CHAPTER 39: EQUINOX
"And now," Bellatrix announced, her voice triumphant, "We call the Dark Lord!"
"Granger."
"And I think." Bellatrix spoke with indifference. "We can dispose of the Mudblood. Greyback, take her if you wish. Do with her what pleases you."
"Granger!"
"Oh no, n-no… NO! This can't be happening!" Hermione cried weakly to herself, not a soul in her presence paying heed to her frantic pleas. She hoped in vain that someone, anyone would come and save her from this terrible fate.
As if reading her mind, Greyback crouched down and breathed in her ear, "No one is coming to save you little girl, you're all mine now!"
"Hermione!"
Her eyes snapped open and she sucked in a strangled breath. A hand tightened around her waist and she flinched instinctively before she realised the hold was far too gentle to belong to Greyback.
"Draco," she breathed.
"I'm here," he hushed. "You're safe. I've got you."
The reassuring timbre of his voice chased the tension from her seized muscles and she felt her body relaxed into his embrace. As the adrenaline faded from her system, she focused on the rise and fall of Draco's chest, slowing her breaths to match his even pace. Her eyes grew heavy and sleep claimed her once more.
Hermione rolled over, unwilling to pry her tired eyes open just yet, and reached out for Draco. However, she did not find the warmth of a solid torso by her side like she had expected. Brows furrowed, she patted an explorative hand against the mattress until she came in contact with a hard surface.
With a groan she opened her eyes to find her hand resting against the wizard's knee as he sat with his back against the headboard, legs crossed. Her momentary confusion at his position dissipated as she took note of the stack of parchments on his lap.
"You're the one who said we needed rest, you know?"
A soft smile lifted his lips as he looked down at her. "I couldn't get back to sleep."
"After I woke you?" she asked, guilt twisting her gut as she guessed at the cause of his restlessness.
"Yes, but it's not your fault," he said. "Once you were back asleep, I was just laying here thinking about these runes. There's so much left to translate, though for the first time it feels like we might actually solve it. I can't stop thinking about it."
"It's still going to take some time to decipher."
"I know," he replied, his eyes going back to the parchment.
Pulling herself up into a sitting position, she stretched her arms up above her head before shifting back to rest against the headboard. Reaching beneath her pillow, she withdrew her wand and cast a swift Tempus.
"We should probably get up and get ready for class," she announced upon seeing the time. "If we hurry we might still have some time for a quick breakfast."
"I know," he repeated, his lips twitching at the corner but his eyes not moving from the parchment in his grasp.
"We will work on this as much as possible, Draco. But we can't let our studies suffer, this is our NEWTs year after all."
He looked up at last, now smiling in earnest. "There she is, Hermione Granger, ever the swot."
"You're one to talk," she scoffed.
Placing the parchment aside, he twisted his torso to face her. Sweeping a lock of sleep mussed curls from her face, he cradled her cheek with his palm and lent in, claiming her lips with his own.
Hermione followed Draco out of the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom. The Slytherin moved quickly, his long stride allowing him to move much faster than her. She couldn't blame the wizard for his less than merry mood. Unlike the others, Professor Sagehorn had yet to relent when it came to the thinly veiled insinuations she made about Draco's role in the war. Dashing forward, Hermione matched Draco's pace with some effort. Noticing her by his side he slowed and offered an apologetic smile.
"Sorry," he said quietly. "I'm just eager to get back up to the room, work on the scrolls some more."
While she knew his eagerness to return to their translation efforts was not a lie, she knew it was not the sole reason for his swift exit once class had concluded. However, if he was not in the mood to discuss the Professor's continued – and frankly unprofessional – mistreatment of him, she would not press him on the matter.
Truth be told, she was also particularly keen to return to his room and continue their work on the scroll. They had undoubtedly made significant progress in the last few weeks. Yet she knew they still had much to translate before they could be certain of what knowledge the text contained.
"Hey, Hermione!" a familiar voice called.
Both Draco and herself came to a halt and she spun on her heel to see her friend jogging along the corridor in an effort to catch up to them. "Hey, Harry."
"Potter," Draco greeted.
Harry gave Draco a friendly nod before turning back to Hermione. "Mind if we chat for a moment?"
Turning to look at Draco, she noticed the way he had shifted – leaning forward an infinitesimal amount, as if he thought to place a chaste kiss to her cheek – before he caught himself.
"I'll see you back in the tower," he said, turning to Harry to offer a curt nod of farewell before he left them alone in the corridor.
Harry turned his head from side to side, his eyes darting around to check they were truly alone before he spoke. "I wanted to ask if you wanted to go to the ball with me- Er, as friends, obviously."
She merely blinked for a moment, caught off guard by the absurdity of her friend's request. She shook her head a small amount as if to regain her faculties before casting a quick Muffliato. It did appear as if they were alone in the corridor, but one could never be certain within the walls of the castle.
"Harry," she began, noting the way in which he deflated upon hearing her tone. "I can't. Not only because it's a stipulation that you must accompany someone from another house… but, well- Draco and I, we are going together."
Harry's brows rose high above the rim of his glasses. "So you guys are a thing now, officially?"
"Do you have a problem with that?" she asked, her hands moving to rest on her hips.
"No," he replied hastily. "No I don't, surprisingly. Not that I'd have the right to object. I've been a shit friend, I still can't believe I forgot your birthday."
"You know I've forgiven you for that Harry," she said, her posture softening as she reached out to place her hand reassuringly on his upper arm. "But if you want to make it up to me, I'd appreciate you showing your public support for us, Draco and I, that is… Once shit inevitably hits the fan."
Harry offered a kind smile. "Yeah. Of course I will."
Hermione turned in a circle, taking in the magnificent sight that was the Ravenclaw common room. She could have been comfortable here, she thought, had the hat chosen to place her in this house. Every stretch of wall between the wonderful arched windows was lined with shelving, a plethora of books right there for the taking. The place was airy, yet inviting - she could easily picture herself here, tomes laid out before her as she studied.
"My quarters are this way," Luna said, drawing Hermione's attention to a spiral staircase on the far side of the circular room.
"Will your roommates be here?" Hermione asked as she followed the blonde witch up the steps.
"I think not," Luna replied as she reached what Hermione could only assume was the door to her dormitory. "They do not spend a great deal of time in the tower this year. There was talk of alcohol consumption prior to the Ball's commencement."
"You managed to find a friend, Loony. Though they do say scum floats the surface, perhaps it was inevitable the two of you would gravitate towards one another."
Hermione's eyes snapped in the direction of the shrill voice, displeased to find the petite blonde witch who had aided Elias Fawley in the attack against her the year before.
"Oakley," Hermione greeted through clenched teeth. "Can't say I'm happy to see you."
"Likewise, Mudb-"
"Lydia," Luna interrupted, her normally airy tone having dropped an octave. "I believe you had arranged to be elsewhere this evening."
The girl lifted her chin, sticking her nose in the air in a perfect imitation of Parkinson, before she replied, "As if I'd want to spend a moment longer breathing the same air as the bitch who had my boyfriend expelled."
Hermione's retort died on her tongue as the witch hastily exited the dormitory, slamming the door in her wake.
"I'm sorry you were required to interact with Lydia. I do understand that your past history with her is less than ideal," said Luna, turning and making her way towards a wardrobe on the room's far side. "It is a shame. She was a sweet girl once, before she commenced her association with Pansy Parkinson. Now, I fear, the Wrackspurts have thoroughly infested her mind and she is no longer capable of formulating her own conclusions."
For once, Hermione had absolutely no objection to Luna's fanciful remark. Wrackspurts or not, Lydia Oakley was a naught but a sycophant.
"Did you bring your dress?" Luna queried, pulling Hermione from her thoughts.
"Oh, yes," she replied, rummaging in her jacket pocket for her small beaded bag. "I have it in here."
"Could I trouble you to fasten these buttons," Luna asked. "I never have quite managed the charm to do so, and I would rather not risk causing damage to the dress. It was my mother's afterall.
"Certainly, just give me a moment," Hermione replied from the other side of the four-poster, the drawn curtains having provided her the privacy to change.
Adjusting her breasts so they sat comfortably, Hermione smoothed her hands down the front of her own dress, a small smile pulling at the corner of her lips as she caught sight of the material. She wore a gown of fine white tulle. The bodice was fitted at the front, yet scooped low in the back, her bare skin only just obscured by the loose curls that tumbled down the length of her spine. An A-line waist flared out into a long, layered skirt - the white of the material transitioning first to a pale mint green and all the way through to a deep emerald as it reached the floor. The lower portion of the dress was embroidered with a plethora of delicate leaves and floral designs. The off the shoulder cut flowed into fitted, sheer sleeves that covered her to the wrist, the same gradient of colour and embroidered design originating at the elbow and obscuring her branded forearm from wandering eyes.
She pulled her eyes quickly away from the hidden disfigurement, she would not think of it tonight. No, tonight – for the first time since before the war – Hermione felt truly beautiful.
She stepped out from behind the bed and her gaze fell immediately upon Luna, patiently awaiting her on the other side. She hurried forward as the Ravenclaw witch pulled her long blonde locks over one shoulder to reveal the bare skin along her spine.
Hermione fastened the small buttons swiftly, before taking a step back. "All done."
Luna swept her hair back over her shoulder as she twirled on the spot.
"Oh Luna, you look lovely."
"I've decided to dress as Eostre. Given we are celebrating Ostara, it felt quite fitting."
Looking over her friend, Hermione could see the influence of the Goddess of Dawn. Luna wore a long bohemian style dress, with elbow length, angle cut sleeves. The dress itself was loosely fitted, yet cinched around the waist, creating what Hermione thought was quite the flattering silhouette on the lithe witch. The material was sunshine yellow – a colour which should not have been complementary in the slightest to the tone of the Ravenclaw's blonde locks, but which Luna had pulled off on more than one occasion – and on closer inspection was a fine floral lace. She wore a crown of yellow daisies atop her head, the overall effect leaving her looking quite radiant.
As Luna shifted, tucking her long blonde hair behind her ears, Hermione's eyes were drawn to the bright blue painted eggs adorned the witch's ears. Amongst the sea of warm yellow, the cool blue stood out at odds and drew one's attention immediately.
Pulling her wand from a twisted knot of hair atop her crown, Luna cast a Patronus with practised ease. The corporeal form of her Hare burst forth from her wand tip and bound happily around her head. Hermione could not help but smile at the symbolism, only Luna would fully embrace the celebration of fertility this day tradition represented.
"Would you like me to do your hair?" Luna asked.
Hermione blinked rapidly, clearing the imprinted image of the Patronus from her vision, and met Luna's gaze. "I, uh- Thank you for your offer," Hermione replied, her tone even. "But I actually decided after the Yule Ball that I didn't like how changing my hair made me feel. At first I had thought it nice that I was receiving compliments and the looks some of the boys gave me did not go unnoticed. However, after the fact I realised that I shouldn't have had to change my hair, change something so fundamentally me, in order to feel beautiful or have others notice me."
"Oh, I quite agree," Luna stated simply, and Hermione felt the defensiveness of a moment prior leech from her body. "I only meant to ask if you would like me to conjure some flowers to place amongst your curls?"
Hermione felt her cheeks flush. "That would be lovely, Luna. Thank you."
Skirt gathered in her hands, Hermione descended the grand staircase one stone step at a time, silently thankful for the cushioning charm she had placed on the arguably too high heels she wore. The sound of a throat clearing caught her attention and she lifted her eyes from her feet - where her gaze had been so intently focused for fear of tripping on the layers of tulle and tumbling to her demise.
The blue hue of his irises drew her immediate focus. He wasn't Occluding. Even in such a potentially vulnerable situation – a public one, no less – Draco was not suppressing his emotions. He had not shut her out. A wide, unbridled smile broke out across her features. He swiftly returned the gesture with a smile of his own, albeit more reserved, pulling at only one corner of his lips. Yet she knew without a doubt that it was genuine due to the rare appearance of his dimpled cheek.
As if drawn to him, her feet moved and she began the final descent towards the Slytherin. Distantly, she was aware Harry and Neville stood by Draco's side, but in that moment, she had eyes for none but her wizard.
Draco inclined his head in a greeting indicative of his formal upbringing before holding his hand out of her to take. "Miss Granger."
"Mr Malfoy," she replied, the corner of her lips quirking upwards into a nervous smile as the niggling presence of anxiety made itself known in the recesses of her mind.
"Would you do me the honour of accompanying me to this Ball?"
"You've asked me that already," she chuckled.
He smirked, shifting the hand she had placed in his and resting it in the crook of his elbow. Leaning close to her ear, he whispered, "Granger, I was simply giving you one final out before we walk through those doors and I show the world you are mine."
The pair passed over the threshold of the Great Hall's entrance, barely making it three steps into the expansive room before the surrounding cacophony quieted abruptly. The raucous chatter of a moment prior had been replaced by the low drone of hushed whispers and Hermione couldn't help but notice the stunned faces of their peers as they passed through the masses.
Her grip on his elbow tightened and she shifted instinctively closer to his side, pressing her body against his. The noise throughout the Hall increased suddenly, louder even than it had been before. Amongst the jarring noise that emanated from the crowd, she could clearly discern the sound of their names repeated throughout the throng of students.
Abruptly, they stopped waking.
"Look at me", Draco commanded in a low, husky tone.
Without question she acquiesced, turning her body to face his as their eyes met. A calmness washed over her as she noticed he still was not Occluding. They were here – in this moment – together.
"Don't listen to them," he said, taking her hand in his, the other moving to rest on her waist. "Focus on the music."
She did as he said, her eyes fluttering closed as she allowed him to lead her through the steps of the dance. As she focused on the rhythmic melody of the slow classical music, the cacophony of the Hall gradually receded to a distant hum. A slow smile spread across her features and she opened her eyes to meet his.
As the tension faded from her muscles she saw the corner of Draco's mouth lift into a small, yet genuine smile. The hand that had sat on her waist shifted, fingertips sliding across the fabric of her dress until he met the bare flesh of her lower back. As their skin touched she saw his eye darken and a moment later he pressed his palm into the small of her back, pulling her flush against the hard plains of his body. The hand he held as they danced slipped from her grasp and moved to sweep a lock of hair behind her ear before he threaded his fingers into the curls at her nape. She lifted her arms, entwining her own fingers behind his neck. A small crease formed between Draco's brows as his eyes flicked back and forth between her own, as if seeking permission to an unspoken question.
She answered not with her words, but rather by rising to the tips of her toes and pressing her lips gently against his. Instantly, she felt the tension in his shoulders relax. Her hands shifted upward, threading through the silken blond strands of his hair and pulling his head down as she eagerly deepened their kiss. Draco responded in kind, angling her head and swiping the tip of his tongue along the soft pillow of her lower lip, before sucking it into his mouth.
When at last their lips broke and the world returned to focus, she was met with the sound of gasps and the frantic discussion of their peers. Yet, she could not bring herself to care. Closing her eyes, Hermione lowered her head to rest her cheek against Draco's chest and listened to his heart rhythmically thump against his sternum. His arms wrapped tightly around her middle as they swayed slowly to the music. Trailing a finger down the length of his spine, she smiled softly as a sense of contentment washed over her.
After a moment, Hermione lifted her head and met Draco's gaze. He smiled down at her and she returned the gesture before turning her gaze to those around them. Evidently, the initial astonishment over their unplanned display of public affection had diminished and most students had returned their attention to their own dates or groups of friends. Hermione's gaze panned across the Hall, taking in the sight of all the mixed house couples. The smile on her face widened. It may be a small step towards ending societal prejudices, but it was a step in the right direction.
"Who's that Harry's dancing with?" Hermione asked, having spotted her friend across the room.
The girl was vaguely familiar. Long, straight hair cascaded down her back, catching the light as if it were the finest of silk. Her lithe frame moved effortlessly in Harry's arms, the steps seeming as if they were second nature. From the way the witch carried herself – as if she'd been trained in everything from etiquette to elocution since her very first step – Hermione was almost certain she was a Pureblood.
Draco turned his head in the direction of her gaze, the corner of his lip twitching up into a smirk. "That's Astoria Greengrass."
"As in Daphne Greengrass?" Hermione asked, having recognised the name of the Slytherin girl from their year who had not returned.
"The very same," Draco chuckled. "Stori is Daphne's younger sister."
Hermione arched her brow. "Stori?"
"We grew up together," he replied simply. His face split into a wide smile before adding, "She'll keep Potter on his toes, that's for sure."
She spared Harry one last glance as he pulled Astoria in close, a telltale sheepish grin spreading across his features. Turning her attention back to Draco, she placed a palm upon the centre of his chest.
"Why don't you go find us a table," she said, gesturing to the far side of the Hall where small tables were set under dim lighting. "I'll go get us a drink."
Lifting a ladle of punch from the bowl, Hermione held the liquid up before her face and gave it a sniff. She grimaced as the pungent smell of Firewhisky filled her nostrils and she lowered the ladle with a sigh. Collecting two empty glasses, she withdrew her wand and cast a practised Aguamenti to fill them with water.
"Even your filthy muggle parents would be embarrassed by the mess you've become, Granger."
Hermione slammed the two glasses of water down on the table and whirled around. "Excuse me!"
"One might assume you're just a stuck-up swot, being a stickler for the rules and avoiding the spiked punch," Parkinson said before her lip curled into a sneer. "But I've seen that pathetic way your hands tremble, Granger."
"Shut it," Hermione growled. "You have no idea what you're talking about."
Despite her assertion, Hermione felt the unwelcome sense of panic take hold, weighing heavy on her chest. Surely Parkinson couldn't know of her struggles with addiction. Yet the mention of her parents had been enough to wrench her insecurities to the surface, and doubt began to sink in. Her gut twisted, repressed shame bubbling up from within; not only for her addiction, but for her own role in the loss of her parents.
It was too much. She needed to get away. Away from Parkinson. Away from everyone.
"Oh, don't I?" Parkinson stepped forward, closing the distance between them. She leant forward, her hot breath ghosting across Hermione's skin as she whispered, "You're pathetic, Granger. A failure."
It was not until she felt the hot tears streak her cheeks that Hermione realised she had begun to cry. Her chest constricted, pain shooting through her nerve endings as her panic grew all consuming and her magic surged violently, threatening to escape from the well within. Breath seized in her chest. She turned from the Slytherin witch and ran.
She ran, ignoring the curious stares that followed her. Ran until the cool night air bit at her skin as she fled into the solitude that was the expansive darkness of the Hogwarts grounds. She ran until her legs could carry her no more and she fell to her knees, an anguished wail ripping from her lungs and piercing the silence that had enveloped her.
A weight pressed softly between her shoulder blades and Hermione stiffened. Her head snapped to the side and she caught sight of familiar white blond hair.
"Draco," she sighed, allowing her shoulders to loosen as she leant back into what she now recognised as Draco's hand upon her back.
She watched as he lowered himself to his knees by her side. Unbidden, her mind called forth the image of the wizard's younger self forced to kneel in the dirt and the inevitable tantrum that would have ensued. Although, through the haze of her panic addled psyche, she could not find it in herself to entertain the humorous nature of the comparison.
"Granger," he said softly. "Hermione. Look at me."
She couldn't bear to meet his eyes. Couldn't bear to see the shame she felt in herself reflected in his gaze. A choked sob escaped her lips as she managed to shake her head to indicate her refusal.
"I followed you over as soon as I saw Parkinson approach you. I caught the end of what that bint said." His hand cupped her cheek, gently turning her face towards his own before he wiped away her tears with the pad of his thumb. "It isn't true."
"Yes it is," she replied, her voice cracking. "I was addicted to alcohol, to the Dreamless Sleep. I'm an addict Draco, that doesn't just go away."
"You're right," he conceded and her body tensed once more. "It doesn't just go away."
Fresh tears welled in her eyes as the overwhelming sense of shame twisted in her gut.
"You are not pathetic, Hermione."
"But, you said-"
"I agreed," Draco replied firmly, cutting her off. "That it won't just go away, our past never truly does. Our choices, they shape who we are. But, Granger, they do not need to define us."
She wiped the tears from her eyes with the heel of her palm before meeting his eye. The way he looked at her with such intensity – such conviction – it left her with no doubt that he spoke not only of her, but of his own past, his own choices.
"I just feel so weak," she confessed.
Draco inhaled deeply through his nose, holding the breath for a moment before he exhaled. "We all feel weak from time to time, that's human nature. That doesn't make us inherently weak as a person. It's what we do in the face of that emotion that counts. Hermione, you have overcome so much. You are one of the strongest people I know. Merlin, despite the prejudice – the unjust persecution you've faced at the hands of this fucked society – you're still here. I'm so proud of you, and I know without a doubt that your parents would have been proud of the person you've become.
Her chin quivered as she heard herself expel a soft, breathy whimper at the mention of her parents. She had been so concerned that her parents would have been ashamed of the person she had become, but Draco was right - they loved her unconditionally and would have been proud of the adversity she had overcome. They would have been proud of – if not the person she was now – the person she was striving to become.
She felt Draco's fingers come to rest below her chin and she allowed him to turn her head to face him. His eyes searched hers as he leant forward. When he paused, seemingly questioning if now were the right moment to kiss her, she closed the distance between them and pressed her lips to his.
The tender kiss soon turned heated as Hermione brought her hands up to thread through his blond strands. She pulled herself up onto her knees and turned her body to face his. Draco's hand went to the small of her back, palm flush against her bare skin as he pulled her forward into his embrace.
When at last they broke apart, Draco's head dropped forward, forehead pressing to her own as he whispered, "Shall we get out of here?"
"Yes," she replied, pulling her head back to look into his eyes. "Take me to bed."