What do you say?"
"I say that sounds splendid!" Luna smiled. "I wanted to sign up for decorations since most witches and wizards don't know about the nargles."
Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Nargles, again?"
"Yes," Luna said with a nod. She withdrew her wand and touched it to the parchment. Hermione's name and hers appeared in Luna's tiny handwriting on the line for decorations. "Most don't know, but they are commonly found in mistletoe. They love to eat the berries."
"Interesting," Hermione said, her mind already turning with ideas for the decorations. She'd always loved the old song Winter Wonderland. It was her father's favorite, and she thought it might be wonderful for the decorations to be charmed to rain snow down upon them, or something similar.
She looked at the rest of the paper, unsurprised to see that Blaise had signed up for music. She desperately hoped he didn't play the same type of music that they'd heard at the Muggle club in London. She hardly thought the Pureblood witches would be able to handle watching the way the Muggle-born witches danced. After all, Malfoy's eyes had nearly fallen out of his head watching Hermione dance.
The two girls headed for the Great Hall, talking amongst themselves about Christmas as they went. Hermione tried not to feel a bit sad. It would be her first Christmas since the war ended, and her second without her parents.
She still felt guilty about paying more attention to Malfoy than to her studies. If she'd been spending her weeknights reading up on memory magic and her weekends in Slughorn's lab, perhaps she'd have some sort of formula or plan to work with for helping her parents' memory restoration along. She didn't blame Malfoy, but she did blame herself for acting like her entire life revolved around him. It frustrated her, too, that he didn't seem to mind, and that he never seemed interested in getting to know her. Thinking back on the past few months, she couldn't remember him ever asking her a single question about herself except for when he asked about her parents, and that didn't exactly constitute getting to know a person.
It's not as if you've asked him anything, her thoughts said to her. What do you know about him?
"What's your favorite Christmas tradition?" Luna asked as they trudged down the corridor.
"Hm," Hermione mused thoughtfully. She gave a guilty smile. "I love the gifts. Giving them, receiving them, picking them out . . . Even though I have no siblings, I always got to be the 'elf'. It was my favorite part."
"The 'elf'?" Luna looked alarmed. "You turned into a House Elf?"
Hermione giggled. "No, Luna. Like the wizard Santa Claus's elves! I played the part of one and ran back and forth under the tree, putting the presents in front of my mother, father, and I according to whose name was on the gift."
"Santa's House Elves?"
Hermione's brow furrowed. Santa was a Pureblood wizard, but the knowledge that his elves weren't holly jolly little men, but were in fact enslaved House Elves severely disturbed her. If she weren't such a fan of Christmas, she'd write to him and demand he offer up an explanation.
On second thought . . . She made a mental note to write to him anyway.
"Don't think on it too much, Luna," Hermione said, patting Luna's shoulder beside her. "What is your favorite Christmas tradition?"
Luna's eyes lit up. "Oh, mine used to be when my mother would braid my hair next to the tree and hum my favorite song at the end of the night. My father would knit in the armchair and watch the fire, and our bellies would be stuffed to the brim with Christmas dinner. The nargles would float about in the air, stuffed full of mistletoe berries - the only time my father let them roam the house without expelling them. It was nice."
The corners of Hermione's lips fell down as she recalled Harry telling her that Luna's mother had perished when she was nine years old. "That sounds lovely, Luna."
"Will you be seeing your parents this Christmas to become a House Elf again?"
Hermione's heart wrenched. "Oh . . . No, I . . . I know a little bit about how you feel, Luna. My parents are . . . They're not . . ."
Luna stopped walking, looking at her with an expression of sympathy. "Was it the war?"
"It . . ." Hermione felt tears burning her eyes. She faced Luna. She'd been the one to cast the spell; the least she could do was say the words aloud, instead of hiding from it. "I obliviated them during the war. My parents live elsewhere, somewhere safe."
Luna reached for Hermione's hands. "I'm so sorry, Hermione. I'm sure they'd miss you if they could."
"I miss them terribly enough for the three of us." Hermione gave her a thin smile, and then lowered her eyes. "Unfortunately, there will be no Christmas elves for me this year."
"What will you do instead?"
"I . . ." Hermione's cheeks filled with heat. "Narcissa Malfoy has invited me to her chateau in Denmark to spend Christmas with her and . . . Well, with Malfoy."
Luna squeezed her hands. "I think it sounds fantastic. I've never been to Greece. You'll write to me, won't you?"
"If you'd like me to," Hermione said, and she smiled through the emotions that had assailed her earlier. Looking into Luna's carefree face, Hermione realized she'd neglected more than just her studies and parents that year. She needed to spend a bit more time fostering her friendships, especially Luna's. Luna was the only friend who had stuck by her no matter what this year. Of course Hermione would write to her.
They resumed walking, and as they came up to the Great Hall, Hermione's heart leapt. Malfoy was standing at the entrance, leaned up against the wall with one foot kicked up against it behind him and one hand wrapped around the strap of his satchel. His other hand reached up to comb his hair backward, and Hermione took the small opportunity to study him for a moment. His hair was still short on the sides and around the back, but the top had gotten so long that when he didn't push it back, it grazed his cheekbones. He looked pale, but not as much as he did when he'd gone days without feeding, and he wore his robes open over a pair of black trousers, a white collared shirt, his green Slytherin tie, and a black dress vest.
"Draco Malfoy!" Luna called, and Hermione felt her entire face flooding with warmth. As Luna waved her hand enthusiastically, Hermione wished the floor would open her up and swallow her. She'd known she'd have to face him eventually, would have to remember what it was like to nearly die on her dorm room floor the night before, but she hadn't expected it to be so soon.
Malfoy looked up, his eyes seeming guarded as she straightened up. His gaze traveled from Luna to Hermione, where they washed over her face with a hard press. Though Hermione had buttoned her robes, she felt like she was completely nude before him. Before the Revel, that might have thrilled her. But now, it made her feel a bit queasy.
"Evening, witches," Malfoy said, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. He smirked down at Hermione, but it seemed to lack his usual mirth. "I thought you'd never leave your room, Granger. Did you forget to set your wand alarm?"
"I . . . Slept in," Hermione said, eyeing him. They hadn't spoken to Luna yet about Malfoy's condition, and outside of the Great Hall with the great din of happy students was not the place.
"Beauty rest is important for those dark circles," he said, tilting his head to the side. "By the looks of it, you needed a bit more. Shall I cast a beauty charm to drain the blood from beneath your eyes, love?"
"Sort of difficult to cast that sort of charm without a wand, innit?" Hermione replied through her teeth. In spite of the fact that he'd called her 'love' more than a few times now, she was a bit too angry with him over her own moral failings and inability to disentangle her life from his to police her quips.
His eyes flashed and he cocked one eyebrow. "She bites today."
"She bites every day," Hermione said. "You just happened to be on her good side up until now."
He breathed a laugh, but his silver eyes darkened. "Is that so? Up until now? Or last night?"
"She's still deciding." Hermione lifted her chin and held his gaze.
Luna's head moved to look at Hermione curiously. "I'll go inside to eat, then. Ron's likely waiting for me."
Hermione ripped her glare away from the obviously angry Malfoy, and smiled at Luna. "All right. I'll see you inside, Luna."
Luna waved a farewell to Malfoy, who gave her a curt nod, and then Hermione watched her walk away. Once Luna had disappeared into the Great Hall, Hermione started when she felt Malfoy's fingers gripping her chin. Her skin prickled where his fingers touched as he turned her face to look up at him. Hermione gulped, feeling waves of anger and magic coming off of him with enough force to floor her.
There was definitely something wrong with him.
"What're you on about?" he growled. "Good sides, bad sides. Does it matter?"
"It matters if you don't want her - me to start biting." Hermione wrenched her face out of his grip and crossed her arms over her chest. "I've recently realized I've wasted my entire school year on you, and I don't fancy the thought of it. I just found out about the common room Christmas party today, I haven't the slightest clue what we're learning in Defense Against the Dark Arts because I hardly pay attention, and I slept until 5:00 today because a wizard nearly killed me last evening."
Hermione knew she was being harsh. Saying she'd wasted her school year on him? That would hurt anyone. It took two to tango, and she'd told him she'd help him that year. Why was she acting so bitter and miserly? He couldn't help who he was. He couldn't help what was happening to him. And it was her idea to push him and see if something jumped out to snap at her. She was acting barmy. Why was she acting so barmy?
He promised he'd always protect you. The thought whispered through her mind, tinged with a stubborn bitterness. But he can't even protect you from himself.
She saw it in him for the briefest of moments - betrayal, and then rage - but a group of Fourth Year Hufflepuffs came tumbling out of the Great Hall with a bout of laughter, and as fast as she'd seen it, the emotion melted into the darkness of his eyes.
He took a step forward and leaned down beside her ear, the brush of his lips sending a shiver rolling down her spine. "I should like to think you're the one who should be worried about being bitten, witch."
Hermione clenched her teeth and glowered resolutely at the ceiling. "I'm worried about a lot more than you biting me, Malfoy. It's a wonder I survived you last night."
He leaned back, a jerky movement as though he'd been shoved, and he stared at her. She knew he was probably wondering what in Merlin's hut had come over her, but Hermione had no answers for him. She just knew she was angry.
"Don't douse yourself in kerosene and play with matches," he spat, and his glare pinned her in place. "I may not bite you, but I will burn you. And trust me . . ."
Hermione sucked in her breath as his hand shot out and wrapped into the hair at the back of her head. He twisted his hand so that her head tilted backward and it pushed her face up closer to his. She danced on her tip-toes for a moment, setting her jaw as she stared at him defiantly, her hands balled into fists at her sides.
". . . I'm itching to watch someone burn."
As he stormed off, Hermione felt like the tension in the air stretched between them longer and longer. She took a deep, gasping breath and whirled around to watch him disappear down the corridor.
Why had she done that? Why had she acted so completely and utterly selfish?
And why did him grabbing her by the hair always make her skin tremble with gooseflesh?
Merlin, she was so livid. He was a prat. He was insufferable. He was an insufferable prat. But damn if she didn't love the way it felt when he touched her.
She glared at her dinner plate the rest of the mealtime.
O
It rained all week.
Over the entire castle, a gloom had settled. Rain meant it was too warm for snow, and even the wizarding world valued a white Christmas. The rain pounded against the roofs of the castle towers day in and day out, and it seemed that it was dark and grey every morning for four days straight. When Minerva cancelled that weekend's Hogsmeade trip due to the near-flood status rainfall, the students became so glum that Hermione almost thought they were all going to throw themselves into the Black Lake as a mass group.
She knew she switched back and forth between feeling angry with Malfoy and devastated that he was so good at ignoring her when he was angry, too. He was like a stone wall when she just wanted to argue and make sure he understood why she was mad, even though she knew her anger was partially unjustified. She was the one who pushed him into getting enraged enough to nearly kill her. She was the one who insisted on latching herself to his side for the past three months.
What was wrong with her?
The night of her argument with Malfoy, she downed an entire vial of Dreamless Sleep potion to knock herself back to sleep. She woke rested at a normal hour the next morning, and was still as angry as ever. At breakfast, she glared at the entrance all morning until Harry told her he'd hex the corridor for her if it had caused her any sort of affront. Luna had watched her with concern, but Hermione wasn't quite ready to talk to her about anything related to Malfoy yet. Not until she figured out why and how she'd allowed her anger to fester into such a deep-seated rage.
That evening, after he'd avoided her all day, she waited in her room until nearly 9:00 for him to come by and apologize - er, to feed. She knew he had to be getting hungry, and he'd show up at any time to feed. She stared holes into her door, imagining how amazing it would feel to hear him apologize for all the wrongs he'd done as a man. But when he didn't come, she stormed up the boys' stairs and pounded her fist against his door so vehemently that several students poked their heads out into the hall.
"Get back into your rooms," she snapped with her hand poised to knock again, her eyes zeroing in on the infuriatingly-smirking Blaise. "You especially."
"What did he do this time?" Blaise snickered. "Wait, no - let me guess. He didn't notice your new perfume?"
"Shut it, Zabini." Hermione put her hands on her hips. She was not in the mood for his foolery.
"All right, Hermione?" Neville was staring at her from the top stair, holding a book open in his hands. He hadn't spoken to her much that year, but she knew it was more than likely because he was a very aloof sort of wizard, and not because he felt any particular way about her decision to help the Malfoys. But now, as he saw her standing there, obviously irritated with Blaise, he looked like he was about to draw Godric's sword on the Slytherin.
"Oh, excellent." Her voice dripped with sarcasm. "Abso-bally-lutely excellent. Carry on, Neville."
"Well, I for one think your perfume smells nice. Very floral."
"I'm not wearing any, Neville," she said, giving him a strange look.
"Are you sure?" He frowned and leaned in closer. Being the odd boy he always was, he took an audible sniff of her. "Yes, I'm sure that's it. Gardenia? No, it's . . . Freesia?"
Hermione's anger flared. Had she been so drained and overwhelmed by Malfoy that she'd forgotten that she'd worn perfume?
"Oh, well, then I suppose I am wearing perfume."
Neville smiled, and then he disappeared into his dorm. Blaise arched his eyebrows at her.
"Malfoy's about to getttt ittttt," he sang, and then he ducked back into his room when Hermione reached for her wand in warning.
Malfoy ripped his door open, apparently forgetting his own strength as the hinge at the top bent and wrenched out of the door frame. Hermione cast a quick glance up to the angled bronze, and then set her shoulders back. She glowered up at her whatever-he-was.
"Aren't you hungry?"
He frowned, looking down at her as though she were Voldemort. "So you can hold it over my head later? I think the fuck not, Granger."
"I don't care." She shoved her way into the room and, before the door had even finished slamming shut, her wand was out against her forearm. "Diffindo."
Malfoy let out a snarl of rage and flashed across the room, grabbing her arm in both of his hands and ravenously attaching his mouth to the dripping wound she'd just opened.
"Stupid," he muttered, lifting his lips from her skin. He ran his tongue along the length of the cut, his eyes smoldering down at her. "You're so fucking stupid for this."
"You're stupid for always trying to starve yourself whenever things don't go your way." She winced as he dove back in to feed. He yanked on her arm when she unconsciously pulled at it, and she stumbled against his chest. "We get into one argument, and you manipulate me into worrying about you."
Blood dripped from his chin. "What? I do not manipulate you into doing anything."
"Yes, you do! Every time something small happens, you get dramatic and starve yourself for days on end. It's the same as saying, 'I'm sorry I'm such an arsehole.' It manipulates the situation into being about you."
He stared at her incredulously. "Are you fucking mental? It is about me. I'm the one who's -"
"It's not always about you, though, Malfoy!"
"For someone who hates being interrupted, I'd give you an O for outstanding at interruption." He bit the words out between tightly gritted teeth, and she felt his fingers tighten infinitesimally on her flesh.
"It's not always about you," she said again, lowering her voice as though everyone could hear her. She snatched her arm back and healed it with a viciously spat out episkey. Then, she said, "I've sacrificed things for you, and you don't even care. I've put important things aside for you, and somehow, you twist every single day into a day that revolves around Draco Malfoy and his Twilight saga!"
"What are you on about, Granger? Sacrifices? What the Hell is a Twilight saga?!"
"It's a book series about whiny vampires like you! You wouldn't get it!" She was screaming at the top of her lungs like a maniac, and she had no idea how to stop it. She felt like her heart was expanding, like it was going to tear its way out of her chest.
"I'm not a vampire!" He shook his hands by his face, obviously thoroughly frustrated. "I don't know what I am, but I do know that I don't make things about me, I do not manipulate your days, and I do not fucking whine!"
"All you do is whine!"
He ran his hand through his hair and put the other on his hip, looking ferocious with his blazing silver eyes and bloodstained jaw. "Is this about last Saturday at the Manor?"
"No!" she cried, and then she shook her head. "Yes! It is. But it isn't. It's about everything - it - it - it's about you and me and just . . . I just want to scream at you!"
"Why are you acting like such a bloody bitch?"
"You tried to kill me," she hissed.
"At your behest!"
"Yeah? Well - well, fuck you, Draco Malfoy." She pointed her wand at her arm, where her blood had dripped. "Fucking tergeo, and fucking fuck you!"
She stomped her way out of the room, slamming the door behind her and storming back to her dorm room. She jumped onto her bed, screamed into her pillow, and like any self-respecting, independent eighteen-year-old girl, cried herself to sleep.
Thursday went much the same, only this time, instead of at night, she stepped in front of him in the hallway outside of potions. He looked like he wanted to murder her, but he followed her like a dog to the little hallway they'd been in together quite a few times. After a Notice-Me-Not, a muffliato, and a diffindo, all she had to do was present her wrist. She glared out the little window at the grey, stormy sky, watching and listening to the rain as he fed, wondering if maybe it was time for her to talk to him and try to hash things out.
"Have you finished with your tantrum?" he asked once she'd used her wand to heal herself and clean their skin.
She felt a spike of renewed anger shoot its way through her. Apparently, she'd wondered wrong. A tantrum? Like she was a toddler? Someone easily manipulated and controlled and used? As though her feelings were insignificant, her emotions nothing more than delusions. Did he even care about her?
"Nope," she practically snarled.
"All right, well when will you be?" he drawled sarcastically. "Might I schedule some after-tantrum make-up snogging?"
"My tantrum will be over when I feel like I can trust you again, you bloody prat! You can go snog yourself."
She brushed past him, feeling her emotions begin to swirl and rise, furious tears glittering in her irises. She didn't understand where the anger was coming from. It felt disproportionate, but uncontrollable. But when she looked up into his eyes, all she felt was sheer terror, and that made her angry. She should not be feeling terror when in the presence of someone she cared about. Regardless of whether she'd pushed him Tuesday night into nearly biting and killing her, he scared her, and that wasn't okay.
"By that logic, your tantrum started a long time ago, and it hasn't ended yet, because you never have trusted me, love. You and I both know that." He sounded like he was spitting rotten fruit out onto the ground.
"I see now how foolish that was, to trust a Slytherin." She shot him a scathing look over her shoulder, putting all of her rage into the honey-brown of her eyes. "Above all, 'Slytherin will help you on your way to greatness,' right? I'm just another stepping stone towards getting your way."
"That's not true."
"You don't know the meaning of truth."
And then she left.
Those two more days having been spent revolving around Malfoy made her even angrier, and by the time she woke on Friday after a night of sobbing herself hoarse, she was itching to hex him. She hoped he didn't come to breakfast. If he did, he might end up with jellied legs or bat bogies coming out of his nose.
Hermione hadn't realized she was capable of such strong feelings. They felt like a neverending inferno raging within her. She'd come to realize that she was more angry at herself for not seeing the real reason why she was so livid with him, and she was at constant war with herself over what to do about it all. Because while she was thoroughly aware that she'd insisted on pushing him into trying to get some imagined demon to come out, and that she'd insisted on attending the Revel even though he'd pretty much begged her to leave, she was still finding ways to blame him for the fact that she felt like she wanted to skin herself alive and regrow new flesh that hadn't had the hands of the Death Eaters all over it.
She just didn't know why she wanted to blame him for all of it, and why she couldn't seem to stomach feeling any sort of responsibility for it herself.
Advanced Potions on Friday went more terribly than it had all year. She started the class period with a nagging feeling of irritability at the back of her psyche, and ended it with three inches of curls burned off of the ends of her hair, angry tears on her cheeks, and a week's worth of detention next week - the week before Winter holiday.
The cherry on top of the sundae? Everyone in the school would know there was trouble in Dramione-dise by the end of dinner.
"My dear, sweet Hermione Granger." Blaise slid into the seat beside her at the front of the classroom propping his chin in his hand with his elbow on the table. "You know I hate it when my parents fight."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Your parents?"
"Mummy." He batted his eyelashes at her and gave her a pout.
"You are ridiculous, Blaise."
"But mummy," he whined, leaning into her.
She gave him a stern look and then sighed. "Son."
Blaise laughed, and then his hand wrapped around hers in her lap and squeezed it before returning to the tabletop. "Seriously, though, you two are murdering me. It's utterly painful to watch. It's like watching Weasley play Quidditch."
"Hey," Ron complained from directly behind them as he sat down.
"Where's Harry?" Hermione asked after looking over her shoulder. She was talking to Ron, but her eyes slid to the back of the room. Malfoy was in his usual seat, surprisingly awake with his hands clasped behind his head, his eyes staring right back at her. It caused her to blush, as usual, and that just made her angry all over again. He raised one eyebrow and she gave him a quick sneer, then looked back at Ron.
"He's running behind," Ron said, shrugging. "He didn't meet me like usual, so he's probably just late from Divination."
Hermione turned back around and rolled her eyes. She would never like that blasted class. She resumed what she had been working on: writing a few sentences on her Transfiguration homework.
"Anyway," Blaise trilled. "When will you and daddy make up?"
"Did your father send you over here to talk to me?" Hermione asked without looking up as her quill scrawled across her parchment. Around them, the classroom was slowly filling with their peers.
"Now, why would you say something so hideously ghastly, mummy?" Blaise sighed theatrically. "As if he even knows I'm talking to you about him."
"I'd believe you if he weren't watching us like a kneazle watching a couple of field mice at lunch. You can tell your father that mummy's going to be angry for the foreseeable future. Also be sure to tell him that he'll have to fend for himself for dinners from now on."
"Hermione," Blaise said, sounding exasperated. "Whatever happened, I'm sure it's not as bad as you think."
Hermione didn't answer him. She was barely aware of what she was angry about. She had yet to figure it out. So Blaise could shove it. She'd be done being angry when she was good and ready.
"Run along now, son," she said when she tired of feeling Blaise's eyes on her. "Mummy's busy."
"Daddy will cry, I hope you know," Blaise said as he stood, brushing his knuckles along her cheekbones. "He misses you terribly."
"Well, you can tell your father that mummy would love to jinx his hair to never stop growing." She imagined it and giggled. "We'll see how much he misses me when he's busy trying not to trip over it."
Blaise laughed as he walked back to his seat, leaving the seat beside Hermione empty.
"That was weird," Ron said as he scrambled to take the seat. "Do I want to know about the family dynamic?"
Hermione looked up from her parchment. "I'm not quite sure I know about it myself. But what I do know is Malfoy is a prat. A ferrety prat."
"Now that's a sentiment we can drink to."
Harry arrived shortly after, looking disheveled and like he'd run to class, and he plopped down in the seat next to Ron. Slughorn entered the class right after Harry, and then immediately launched into a small lecture. He split them all into partners and much to Hermione's dismay, Slughorn partnered her with Malfoy again.
"You both do such excellent work," Slughorn, ever the player of favorites said. He grimaced at Malfoy. "Even if one of you is a bit more likeable than the other."
"Now, Professor," Malfoy drawled as he came to stand beside Hermione. He already had a cauldron in one hand and a tray of ingredients balanced on the palm of the other. "Don't say such horrid things about Miss Granger. She might have her feelings hurt."
Professor Slughorn blanched. "Yes, well . . . That's not what I . . . Hm. Get to work."
Hermione and Malfoy stood beside her, the former glowering down at the table. Malfoy moved close to her, his cologne washing over her.
"Would you like assistance chopping the hag tonsils, love?" His voice rolled down the length of her spine.
"No, thank you," she said, voice clipped. She held up the knife. "Unless you'd like to provide your tonsils? Human organs make such potent potions."
"She bites and she's funny. My kind-of witch."
"Shut up." She sliced the hag tonsils with vehemence. How was it that he could act so lackadaisical so soon after their arguments? It was as though he were completely unfazed and found the whole thing humorous. Like she was a joke to him.
He watched her prepare all of the ingredients, watched her light the cauldron and stir it, and she was so preoccupied by how angry she was at him for everything else that she had no room left within her to be angry at his arrogant laziness. Her hands trembled slightly from her rage.
"Do you need more potion for your hands?" he asked, stepping so close that she couldn't smell the rank potion any longer. Instead, her nostrils were overwhelmed by the scent of his woodsy, spiced cologne.
"No, Malfoy. I'm fine."
"You don't seem fine."
She practically threw the volcanic stones into the potion. "Well, you're certainly not going to be if you don't stop talking to me."
Malfoy said nothing, much to her surprise, and she snuck a look up at him. He was watching her hands lift the large dropper out of the adder venom jar. His hair was slicked back into a modern pompadour, and with his blue button-up with the sleeves rolled up and the top two buttons undone, he looked dangerous and formidable. She felt even angrier.
How dare he look that handsome at any time of the day? How dare he look so snoggable when what she wanted to do was stomp away from him?
"It needs sixteen drops," he said as she held the venom dropper over the cauldron.
"No, it doesn't. It never has. It needs only fourteen."
"Mm, no, pretty sure it takes sixteen."
"I'm doing fourteen."
"If you do that, and then add the powdered rat bone, it will upset the balance. It'll - no - yep. Yeah. It's going to burst into flames."
"No, it won't."
"Yes, it will. It's going to burn you."
"Oh, lovely for you, then, hm? You did say you were itching to burn someone."
"Hermione," he growled, his voice a warning.
Hermione ignored the way her the skin on the back of her neck prickled when he said her first name. He was standing right next to her, one hand on the table top, and she purposefully kept her eyes on the cauldron as she added the fourteen drops of venom. She remembered well that this potion took fourteen drops. She knew it took fourteen. Malfoy was wrong, and she was tired of him always thinking he was -
She added the powdered bone, and the potion promptly burst into flames. Hermione screamed as the ends of her hair from where she was leaning over the cauldron caught fire and she fell backward. Malfoy's arm was waiting, catching her instantly. He sighed beneath the sound of her screams. The class erupted into near-chaos, everyone clamoring to figure out why there was smoke in the room.
As Malfoy snatched up her wand and quickly cast aguamenti on her poor curls, Slughorn stomped over with anger in his eyes. He put his hands on his hips, gave Hermione detention with him for the entirety of next week, and then told her to go to the Infirmary to get looked over. Hermione stood there, staring blankly up at him, feeling the eyes of the entire class drilling into her, and she felt herself shattering. Her sanity snapped and she burst out into tears.
"I'm so sick of you, Malfoy!" she shrieked, slamming her fists against Malfoy's chest. Several people in the class gasped, including Slughorn and Ron, and Malfoy simply glared down at her.
"Continuing the tantrum on ceremony now, are we?" Malfoy asked, drawing eyes to him.
"Just . . . Leave me alone!" Hermione, completely and utterly mortified at the entire situation, sobbed angrily as she gathered up her things and left the classroom in a hurry. She wished she could Apparate to her dorm; it felt like privacy was so far away. Instead, she dashed into the nearest bathroom and locked herself into a stall until she'd finished crying.
It was all too much. She knew what she was angry about. She was angry about the situations he'd put her in, the constant danger that seemed to surround him. She'd barely had a day of calm since getting involved with Draco Malfoy. She seemed to constantly give him everything and he still didn't understand why that was a problem. He just didn't seem to care.
He knew how to boil her blood and cool it at the same time, how to play her like a piano and then rip her apart with a single look. She was mad at how much power he seemed to have over her and her life, and she was mad at how easily she seemed to shuck everything for him: her morals, her studies, her parents . . . What would be next? Her future? Her friends? Her personality?
She just didn't know why. Why was she so angry about all those things? What specifically about them bothered her? The anger was blistering, and she wished she didn't have to feel it, but it seemed to be trying to drown her.
When Hermione exited the stall and walked out towards the door, there he was. Of course.
Malfoy sat on the edge of the bath, elbows resting on his thighs and hands laced between his knees. She could see the bottom half of his Dark Mark on his forearm from where she was, could see the stained glass mermaid on the wall watching them curiously, and their eyes met across the room.
"If you're struggling with it, you know you can talk to me," he said quietly, sitting up straight. "I was there with you through it all."
"Were you, though?"
He narrowed his eyes a fraction. "Is that a trick question? I am the only person who understands how you feel."
Hermione felt her rage flaring again and she dug her nails into her hands. He didn't understand. He never would. He was a Pureblood. He would never understand what it was like to be her, to hear the horrible things the Death Eaters and the wolves had said knowing that it was her they wanted to hear crying. To feel terrified of being harmed just because of her blood status. To feel the cold marble floor beneath her hands and knees as she crawled like a familiar after her 'master.'
"You don't understand," she said. "And you never will."
"So explain it to me," he said, rising to his feet slowly. His eyes softened a fraction. "Tell me what is wrong."
Her nails broke the skin and she saw his eyes snap down to her fist. He could smell the blood, even the smallest fraction of it. Oh, of course. She gave a bitter laugh and held her palms out to him.
"Take what you need from me," she said in a macabre mirror of the words she'd said to him before. "That's what you're good at. Taking and taking."
"Granger . . ."
"I need some fucking space."
He made no move to go after her as she left the bathroom, and she didn't need to look over her shoulder to know that he hadn't followed her.
O
Hermione spent her weekend in a fuzzy state of mind, thinking of nothing and everything simultaneously. When she lets her walls down for a moment to feel everything, she thought of Malfoy, thought of Greyback, and remembered the feeling of being completely exposed and violated by the eyes of monsters. It traumatized her, and so she'd put her walls back up and feel nothing, only to disassociate from herself for hours. She spent the majority of Saturday in bed under her covers, staring at the drawers of her dresser as they blurred and refocused over and over. Her only bright spot was Pakatugg curling up to laze about on the mattress with a pile of candied chestnuts beside her. He was getting plumper, preparing for Winter, and he slept often these days. It made Hermione feel a bit less alone.
The rain continued outside, the light tip-tap-tip of it hitting the panes of her window soothing her into a sort of sleepy limbo from the moment her eyelids fluttered open to the moment they closed again for the night. Her stomach growled on and off from hunger, but she just ignored it and slept. She had nightmares of the Revel, always forcing her bloodshot eyes back open, and she'd stare across the room at the Dreamless Sleep potion she had on her vanity. But she made no move to retrieve it. No accio, either. She just went back to sleep, back to nightmares, and then woke up and started the dissociation all over again. She supposed it had something to do with her anger at herself, a sort of self-flagellation she was using to remind herself that she was dumb enough to have gone to the damn Revel in the first place.
Sunday brought a bit more energy, though the constant rain kept Hermione from leaving the fuzzy mindset of the day before. In a depressive funk, she left her room in an oversized jumper and a pair of leggings, earning herself a few snide looks from Pansy and Goyle by the fire as she left the common room for her Muggle attire. She hadn't fixed her burned hair, and it looked awful, or so Pansy told her. Dean told Pansy to shut up from where he was playing wizard's chess with Seamus. Harry was nowhere to be found, and Ron was lying sprawled out on the floor with Neville poring over some Quidditch magazines.
"I'm guessing the doom and gloom look is because Malfoy finally dumped you?" Pansy smirked. "Guess your cunt's not as Golden as your famous name would imply."
"Shut up, Parkinson," Ron snapped.
"Malfoy didn't dump her," Dean sighed. "They were never together."
"I highly doubt that," Goyle snorted, leaning back against the couch with his arm across the back of it and holding a bottle of firewhiskey in his lap. "And what's your definition of together?"
"All little Miss Gryffin-whore needs is a prick," Pansy said with another smirk, her legs curled up beneath her on the cushion. "Malfoy's got one of those. A rather excellent one."
Hermione glared at her. She knew Malfoy had been with Pansy at one point, but it bothered her now more than ever. "Come off it, Pansy."
"Oh, come on, Granger. Surely you've seen it? Surely you know the sorts of things he likes, too? I'm sure if you try that thing he likes with the tongue, he'll take you back. Have heart."
"Oh, that's revolting," Ron said. He was lying on his back, holding the magazine up above him, and now he let it fall to his chest as he pulled a disgusted look in Pansy's direction. "None of us wants to hear about the ferret's sex life."
"We're not into bestiality," Dean said, laughing hard enough to draw tears. Ron joined him, the two of them punching each other's shoulders. Hermione rolled her eyes.
"Pansy, I know you think it's an accomplishment to be a teenage boy's personal sock when you're young," Hermione said, arms crossed and lips curving into a smirk. "But surely you know that being the most-explored witch of Slytherin is no accomplishment, right?"
Pansy's smirk faded and she fixed Hermione with a glare. "Better than being the whore of Gryffindor."
"Come now," Hermione said, eyes dancing. "Don't slut shame. I wasn't aware of my role, though." She smiled as though she were speaking to an old friend. "Tell me . . . Who exactly have I slept with?"
Pansy sneered. "It's not as if you know me well enough to say the same."
Ron snorted, but Hermione was already counting off on her fingers.
"Terence Higgs in the back corner of the Library, Blaise Zabini on the Quidditch Pitch, Adrian Pucey that time in the Great Hall when you thought everyone had left for class, and Draco Malfoy in Merlin-knows-where, probably everywhere. All of that was Sixth Year, I believe."
Goyle pointed at Pansy. "Remember when we shagged in the greenhouse after Herbology?"
Pansy looked like she wanted to murder him.
Ron and Dean sniggered, and Hermione raised her eyebrows. She pressed on.
"And Goyle in the greenhouse after Herbology. Those are just the ones I heard about. So to call me the whore of Gryffindor . . . ? I mean, let's be real. First of all, it's not really an insult. Second, it's not cute to reduce womens' sexuality, which is completely natural, to pettiness based on mistruth. And third, if I was busy sleeping with the whole of my House, do you really think I'd have had time to help Harry defeat Voldemort?"
Goyle and Pansy both glared at her, but said nothing.
"Whoops," Hermione said, hands moving to her hips. "I forgot. He was your mate, wasn't he? My condolences. I'm off to the Library."
Ron and Dean were falling about with laughter, and even though Hermione knew she was being over the top, she was sick of Pansy. She was sick of her making snide remarks and trying to tear Hermione down simply because she didn't like her.
Hermione, not one to tear another woman down for her sexual escapades, but definitely one to show Pansy a thing or two, then paused mid-turn. "But don't worry; Pucey, Higgs, Goyle, Malfoy, and Zabini will forever remember you as the best practice shag they ever had. I'm sure of it. As for Malfoy, thank you. He's had plenty of practice. I'll let you know how it goes."
With that, ignoring the way Goyle and Pansy reached for their wands, Hermione showed them her back and exited through the portrait to the sound of Ron and Dean's raucous laughter.
Hermione meandered across the corridor, her earlier depression settling back over her. Pansy's words didn't affect her, but she did dislike the thought of her and Malfoy together. It bothered her to think of him at a more carefree stage. When things weren't so complicated. It made her wonder what things would have been like had he not subscribed to his father's ideas about blood status and Muggle-borns. Would they have connected and become . . . Something?
The sleepy-eyed witch wandered through the stacks, eyes scanning the spines for something a little less Malfoy-related to read than the types of books she'd been reading all year. She selected a book on the history of cooking spells and then wandered to an alcove by a window to curl up in an armchair and read.
After reading a couple of pages, Hermione found herself staring out the window. The downpour was thick, but not so thick as to obscure her view of Hogwarts' grounds. She gazed down at it, at the lush, green grass, the trees of the far off Forbidden Forest, and wondered where Crabbe had disappeared to. Had he gotten hurt in the forest, and that was why he hadn't been back? Had Minerva sent out any sort of search party? She knew Dumbledore would have, but Minerva was a bit more . . . Hermione just knew she wouldn't be surprised if Minerva never had sent anyone to look for him.
Hermione rested her head against the chair's cushioned back, pulling her knees up closer and setting the book atop them. She hugged her legs and watched the raindrops twisting their way down the glass of the window. It was times like these that she thought back to the night at the owlery. She wished they had more clues, but it was like she'd been cursed by a ghost.
A flash of blonde meandered outside the alcove, and Hermione perked up.
"Oh, Luna!"
Luna whirled around with a pile of books in her arms and beamed when she saw Hermione seated there. "Hermione!"
"Go ahead and sit down," Hermione said, feeling her spirits lift at the prospect of spending time with her friend.
She gestured to the armchair across from her, on the other side of the window, and Luna entered the alcove. The blonde put her book pile on the small table between the chairs, and then settled into her seat.
"It's so good to see you, Hermione! Were you unwell yesterday?" Luna asked, beginning to twist a few strands of her long waves into a tiny braid. She wore a pair of full-body green velvet pyjamas with one long zipper and a hood with two giant false eyeballs on the front. If she weren't Luna, Hermione would have been perplexed. In the Muggle world, specifically the US, they called them 'footie pajamas,' and it was completely bizarre to see someone wandering about Hogwarts dressed as a frog.
"No," Hermione said, a half-lie. "I just needed to rest. I was in bed all day."
Luna's lips spread into a soft smile. "Things aren't going very well with Draco Malfoy, are they?"
Hermione sighed. "You're really good at telling when something's the matter, Luna."
Luna stared at her for a moment before saying, "Vampires can read Muggle emotions. It's similar to how werewolves can scent them, but based on a reading of magical core to core, rather than a physical presence."
"Your father spoke to you, then?"
"Yes, he wrote to me. I know you know what I am." She leaned forward, her elbows on her thighs and chin in both hands as she smiled dreamily. "I must say, it's a relief. Now, you and Ron both know, and I don't feel like I'm hiding anything anymore."
Hermione nodded, wondering if now was a good time to talk with her about Malfoy. She was still angry with him, and unsure of what was going to happen moving forward, but it had been a week since the Revel and his previous transformation, and things were obviously not going well. They were flying blind, and they desperately needed at least one more head to help them solve the issue.
"Does it frighten you?"
Hermione blinked herself out of her thoughts, realizing that she'd been staring out the window again. "Oh . . . No, it doesn't."
"That's good," Luna said softly, sitting back in her seat once more and pulling her feet up onto it. "Ron fainted when I showed him my fangs. It was silly."
"I'm thoroughly unsurprised to hear that. So Ronald knows, then?"
"Yes, he's my source." Luna tilted her head almost coyly. "He makes sure I stay fed."
Hermione nodded slowly, wondering if that meant Ron was okay to be involved in Malfoy's situation, too. She had a feeling he still wouldn't be on board, but then again she thought he might not be on board for anything any longer. Not with how terrible their arguments had been.
"I am surprised to hear that. Wasn't he terrified?"
"Oh, definitely. But he's a Gryffindor. He's been rather brave."
"I don't doubt it. Ron always has had a knack for bravery in the face of danger." Hermione smiled. "How did it all happen?"
Luna began to braid another few strands of hair. "It was the first night of school, actually. He saw me sipping it from a canister I brought from home."
"Can I ask . . . Whose . . . ?"
"My father's. He siphons his blood and sends it to me weekly in the post. Since I'm registered, I also can procure some from St. Mungo's once per month. It gets difficult, though, if you can't find a source. The Ministry doesn't make it easy - they only provide you just enough to survive."
Hermione's brow furrowed. Another mistreatment against magical creatures. Vampires were considered Beings, so they received a tad bit better treatment than Beasts like werewolves, but only being given enough blood to survive seemed just as barbaric as any of the werewolf laws.
"I see you eat breakfast and whatnot with us, though," she said to Luna. "Do vampires eat human food?"
"Yes, of course." Luna chuckled. "Think of it like humans and water. Blood is necessary for vampires the same way that water is. The only difference is that I won't die if I stop eating human food."
"That's interesting, I didn't know that . . ."
They gazed at each other for another second, and Hermione felt her stomach twisting with nervousness. She wanted to tell Luna about Malfoy, if only to get some help for herself for helping him. For Merlin's sake, she and Malfoy had already agreed to tell her. But it felt like she and Malfoy might never speak again, so it was difficult.
"Ron was a lot less calm than you are right now," Luna said, cocking her head to the side again and twisting a braid around her forefinger.
"Yes, well, I'm something of a magical creature fanatic," Hermione said with a short laugh. "I'm not overly fond of the restrictions and laws the Ministry places upon them. Er, you all. I have . . . Experience with their effects."
"Experience?"
Hermione felt the urge to tell her about Malfoy again. Her mouth opened, the words sticking to the walls of her throat. Why did it feel like she was losing some great battle, thinking about continuing to help him?
"Oh, right, with Buckbeak in Third Year!" Luna suddenly said. "Yes, I do recall hearing about that incident in Third Year. I was happy to hear you'd managed to rescue him."
"Yes," Hermione said softly, looking out the window as distant, faded memories of her Third Year rushed through her head. The Time Turner, Sirius, the immense loads of homework she'd had, punching Malfoy . . . The year before Voldemort returned, before Cedric had perished, before everything started to go downhill. It was only 5 years ago, but it felt like centuries.
Luna sighed and gazed out the window. "Can I tell you something that no one else knows, Hermione?"
"Of course." Hermione whipped out her wand. "Muffliato."
Luna's blue eyes seemed paler in the grey light of the rainy day as she stared at the sky outside. "My mother, she . . . She was like me. A vampire. She never registered, though. She meant to, but my parents never were good with sticking to plans . . . But after I was born and they realized that I was a born vampire, they finally made some changes. They registered me with the Ministry, not expecting me to be a witch."
Hermione looked on in shock. She'd only ever heard about turned vampires, but born vampires? That was unheard of. Her mind began to spin with all the knowledge she wanted to glean from Luna about vampirism, but she quelled her questions. Perhaps she should tell Luna about Malfoy, just to make comparisons, and hang whatever Malfoy felt, and the status of their something.
"But since things weren't exactly . . . Smooth regarding Half-bloods, and they never quite have been, Professor Dumbledore allowed me to keep my registry a secret from everyone at Hogwarts save for him and Professor McGonagall. I believe that Professor Snape may have possessed knowledge, but of that, I am unsure." Luna gave a small, sad smile. "Strangely enough, I can't remember a single negative interaction with Professor Snape. He was always kind to me, especially when the students used to throw things into my cauldron and destroy my potions. It is sad, though, what he did. How cruel he ended up being, and how terribly he treated everyone else."
Hermione's eyes snapped to hers. She knew exactly why Snape was kind to Luna. Harry had told her all about it. Snape was the odd wizard, and one who everyone bullied, just like Luna had been.
"You should know, Luna. You should know that in the end, Snape wasn't as hideous as he seemed. He was playing a role, just as we all had to, in some respects. Dumbledore asked him to . . . Well, what I mean is . . ." Hermione bit her lower lip. Luna was her friend, but to divulge everything about the events leading up to the war . . . It felt like she was stealing Harry's story and molding it to fit her own life. It didn't feel like it was her place to say. "Ask Harry - he'll tell you everything you want to know about Severus Snape. Just know that if he was kind to you? It was genuine."
Luna smiled, and looked at Hermione, and Hermione saw that there were tears glittering in her eyes. "That is wonderful to hear. I think I will. Ask Harry, I mean. I'd love to hear anything he knows."
Hermione leaned across, reaching her hand out. Luna took it, and they held hands for a moment.
"So you were saying," Hermione said, taking her hand back. "You were allowed to hide your registry?"
"Oh, yes. Yes, I have made it a point to tell everyone here that I'm a Pureblood witch. Ron, and now you, are the only two at Hogwarts who know my true status. My father has charmed my registration form to simply elude whoever goes looking for it, should they choose to. I know it's not exactly legal or - or moral, but I . . . Well, things are already so difficult for my father. I don't want my classification to make things worse."
Hermione's heart clenched and she frowned. "I despise the Ministry sometimes. House Elf servitude legality, starving the vampires, making Wolfsbane exorbitantly expensive, allowing Greyback rights where other werewolves are not allowed them . . ."
"Greyback . . ." Luna frowned, too, balling her hand into a fist on the arm of the chair. "He killed Lavender, and they've allowed him so many rights he doesn't deserve. He should be in Azkaban, you know?"
"There's nothing good or deserving about Fenrir Greyback," Hermione bit out sharply, drawing Luna's gaze to her. Hermione looked away, as if Luna could see her memories of the Revel just by looking at her. "Trust me."
Luna's lower lip pushed out into a small pout. "Sometimes, it seems like the Ministry is corrupt enough, even without You-Know-Who's influence. Sometimes it seems like something isn't right."
Luna didn't know how right she probably was. There was no doubt in her mind - Kingsley was compromised in some way, as were who knew how many other Ministry Officials. Perhaps even members of the Wizengamot.
"Do they know you're a born vampire?"
"No. I wasn't registered until I was 3 years old. My parents, they came up with a false story. They said I was attacked while on a trip out of the country. The Aurors didn't think it was necessary to look into it, as my father lied and told them he killed the vampire in retribution. We both fed from my father, and it . . . Well, you've seen him. It took its toll. He's sickly now, but neither of us can bear to hurt anyone. But now that I have Ron, I've been able to tell my father to rest and care for himself. You must understand, it's . . . It's really unheard of for a vampire to be born. Rare, rare magic. I'm still not even sure how it happened."
Rare magic? Hermione wondered if rare magic was what was going on with Malfoy?
Hermione took a deep breath. She had to tell her. She had to.
"Luna, I have something important to tell you, but you have to swear that you won't breathe a word to anyone - not even to Ron."
"I promise." Luna leaned forward, eyes wide.
"Malfoy is . . . There's something going on with him. He's . . ." Hermione tucked her curls behind her ears and pressed on bravely. "He's a magical creature of some sort, but we don't know what he is or what's wrong with him. I'm not quite sure how to put this, but he's . . . Multiple things, he . . ."
Luna's brows knit together, obviously perplexed.
Hermione knew she was making it more stressful than she needed to. She sighed, exasperated with herself. "I've seen him turn into a wolf. Like, a huge wolf. He drinks my - my blood, and he . . . He's angry. Very angry. He also has been experiencing a strange amount of lust."
Luna looked serious. "Lust?"
"Like, for me." Hermione played with her fingernails and chewed at her lip. She felt ashamed, almost. "He lusts after me, and it's not . . . Normal. He's never . . . Well, he's never been attracted to me before, and now, ever since he started experiencing symptoms . . . We aren't sure what he is. I've spent hours in the Library, and we've gotten nowhere. Things are hectic, chaotic, and he might also be a . . ."
"A what?"
"A demon?" Hermione winced, as though waiting for an explosion. "I don't know why I think that, I just have this - this feeling that he is, or that it's part of it. He hasn't summoned one, obviously, but . . ." She sucked in her breath.
And then it all came spilling out. Everything. From the hand massages, to the moments in the alcoves, to the Revel, to his transformation at the Manor, to the trip to the Ministry and the things she'd learned about Cecilia Yaxley. She told her about the feedings and how they seemed to be getting progressively worse, how she thought he may be a Veela as well, and about her unfounded reasons for thinking he was a demon, or had one attached to him. She droned on about the things she'd read in books and how they differed from Malfoy's symptoms, and what seemed to fit the bill. She told her about their argument, and how her insistence at trying to draw something demonic out of him last evening caused things to spiral out of control for them both. Hermione even told her about how Malfoy made her crawl on the floor, how the Death Eaters said degrading things to her, and how easily Malfoy had played his role as the villain. She told her about the possibility of him needing a mate, and of how he'd made it clear to her that he didn't want her to be his mate. By the time she was done, she could hardly breathe and her hands were trembling in a panic.
". . . And now I'm just so angry with him, Luna. I can hardly breathe around him. I just lash out. We've been arguing for over a day and it feels so . . . So strange. I want to be with him, I truly do, more than anything . . . But I can't shake the feeling that I'm being used, or - or - or that the feelings he may possess towards me are false, or a result of his condition."
"Now, why do you think he's a demon?" Luna frowned, and Hermione could hear in her voice that she was processing everything she'd told her.
"I don't know, I don't know," Hermione breathed out in a near-panic. "I just said it on the last day we were at the Manor, I . . . I suggested that the lust might be attributed to demonic behavior, like an Incubus, and now we've been diving down into a veritable rabbit hole of demonology and . . . Well, when I tested him Monday night - when I made him angry on purpose - he nearly k-killed me, he . . ." Her breathing began to grow labored. "The worst part of it all is that I keep putting myself in danger around him. I've never been so foolish, so . . . Out of my mind over a man before. I would never have done this for Harry or Ron."
"I think you would have," Luna said, voice gentle. "I know you would do anything for Harry and Ronald both."
Hermione stared at her, her lower lip trembling. "I'm falling for him, Luna. I'm falling for him and it terrifies me knowing that not only could it never be reciprocated with his true heart, but I also could be the only thing standing between him and death. If he doesn't mate with me and he truly is a Veela . . . Merlin, Luna, I can't -"
"Right, well first of all." Luna reached for Hermione's hand. "You've got to keep yourself calm. If you don't, you'll attract Sticky Treacles, and trust me - you don't want to know what those are. Second, it's not your fault what happened with Fenrir Greyback and those evil people. Do you hear me, Hermione? None of that is your fault. You and Malfoy were just surviving, and if he is a werewolf, he truly had no choice. My father has a werewolf friend - if their alpha challenges them and wins, they have no choice but to do what the alpha says. He didn't want to hurt you, all right? I know it."
Hermione huffed, wanting to protest, and then nodded. "I still can't help but feel angry with him. I don't know why. It's just . . . It's filling me from within and spilling out everywhere. I feel like . . . Merlin, I don't know. I just know I told him that I need space, and I'm going to stick to that until I figure it out."
"I think that was the best thing you could do for right now," Luna said. "Now, for everything else . . . Perhaps it would be best if we start small."
"You're going to help?"
"Yes." She flashed a small smile and squeezed Hermione's hand. "And one thing that I think is very important is starting small and working your way up to the bigger issues. From what you said, it seems to me that the situation with Greyback can be pushed to the side until a later date. I also think that Malfoy becoming a demon, or being a demon, or even speaking with a demon - that is not as pressing as you think. There isn't any proof right now, so don't stress about it until you have reason to, all right?"
"All right," Hermione said, feeling relieved to let the reins go for even one moment. "So what do you think is the most important issue?"
"The blood. You need to find a consistent source for him that's not going to affect your emotions so much. Did you know that when vampires feed, they were not meant to drink small amounts? Vampire wounds -"
"Don't always close because the victim is not meant to live," Hermione finished, nodding. "I was bitten by one at the - you know. I used Muggle stitching and it seems to have healed, But Malfoy, he's never bitten me, so I wouldn't be able to say in regards to him . . . I know for certain he's not a vampire. He has no issues with sunlight, for instance."
"Then he's not a vampire." She held up her wrist, where a simple gold bracelet was wrapped. "This is charmed to make me impervious to the rays of the sun. That's why I can attend school during the day."
"Ah, how fascinating." Hermione peered at it. It looked innocent enough. "So then if Malfoy is a Veela? How do we find him a source that he can't bite? I have yet to write the one person I know that is quarter-Veela. This week, I've been so preoccupied with my anger that I haven't written the letter."
"I don't know much about Veelas, unfortunately, but I do know the spell my father uses to keep his blood in stasis when he posts it to me?" Luna said. "We can drain your blood into vials and give them to Malfoy, and then you can take your time to have the space you need."
Hermione liked that idea. It would enable her to help him without sacrificing so much, and give her the opportunity to think clearly about how to proceed with things. No matter how she looked at it, there were two possible courses: either she and Malfoy worked together platonically to keep him alive, or she and Malfoy mated. That was it. There were no other ways that she was comfortable with. She would not let him die.
In any case, she was still angry with him. She wasn't ready to be done being angry because she was still assessing her emotional turmoil. She couldn't keep letting him feed off of her directly because whenever he did, they argued.
"Hermione, are you open to trying something a little unsettling?"
Hermione's mind snapped out of its reverie. "All right."
"I want to try a bit of your blood," she said slowly, fingering one of her braids. "Vampires usually can tell in the taste of blood what humans are sources for other vampires. Vampires are solitary, unlike werewolves who travel in packs. We don't share meals. Even up until before Ron became my source, my father's blood still tasted awful to me because my mother had marked him as her source. You said he may be a Veela, but they consume blood, too. Perhaps Veelas are similar to vampires in that regard?"
"But I thought that vampires' victims weren't meant to live once they'd been bitten?"
"The meals aren't meant to survive," Luna said in a bit distant of a tone. "But that doesn't mean you can't save them for later. For Ronald, he makes a cut and drains the blood, and then we heal him."
"But we aren't bonded or mated. He would have to bite me for that to happen."
"No, but you could be marked. It's a bit confusing, but I'm wondering if mayhaps Veelas mark their prey, too? If you're marked, then perhaps that means there are other similarities between vampires and Veelas? It could be helpful information."
Hermione tapped her chin thoughtfully. "They do have something called 'claiming,' which is where they basically keep other potential mates from approaching through a non-mating bite. That might mean that things that work for vampires can also work for Malfoy."
"That also means that things that work against vampires might work against Veelas, too. I know the sun isn't an issue, but I do have a weakness around iron. It makes me feel heavy and lethargic. I also have an aversion to wood, I remain somewhat sleepy during the day, and I absolutely cannot be near fire that is more powerful than a lantern flame.
"Also, earlier when you asked about human food? I'm guessing Malfoy doesn't eat human food any longer; that is likely because he's a werewolf, too. Werewolves only eat raw flesh. Oh, but werewolves also are weak to silver. It will kill him if it gets into his bloodstream, so please keep that in mind." Luna stopped for a moment, looking thoughtfully up into the air. "Yes, that's everything. For the wood aversion, though, that may just be a fear of mine of wooden stakes, or it's something in my magic that keeps me away from it. I'm not sure."
Hermione wished she had a parchment and quill, even though she had already read about a few of the things Luna spoke about. She took mental notes of everything as best she could, and then together she and Luna practiced the wand movements and the pronunciation of the blood stasis spell until Hermione felt comfortable doing it. Then, they got up to go to Luna's room, where she claimed she had several empty vials that Hermione could use to fill with her blood. Before the left the safety of the muffliato spell, Luna stopped and turned to face Hermione. She looked a bit silly in her frog pyjamas, but Hermione figured she didn't look much less disheveled in her oversized jumper.
"Are you going to be all right, d'you think?" Luna asked.
Hermione thought for a moment. "Well, I should hope so. Things are complicated where Malfoy is concerned, but I think that with time, it will be sorted. For now, I should take my space and focus on what I can control."
"But Hermione, please understand." Luna grasped both of Hermone's hands and gazed at her sincerely. "What happened at the Manor was not your fault. Please don't carry that burden. It will destroy you."
Hermione nodded, and then Luna pulled her into a gentle hug.
"It's going to be all right," Luna said softly. "I'm going to help you. You'll both be okay."
Before they left the alcove, Hermione took one last look over her shoulder at the cloudy, grey sky. The rain continued to tip-tap-tip and pour its dreariness down onto the grounds of Hogwarts, and Hermione wondered to herself why - if she knew deep down none of what happened at the Revel was her fault - she blamed herself for all of it.
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