Disclaimer: Ms Rowling holds claim to the beautiful characters she has created.
"The degree to which the line will intersect the point of origin, will need to be constructed through the formula that is stated on page 367 of your textbook. However, this formula can only be applied to..."
Hermione turned the pages of her textbook, but before she reached page 367, she turned her head to the side and sneaked a peek towards the Slytherin side. Her eye first settled upon Pansy Parkinson, then she shifted a little to land her gaze on Draco Malfoy behind. He was looking at his textbook, but he was expressionless. Just like before. His left hand, however, was clenched up into a fist as his right hand held the quill, as he stared blankly at the book before him.
Hermione hesitated. She knew that Professor Vector would ask the students to pair up today to compare answers on the previous lesson's exercise, though deep inside she was squirming not to face up to the choice she was about to make. This is travesty! She grumbled a little. Then she thought of Harry's stricken face whenever he talked of Sirius and she sighed inwardly.
"So, yes, students, as I have mentioned last lesson," said Professor Vector, cheerfully. "We will have our pairing exercise to compare answers for Exercise 1.1." There was a collective groan, for everyone felt settled in their seats. "Now," she moved on, now frowning, "I would also like all of you to pair up with somebody not from your house." There was a huge outburst of indignant chatter at that. "I'd like to see some inter-house unity, please!" Her sharp voice quietened everyone and then her beam of a smile switched on again. "Please get to work!"
There was some general uncertainty as the students moved about. Hermione felt a wave of relief when Professor Vector had said that; now she wouldn't look completely wankers for approaching Malfoy to be her partner. Although he clearly was not willing to partner with anyone, for that matter, since he was still stuck gazing at his textbook at his seat.
Before Hermione reached him, Corrinne Whitemayer had walked past his desk to give him the most poisonous scorn before she sauntered towards Pansy Parkinson's vacated seat and dumped her books beside a startled Blaise Zabini, who had clearly recovered from his earlier flu but was still looking rather pale. His peaked face flamed red, however, upon Corrinne's arrival, and his face twisted into a scowl. But the scowl was nowhere as deadly-looking as the one a few rows back on Draco Malfoy's face. He was glaring after Corrinne, his face twitching a little. Then he fixed his glare back to his textbook, quill still in hand.
"Er-herm."
Draco looked up from his seat, his steely gray eyes meeting with warm, chestnut ones. He blinked once, then scowled. "You?" he demanded, incredulously.
"I'm sorry to admit this, but you happen to be the brightest person in Slytherin. I don't think I'd want to jeopardise my grades," remarked Hermione curtly, as she sat down beside Malfoy, tossing her brown curls and slamming her books down on the desk. "It's not as if I enjoy this very much."
She figured: being all snide with Malfoy would probably be the best way not to arouse his suspicion. Friendship could wait.
Draco's scowl deepened, as he stared straight ahead to see Pansy saddled with Seamus Finnigan; both parties were clearly not very happy to sit beside one another but they'd have to do. Granger was probably the last person that Draco ever wanted to sit with, especially with his current mood. Repressing his snarl, Draco flipped to the exercise pages, and shoved the book rudely to Hermione who glared at him. Instead, she placed hers neatly and gently in front of him.
"I'm not so rude to books," she declared, picking up her quill and starting to read his exercise. Draco's eyes flashed a little then he glared back at her book. There really wasn't any need to look through Hermione Granger's answers; she wasn't labelled a bookworm and know-it-all for nothing. His eyes quickly scanned through her neat handwriting, then he pushed it towards her roughly, causing Hermione's quill to jerk with the impact, leaving a scrawl on Draco's pristine book.
"What the hell?" Draco gasped, as he snatched his book back, horror etched on his face.
"Mr Malfoy..." Professor Vector raised an eyebrow from her desk.
Hermione's eyes were wide. "Oh my goodness, I'm so sorry!"
All eyes were on them, but Draco gave such a menacing glare to all that their eyes were lowered back onto their textbooks. Except Corrinne, who couldn't believe that Hermione had chosen to sit beside Draco in the first place.
"What are you sorry for?" hissed Draco, turning his piercing gaze on a genuinely shocked Hermione. "Sorry that you ruined my book, after talking about being rude to books?"
"It wasn't on purpose!" Hermione was beginning to get angry. Why was he always out to make things worse?
"Or sorry that you ruined the book of a poor little boy who lost his father?" mocked Draco, baring his gritted teeth. "Or sorry that you stained my book with your dirty blood?"
"Would you speak sense, Malfoy!" retorted Hermione, in disbelief. Now he was really getting out of hand! "You knocked into me, and I drew on your book by accident. Would you stop extrapolating things out of context ?"
Hermione was completely outraged at Draco's insane suggestions. Sorry? She was far from feeling any bit of sorry for him now! It wasn't as if she completely pitied him for losing his father; the way Lucius Malfoy tried to kill them at the Department of Mysteries last year was still etched in her mind. Yet the way he had been murdered was rather strange and deserved investigation, and surely as his son, Draco Malfoy must have been devastated. But it didn't give him the right to hurl insults at her and get away with it just because he was supposed to be in mourning! Those cold gray eyes were piercing, penetrating, hurtful; every time he called her a Mudblood, it felt ten times worse than when he used to call her that in previous school terms – it was as if he was taking out all his anger and frustration in that one word, twisting it coldly and spitefully to stab at her heart.
She was now having a lot of trouble preventing her hands from reaching into her robes to pull out her wand and hex him right there. Puppy eyes? She glared at him scornfully. I'd give you puppy eyes yourself!
On the other hand, Draco didn't really know why he was so angry with Hermione Granger. He didn't know why he kept bringing up the word Mudblood when he knew it hurt her more than anything. It wasn't as if he really wanted to hurt her per se, he just couldn't stand the look in her eyes – every time Hermione Granger looked at him in the past, it was filled with defiance, anger and haughtiness. This term, he seemed to have seen her eyes softened; when they looked at him, even if her voice was defiant, those brown eyes seemed to spell sympathy, concern, many many questions that she wanted him to answer... for some reason, he seemed to feel her gaze penetrating him every time she stared...
Merlin, why was he so hung up on Granger? It had always been about Saint Potter and the rash Weasel sidekick. It was never really about Granger, except for when she had buck teeth in first year and looked absolutely horrendous, and was the butt of all jokes. Now there she was, flowy brown curls framing her shocked expression; good grief, it was that pity look again!
It took all of Draco's self-restraint to keep from yelling his guts out; he raised his fist in the air and muttered 'headache' before pushing aside his chair and darting out of class. Hermione, startled out of her anger and the lingering thought of wanting to hex him, was left gaping at her seat, staring after the black robes that disappeared out of the doors.
"Mr Malfoy! Mr Mal... oh, bother." Professor Vector looked peeved. "Well then, Miss Granger, are you..."
"I'm okay," replied Hermione, hastily brushing down her robes, but her eyebrows were still knotted together. "I can work alone." Professor Vector nodded and sighed, sitting back down again with a disapproving look, making a mental note to inform the Head of Slytherin House about his student's inappropriate behaviour. Right in front of Hermione, Pansy Parkinson leaned to face her, startling her a bit.
"My, my, you even dared to try light a ticking time bomb," whispered Pansy, a smirk forming on her face. "Very courageous, my dear Gryffindor..." She turned back to Seamus' textbook. Hermione stared after her black bob, and bit her lip. As the vision of Pansy blurred, the face of Corrinne in the row front of Pansy came into view. Corrinne gave her a look almost as poisonous as that of what she gave Draco earlier on, and Hermione let out a soft gasp and hurriedly faced down. She was now staring at Draco Malfoy's now crumpled textbook in front of her. Immaculate handwriting, perfect answers... save for the dishevelled pages and the damned ink scrawl. Cursing under her breath, Hermione shut the book and glared heavily at it.
She noticed the spine of the book was crooked, however. Hermione raised her eyebrows. He didn't like people to scrawl on his books, but he was willing to let the book spine suffer? Her bookworm self reared an angry head as she picked out the page at which the book had been opened to the maximum and subsequently spoiled the spine.
The book opened up to the earlier page of 367 on degrees and lines of intersection.
Hermione's sharp eye caught side of a very thin script at the bottom of the chunk of text. It was clearly Draco Malfoy's handwriting; the immaculate curls and flourishes.
For soon he will make me disappear.
Hermione's eyes widened. He? Who?
Somebody was going to make Draco Malfoy disappear?
Her eyes roved over the rest of the page, and the subsequent pages, but there were no other clues. Frowning, she shut the book. Draco Malfoy had a secret and it was up to her to find out what it was.
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
"Corrinne?" Hermione's anxious voice rang out in the corridors, as she slung her bag sloppily over her shoulder and raced through the crowds of students, chatter rising above the chiming school bell. "Corrinne, hey, wait up..."
"What's it that you want?" demanded Corrinne, through gritted teeth as she soldiered on, not looking at Hermione as the brown-haired girl caught up with her. "You want to let me know anything you've discovered about Draco Malfoy so I can, you know, get an edge over him or something? Or you're going to side with a newfound boyfriend and totally bitch about your housemate to him? You know seriously, Hermione Granger, I don't really give a damn about what you and Malfoy are..."
"Boyfriend?" squeaked Hermione, staring at Corrinne in disgust as she tried to keep up with the blonde girl's hasty footsteps. "Corrinne, how could I ever want to..."
Corrinne suddenly swung around, stopping Hermione in her tracks abruptly. Her red eyes flashed more than ever, almost glittering, and a smirk hung at the edge of her lips. "He defends you when I try to get you back for disarming me. You choose to sit with him, out of all the damned Slytherins, you pick him! You know what this son of a..." Corrinne took a deep breath. "...did."
"His father," corrected Hermione, frowning. "Not him."
"Oh, and it makes a difference?" Corrinne laughed, but it wasn't a very nice laugh. "Last I heard, that young 'un just became a Death-Eater. Absolutely harmless young man. Charming, even. I was just telling Parvati and Lavender just now, his charming index has just gone up one more notch with all that mystery about him," Corrinne's cooing voice was sinister, so unlike the fun-loving, gossipy girl Hermione had met at the Gryffindor dining table on the first day of school. "So much so, that you're willing to get all close up with him!"
"You're getting it wrong!" burst out Hermione, frustrated, running her hand through her brown curls. "Merlin, he's the last guy I'm ever going to like, seriously! Look, Corrinne, I just needed to clarify things with you – I'm not trying to help Malfoy; I disarmed you the last time because it's against the school rules to be hexing someone in the middle of the corridor!"
"Against the school rules!" mimicked Corrinne, turning her back on Hermione and starting to walk on.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Corrinne! What am I supposed to do to make you believe I don't like that freak? I chose him because I know he'd score fantabulously in that exercise as he always does! Seriously, he got full marks."
Corrinne stopped and turned around to face Hermione. Her eyes were now uncertain.
"Really." Hermione put her hands on her hips.
"Full marks?" muttered Corrinne, staring at her shoes. "Damn him."
Hermione sighed. "Look, I don't have it very easy – I have patrol duty with him; if I'm going to have a spat with him every time I see him, I'd probably go up in flames very soon. And I know you hate him to the core, I know you're sick of everyone pitying him for losing that wretched father of his, and believe me, I'm far from pitying that ferret. He's playing that stoned look card too much it grates my nerves!"
Corrinne raised her eyebrows. So it seemed that Hermione knew what was going on in her mind. She scowled a little, feeling a little regretful for sounding so insulting earlier on.
"Look, I am not going to try to talk you out of hating Malfoy, not after what his father did. I've said a billion times it's Lucius Malfoy who did it, not his son, but it's not getting in, so I'm quitting that talk," rattled Hermione, breathless. "I also know that Draco Malfoy is now a Death-Eater." She paused as Corrinne snorted, as if to say I told you so. "And he's absolutely dangerous to have in Hogwarts. But – I need to get to know him that little bit better so that we can have some prevention, no?"
"You're trying to spy on him?" asked Corrinne, incredulously.
Hermione didn't know whether it was really right to tell Corrinne of anything that she, Harry and Ron had planned, or what Professor McGonagall had told them. Perhaps it was best to work with omission of facts. "Let's just say I don't want any unforeseen circumstance to occur. He remains a ferret no matter what, okay? Wanting to be civil with him is tiring enough, let alone friends."
Corrinne seemed satisfied with her words, at the same time, looking a bit rueful. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I was rash."
Hermione smiled. "It's okay."
"So if I kick Malfoy's arse at the Quidditch game tomorrow, you'll cheer the loudest?"
Hermione thought for a moment. Corrinne stared at her in disgust. "You can't be serious! You're actually contemplating not doing that?"
"No, I'm just contemplating whether I should cheer louder that you did it, or if Harry did it," sniggered Hermione.
Corrinne rolled her eyes. "Good grief."
-.-.-.-.-.-.-
Draco made his way down the dormitory staircase into the empty Slytherin common room. He was about to exit it through the portrait hole when he heard a shuffle of noise from the staircase. He instinctively turned back, and saw Blaise Zabini limping down the staircase. Ever since the flu, it seemed Zabini was still a lot weaker than usual. Draco cocked an eyebrow at his friend, who limped his way to one of the armchairs.
"You okay?" His voice was hesitant.
Blaise snorted as he settled into one of the chairs. "Since when did Malfoy start showing so much concern for his friends, huh?"
"Blaise," warned Draco, frowning.
"Sorry mate," muttered Blaise, leaning against the chair and closing his eyes, his hands reaching up to massage his forehead. "It's just that the rest've been telling me you're just this stone cold, irritable freak walking around." He managed a faint smile. "I mean, not that they said 'freak' of course, I did."
Draco scowled.
"It's tough, Draco, it's not like nobody knows that..."
"Quit the preaching, Blaise."
"Sorry. Off my head these few days," came the muffled reply as Blaise buried his nose into a handkerchief and blew loudly.
"Where'd you get such a bloody cold from?" demanded Draco, taking a few steps back and eyeing Blaise, who shrugged. "Haven't the faintest idea. Wish it'd just go away. You going for patrol now?"
Draco kept himself from rolling his eyes. "You've a better idea?"
"Wish I could. If only it wasn't going to ruin your chances of becoming Head Boy," said Blaise, wryly. Draco did roll his eyes now. "I appreciate your kindness, Blaise, but that's not the point."
"Then what is?"
Draco couldn't really tell Blaise that Hermione Granger was the problem, so he just sighed and threw up his hands in exasperation, before walking out of the common-room.
Making his way down the staircase, his mind had shifted from his conversation with Blaise to his conversation with Snape the night before. Why did his father leave behind such a cryptic message before he was murdered? He knew he would be murdered by Voldemort for letting Maldash Wentervale escape twice. What was the secret that Maldash knew, that his father now knew? Was that... was that what his father was trying to tell him in that message? But what did two, two, and three strides have to do with anything? Or...
He had unconsciously been walking in that manner. Two, two, and three strides. Pause.
Two, two, and three strides.
"Honestly, Malfoy, taking seven steps in such a rhythm makes you look extremely ridiculous. There's an old Chinese poem which was written in seven steps. Are you composing a poem, or are you displaying your pathetic dancing skills?"
Hermione's incredulous voice jolted him back to reality, as she stood in front of him on the third-level corridor, raising an eyebrow. Draco was about to display his most annoyed scowl, when what she said clicked in his head.
Taking seven steps in such a rhythm. Two, two, and three. Seven.
Seven? What did that have to do with anything?
"Malfoy?" Hermione gave him a tentative tap on the shoulder, surprised that he didn't really respond to her insult.
Again , he shook himself back to reality, and gave her a look of pure disgust. "Don't touch me!"
"Well then, if you please, pureblood majesty, it's duty time, so stop standing there like an idiot!" Hermione gave him a vicious glare, before swinging her robes behind her and walking to the furthest end of the corridor. Draco pursed up his lips, scowled, then headed in the opposite direction.
Seven strides.
Cuts across him, a magic that divides.
Seven cuts across him? Who was him?
For soon he will make me disappear.
'Him' had to be the same person as 'he', Draco realised. Which meant...
Voldemort.
That didn't make any sense to him. Feeling a bubble of frustration rise up in him, he quickened his pace and maintained a stoic pose when he reached the end of the corridor. His eyes scanned left and right for any errant offenders, then something at the back of his head told him to look elsewhere. He cautiously turned around to look at the back of Hermione Granger.
She had insulted him. That somehow felt a lot better than just walking away when he had insulted her the previous day. At least she wasn't giving him any concessions. Some of the professors in school just had to do that, it made him boil with rage – Professor Sprout had asked if he wanted an extra day to complete his exercise, just in case he wasn't able to focus well during the lesson; Professor Flitwick had been unnaturally generous with his praises, lavishing them all over Draco's charm work even though Draco had not volunteered to answer any of his questions. Professor Slughorn had let him get off easy despite him talking back. They treated him like he was an invalid after his father's death! It was just preposterous!
He could feel his left forearm burning again.
He wasn't an invalid. Not with that mark branded on him. He cursed under his breath. But of all the things to prove that he wasn't broken from Lucius' death, he had to get that mark. The mark of pure evil. The mark of death.
Draco turned away from Hermione's figure. He could feel the familiar constricting feeling in his chest. Grabbing at his chest, he sank down to his knees, trying to gasp for air. With another hand gripping onto a banister by the side, he could see exploding dots in front of him, and the booming, recurring voice of Lucius, crying desperately,
"Please! Please!"
Draco could feel his eyes roll back, as he struggled to stay conscious, but all he could feel was a sudden burst of air from his lungs, and a distant lull of a voice, and the darkness gave way immediately to a single bright light which overwhelmed his vision, his body, his senses...
"Malfoy? You there?"
"Mr Malfoy?"
Draco opened his eyes. He was no longer on the third-floor corridor. Instead, he was lying down on something soft, and seeing three faces hover over him.
"Miss Granger, there'd be no more need for you to remain here."
It was unmistakably Snape's curt voice. "But..." protested Hermione.
"I'll just go get his medicine ready," murmured Madam Pomfrey, and disappeared hurriedly.
"What... am I doing here?" croaked Draco, groaning as he tried to sit up. Ignoring Snape's glare, Hermione walked to the other side of his bed and helped to fluff up his pillow. Draco gave her an ungrateful scowl before looking to Snape again.
"You fainted," said Snape, drawling out the words, but his eyes were fierce. "Do you recall why?"
Draco was not going to reveal his vulnerability when Hermione was there. He looked over at Hermione and glared at her.
"You're extremely grateful, I can see," muttered Hermione, darkly, before she turned and left the Hospital Wing.
Snape looked expectantly at Draco.
"Nightmares," whispered Draco, staring at his blanket.
"Your father?" asked Snape, in a low voice.
Draco nodded. "And... and him."
Him. His. He. The pronouns swirled in his head. "What are the seven cuts across him?" came Draco's faint voice.
Snape stared at him, puzzled. "What?"
"The parchment," said Draco, turning his gray eyes to meet Snape's dark ones. "It talks about seven cuts across him. Do you know anything about that?"
Snape drew himself to his full height and shook his head. "If I were one of the four who knew anything, I'd have told you, Draco. The Unbreakable Vow," he drew out every word with a bitter tone. "If you remember."
"You don't have to sound so unwilling," snapped Draco, wincing a little as something pounded in his head. "I'm just asking." Then he paused. "Do you – know..."
"I see you don't really need any more lessons."
"What?" Draco was surprised by this sudden comment. "What's... what's that supposed to mean?"
Snape smirked. "I don't know what you want to ask me. You're getting quite good at keeping me out of your head."
For the first time, Draco felt a wave of relief wash over him. "That's... that's good. Well, I – do you know who could possibly be the other Death Eaters that the Dark Lord would trust?"
"No," said Snape, curtly, and Draco's heart sank. "But I do know someone who was close to Maldash Wentervale."
Draco's eyes lit up. "Who?"
"His half-sister, Lanneria Wentervale, is married to Jeremiah Greengrass."
"Greengrass?" Draco's eyebrows shot up. "As in Daphne and Astoria Greengrass? How's Jeremiah Greengrass related to them?"
"That's for you to find out," replied Snape, who didn't look very pleased. "I think that's all I can tell you."
Then he pushed aside the curtains and strode out of the Hospital Wing quickly.
The first thing that came into Draco's mind was that he had a Quidditch match tomorrow. He groaned inwardly. He would somehow convince Madam Pomfrey later about that. As for now... he was about to settle back down into his bed and ponder about Jeremiah Greengrass and Lanneria Wentervale, when suddenly a familiar head of brown curls appeared, causing him to gasp in bewilderment.
"What the HELL are you still doing here?" he hissed angrily, eyes darting to the side to see if Madam Pomfrey was approaching. She was at the far end of the wing, unfortunately.
Hermione was frowning. "Who's Maldash Wentervale? I've read so many books and I've never come across that name..."
Draco was in a state of pure horror. "You heard me? You eavesdropped?" He couldn't believe Snape had not discovered that Hermione had been eavesdropping. "How could..."
"I've learnt the art of Occlumency," replied Hermione, simply. "Harry learnt it from Snape and I begged him to teach me some; I learnt the rest on my own because he wasn't very proficient at it."
Draco couldn't believe his ears; he was now extremely incensed. "And how dare you eavesdrop on my conversation..."
Hermione walked up in front of him and gave him a very angry glare that made him shrink back a little involuntarily. "Well, it just happens that I want to know why you fainted out of the blue during patrol," she hissed back. "And then suddenly Snape appears to get me out of here, you're not the least bit appreciative, and then suddenly I hear you say the word 'nightmares' just as I exit the room. Maybe you know – I just happened to be that little bit concerned." Draco gave a snort. "Because I know you are a Death-Eater." She finished, still glaring hard at him.
"Aren't you afraid?" whispered Draco, suddenly lowering his voice into a silky tone, eyeing her with a smirk, as he rolled up his sleeve on his left forearm. Hermione recoiled with a gasp as she saw the black mass swirl into the familiar mark of the Death-Eater; the skull with serpents. She had seen it so many times, but none were as repulsive-looking as the symbol now etched on his forearm; it was so alive. "Aren't you afraid I'd just kill you?" He suddenly grabbed her wrist and clenched hard around it, causing her to issue a whimper in pain. "Don't tell me your noble Gryffindor courage is going to say 'oh I'm not afraid at all' because I could just kill you right now!" He tightened his hold on her frail wrist and she bit her lip, willing herself not to scream out loud in the Hospital Wing.
"Then... then why don't you kill me now?" she stammered, wincing hard as her right hand tried to free her left, but Draco caught her other wrist in another crushing grip, causing her to buckle to her knees in agony.
"I'm not after your life, Granger, I don't murder for the fun of it," whispered Draco, trying to hide the pain in his voice as he spoke the word 'murder'. "But I swear, if you try to get in my way, you'll be sorry for it. I'll send you to hell for it!"
He let go of her wrists, sending her crashing to the ground as her swollen wrists could not break her fall. His blood was boiling; he didn't want anybody to know what he was thinking, he couldn't let anyone – not even Snape, know how vulnerable he was. He was a Death-Eater; he was powerful, dangerous, evil; and there she was, trying to catch her breath and nursing her wrists and cringing as she tried to stand up, wobbly, but with a defiant expression.
"You're just too proud for your own good," she whispered, "and that's what I should pity you for, not because your father died." She staggered out of the Hospital Wing.
Draco stared at the door through which she exited, and then back at his own palms, crimson red from the pressure he had exerted on her wrists. The wrists that bore the same colour as his palms. Gritting his teeth, he sank back under the sheets, mind whirling full of strides, Dark Marks, running exiled men, Snape's crooked face and greasy hair, his father's stern countenance, his mother's weeping figure...
And a bunch of brown curls.