Chapter 4
September 14, 1996
"If I didn't know better, I'd think you weren't excited to see me. I thought I already told you I don't bite, Granger." Theo said with a small smile. His voice was calm– smooth.
"I didn't think you would– you just... startled me." Hermione brushed a stray strand of hair back from the spot on her cheek where it had fallen and took a deep breath. She was fine. It was all fine.
They were quiet for a moment. Hermione decided it was safe for her to sit once more, as Theo had made no advances. He'd propped his feet up on the table nonchalantly.
"He talks to you, doesn't he?" Theo broke the silence, waving his hand towards his own head. "In here."
Hermione inspected him. Theo, being Malfoy's best mate, seemed to have more of an understanding of the blonde than she had assumed. They had always seemed so distant, despite spending most of their time together. All the Slytherins did, in fact. She wondered what it would be like to sit in the dungeons with them for an hour– if their stone cold exteriors dropped. Were they friends or simply acquaintances? Did the purebloods laugh and gossip late at night when no one else was around?
"It's rather chilling." She responded with a nod.
"I knew it!" Theo laughed. Hermione relaxed a little. His laugh was contagious. "You muttered to yourself in potions. That's how I figured out it was you, miss Golden Girl in the kitchens."
Hermione's eyes grew wide "Muttered? You mean you could actually hear me?" She hissed. Had Snape and McGonagall heard her muttering too? Was that how the older witch had known to bring up Draco?
"Just your lips. I was watching of course. Thought you were mental for a second. But you were staring so longingly at him and it clicked." Theo crossed his hands behind his neck and leaned his chair back so that it rested on the back legs. He's got a death wish, that one.
"How'd you know he could do that? The Jedi mind trick thing?" Hermione was puzzled.
Theo didn't seem bothered by the muggle reference– he smiled, even. "He used to stay up at night reading about Legilimenic communication."
Legilimenic communication. She resisted the urge to reach for a quill and parchment as he spoke. Where had she heard that term before?
"So I stole his book one day. Thought he'd disguised a porno mag. Was rather disappointed," He paused. "When it was not. I couldn't read past the first page. Fell right asleep."
"Did he ever talk to you?" That was the question that had been making its way through her mind.
Theo shook his head. "No, the boring book said it requires some sort of connection to set up a line. He tried though– thought since we were mates and all, it'd work. But apparently it's got to be deeper than that. And Malfoy doesn't swing my way. Shame, really. Strictly pussy, that one."
Hermione did her best not to gasp. She wondered if he'd been feigning attraction in the classroom. "You're like– Seamus and Dean?"
"Gay?" He laughed. That laugh again. Soothing– not sexy: soothing. "No Granger, anything with two legs and opposable thumbs will do."
"Even giants?" She quipped, then kicked herself once she realized it was at the expense of his sexuality. Theo didn't seem to mind, though.
His eyes gleamed. "Hadn't given that much thought. I suppose that's the exception to the rule. No giants."
A pleasant silence fell over them and her thoughts drifted to what he'd said. How Legilimenic communication required a 'connection.' She was spiraling at the mere notion that she could possibly have that with Draco Malfoy. A connection required, at bare minimum, caring or love or even just mutual respect. She and Harry had a connection, yes– they were practically brother and sister at this point– but they hadn't always. It had taken time, ups and downs. And yet despite their inseparability, she doubted she'd ever be able to project her voice into his cranium.
So was Legilimenic communication sexual in nature? If Theo's connection hadn't been strong enough, and hers had– did that mean that it required... something more?
No. She and Malfoy could not and did not have a connection. They'd gone from screaming to snogging in a matter of minutes, there was no connection to be made. There was no time or effort. There were no ups and downs, just years of name calling and shouting matches. No. There were only downs and then his hands were down her knickers. It had been a mistake, fueled by pure rage and lust, nothing more.
But Malfoy had said she 'let him' in her head. But she couldn't have. She hadn't meant to. Why did he want inside her head? What was so bloody interesting about poor Hermione Granger that could drive him to swim through her thoughts as if she had suddenly become the Great Lake? What could possibly be so interesting about her brain that he needed to intrude upon it while their lips were locked?
She cleared her mind. "Did you come to gossip about Malfoy, Theo? I think I'd like to know his deepest, darkest secrets if you're willing. Blackmail material– for the future when he starts acting like a prick again."
"I didn't actually. I came to gossip about you." He winked.
"Me? What could you possibly want to know about a mudblood?" The word slipped through her lips easily now. She had grown desensitized to the slur over the years. She predicted it would grace Nott's lips in class sooner or later, but it hadn't come— from either Malfoy or Theo, for that matter. It was as if they were holding back. Like something had changed. But what had changed?
"Ouch. You wound me." Theo clutched his heart. "You think I buy into that rubbish, Granger? You're the smartest bloody witch in our class."
"Malfoy disagrees." Hermione scowled.
"Malfoyis brainwashed."
"Oh and you're not?" As she said it, she remembered that he had never called her the slur.
"Malfoy," He diverted. "Struggles with modern thoughts."
"Doesn't give him the right to–"
"What's your favorite color, Granger?" Theo interrupted.
Hermione blinked at the shockingly casual question. "Red."
"How very Gryffindor of you." Theo chuckled. His chair was still leaning dangerously on two legs. Suddenly his balance wavered– as she knew it would– and he had to grip the table to keep from falling backwards. Hermione couldn't help but snicker.
"Don't pretend like your favorite color isn't green, Theo."
"It's yellow," He groaned. "It's torture wearing these bloody emerald robes day in and day out. It's hideous."
Yellow would be the last color she'd think of Theodore Nott favoring. Didn't purebloods have a strict dress code? Black and gothic and screaming wealth, with dragons hide loafers and velvet cloaks. Yellow didn't seem to fit into the mix.
"Don't believe me? My knickers are Hufflepuff gold, want to see?" A smirk grew on Theo's lips.
"Keep it in your pants, Nott." She turned her face to hide the blush rushing to her cheeks. And she didn't think about him in yellow underwear, or even wonder whether they were form fitting like Malfoy's had been, or loose like Krum's.
"You want to see them." Theo waved his hand out in front of him, voice monotonous as he spoke.
Jedi mind tricks.
"Theo, was that a Star Wars reference?" She bit back a laugh.
"That's the one with the lasers and the big scruffy guy, yeah?"
"Chewbacca?"
"Him. Loved that movie." Theo smiled. It was genuine. Hermione let out the giggle she had been holding in. It felt good to laugh with the new knowledge Theodore Nott didn't think of her and her kind as scum.
"How does Theodore Nott know about Star Wars, hmm?" She asked, oblivious to the fact that this question would set Theo on a tangent about Muggle movies. A long tangent.
Hermione wasn't sure how much time passed before she could speak again, but she now knew the entire history of her new Slytherin acquaintance's rebellion, and his secret excursions to the cinema nearest to his manor. And how he preferred the horror genre to action, but he thought the muggles were decades away from producing realistic gore. "All they need is one carefully cast jinx and poof," He imitated an explosion with his hands. "–a believable black eye. None of that rubbish purple powder they use." He scrunched his nose. He barely breathed between words.
She was dumbfounded by the pureblood's fascination with something she believed to be so pedestrian, something Malfoy would surely see as barbaric and unimpressive. Nott was full of surprises. She realized she was staring, but he didn't seem to mind.
Suddenly, Theo looked at the clock behind her and hushed mid sentence. He rushed to stand up and muttered something under his breath. She assumed he was late to a previous engagement. He looked at her and smiled thinly. "You know, you're not half bad, Golden Girl."
She took it as a compliment, though she wasn't sure it had been one. "For a Slytherin, you're surprisingly bearable," She responded.
"You've got us all wrong. We're not the enemy, Granger." He stretched and rolled his neck, massaging a spot right below his hairline. She tried her hardest not to find it attractive. "You'll find Slytherins to be very... possessive, above all else. Those cunning folk use any means to achieve their ends."
Hermione wasn't sure what he was alluding to, but she had a hunch that his words had hidden meaning. "I don't know what you mean." She watched him gather his things rapidly and head for the door. She raised her voice slightly. "It wasn't an insult, just an observation. Honestly, they're unfriendly, though you seem to be the exception. And–"
"We probably seem cold because we are, but the distance between us and you lot serves a purpose." Theo halted, his voice severe. He took a deep breath. "You don't realize, for us, there's just one wrong move before we're addicted to something– and trust me, it could be anything: drugs, power, fame, love, lust."
"It's blinding." He continued. "Distracting. Debilitating– all we can think about. I don't know about you, Granger, but in our families, distractions are punishable with pain. So forgive us if we're still too busy licking old wounds to risk earning new ones."
She swallowed, bewildered. Her heart sunk at the thought of Theo or Malfoy– or even pug-faced Parkinson– being beaten or cursed for a distraction. Even further, she wondered what the Sacred Twenty Eight's definition of a distraction was.
"For the life of me, I can't figure out what he thinks he'll accomplish." Theo scoffed. He seemed conflicted, face now riddled with a playful scowl, as if there was some cruel joke in his head that she was not privy to. "But there's no such thing as a quick fuck. Not for purebloods."
So this was about Malfoy. Why had everything become about Malfoy?
"He's my best mate, Granger, and you're dangerous." His eyes narrowed, staring directly into her own. "For both of us."
She shivered as his eyes trailed along her body in a way not even Malfoy's had. "But Merlin, it just might be worth it."
"See you in the kitchens, Goldie." He turned back to the door, voice light again. "Might want to wear something nice."
...
Later that night, when Hermione neared the portrait of a fruit arrangement at five minutes to eight, she nearly groaned at the sight of the last person she wanted to see. Ron. His back was turned, but she could see his fists were clenched so tightly his knuckles had turned a bright white color. He radiated anger, from the redness on the back of his neck– which was nearly covered by one of Molly's signature sweaters– to the hunch of his shoulders. She wondered how this was the same person she had fought alongside in the Department of Mysteries. He had become a poltergeist of the boy she once knew. They were only two weeks into their sixth year, and he'd already made an enemy out of every student he'd met.
She made an effort to silence her footsteps to avoid a confrontation but he turned towards her as if he'd sensed her presence. A scowl plastered across his face.
"Hermione," He muttered as if her name qualified as a proper greeting. She nodded in response.
"Ronald."
A monotonous voice sounded from behind her, "Weasley, Granger, I see you are both on time."
Hermione sighed, relieved at the presence of someone else to serve as a buffer to the inevitable hell Ron would raise. She knew him well enough to anticipate retaliation for the lack of support she'd shown for him in potions. Snape glanced around the hallway, likely searching for Theo and Malfoy, but the two were nowhere to be seen. "Pity, ten points from Slytherin already. I suppose the two of you can work without them as they seem to be too preoccupied to attend their own punishment."
Hermione gulped, doing her best to avoid Ron's cold eyes. She could tell they were bloodshot just from the way he was squinting at her. A chill ran up her spine– she was in this moment more afraid of her best friend than she had been of her ruthless bully.
"Miss Granger," Snape drawled as he touched the peach on the portrait. It animated and wiggled, before the wooden frame swung open. "I expect there to be no wandless water fights this time."
He waved for the two of them to enter the kitchens. She let Ron stomp inside before she followed cautiously. Snape slammed the portrait behind her, almost clipping her rear in the process. She exhaled deeply, knowing what would come next.
"So you took their side over mine, yeah?" Ron was already facing her. He looked ready to hit her.
She flinched. "I didn't, Ron. You know I didn't."
"Oh, then you're too good to stand up for your best friend? That it?" He seethed.
"No– you can't expect me to stand by and watch you assault a classmate–" She physically rolled her eyes at his incredulous behavior. What had gotten into him?
"I was defending you, Hermione, in case you didn't notice," He shouted. She was sure Snape, who was standing outside to wait on the two Slytherin boys, could hear every word.
"I noticed you were acting like a right old prick, that's what I noticed, Ronald." She was screaming too. She didn't care anymore.
"A prick, huh? Is that any way to talk to your best friend?" He was stepping closer now, like Malfoy had, except his eyes were darker, more cold than the blonde's had been. She shivered under his glare. "That's what I am right? Or have you cozied up to the snakes now?"
"I will speak to you however I wish, and however you deserve to be spoken to. And right now, you're throwing a tantrum like a toddler." She hissed. "Are you quite done yet?"
Ron was now taking larger steps in her direction. She didn't step back, though. This was a fight she was going to have, whether he liked it or not. He needed to know what an imbecile he'd become, and she would be the one to tell him. She seemed to be the only one who even cared. Harry had scoffed once or twice at how untethered the ginger had become, but never brought it up again. Then again, Harry had some issues of his own. The two boys would exchange subtle greetings in the hall like nothing happened. Like last year had not happened. Like they had not watched Bellatrix Lestrange kill the closest thing Harry had to a father. Like they had not been so distraught that the only way they could sleep was huddled together on the dusty red couches in the Gryffindor common room. Like they had never even been a trio.
Ron was close enough to touch now. Then he suddenly flew back, his back hitting a cabinet in the process. She turned. It was Malfoy. He looked disheveled.
"Weasley, I'd highly suggest that you stand down before you land us all in another detention." Malfoy snapped, a warning clear in his voice. Alright, Granger? His voice boomed in her head.
I could have handled that myself. She tried her best to keep her lips shut as she said it, praying that Ron wouldn't see her 'muttering' as Theo had said.
Sure, Granger.
"You sneak your wand in, Malfoy?" Ron's eyes were wide, searching for a wand in Malfoy's hand. "Can't clean the floors yourself?"
"Wandless magic, Weasley. Something you'll likely never accomplish." The blonde quipped, face arrogant again. Stone cold.
"You watch your mouth, Ferret." Ron's back was still against the cabinet as if Draco's spell was holding him there.
"And what exactly are you going to do, Weaselbee?" Theo walked through the portrait. Snape, to Hermione's surprise, did nothing but shut the frame behind him with a glare in their direction. So much for protection.
Theo and Malfoy both looked uncharacteristically untidy, clothes wrinkled and hair askew. There was a bruise forming on Nott's cheek, opposite of where Ron had socked him. Hermione eyed him suspiciously. Theo above all else looked tired, his eyes drooped as he looked back at her. She wondered what he would say right now if he could speak in her mind like Malfoy.
Did you two fight a centaur in the forest? She joked in Malfoy's head.
No, he responded absently. She quirked a brow. He didn't meet her eye.
Ron struggled against Draco's spell, shouting curse words and insults at all three of them, Hermione included. The stand-off continued until Professor McGonagall stepped into the room. "What is the meaning of this?"
"Weasley," Theo was out of breath. "Has gone bonkers. Tried to attack Granger."
McGonagall turned towards the redhead with disappointment. "Mr. Weasley, you will follow me to my office immediately. The rest of you will clean the floors as you were instructed to do."
Hermione was flooded with relief, but then tensed at the realization that she would, in fact, be alone with both Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy at the same time. She felt a blush creep across her face. "And Miss. Granger, I expect no funny business from you, understand?"
Hermione gaped at the older witch. "I– I'm not sure I do understand, professor."
"I believe you do, Hermione. Now, Ronald, you will come with me." The witch nodded curtly and turned on her heel. "I expect the room to be spotless when we return." With that she exited the room, Ron following closely behind.
"Now that that's sorted," Theo turned towards her with a glint in his eyes.
"No." Hermione turned her gaze to the floor, fighting a smile. "Whatever it is, no. I'm not getting another detention for the two of you."
"What do you think I was going to say, Granger?"
"What was it you were going to say?"
"Have you ever been to Paris?" He quipped. She raised a brow and shook her head, confused.
Malfoy let out a weak laugh and turned towards his best friend. "Theo. Scrub the floor before you get us all in even deeper trouble." He said, feigning sternness. She could still hear the humor in his voice, though.
Hermione squinted at them, wondering what in the world the two were laughing at. She noted to herself to ask Harry if Paris was an innuendo. That would be an awkward but necessary conversation. She would, of course, have to lie about where she'd heard it.
The rest of the night was filled with an oddly comfortable silence, with a few jokes from Theo, and complaints from Malfoy about the work. But the two seemed... off. Not like they usually were– distant and cold– but... disgruntled was the word she would use for it. The two Slytherins exchanged looks multiple times throughout the night and Hermione wondered if they, in the time the three had been apart, had mastered Legilimenic communication, and established their own connection. She swallowed her questions though. She didn't feel like being intrusive. At least not tonight.
The one question she did allow herself to ask, to Malfoy and Malfoy alone, was: Are you okay?
His head shot up. He met her eyes– his were wide. And he didn't respond in her head, didn't make a remark. He just nodded.
It was unconvincing, to say the least.