There was smoke and there was perspiration on her tongue. Hermione felt her heartbeat in her throat. Her wand at the ready in a white-knuckled grip. A spell on her lips at a moment's notice. In a clearing she could see him.
He stood there in the same immaculate black suit. Clinging on his waxy skin like he was wearing the night sky. A harbinger. But of what? That she did not know.
"Hadn't you better be hurrying along now? You wouldn't want the likes of her spotted, would you?" Malfoy casually asked, gray gaze roving over her sweat slicked body.
His eyes like mercury were the only things she could see in the fog. Flashes of light open up above them. Fear, desperation, death it was dark magic. The air tasted like copper.
"Keep that big bushy head down Granger" Malfoy's now disembodied voice taunted.
She felt the lingering warmth of his nearness. Was it a warning or was it a taunt? Before she could place it, an inhuman voice cast a nasty curse.
"Morsmordre!" she heard the terrible word hissed.
The sky cracks and splits to form an angry skull of smoke, in horror Hermione watches the jaw unhinge. A monstrous snake slithers out from the skull's opened mouth, gliding lethally towards her. She screams only to find that no sound can escape. The giant snake opens up to consume Hermione in darkness.
Hermione Granger claws herself out from under her suffocating sheets. Her chest cavity felt like it was run over by the Hogwarts Express as she tried to catch her breath.
This was a recurring nightmare of hers since the Quidditch World Cup. It always left her covered in a cold perspiration with a niggling pain at the back of her head. She was also struggling to make sense of Draco Malfoy's actions. He was impossible. Her childhood bully turned hero? No bleeding way. The thought of the over dramatic ferret exacerbated her migraine further.
Glancing at the pane just above her bunk she could see the faint beginning of light. A stroll would be just the thing.
Dawn was barely breaking on the cold Autumn Sunday Hermione bundled herself in a few extra layers and her cloak. Tucking her Potions textbook under arm she headed for the Black Lake.
This was her routine since the beginning of term. She cast a warming charm over herself to help fight off the frost as she sat by her favorite boulder and read chapter upon chapter to calm her racing thoughts. Wrapped up in her reading Hermione failed to notice a hulking Bulgarian heading her way until he was peering over her shoulder.
"Herminny Granger, yes?" Viktor Krum asked his thick accent butchering her name.
She smiled back politely biting her tongue so as not to correct him. A voice in the corner of her brain that sounded suspiciously like Lavender Brown reminded her that this is world famous quidditch seeker Viktor Krum. It didn't hurt that he was sporting a very fitting tracksuit that slung on his hips just right. The class swot wasn't completely immune to tall, handsome athletes.
"I figured I vould be the only person... kak kazvash- crazy enough to be avake at a time like this'' he struggled to find the words, but it only endeared Hermione even more.
"It's quiet, just how I like it" Hermione offered simply hugging her cloak tighter looking out to the stock still lake. He flashed a pearly smile at her. The warming charm must have kicked up a degree, Sweet Morgana is he pretty when he does that she thought.
"I am in agreement. It is lovely much like yourself moeto tsvete" Viktor turned his palm towards Hermione transfiguring a shiny pebble into a beautiful blue morning glory in front of her eyes much to her delight.
Their moment was fleeting when one of his Durmstrang mates rounded a corner, in a huff.
"Kakvo pravish momche?! Produlzhavai!" He barked at Viktor in Bulgarian and Hermione did not need a translation to know that this is when Prince Charming eludes her.
Viktor holds the morning glory towards Hermione and as she reaches for it he flips her hand and brings it to his lips to give her a chaste kiss. She made a mental note to thank the quidditch gods for seeker reflexes.
"Until next time yes?" Viktor smirked warmly at her.
For the Yule Ball Hermione bought a dress the same Periwinkle shade of the morning glory Viktor gifted her on the day of their first meeting. The girls dormitory was abuzz with excited chatter, Hermione Granger in the arms of one of Witch Weekly's Most Eligible Wizards. Ginny was absolutely ecstatic for her friend. Despite her dim-witted brother's attempts to dampen Hermione's night. She knew Hermione held a flame for Ron, but he was just too thick to notice it.
"You look like an absolute Goddess" Ginny smiled at her handiwork.
Hermione's curls were pinned up in an elegant updo, a few unruly tendrils escaping their confines in true Hermione fashion. Her slender neck was accentuated and her make-up flattered her features. Hermione felt absolutely beautiful twirling herself in front of the mirror.
"Gorgeous as ever Pansy" Draco greeted his date half heartedly with a quick kiss on her hand as pureblood customs required.
Pansy had her best man-eating smile on as she smoothed the lapels of Draco's white dress robes. He cut a mouth watering figure, long lithe limbs and broad shoulders. And thighs that were just as solid as they looked thanks to years of quidditch practice. His platinum locks were styled to be purposefully messy. Draco offered Pansy a dance wordlessly crooking his elbow out to her.
She took Draco's arm, her tight and no doubt designer dress pushing up her cleavage obscenely. Alas even the tartiest dress could not commandeer the Malfoy heir's attention.
Pansy Parkinson was without a shred of doubt the most air headed heiresses on this side of the English Channel. But she was of impeccable breeding, with a large dowry, and an even larger appetite for pure blood cock. It didn't take a genius to figure out what she was after. Pansy fancied herself the next Lady Malfoy and through any means necessary would secure that marriage proposal. To Draco it was all the same; Parkinson, Greengrass, Carrow, Avery, Rowle. Any match of his would be doomed for a lifetime of miserable affairs and heartache.
He moved Pansy over the dance floor with the practice of many summer lessons under a strict grey haired Madame Petrova. Pansy Parkinson, ever the lover for the dramatics strained up to Draco's ear to whisper the latest goss.
"Have you heard? Viktor Krum asked mudblood Granger to the Ball" she scoffed.
The uppity heiress was laughing snidely, "I can't wait to see how royally she'll bollocks this up, it's in their nature you know".
Draco made a noncommittal grunt only partially listening, his mind preoccupied with more trying matters as he twirled and dipped her gracefully.
His father had revealed to him the Dark Lord was to come back in flesh and bone. Draco's family will once again be called upon to prove their loyalty. This was no longer rich men gloating about power and superiority in a cloud of cigar smoke with swirling decanters of Ogden's Finest. This was darker magic. The incident at the Quidditch World Cup left a sour taste in his mouth. He remembered Granger's palpable fear and confusion. Draco cursed all four founders when he saw the snotty muggleborn tailing behind the family of weasels. Her know-it-all voice a dead giveaway, Draco could still recognize it even through the crowds of people.
Granger was not meant to be there, he went to school with her, as much as he despised it he knew her. They'd swap class notes and curses and cutting jabs for years. For Salazar's sake the little savage punched him in the nose. And yet his conscience couldn't bear the thought of Granger in the hands of his father's friends. Draco understood the potential danger posed by Deatheaters. In drunken stupors the older wizards who narrowly escaped Azkaban would reminisce about the dark revels.
"Even the best of us fall to their immoral charms boys," Nott Senior slurred.
The smell of the older man's breath could disinfect the third floor boy's bathroom. They were at Nott manor for Theo's fifteenth birthday, their schoolmates were sleeping off what would undoubtedly be a nasty hangover. Theo and Draco sat on a plush velvet chaise sharing firewhiskey while the ex-Death Eater relayed his alcohol loosened thoughts.
"That's how the mudbloods stole our magic," Nott Senior murmured "they belong… beneath us, below us, like flobberworms in the dirt…".
His emphasis on muggleborns belonging underneath them made the alcohol inside the young boys churn. Theo drank himself to sleep promptly, leaving Draco restless until daybreak.
"Where did you go darling?" Pansy kissed into Draco's neck. Snapping him out of his intrusive thoughts.
"Just wondering whether to spend holiday in Saint-Tropez or Cousin Amalthea's villa in Martigues" Draco lied seamlessly.
Flashing his wealth undeniably left Pansy's knickers soaked. She must be plotting the best way to get the Malfoy heir to invite her on his lavish trip. Her manicured hand snaked to the back of his neck tugging him closer.
"Let's go back to mine" Pansy batted her eyelashes with feigned innocence.
Heiresses were such an easy game it was almost unfair. He exchanged his ego for his id in true Freudian fashion. Amping up his charm he led Pansy away from the ballroom.
"I'm at your disposal Miss Parkinson" Draco smirked wolfishly.
Pansy arched her plucked brow at such cheek and she began to guide Draco up the stone steps. In the corner of Draco's vision was a swathe of blue skirts.
There at the top of the staircase, a vision of beauty. The gentle swish of her dress betrayed her nerves, the slim curve of her waist emphasized by a tightened bow. The slightest bit of skin at her decolletage gleamed in the candle light, flushed pink. She had the most elegant neck unadorned by any gaudy jewelry just begging to be kissed. When Draco was finally able to drag his gaze to her face he could have almost sworn the lovely creature looked like Granger.
Draco's eyes widened like golden galleons at the same time Parkinson let out an unattractive little yip clutching Draco's hand harder. Granger cleaned up well. Very well.
Viktor Krum shared the same sentiment, trussed up in his formal Durmstrang uniform he clicked his heels together and bowed in a proper greeting to his date. Draco had never seen her smile like that. Hermione's entire face was lit up, there was the lightest bit of color dusting the bridge of her button nose as she beamed at her escort.
She looks pretty, Draco admitted to himself. Pansy tugged impatiently on Draco's hand again and he wordlessly let his feet follow her.
In the empty Slytherin common room Pansy sat in Draco's lap, grinding herself wantonly over his thigh as they exchanged sloppy kisses. A bottle of very cheap liquor sat half drunk on the table across from them.
"I mean what an absolute slag-" Parkinson was able to get out between snogs.
She would not stop harping on about Granger during their trek to the dungeons. Draco was just about ready to hex her mouth shut. Instead he tried peppering her neck with slow kisses using the blunt of his teeth to tease the pureblood princess. His hand rested at the base of her neck as she played with his hair. A low whine escaped her lips rendering her momentarily silent. What absolute peace.
"Did you see that dress, how pathetic?" Pansy scoffed.
Blasted Pansy, blasted stupid periwinkle dress, blasted Bulgarian bon bons, blasted dark wizards! Curse the lot of them! Draco seethed.
Draco groaned in annoyance his patience disintegrating into nothing, "No Parkinson, what's pathetic is your constant whinging!" the blonde snapped, grabbing the bottle.
Rather than spend another moment in Pansy's insipid presence Draco took his leave of the Dungeons and bolted as fast as his legs would take him.
Strolling well past curfew in the moonlit corridors drinking himself silly, Draco suddenly felt like he was pathetic as well. The liquor was some cheap swill he'd nicked off of Crabbe, it tasted so strongly of mint it reminded him of tooth-flossing stringmints. He removed his robes earlier now donned in his partially unbuttoned white dress shirt. The damp seeped into Draco's skin as he walked past glaring portraits. Some were tutting him and one portrait even had the audacity to call Draco a stinking lech, he threatened to turn her frame upside down.
"Next time there's a ball, pluck up the courage and ask me before somebody else does!" she nearly screamed at Ron's retreating back.
He refused to look her in the eye, knowing he was in the thick of it now. Ron had been moody and sour all evening. Going so far as to slander Hermione's escort and belittle her ability to navigate the world of men. The heartbroken Gryffindor was fighting back her tears for the sake of appearances. How dare Ronald insult her all for his own pride and ego!
Never one to back down, Ron opened his gob to bite back a dull retort. Undoubtedly another jab to hurt his friend further.
"And not as a last resort!" Hermione swiftly shut him down.
Picking up her blue gown Hermione escaped from the Great Hall and travelled staircase upon staircase until the revelry could not be heard. The cushioning charm on her heels finally gave in. So there in the dark, silent, and lonely staircase she resigned herself to picking up the tatters of her feelings. Ron was supposed to be her best friend, Hermione's heart wistfully wished they could be more than that. But his painful actions and smarting words made her bitter towards the ginger. Hermione felt like the belle of the ball before Ron mucked it up. Tiredly she undid her hair and pulled off those offending shoes. Hermione felt her salty tears touch her lips and the dam of heartache burst.
The young princeling reached the seventh floor stairwell and he paused. There was a small audible sniffle, so small he figured he must have imagined it. He was about to turn back to the Grand Staircase when he unmistakably heard it again.
Rounding a corner he saw the telltale blue gown. She was sitting in a puddle of silk silently crying. How could her night have upended so quickly? The scuff of his loafers alerted Hermione to an uninvited onlooker.
Through the blur of tears she saw a tall figure with mussed blonde hair. There was only one person with hair that specific shade of platinum. She gasped trying and failing to hide her pity party.
Ron had made her feel small. His temper always got the better of him and she bore the brunt of it. Harry made excuses for their friend, always playing the mediator. It was not her fault that Ron had the emotional range of a bloody teaspoon and thicker than a first edition of Hogwarts: A History. Hermione was depleted and did not have the energy to verbally spar with Malfoy.
"Malfoy just make your jokes and go away." Hermione hiccuped, eyes not meeting his.
Hermione's voice was gravelly from disuse with her shoulders slumped. A far cry from the confident witch that captured the attention of every wizard at the ball. Draco was concerned that he still found her pretty with her dress creased, face reddened and puffy, with her hair unpinned falling over her shoulders in unruly waves.
Draco inched towards Hermione, the bottle of liquor extended to her in amity. "Truce?" he offered the Gryffindor.
Her untrusting amber colored eyes were red and her nose was blotchy and she sniffled. Draco ever the gentleman produced a handkerchief from his pocket and waved it at her. In a mock gesture of peace.
Hermione eyed the handkerchief warily waiting for it to combust or spit venom at her or transfigure into a hamster.
"Go on Granger, I promise it won't bite your nose" Draco scoffed softly, knowing full well the cogs in her brain were working over time.
She snatched the white linen from him and he took this as an agreement to a ceasefire. Hermione unceremoniously blew her nose quite noisily while Draco took it upon himself to share her stairwell step. He offered her the liquor once more. She stared at it incredulously.
"Aren't you worried about my muggleborn germs?" Hermione snarked, unable to help herself.
Malfoy rolled his eyes, "Just drink Granger".
As they shared a drink he watched her lips wrap around the bottle with a delicacy he could never have imagined Granger capable of.
The crap liquor burned her throat on the way down. Hermione kept an eye on Malfoy, unable to fully let her guard down at the ever fickle git. His hair glowed and his skin looked ethereal at this witching hour. The way Malfoy watched her did not help her nerves any, he made her decidedly self-conscious. Hermione blamed the innumerable racy wizarding eroticas she'd read over summer holiday gifted by Ginny as a gag. She couldn't stop her lecherous thoughts about how good Malfoy had looked in his stripped down dress robes.
"That stuff tastes like a dentist's office" Hermione commented offhandedly.
Draco's confusion must have been written all over his face, before he could ask for clarification she had an explanation ready.
"They're muggle tooth healers… My parents are actually dentists" the brunette witch shared.
Her candidness was a surprise to both of them. The Slytherin prince didn't bite back with anything nasty.
"Are you sure you're Malfoy? This isn't some kind of polyjuice trick is it?" Hermione wondered only half joking.
He stole the liquor away from her, necking a drink. Draco didn't even deign to give her line of questioning a response. This wouldn't do for Hermione Jean Granger.
"What animal sent you to the infirmary in third year?" She questioned playfully.
"Ha-bloody-ha Granger. That cursed flying chicken was a menace" Draco groused.
"Buckbeak gave you exactly what you deserved Malfoy, a swift kick in the arse" Hermione giggled a little to herself.
The blonde almost choked on his drink. The absolute cheek, such language he was amused. The fire in her was back.
"The more you open that gob of yours the more I'm reconsidering that truce princess" Draco countered.
"I'll just have to occupy myself then" she nicked the bottle from him.
She took a generous sip. The grin was still etched on the corners of her lips. The night filled the lull between them.
Draco didn't dare to break the peaceful spell. It was nice not shouting insults at each other or keeping up any pretenses. Without her claws she was almost tolerable and without his fangs he was actually good company. Draco imagined that he was just a wizard sharing a nightcap with a pretty witch.
Unfortunately he wasn't just a wizard and she was not just a pretty witch. They were meant to be enemies in an oncoming unseen war.
She finally had a moment with the elusive Malfoy heir. Hermione had so many questions bubbling inside her. The nightmares starring Malfoy have been plaguing her for months. It made it difficult to loathe him for all eternity if he'd tried to save her life. Hermione frowned in confusion like she was deciphering an ancient rune. She simply had to know what brought him to warn her that night and what made him console her on this stairwell on Christmas of all days.
Draco saw the dreaded question in her countenance. He also turned the events at the World Cup over and over in his mind for weeks on end. Yet he could not come up with a single explanation.
"Why?" she blurted out loud, breaking their silence.
Her round doe eyes searched into his own. Draco found himself compelled to tell the truth.
"I honestly don't know," Draco answered.
And he didn't. He genuinely couldn't fathom what urged him to sit with her tonight or warn her of the impending harm. And each time he'd try to decipher his interactions with Granger he felt like an ocamy took up residence in his gut.
Hermione felt uncomfortable in grey areas, she liked her bad guys and good guys in their respective black and white. And here is Draco Malfoy, the picture of pure blood aristocracy, with all of his gray. He wasn't his perfectly polished and buttoned self at the moment. In fact he was uncharacteristically disheveled. His collar was open and his shirt was untucked. The signature quiff was messy like fingers played and tugged on them, undoubtedly there probably had been.
"Regardless… thank you" Hermione finally responded, finding her voice.
Her words surprisingly stung Draco. She wouldn't thank him, if she'd known what his father was plotting. Champion of muggle rights and bleeding heart extraordinaire Granger would curse him six ways from sodding Sunday if she knew. His thoughts were grim, her and her kind would soon be in unspeakable danger and here she was thanking him.
"Don't thank me Granger, I'm the enemy, remember?" The liquor loosened his lips.
"Tonight was a truce, was it not?" She returned quickly.
She bit her lip, the soft rasp of her words sounded wanton. Draco picked up on the tonality of her voice. She looked breathtaking like this, her plush lower lip tucked under her teeth, her tempting dress slipping off of her moon kissed shoulder, her hair like a beautiful chestnut halo, all laid out for him. His body inched forward of its own volition like a magnet straining to be apart from its partner. One kiss, one taste of the golden girl and he'd be sated for life.
"… just tonight.." he sighed.
There she was ripe for the plucking. Warring with his more selfish nature Draco knew he could not kiss her, no matter how badly they wished it. He was a Deatheater and she was part of the Order. This would only bode ill for them both. With all the willpower Draco had left he turned his cheek. The blond dropped his head to her shoulder. The soft skin there smelled like lavender and sunshine. Fuck.
"But tomorrow we'll be back in the trenches... Happy Christmas Granger" with that Draco pushed himself away.
He rose to his full height and walked away from the witch. Leaving Hermione Granger with even more questions than before.