DISCLAIMER:
This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended THANKS
To the reviewers, of course: Ms Netizen for the first version of this chapter and thecurmudgeons, met on the FAWA, without whose help this final version would have stayed in a file on a floppy. CHAPTER SUMMARY:
A boy is late, a girl thinks too much.
A FOUR SATURDAYS DETENTION Chapter 5 - Third Week - Saturday
Paper Cut Blues
(A good tradition of love and hate near the fireplace)
I don't want to play in your yard,
I don't like you anymore.
You'll be sorry when you see me
Sliding down our cellar door.
You can't holler down our rain barrel,
You can't climb our apple tree,
I don't want to play in your yard,
If you won't be good to me.
-:-
Tu lascerai ogne cosa diletta
più caramente; e questo è quello strale
che l'arco de lo essilio pria saetta
Tu proverai si come sa di sale
Lo pane altrui, e com' è duro calle
Lo scendere e'l salir per l'altrui scale.
Dante Alighieri - Paradiso (XVII, 58)
Thou shalt abandon everything beloved
Most tenderly, and this the arrow is
Which first the bow of banishment shoots forth.
Thou shalt know by experience how savoureth of salt
Is the other people's bread,
and how hard a road is to climb and descend another's stairs
. Dante Alighieri - Paradiso (XVII, 58)
Hermione lifted the box containing the SPEW badges out of her trunk and placed them beside her on the bed. What was she to do with them?
During that week she had done that same gesture more than once, never finding the right answer, despite it was a well known matter of fact that knowing the right answer was her speciality.
The most appealing solution was throwing all the badges against the wall, but not simply "throwing". Oh no, she had no intention to see them bounce back and pile up on the floor. Without order. Without a goal.
They had already bounced back on Harry and Ron a couple years ago, metaphorically speaking. The boys had been such a wonderful Secretary and such an amazing Treasurer of SPEW, she thought half nostalgically and half ironically, running the slightly tarnished badges through her fingers.
Maybe if two years ago she had given them the shape of a snitch, and the Gryffindor colours... well maybe a lot of those adoring little girls, so interested in the Quidditch team.Oh yes - a flash of Malfoy's smirk flickered through her mind and quickly disappeared - the Quidditch groupies would have prayed for those buttons, and pinned them on their collars, without even asking her what "S.P.E.W." stood for. Hermione's lip curled in disdain.
In the soft morning light, Hermione's hands traced a pattern on the wall of her room, sensing the rough surface. It was rock, solid rock, that had resisted invasions for centuries. What she would have really liked was to drive the SPEW badges, one by one, into the rocky walls of her bedroom. Oh yes, she would have liked to hammer them in the stones, without breaking them, as manifest proof that some heads were thicker than the rock. Thicker than that Hogwarts rock.
What was the best symbol she could draw with all those badges? Some of the images popping into her brain made her smile, especially a couple of drawings that would not suit her at all. Parvati and Lavender probably would have had a fit - maybe McGonagall too... maybe.
However, it was only the Parvatis, the Lavenders, the Rons, and the Harrys, probably, who had the power to change things.
Malfoy was right about this: the problem of House Elves wasn't at all a problem due to the privileged few. For a Malfoy, Elves were only a curiosity, something you had in the family, but in reality easily disposable. For the Malfoys class, the Elves didn't make a difference in their lifestyle.
The real problem was the people like Ron, the good people, the gentle guys, who wanted, no expected, to be looked after at school, but never asked who was paying the price for all that beautiful comfort. They took everything, the comfort, the fun, the elegance, the great food at the boarding school, everything special in Hogwarts, for granted.
Hermione looked around her room, at the four-poster beds and the comfortable fire in the grate. She hadn't asked herself that question either, till the fourth year, till Winky and Bartemius Crouch, till when the Trio had discovered Dobby working in the Hogwart Kitchen.
If the situation of Elves was different, oh well, many "tiny details" would change at school. It wouldn't be so comfortable anymore. Or, perhaps, it would change into a too expensive school, not open for everybody. Open to the Malfoys, of course, but to the Ron Weasleys? Or to herself? Or maybe she was too tragic?
She felt sorry she didn't know so many things about this world.
But - yes, there was always a 'but' - there was one thing Malfoy couldn't fully understand... or pretended not to know. (He was not that dumb. She would bet on it with the usual gang of goblins, and maybe, just maybe, she'd win.) Well, the damned point wasn't at all the madness of pretending to decide for other Creatures what was right and what was wrong!
She blushed in the dark of that Saturday morning, which would not start properly. Malfoy's words had hurt . Not a pain like a blow. Not a pain as when she quarreled with the boys, she thought, sucking the tip of her thumb mindlessly. It was more like a pain she knew very well: a paper cut in your skin. It hurts, but you can't say exactly where. There is a cut, but you can't see it bleed. It isn't a major problem, but somewhere there is an ache and it won't stop bugging you.
To hell with Malfoy, that damned Slytherin!
Anyway, what Malfoy appeared unable to fully understand was what she had seen in Winky's woebegone face, in the school Kitchens. For one single Dobby, happy to be free, how many Winkies were there? Winky wasn't able to imagine a different life, different from the one she had right in front of her eyes.
For Winky, the moment Bartemius Crouch had given her freedom had been the end of the world as she knew it. She had become completely worthless. It isn't sufficient to tell a person, "You are free" to free her, really. Crouch knew it; otherwise he would not have punished his Elf by giving her freedom. As Crouch knew it very well, a lot of other people had to know it!
Winky didn't want to be different from the Winky she had always been. Winky was unable to understand that the way they were treating her was not right at all. Winky wasn't stupid. A good life, with the warm food, the master who loves you in his own peculiar way, the little brawls, and your usual seat near the hearth, that consciousness that there was a place belonging to her which no thief could ever steal..Oh yes, that whole bunch of things was comfortable, and warm, and homey, and was nothing to be taken for granted, or to undervalue. But Winky had not understood that respect is something different, something worth just as much.
At least... sometimes.
Without warning a sudden picture of Scabbers and Crookshanks rushed through her mind. In a flash, she remembered the end of her third year. Harry, Ron and she had discovered that Scabbers in reality was Wormtail in disguise, that Sirius Black was innocent, and that Wormtail, that horrid rat, had been the true traitor - and what a traitor! They had discovered too that Crookshanks had not eaten Scabbers, Ron's pet, as the boys had assumed for months.
That day Hermione had run into Ron's arms, and burst out crying, because they had reconciled - the two boys were speaking to her again.
They were again the dream team. She was back at home.
Suddenly she felt a gloomy sensation right under her heart, but she couldn't understand why.
She woke up completely and silently moved to the Common Room.
It was colder over there, without the fire that warmed the bedrooms. She snuggled into an armchair, wrapping her arms around her legs, and resting her chin oh her knees. Crookshanks leapt up to squeeze in next to her, and they sat together, watching a fire that wasn't there, but in their minds.
It was Saturday morning and she felt it was not right to wake up her friends. What would she say to them? Chat about Winky, covered with a tablecloth by the other House Elves because they couldn't stand the sight of her misery? Or perhaps they could chat about something that happened once upon a time, when she had apologised for something she hadn't done, and how she had been relieved to obtain forgiveness instead of asking for an apology in return? Or perhaps they could examine together why it took her two years to understand that, at that time, not everything had been completely right?
The cat was purring, and the girl coddled him, slowly scratching behind his ears. Old friends take care of each other.
Soon an Elf would come and light up the fire in the fireplace, so that the Gryffindor boys and girls would be warm and comfortable on Saturday morning.
Elves were not slaves, no. Probably the whole matter did not start that way. Their situation reminded her of the Muggle Middle Ages. Then, the castle was a self-sufficient structure, where everybody belonged to the community and worked for the survival of the community itself. Of course, community survival implied individual survival.
Well actually, Hogwarts was also "the Castle". Maybe there was a time when Elves, Wizards and Muggles (yes, Muggles, why not?) worked for the castle. A long time ago "choice" was foreign: a privilege and a burden for a select few. Most people did not bear that burden, had been born to their path in life.
But now, choice was more than a possibility... and the world was flowing around the Elves, and House-Elves were staying steady, clinging to the past, to a choice, or rather a "non-choice" that had once been crucial, but now was probably superfluous.
Hermione ran her hand over Crookshanks' soft fur. and then... she had heard everybody speak about the House-Elves... but where were the "non House" Elves?
She moved in an angry gesture; Crookshanks looked at her, startled.
The Hogwarts Library was mostly about Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the only class about history they could take was 'History of Magic'. It was not at all the same as having a 'History of Wizard Society', or 'History of British Wizarding World Thought'.
The hungry steps of the boys running down for breakfast interrupted her thoughts. A new Saturday had begun. ........................................................................
Some hours later, after lunch, she was lying in her bed, shrouded in thought. Well, the important matter she was really so deeply interested in was the ink spots. She chuckled at herself. It bothered her a lot to rub her fingertips with the right solvents. It was like admitting she didn't want to appear a bookworm. Or, even worse, that she didn't care to appear like a bookworm on this particular Saturday.
She didn't want to give an exceptional importance to Malfoy's approval.
'Oh yes! Now I rub my fingers. And then, what else? I could also beg Lavender for lip-gloss... why not? We could spend hours chatting about the right shade for my skin... It's nauseating. I can't imagine anything worse! Hmm, no, I have it: tons of Sleakeazy in my hair, of course! No, no, no and NO! I am not going to change myself into a make-up addict for a stinking date!'
She smiled to herself.
'Oh yes! I might go to the Astronomy Tower stinking... covered with food stains and with greasy hair!', she could not help smiling, 'Alright, I don't want to change myself in order to please a boy, but neither do I want to be a disgusting wreckage just to state my point of view. And, let's face it, Malfoy isn't that bad when Saturday comes... And this ...thing...'- she blushed furiously - 'this odd date between Malfoy and me. it isn't a lot of things, but I am sure it's at least a polite 'peers' matter..'
She sighed, and with an "Accio!" fetched a small glass phial. "I am not that bad, either." ........................................................................
This year had started oddly, and was oddly flowing on.
She arrived at the Library in haste: she had gotten lost bickering with herself, as usual.
She got to her usual window, but when she leaned out to wave at the boys, she discovered the carriages had gone. She had reached her spot just a little too late.
Hermione felt slightly sorry, but her mind was running forward to that afternoon in anticipation ........................................................................ An hour later...
She was alone in the Library. Waiting.
Well, when they parted last Saturday, they had not said anything each other. She smiled dryly. To tell the truth, they had told each other many things, but nothing about their plans for this Saturday.
Maybe he was waiting for her at the Astronomy Tower? Well, she had assumed they would meet each other here at the Library, as usual. Usual?
Maybe he had changed his mind. Or maybe she had assumed this affair was going be a four Saturday affair, and instead it was meant to last only for one single Saturday. Last Saturday to be utterly precise.
Many emotions flickered through her brain.
Firstly of course, the relief over not being late. She was always on time for appointments, and she really didn't like to be late. Ever.
Then there was the pleasure of waiting. Yes, the pleasure. She tilted her chin defensively. She had remembered what had happened the last time, and it had been a pleasure: exactly what she was going for, waiting, savouring and recalling her own unused emotions.
The quietness.
The annoyance - 'When that Slytherin trash comes, I am going to tell him a thing or two. This isn't a behaviour I am going to accept from him!'
The fear - 'Maybe something happened... What if Filch was punishing Malfoy right now? But why? Today's Saturday and it's not late, you can go wherever you wish.'
The worst - he had simply forgotten her.
'No, no, no!' she thought 'He was simply kidding me, and now he is somewhere else, telling everything to his damned Slytherin friends. Oh yes! I can just imagine his mocking expression as he talks about the stupid little Gryffindor girl who is waiting for him at the Library - a stupid girl who was so vain that she assumed he was going to spend another afternoon with her...' She tightened her fists: 'Tomorrow this whole arrogant school will laugh... about the pathetic bookworm, first in school life, last in personal life... Stupid Hermione. Stupid, dumb, silly, miserable Hermione.'
"I apologise... I am late," he said, his voice regretful. .Draco was in black, as usual, his blond hair slicked back, his expression hard to read. Elegant and cold, as usual, so silent he was able to pop up like a ghost.
She dropped her eyes: "It doesn't matter." Her mind shrieked: 'I am indifferent! I am indifferent'
"Really?" - he was teasing her, his ironic smile back in his eyes. "I was sure I would have found you here, wrathful. Ready to give me a lesson about polite manners and civilised behaviour... You know, the usual things about filthy Slytherin scum being late, and so on."
"I don't get angry over worthless details."
Hermione tossed her brown curls back from her face angrily.
"Oh, yes, you are the sweet mum of the Gryffindor puppies... I keep forgetting about your angelic personality... by the way do you have the slightest idea why I keep forgetting..." Draco moved closer, pulled up a chair and sat down, leaning back and crossing his legs, still smiling.
She interrupted him briskly: "Stop this nonsense. I've had enough."
"What's wrong, Prefect Granger?" he was clearly annoyed.
She looked suddenly at him stubbornly and slowly retorted with an icy voice, "Very well, Mr-I-Know-Everything-Malfoy. I admit it. You are right, I thought it. I sat here thinking that you are a Slytherin scum. And since filthy Slytherin scum are too clever to get detention easily, I assumed you had no detention at all. Last Saturday you were kidding me, just to humiliate me. This Saturday I thought you were somewhere at Hogsmeade with your filthy little friends, laughing at me.
"I went further than that. I imagined that you were making this 'you-and-I' private matter a Slytherin-Gryffindor public affair. That you were finding the whole occurrence irresistibly funny so that you could not help telling every little detail to some friends of mine. I had a mental picture of you, sharing the best details of your last experience with an ugly duck.
"And that you were explaining to everyone how deeply pathetic and dumb I was, exchanging kisses with you at the Tower. And all this because I had no one who actually wished my company at Hogsmeade, on Saturday." She finished belligerently. 'I said it,' she thought, 'I fired all the bullets. The mines exploded... Try to hurt me if you can, now!'
"For the sake of the Parselmouth!" Draco hissed, bending forward a little.
"Eh?"
Draco seemed to recollect himself. For once his coldness had disappeared and he had appeared sincerely startled.
The smile returned to his lips. "What sweet thoughts," he smirked. "You are dangerous. Moreover, you are distrustful. And you like hurting yourself." He examined her face attentively "And you are a Gryffindor! Are you crazy? What you have imagined is ghastly. Frankly I fail to understand you."
"Listen," he added slowly and seriously, "I am not fond of all that Gryffindor bullshit - all that chivalry and brotherhood crap - but it doesn't mean I don't have a moral code at all."
Malfoy leaned forward to grab her wrist, "And I want to make that very clear to you, Granger."
"Please, Malfoy, I..." He was gripping her wrist so tightly that it hurt.
"No, Gryffindor lass, I want it understood clearly. These Saturdays are something only between you and me. Independent from both Slytherin and Gryffindor scum. Independent from your spoiled clique. Independent from Potty Baby or Weasel Boy."
Malfoy's fingers bit into her wrist, "These Saturdays will end, with no harm, next Saturday. I hope we agree about the lack of harm: I don't consider your co-operation to the success of these days optional. The goal of our peculiar Saturdays is making these beautiful September days, sliding to October, pleasant. Nothing more. I don't need a weapon particularly sordid to hit the people I don't like. Frankly I have noticed that most people are very good at hurting themselves in the most sickening ways. Their minds are their own worst hell. And I don't crave power over naïve Gryffindor squirrels, with ugly duck complexes."
She blushed and bit her lip. "Let go. It hurts," she said.
"Oh, poor little squirrel. It hurts. Much better: if it hurts, you won't forget." Draco Malfoy didn't let go of her wrist and kept looking into her eyes, seriously.
"Alright, I understand you. I trust you about this Malfoy."
"Alright. And to be sincere, as sincere as I can be, I was not late to keep you on tenterhooks. I don't want to play tricks to your rational mind. Snape kept me till late. Otherwise you would have found me here, waiting for you. When I give my word I keep it." His eyebrows rose in query, "Better?"
"Better."
They both relaxed. He released her wrist, rose from the chair and took her arm, "Then let's go."
"Where?"
"Where there is a wonderful view you could talk about for hours..." Draco said, mockingly.
THANKS
Of course to the reviewers: Reema, sitashi, Hermione Malfoy, Ophelia, princess of mordor, cammie , verlidaine weriynsri, Ya-chan, Nuada, JK Meriadoc, one of the kindest reviewers I ever met! I am so glad you like my story. Jen, who read my other stories and enjoyed them as well. Kagome-sama, another Italian writer! Grazie!
This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended THANKS
To the reviewers, of course: Ms Netizen for the first version of this chapter and thecurmudgeons, met on the FAWA, without whose help this final version would have stayed in a file on a floppy. CHAPTER SUMMARY:
A boy is late, a girl thinks too much.
A FOUR SATURDAYS DETENTION Chapter 5 - Third Week - Saturday
Paper Cut Blues
(A good tradition of love and hate near the fireplace)
I don't want to play in your yard,
I don't like you anymore.
You'll be sorry when you see me
Sliding down our cellar door.
You can't holler down our rain barrel,
You can't climb our apple tree,
I don't want to play in your yard,
If you won't be good to me.
-:-
Tu lascerai ogne cosa diletta
più caramente; e questo è quello strale
che l'arco de lo essilio pria saetta
Tu proverai si come sa di sale
Lo pane altrui, e com' è duro calle
Lo scendere e'l salir per l'altrui scale.
Dante Alighieri - Paradiso (XVII, 58)
Thou shalt abandon everything beloved
Most tenderly, and this the arrow is
Which first the bow of banishment shoots forth.
Thou shalt know by experience how savoureth of salt
Is the other people's bread,
and how hard a road is to climb and descend another's stairs
. Dante Alighieri - Paradiso (XVII, 58)
Hermione lifted the box containing the SPEW badges out of her trunk and placed them beside her on the bed. What was she to do with them?
During that week she had done that same gesture more than once, never finding the right answer, despite it was a well known matter of fact that knowing the right answer was her speciality.
The most appealing solution was throwing all the badges against the wall, but not simply "throwing". Oh no, she had no intention to see them bounce back and pile up on the floor. Without order. Without a goal.
They had already bounced back on Harry and Ron a couple years ago, metaphorically speaking. The boys had been such a wonderful Secretary and such an amazing Treasurer of SPEW, she thought half nostalgically and half ironically, running the slightly tarnished badges through her fingers.
Maybe if two years ago she had given them the shape of a snitch, and the Gryffindor colours... well maybe a lot of those adoring little girls, so interested in the Quidditch team.Oh yes - a flash of Malfoy's smirk flickered through her mind and quickly disappeared - the Quidditch groupies would have prayed for those buttons, and pinned them on their collars, without even asking her what "S.P.E.W." stood for. Hermione's lip curled in disdain.
In the soft morning light, Hermione's hands traced a pattern on the wall of her room, sensing the rough surface. It was rock, solid rock, that had resisted invasions for centuries. What she would have really liked was to drive the SPEW badges, one by one, into the rocky walls of her bedroom. Oh yes, she would have liked to hammer them in the stones, without breaking them, as manifest proof that some heads were thicker than the rock. Thicker than that Hogwarts rock.
What was the best symbol she could draw with all those badges? Some of the images popping into her brain made her smile, especially a couple of drawings that would not suit her at all. Parvati and Lavender probably would have had a fit - maybe McGonagall too... maybe.
However, it was only the Parvatis, the Lavenders, the Rons, and the Harrys, probably, who had the power to change things.
Malfoy was right about this: the problem of House Elves wasn't at all a problem due to the privileged few. For a Malfoy, Elves were only a curiosity, something you had in the family, but in reality easily disposable. For the Malfoys class, the Elves didn't make a difference in their lifestyle.
The real problem was the people like Ron, the good people, the gentle guys, who wanted, no expected, to be looked after at school, but never asked who was paying the price for all that beautiful comfort. They took everything, the comfort, the fun, the elegance, the great food at the boarding school, everything special in Hogwarts, for granted.
Hermione looked around her room, at the four-poster beds and the comfortable fire in the grate. She hadn't asked herself that question either, till the fourth year, till Winky and Bartemius Crouch, till when the Trio had discovered Dobby working in the Hogwart Kitchen.
If the situation of Elves was different, oh well, many "tiny details" would change at school. It wouldn't be so comfortable anymore. Or, perhaps, it would change into a too expensive school, not open for everybody. Open to the Malfoys, of course, but to the Ron Weasleys? Or to herself? Or maybe she was too tragic?
She felt sorry she didn't know so many things about this world.
But - yes, there was always a 'but' - there was one thing Malfoy couldn't fully understand... or pretended not to know. (He was not that dumb. She would bet on it with the usual gang of goblins, and maybe, just maybe, she'd win.) Well, the damned point wasn't at all the madness of pretending to decide for other Creatures what was right and what was wrong!
She blushed in the dark of that Saturday morning, which would not start properly. Malfoy's words had hurt . Not a pain like a blow. Not a pain as when she quarreled with the boys, she thought, sucking the tip of her thumb mindlessly. It was more like a pain she knew very well: a paper cut in your skin. It hurts, but you can't say exactly where. There is a cut, but you can't see it bleed. It isn't a major problem, but somewhere there is an ache and it won't stop bugging you.
To hell with Malfoy, that damned Slytherin!
Anyway, what Malfoy appeared unable to fully understand was what she had seen in Winky's woebegone face, in the school Kitchens. For one single Dobby, happy to be free, how many Winkies were there? Winky wasn't able to imagine a different life, different from the one she had right in front of her eyes.
For Winky, the moment Bartemius Crouch had given her freedom had been the end of the world as she knew it. She had become completely worthless. It isn't sufficient to tell a person, "You are free" to free her, really. Crouch knew it; otherwise he would not have punished his Elf by giving her freedom. As Crouch knew it very well, a lot of other people had to know it!
Winky didn't want to be different from the Winky she had always been. Winky was unable to understand that the way they were treating her was not right at all. Winky wasn't stupid. A good life, with the warm food, the master who loves you in his own peculiar way, the little brawls, and your usual seat near the hearth, that consciousness that there was a place belonging to her which no thief could ever steal..Oh yes, that whole bunch of things was comfortable, and warm, and homey, and was nothing to be taken for granted, or to undervalue. But Winky had not understood that respect is something different, something worth just as much.
At least... sometimes.
Without warning a sudden picture of Scabbers and Crookshanks rushed through her mind. In a flash, she remembered the end of her third year. Harry, Ron and she had discovered that Scabbers in reality was Wormtail in disguise, that Sirius Black was innocent, and that Wormtail, that horrid rat, had been the true traitor - and what a traitor! They had discovered too that Crookshanks had not eaten Scabbers, Ron's pet, as the boys had assumed for months.
That day Hermione had run into Ron's arms, and burst out crying, because they had reconciled - the two boys were speaking to her again.
They were again the dream team. She was back at home.
Suddenly she felt a gloomy sensation right under her heart, but she couldn't understand why.
She woke up completely and silently moved to the Common Room.
It was colder over there, without the fire that warmed the bedrooms. She snuggled into an armchair, wrapping her arms around her legs, and resting her chin oh her knees. Crookshanks leapt up to squeeze in next to her, and they sat together, watching a fire that wasn't there, but in their minds.
It was Saturday morning and she felt it was not right to wake up her friends. What would she say to them? Chat about Winky, covered with a tablecloth by the other House Elves because they couldn't stand the sight of her misery? Or perhaps they could chat about something that happened once upon a time, when she had apologised for something she hadn't done, and how she had been relieved to obtain forgiveness instead of asking for an apology in return? Or perhaps they could examine together why it took her two years to understand that, at that time, not everything had been completely right?
The cat was purring, and the girl coddled him, slowly scratching behind his ears. Old friends take care of each other.
Soon an Elf would come and light up the fire in the fireplace, so that the Gryffindor boys and girls would be warm and comfortable on Saturday morning.
Elves were not slaves, no. Probably the whole matter did not start that way. Their situation reminded her of the Muggle Middle Ages. Then, the castle was a self-sufficient structure, where everybody belonged to the community and worked for the survival of the community itself. Of course, community survival implied individual survival.
Well actually, Hogwarts was also "the Castle". Maybe there was a time when Elves, Wizards and Muggles (yes, Muggles, why not?) worked for the castle. A long time ago "choice" was foreign: a privilege and a burden for a select few. Most people did not bear that burden, had been born to their path in life.
But now, choice was more than a possibility... and the world was flowing around the Elves, and House-Elves were staying steady, clinging to the past, to a choice, or rather a "non-choice" that had once been crucial, but now was probably superfluous.
Hermione ran her hand over Crookshanks' soft fur. and then... she had heard everybody speak about the House-Elves... but where were the "non House" Elves?
She moved in an angry gesture; Crookshanks looked at her, startled.
The Hogwarts Library was mostly about Witchcraft and Wizardry, and the only class about history they could take was 'History of Magic'. It was not at all the same as having a 'History of Wizard Society', or 'History of British Wizarding World Thought'.
The hungry steps of the boys running down for breakfast interrupted her thoughts. A new Saturday had begun. ........................................................................
Some hours later, after lunch, she was lying in her bed, shrouded in thought. Well, the important matter she was really so deeply interested in was the ink spots. She chuckled at herself. It bothered her a lot to rub her fingertips with the right solvents. It was like admitting she didn't want to appear a bookworm. Or, even worse, that she didn't care to appear like a bookworm on this particular Saturday.
She didn't want to give an exceptional importance to Malfoy's approval.
'Oh yes! Now I rub my fingers. And then, what else? I could also beg Lavender for lip-gloss... why not? We could spend hours chatting about the right shade for my skin... It's nauseating. I can't imagine anything worse! Hmm, no, I have it: tons of Sleakeazy in my hair, of course! No, no, no and NO! I am not going to change myself into a make-up addict for a stinking date!'
She smiled to herself.
'Oh yes! I might go to the Astronomy Tower stinking... covered with food stains and with greasy hair!', she could not help smiling, 'Alright, I don't want to change myself in order to please a boy, but neither do I want to be a disgusting wreckage just to state my point of view. And, let's face it, Malfoy isn't that bad when Saturday comes... And this ...thing...'- she blushed furiously - 'this odd date between Malfoy and me. it isn't a lot of things, but I am sure it's at least a polite 'peers' matter..'
She sighed, and with an "Accio!" fetched a small glass phial. "I am not that bad, either." ........................................................................
This year had started oddly, and was oddly flowing on.
She arrived at the Library in haste: she had gotten lost bickering with herself, as usual.
She got to her usual window, but when she leaned out to wave at the boys, she discovered the carriages had gone. She had reached her spot just a little too late.
Hermione felt slightly sorry, but her mind was running forward to that afternoon in anticipation ........................................................................ An hour later...
She was alone in the Library. Waiting.
Well, when they parted last Saturday, they had not said anything each other. She smiled dryly. To tell the truth, they had told each other many things, but nothing about their plans for this Saturday.
Maybe he was waiting for her at the Astronomy Tower? Well, she had assumed they would meet each other here at the Library, as usual. Usual?
Maybe he had changed his mind. Or maybe she had assumed this affair was going be a four Saturday affair, and instead it was meant to last only for one single Saturday. Last Saturday to be utterly precise.
Many emotions flickered through her brain.
Firstly of course, the relief over not being late. She was always on time for appointments, and she really didn't like to be late. Ever.
Then there was the pleasure of waiting. Yes, the pleasure. She tilted her chin defensively. She had remembered what had happened the last time, and it had been a pleasure: exactly what she was going for, waiting, savouring and recalling her own unused emotions.
The quietness.
The annoyance - 'When that Slytherin trash comes, I am going to tell him a thing or two. This isn't a behaviour I am going to accept from him!'
The fear - 'Maybe something happened... What if Filch was punishing Malfoy right now? But why? Today's Saturday and it's not late, you can go wherever you wish.'
The worst - he had simply forgotten her.
'No, no, no!' she thought 'He was simply kidding me, and now he is somewhere else, telling everything to his damned Slytherin friends. Oh yes! I can just imagine his mocking expression as he talks about the stupid little Gryffindor girl who is waiting for him at the Library - a stupid girl who was so vain that she assumed he was going to spend another afternoon with her...' She tightened her fists: 'Tomorrow this whole arrogant school will laugh... about the pathetic bookworm, first in school life, last in personal life... Stupid Hermione. Stupid, dumb, silly, miserable Hermione.'
"I apologise... I am late," he said, his voice regretful. .Draco was in black, as usual, his blond hair slicked back, his expression hard to read. Elegant and cold, as usual, so silent he was able to pop up like a ghost.
She dropped her eyes: "It doesn't matter." Her mind shrieked: 'I am indifferent! I am indifferent'
"Really?" - he was teasing her, his ironic smile back in his eyes. "I was sure I would have found you here, wrathful. Ready to give me a lesson about polite manners and civilised behaviour... You know, the usual things about filthy Slytherin scum being late, and so on."
"I don't get angry over worthless details."
Hermione tossed her brown curls back from her face angrily.
"Oh, yes, you are the sweet mum of the Gryffindor puppies... I keep forgetting about your angelic personality... by the way do you have the slightest idea why I keep forgetting..." Draco moved closer, pulled up a chair and sat down, leaning back and crossing his legs, still smiling.
She interrupted him briskly: "Stop this nonsense. I've had enough."
"What's wrong, Prefect Granger?" he was clearly annoyed.
She looked suddenly at him stubbornly and slowly retorted with an icy voice, "Very well, Mr-I-Know-Everything-Malfoy. I admit it. You are right, I thought it. I sat here thinking that you are a Slytherin scum. And since filthy Slytherin scum are too clever to get detention easily, I assumed you had no detention at all. Last Saturday you were kidding me, just to humiliate me. This Saturday I thought you were somewhere at Hogsmeade with your filthy little friends, laughing at me.
"I went further than that. I imagined that you were making this 'you-and-I' private matter a Slytherin-Gryffindor public affair. That you were finding the whole occurrence irresistibly funny so that you could not help telling every little detail to some friends of mine. I had a mental picture of you, sharing the best details of your last experience with an ugly duck.
"And that you were explaining to everyone how deeply pathetic and dumb I was, exchanging kisses with you at the Tower. And all this because I had no one who actually wished my company at Hogsmeade, on Saturday." She finished belligerently. 'I said it,' she thought, 'I fired all the bullets. The mines exploded... Try to hurt me if you can, now!'
"For the sake of the Parselmouth!" Draco hissed, bending forward a little.
"Eh?"
Draco seemed to recollect himself. For once his coldness had disappeared and he had appeared sincerely startled.
The smile returned to his lips. "What sweet thoughts," he smirked. "You are dangerous. Moreover, you are distrustful. And you like hurting yourself." He examined her face attentively "And you are a Gryffindor! Are you crazy? What you have imagined is ghastly. Frankly I fail to understand you."
"Listen," he added slowly and seriously, "I am not fond of all that Gryffindor bullshit - all that chivalry and brotherhood crap - but it doesn't mean I don't have a moral code at all."
Malfoy leaned forward to grab her wrist, "And I want to make that very clear to you, Granger."
"Please, Malfoy, I..." He was gripping her wrist so tightly that it hurt.
"No, Gryffindor lass, I want it understood clearly. These Saturdays are something only between you and me. Independent from both Slytherin and Gryffindor scum. Independent from your spoiled clique. Independent from Potty Baby or Weasel Boy."
Malfoy's fingers bit into her wrist, "These Saturdays will end, with no harm, next Saturday. I hope we agree about the lack of harm: I don't consider your co-operation to the success of these days optional. The goal of our peculiar Saturdays is making these beautiful September days, sliding to October, pleasant. Nothing more. I don't need a weapon particularly sordid to hit the people I don't like. Frankly I have noticed that most people are very good at hurting themselves in the most sickening ways. Their minds are their own worst hell. And I don't crave power over naïve Gryffindor squirrels, with ugly duck complexes."
She blushed and bit her lip. "Let go. It hurts," she said.
"Oh, poor little squirrel. It hurts. Much better: if it hurts, you won't forget." Draco Malfoy didn't let go of her wrist and kept looking into her eyes, seriously.
"Alright, I understand you. I trust you about this Malfoy."
"Alright. And to be sincere, as sincere as I can be, I was not late to keep you on tenterhooks. I don't want to play tricks to your rational mind. Snape kept me till late. Otherwise you would have found me here, waiting for you. When I give my word I keep it." His eyebrows rose in query, "Better?"
"Better."
They both relaxed. He released her wrist, rose from the chair and took her arm, "Then let's go."
"Where?"
"Where there is a wonderful view you could talk about for hours..." Draco said, mockingly.
THANKS
Of course to the reviewers: Reema, sitashi, Hermione Malfoy, Ophelia, princess of mordor, cammie , verlidaine weriynsri, Ya-chan, Nuada, JK Meriadoc, one of the kindest reviewers I ever met! I am so glad you like my story. Jen, who read my other stories and enjoyed them as well. Kagome-sama, another Italian writer! Grazie!
