Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related characters are and remain the property of J K Rowling, Bloomsbury or Scholastic Books. Harry Potter characters, names and related indicia are trademarks of Warner Brothers © 2000/2001. No infringement of copyright is intended by this fic.
~0~
Part Fourteen: Between the lines (Part i)
"And then she'd say that nothing can go wrong
When you're in love what can go wrong
And then she'd laugh the night time into the day
Pushing her fears further along"
Supergirl. Reamonn
~0~
The Slytherin common room had a unique atmosphere of comfortable twilight, always between night and day. It was the sort of light in which great events were planned in hushed tones, the wearied faces of the conspirators made sinister by the flickering light. It suited well those who called Slytherin home.
A cat, black with four white feet patrolled the shadows and perhaps disheartened by the absence of mice she paused to peer up at the occupant of the chesterfield, flicking her tail irritably before deciding that she would grace the human with her touch; such was the way of cats.
Draco did not move as she flumped softly into his lap, he was quite used to the whims of this particular mog. She turned and lay down before watching him closely through narrowed green eyes.
"Hello," he said, gently stroking the bib of white fur beneath her chin, this cat always dressed for dinner. The thought tickled Draco. He smiled thoughtfully, "I wonder what happened to Weasley's rat…" he said to the creature, "We could have owled the tail back to him."
"Oh, you've found Tebbit," Draco followed the voice to the fireplace where Millicent leaned with one hand on the mantelpiece. Beside her stood Pansy. Millicent was what his mother would have described as a 'healthy' girl; beside her Pansy looked undernourished. Draco couldn't help thinking that she looked a little queasy but then he recalled that Pansy had a strange horror of cats – an unfortunate affliction for a witch.
"We were just talking about dinner," he said, tilting back his head so that he could see them more clearly, "Why don't you both join us?"
"I need to find Vincent," said Millicent. A feint blush darkened her throat and threatened to crawl its way up her cheeks as she sucked in a breath and gravely announced, "He asked me if I would help him with his Herbology."
"Herbology, eh?" said Draco smirking behind the back of one hand, "Never a dull moment!"
"I'll stay," said Pansy flitting across the floor and perching on the couch opposite, "Later, Mill." she waved and wrinkled her nose in a most peculiar manner, it seemed to carry some unspoken message. But the girls were not the only ones to discuss secrets. Draco had a very good idea what Crabbe wanted help with and homework didn't come into it.
With uncharacteristic generosity he said, "I'll take care of Tebbit, shall I?" and when Millicent turned a questioning face back to him, he added, "We wouldn't want her disturbing you two, would we?" along with a leer that prompted her to run from the common room, presumably to douse her cheeks.
Trailing one finger through Tebbit's fur, Draco turned his attention back to Pansy. They had reached an uneasy truce some months ago finding that they simply had too much in common for their feud to last.
"It's about time he asked her," he remarked, casually, "He was afraid she'd turn him down. He's no picture, after all and she really is something to look at." It was true, Draco thought, Millicent had a stature reminiscent of a Valkyrie and a jawline to match, not his type to be sure, but in a certain light…
"She adores him," said Pansy, shifting close enough to learn that cats can sneer, "and speaking of unconventional beauties, tell me more about 'Mione."
"Hermione, please! Whoever came up with that abbreviation should have their mouth hexed shut."
"Very protective," sighed Pansy, as Draco rolled his eyes back into his head, fearing an oozing of mush. "I think it was those Patil twins. Ask Blaise, I'm sure she knows. Anyway, we only say it to annoy Granger," she added with a shrug.
"Well, don't!" Draco snapped. He was about to say more but for once he held his tongue, he wasn't really sure what he wanted Pansy to know. "Really, those idiots should have their mouths hexed shut anyway," he grumbled trying to ignore the inquisitive glint in Pansy's eye that assured him she was not going to be dissuaded.
Pansy tilted her head thoughtfully, regarding him through blue eyes every bit as cold as his grey ones, "What are you going to do?"
The question puzzled Draco; he had expected something more somehow, "About Padma and Parvati?"
"Draco Malfoy, champion of Muggles. How is that ever going to work?" he had to admit that she had a point, the situation was almost as tenable as Longbottom uttering an intelligent comment, "Do your family know?"
He considered his response. Of course Pansy was interested, everyone was interested, everyone who understood what it meant. Why not, he thought, it wasn't going to be a secret forever and the sooner Pansy understood that, the better.
"Father knows," he replied, shifting to cross his legs at the ankles.
Tebbit stirred as Pansy closed her mouth very very slowly and leaned forward. Draco didn't like the way she scrutinised him.
"What?" he demanded sharply.
"I was looking for the burn marks." Pansy explained, as though she thought Draco might just have lost his mind, "He knows?"
Draco nodded but added nothing.
"You really love to do things the easy way, don't you?" she remarked, very matter-of –factly. "That must have been a sight to behold."
"I took her home," he said, and Pansy's jaw once again gave the impression that it was connected to her skull with elastic. "It wasn't pretty."
"Was…?" she gasped in the manner of one who has just noticed a Lethifold half way up their bed.
"Mother? No. Just him," one apoplectic parent he could manage but together, Draco suppressed a shudder. Together they were invincible, "Still, I was surprised I wasn't disinherited."
A small group of third years took seats nearby and Pansy lowered her voice, "I am surprised that Hermione is still alive."
"Don't push it, Pansy," Draco warned, breaking in to a humourless chuckle, "Anyway, what's done is done."
Apparently bored, Pansy said, "Really, I never thought Granger would fall for you," but her strategic yawn failed to disguise the bitter edge that sharpened her tone reminding Draco that Pansy had not forgiven him any more than he had forgiven her. That was the way it was. Their way of life required the façade and they both understood the rules of the game, this time it was Pansy's turn to attack, a clumsy segue from interest to insult, "Whatever does she see in you?"
"I presume something similar to what you see my dear. My wit, my charm and my vast fortune!" it was a mean tactic but Draco wasn't in the mood for this. He knew that the Parkinson's coffers had seen fuller days and he simply couldn't resist smirking as he pictured Mrs Parkinson handing her daughter a large net and a strong box along with instructions to go out and make a good catch. But if the remark cut Pansy she did not show it.
For the second time Pansy surprised Draco, "She'll be devastated when it ends," she said, the corners of her mouth twisting like victory.
Draco placed his hands behind his head and closed his eyes. Against the darkness he caught glimpses of the last few months, like reflections on a sunny day flashing brightly on a newly cleaned windowpane. Everything dulled after a while; money, Quidditch … even magic. He mulled this thought … only one thing had kept its lustre these last years, something that shimmered from out of the detritus where truly he had never expected to see gold. And perhaps the wrongness of it all just added to the allure.
"This is different, Pansy," he said eventually, dislodging Tebbit as he leaned forward to rest his elbows on his knees, "This is more than lust. This is greater than my family. She is worth even more than that. There is nothing that I would not do to keep her."
"Have you really thought about this? 'Nothing' covers a lot, especially considering the way you got together."
"What's that supposed to mean?" he hissed, Draco didn't like to be reminded of that.
"There's just so much Hermione doesn't know…"
He crossed the space between them in seconds. Pansy might be many things but stupid wasn't one of them, she knew she was waving a flag at a bull and was ready to move. Draco landed on the empty couch, which rocked backwards before landing back on it feet with a crash.
The heads of the third years snapped round as if someone had tugged on all their strings in unison. On his knees and using the back of the couch as support Draco grimaced just daring them to say something. He continued to glare until they had all found something, then he turned and transferred the glare to Pansy. She might not be stupid but she clearly wasn't too bright because she was still standing there.
"I told you what I'd do if you so much as considered mentioning that to her," he said acidly, as he clambered to his feet, "Give me one good reason not to break your neck."
"Because it's the truth," Pansy replied, coolly "and because someone needs to point out to you that you've totally lost your head."
"A better reason than that!" he demanded moving a little closer, but it seemed that this time Pansy wasn't going to be intimidated.
"If your head wasn't stuck in the clouds I wouldn't need to explain," as Pansy fumed, the glow of the fire behind her caught the ends of her hair making it appear to smoulder, "Listen, Draco you know as well as I do how dangerous it is to make a declaration like that … it's the quickest way to find yourself in a corner with no way out except to take that option!"
His shoulders drooped a little, how could he be such a fool? His father would kill him if he knew he'd made such a statement. Say such a thing directly to someone who knew the correct incantation and possessed few enough scruples and you'd find yourself completely deprived of free will. That was how Garak had ended up in their service – what was the story? What was it the goblin had said to his grandfather? …I owe your family my life…three seconds later that was literally the case with only one way to terminate the obligation.
So he had something to thank Pansy for. He stood there mute as he searched for a hole in which to stuff his rage. He didn't flinch as Pansy reached forward and brushed a lock of his hair out of his eyes. It immediately fell back again.
But he couldn't imagine what Pansy was thinking. She knew just how it felt, how it was to feel that way about someone. She wondered sadly how it felt when that object returned those feelings.
With a grunt Draco fell back into his chair, "Fair point," he said as if she'd just remarked on the weather. It certainly wasn't an apology for losing his temper but it was all he was going to give her. He lounged, hooking one leg over the arm as if nothing had happened.
"I heard something today that will amuse you." Pansy ventured, sinking back into the couch.
"If it's the one about the Mudblood, the Squib and the Chizpurfle, I've already heard it."
"No, the Ravenclaw, the Hufflepuff and the Gryffindor."
"Go on."
~0~
Hermione almost didn't see him as she turned the corner, a small leather bound book clutched to her chest. She'd counted each step of the way as she as she hurried along torchlit hallways, rapt by the patterns cast by her swirling cloak until…
"Hey!" she exclaimed, stepping out of the way just in time to catch his sleeve as he passed, "Anyone in on planet Potter?" she asked loudly and immediately regretted it. Hermione could have kicked herself, for sounding too much like a poor impression of Draco.
But Harry didn't seem to have noticed. "Oh, Hermione. Sorry, I…" he blinked hard. It could have been the reflection of the light on his glasses but Hermione imagined that…
"Are you okay?" she asked, placing her book on the edge of a plinth, right next to the pockmarked bust of Gutrune the Graphorn Tamer.
"Yeah, never better," Harry replied, a little too quickly for Hermione to be convinced. "You on your way back to the tower?"
Hermione nodded, what else could she do?
"You're looking tired," she observed thinking it a fair comment, after all it was long after dark and he was still garbed in dusty Quidditch robes. Hermione didn't remember seeing him at dinner and though each step cost her precious seconds she still cared deeply about her friend. "You should spend less time on the pitch you know … until after the exams at least."
Then he grinned, looking a little more like the Harry Hermione remembered, open and brimming with mischief, "It's about the only time I get to relax these days," he said as the smile faded, just a little. "We really have exams?" he asked, insincere and sheepish.
"No, I made them up stupid! Which is what you're going to have to do if…" Hermione paused, not feeling quite right about lecturing him on this particular point when she considered just how distracted she'd let herself become recently.
Harry's eyes widened, "Amazing, I thought you were going to give me an earful there."
"Must be your lucky night," she chuckled, then suddenly Hermione stopped dead in her tracks and stamped her foot, "Damn! I've left my book. I'm sorry, Harry. I have to go back for it. I suppose you do know the way back to the tower by now?"
"I'll manage," he grinned, "Anyone would think you were off to meet your secret lover." Hermione smiled tightly hearing his laughter echoing as she scurried back toward the Great Hall. But she waited just round the corner and when she was sure that he had gone she doubled back, passing the spot where they had parted.
She moved swiftly. The book would no longer be there, it was merely a signal and perhaps if Harry hadn't been so preoccupied he might have guessed just how close to the truth he was.
Moonlight rippled through the high windows of the Trophy Room picking out the hard edges of the cabinets in hues of silver and grey. Her eyes flicked into the corners, searching for something more organic … to the left. A curve, blurring the strict lines of the furniture. Hermione stepped silently toward the darkness … perhaps an arm, perhaps a shoulder … almost close enough to touch.
"You're a rotten hider," she breathed softly into his ear.
"Maybe I wanted to be found," he replied stepping in to the light, "We're running out of places to meet," he whispered, only inches away, "This castle must be full of rooms and corridors that no one has seen for centuries yet the moment we find one, Filch turns up! That reminds me, I think you ought to keep an eye on that cat of yours. I'm sure I saw him and Mrs Norris slink out from under that cabinet when I came in."
"Draco!" Hermione exclaimed, forgetting for a moment that they were not supposed to be there.
"It's probably why Filch is so frustrated at the moment. Mrs Norris found herself another lover."
"That's foul."
"Feline actually," Draco raised an eyebrow and narrowed his lips slightly, "You're late by the way."
Hermione bit her lip, every time! "If it bothers you, maybe you should arrive a little later or at least greet me in a different way. Your theories on bestiality aren't exactly an incentive for a girl to arrive on time."
"Depends on the girl," he shrugged, folding his arms and peering down at her with an expression that Hermione could only describe as predatory. Draco always looked that way when he was feeling belligerent and tonight Hermione had the idea that he was itching for an argument of the sort that she could not hope to win.
"Can't you just say hello like a normal person?" she asked laying her hand gently on his arms just at the point where his sleeves fell away exposing his crossed wrists.
"My dear, you wouldn't love me if I was normal," he sighed as if bored by the very notion and let his arms fall to his sides. Hermione kept her hand where it was against his chest now, and she felt those arms loosely circle her body, tightening slowly around her waist, "Where would the challenge be in that?
"Have you ever met you?" Hermione slipped her hand from where it lay between them and linked her hands behind his neck. Looking up at him she wondered how she could stop him from provoking an argument. She hoped he might give her some clue but his eyes were shielded by lowered lids. The moonlight exaggerated his features, sharpening his nose and deepening the hollow of his cheeks and the creases at the corners of his eyes where the skin crinkled when he laughed.
Suddenly Draco's eyes snapped open and for a second Hermione glimpsed something that disturbed her.
"What?" he asked, surprised.
Hermione swallowed, "Nothing," she gulped, shocked by the nasty twist of her imagination.
"Nothing?" Draco sounded sceptical.
"I thought I heard something," Hermione lied. Noise! It was a safe bet because in her experience the castle liked to amuse itself by making life as interesting and challenging as possible for the students by changing, or creaking or crumbling at the most inopportune moments. This was as likely a time as any.
"Then lets not stay here."
"There is nowhere else," she leaned against him not relishing the thought of another chase when for once there was actually nothing to run from, "We've tried everywhere and there's always something … ghosts, or caretakers or teachers, or students who should be in bed."
"Ah, but your prefect on patrol act was perfect and as I keep telling you, you are a superb hypocrite."
"Am I supposed to be proud of that?" it was just too hard not to react when he was being like this.
"Would I ever try to tell you what to do?"
"Hermione ignored that question. "I thought you had an idea, unless you plan to follow Crookshanks and Mrs Norris through the cobwebs would you mind sharing it?"
"Now who's being dirty?" he quipped, "but no, that isn't what I had in mind."
"Give me a moment while I bait my breath."
"Hermione, sarcasm really is unattractive."
She scowled, "Look, Draco. I don't have time for this," she pushed against his arms which he firmly refused to move, "If you must behave like a prat could we schedule time in daylight?"
"Stop trying to get away. I know the perfect place."
"Where?"
"My world," Draco released her from his embrace.
"I don't understand."
"Put on my robe and follow me," he commanded, striding across to the door as he shrugged off his robe. Aware that she wasn't going to receive any further information Hermione followed him as far as the door where he held out his robe to her with one hand. She took it, pulling it over her own as they walked. It was too long for her and trailed along the floor until she gathered it off the ground to stop herself from tripping.
"What is the…"
"Shush now."
"Why do…"
"Shhhh!"
"Draco," she hissed, "Where are…"
"Don't ask questions," he said irritably from a few paces ahead. They were in the dungeons now, not far from the potions classroom but they took a sharp left, another, a right, turn after turn until Hermione thought they could well be under another castle.
"Here," he said, stopping so suddenly that Hermione nearly collided with him. All she could see was an expanse of particularly damp and unimpressive grey wall.
"Hmm," Hermione sucked on her bottom lip turning slowly for effect, "I can see why you thought we wouldn't be disturbed here. No one in their right mind would…"
Draco was standing in a rectangular doorway that hadn't been there before. "If we see anyone don't say a word."
So that was his plan, "This is crazy, Draco," she protested.
"Why? You're wearing the robe, the lighting's not exactly bright. Come on!" Draco seized Hermione's wrist and pulled her through the wall which ground closed behind her. The room which they entered was long and low and empty of life apart from a single figure in an armchair by the fire who was occupied at the moment with the task of filling the room with loud regular snores.
"You can look later," said Draco half dragging her to the furthest corner of the vast room. He didn't let go until he'd made her sit. Hermione rubbed her wrist and stared at him as he sat beside her.
"You must be the only Gryffindor to ever set foot in here," he whispered as he pulled her toward him. Hermione turned her face in toward his chest, just in case someone came by. She could only see him with one eye but she thought he looked very pleased at having broken Hogwarts unwritten rule. It just wasn't done to bring outsiders into your common room; of course she didn't think he'd be quite so thrilled if he knew that she defiantly wasn't the first.
Hermione could feel Draco's breath warm in her hair as he whispered, "In about ten minutes, he will shout 'hell's teeth!' then wake up and go to bed. He's done it every night for the last six years that I've seen. Then we'll be alone."
~0~
There was no time for breakfast the next morning. As Hermione was about to leave her dormitory she noticed a letter on her bedside table propped up against the water jug. She was sure it had not been there when she awoke or even when she dressed. Curious she picked open the envelope and slid out a stiff yellow card stamped with the Hogwarts crest. The message, written in a steady neat hand said simply:
Miss Granger,
Please come at once to my office.
Professor McGonagall
Hermione was alarmed at the summons. She snatched her bag from the corner of her dressing table and hurried through the common room wondering what the problem could be.
Anxious, Hermione glanced down at the card which she still held in her hand then she rapped twice on the door of McGonagall's office and hearing, "Come in," lilt through the closed door, she grasped the handle and entered.
"You wanted to see me, Professor?" half question, half statement. McGonagall was already on her feet coming toward Hermione who was surprised to see Professor Dumbledore standing by McGonagall's desk peering down his crooked nose at something that lay on the blotter.
"Sit down," McGonagall said, ushering Hermione into a solid chair, sensibly upholstered in crimson felt; beside it was a small folding table on which stood a tray laid for tea. A tendril of steam twisted from the spout of the silver pot.
"Something very serious has happened" began McGonagall bringing forward the loosely rolled newspaper she held in one hand.
Oh Merlin, Hermione felt the knot of her tie tighten around her throat, My parents.
"Please, read this." McGonagall unrolled the paper and placed it in Hermione's waiting hands. A copy of the Daily Prophet. Hermione read the headline.
Quidditch Star's ex in AK Alarm
She skimmed through the article as McGonagall busied herself pouring tea. Hermione thought that she detected Skeeters claws embedded deep within the text but it wasn't until she reached the third paragraph, the one that held the least sensational part of the story that she understood why she was here.
"The attack has drawn particular attention because it occurred close to the Muggle home of Hermione Granger, top Hogwarts student and close friend of the legendary Harry Potter. Fears are growing that Miss Granger may have been the intended target. Miss Granger earned a degree of notoriety two years ago during her whirlwind romance with Quidditch star Viktor Krum.
When asked to comment on the suggested cause of death Ministry Officials were tight-lipped but an Auror at the scene snorted, "Lightning? Not bloody likely," before shoving our photographer into a pool of mud."
Miss Granger, believed to be safely within the walls of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, was unavailable for comment last night."
Her eyes slid down to the picture beside the words, a Muggle photograph; blurry and still.
Hermione blinked.
"I also think you should read this, Miss Granger," Hermione had forgotten that Dumbledore was there but here he was beside McGonagall holding out another paper. The Recorder, a weekly local rag … hadn't he once told Harry that he read the Muggle press? Hermione seemed to recall him mentioning it once, but a local paper? Dated Monday, there was the same photograph, the boy wearing a striped top and a slightly surprised look frozen on his face.
She reached out and picked it up feeling cold creep over her.
Saturday Sports Tragedy
'Freak weather conditions have been blamed for the tragic death of Paul Beynon Captain of Baden Priory first fifteen. "It was a normal day," says Conor McCarthy, close friend and team-mate of the victim, "He was going for the try, he was clear and then from nowhere and as I passed the ball it struck, a dazzling green flash, I fell and when I got up Paul was still."
Foul play has been ruled out such conditions whilst rare are not unheard of, lightning…'
"We grew up together. I saw him just last week."
"I don't need to tell you how serious this is, Miss Granger. I'm sorry to have to ask you this now, before you have had a chance to digest this properly but I must. This Easter did you see anything or anyone unusual, anything unexpected, no matter how insignificant you think it was."
"No," replied Hermione, not quite truthfully. Seeing Draco was unusual, but she didn't want to explain that right now; she didn't really think it was any of their business. "Paul … we were friends for years. Why him? Why Paul? He's just a Muggle."
"That doesn't matter to Voldemort's followers, they are growing stronger and more willing to take risks," Dumbledore paused and if Hermione hadn't known better she might have thought it was for dramatic effect. He coughed lightly before continuing, just to be sure he had her attention, "We don't even know that he was their intended victim."
"What do you…" but the pity that lay behind Dumbledore's kindly expression told her everything she needed to know. "You agree with the Prophet, you think I was the intended victim," she said.
Dumbledore nodded slowly.
"I was meant to be there but I changed my mind at the last minute," Hermione rested her saucer in her lap and took a sip from her cup, the liquid was hot and sweet and burned her lips. Her eyes caught the swinging pendulum of a cased clock on the mantelpiece, glinting in time with each tock that echoed in her skull, as loud as a drum on a battlefield, "I don't see how anyone could have known." she lowered the cup until she heard the porcelain click.
Here at Hogwarts and back in her Muggle life it was easy to forget that there was a war going on. A war against an enemy not even acknowledged by the Ministry as a problem. Hermione could even forget that she had a foot in both cauldrons and that one of her greatest friends was at the centre of that conflict.
"I have spoken to you parents on the Floo," said McGonagall softly, but somehow loud enough to be heard above that clock; or perhaps that was just the throb of Hermione's own blood. "They are satisfied that you are in no danger here but as I'm sure you can understand they were very worried after reading the Daily Prophet this morning."
Hermione nodded, "I'll write to them."
"You may use my fireplace if you wish to talk to them sooner. Meanwhile I suggest you take the day off lessons, I have already asked your teachers to excuse you. Spend a little time with your friends. Harry and Ron will be pleased to give you their support and I have asked Dennis to help."
"Dennis?" Hermione looked up, fast learning why the adage about liars and their memories had become such a cliché.
"Your mother told me that Dennis Creevey visited you this Easter," McGonagall smiled warmly, "I know how important it is to have a shoulder to cry on at times like this."
"Yes, of course, though I'd rather work," Hermione said, laying her saucer on the table, Dennis was going to be very confused, "it will take my mind off things."
"Not today! Hard work, is a good cure all, but not until you have had a chance to reflect. Now come with me and we'll go back to the tower."
Professor McGonagall escorted Hermione all the way into the common room and sat her down by the fire before leaving her alone…to reflect. The phrase bothered Hermione. It implied that McGonagall thought that she was hiding something.
The morning had left a very sour taste in Hermione's mouth, she hurriedly cleaned her teeth but it just wouldn't go away and the longer she thought about it the sicker it made her feel. She paced around the empty dormitory trying to make sense of things.
What was the connection? If it should have been her and not Paul, could it be coincidence that the one person she knew on the team was killed? If it wasn't coincidence, how did they know that she knew Paul? What did they hope to achieve anyway? He was a friend but they lived in different worlds; surely if someone wanted to hurt her they would have chosen a more obvious target like her parents. This brought Hermione back round to coincidence and if that was the case she had to conclude that she was the intended victim and that the next time she ventured out of Hogwarts she was as good as dead. Needless to say this conclusion did not comfort Hermione.
When she returned to the common room she found Dennis Creevey standing awkwardly by the door.
"Hermione," he said, "Professor McGonagall said I should come and see you. I really don't know why."
"She meant well, I think," Hermione said, offering no explanation as to how the confusion might have arisen, "I'm really sorry about it."
"It's okay. I mean, if you want to talk…?"
"I'd rather be alone if you don't mind," she said, seeing Dennis release a relieved breath, "Thanks for the offer."
Dennis seemed happy to be part of a misunderstanding that unexpectedly gave him the morning off lessons. After a few minutes of forced conversation he headed straight for the boys dormitories leaving Hermione alone with her thoughts.
There was something missing from her logic and her mind was filling the hole by subscribing to the theory of the moment … that she was the target of Death Eaters and thus almost certainly doomed. When a group of fanatics led by a psychopath decides you are top of the list there's not really much to be done except wait.
Or go on as usual – her conscience reminded her – self pity is not an option!
But shouldn't she feel something? Somehow she couldn't feel guilty about Paul; it really wasn't her fault. But where was the anger, the fear, the grief?
By midday Hermione had slipped into an uneasy doze she was troubled by a pale, indistinct figure that skulked on the periphery of her conscious mind. If she could catch him she would have the answers. She knew it was a him, somehow. But each time she tried to focus he moved a little further away…
"Galrhhgh!" Hermione started awake, grasping the arm of the chair as she turned to face the source of the noise. It was only Ron carrying a bowl of soup. She tried to ignore the way her heart pounded when she heard his step.
"I'm not an invalid, Ron," she snapped frustrated at her own fear Jumping at loud noises! Next she'd be running from shadows. Pull yourself together she told herself.
"McGonagall's orders," he replied, "you're lucky, y'know. They could have stuck you in the infirmary. But at least we worked out why you've been so strange recently. I'm not surprised you kept Dennis a secret."
"I'm not seeing Dennis," stated Hermione groaning inwardly. The Hogwarts gossip network was obviously still as strong as ever and in a few hours everyone would be here offering their sympathy, or perhaps they would completely avoid her in case being with her singled them out as the next victim. Nothing would surprise Hermione today. As her mind drifted she imagined a question on the forthcoming exams… The only thing faster than light and more powerful than magic is rumour: Discuss.
Ron continued to talk but Hermione was only dimly aware of what he was saying, when she reviewed the conversation later she would realise just how much things had changed between them; in this room she was simply a victim. Once upon a time she, Ron and Harry had been a team, all part of the same fight but now for the first time Hermione realised that she was no longer part of the solution.
~0~
Just before the end of lessons Hermione left the common room. She felt drained and though she'd spent most of the day in her own company staring at the ashes which lined an empty grate, she didn't much feel like talking with her housemates.
She walked in the grounds, hoping that the warmth of the sunlight would cheer her up but it couldn't penetrate the cold that was growing within her. If she was their target then she was going to die, they always got their targets, no matter how well protected. They were tenacious, they were dangerous and they knew that she could not stay within Hogwarts forever. Hermione felt herself a danger to her friends and her family and to herself. She would never know when, never know who, one eye always on the door, never able to rest until they came… "Constant vigilance!" she recalled the mantra. Soon she would be as paranoid as Mad Eye Moody.
The lake was calm, mottled blue and grey like the sky above until Hermione kicked a pebble which broke the surface, sending rings of ripples flowing far beyond where she could see. It didn't hold her attention for long, nothing could, the water was still lapping at the shore when she shuffled away. Eventually she sat with her back against a fallen log and her knees pulled up under her chin.
The sun began to melt into the horizon.
Hermione knew that she'd missed dinner and soon it would soon be dark but she wasn't hungry and the night would be warm enough for her to stay here another hour. Here she was safe, here at Hogwarts.
SNAP!
A dry twig breaking on the path. Hermione scrambled to her feet, her hands fumbling for her wand but somehow her they seemed to tangle in her robes. Was it footsteps or just the pounding of the blood in her ears? They were coming, and she was alone and she had nowhere to run. Somehow she steadied her hands ready to face whatever was coming.
"Who were you expecting, Hermione?" Draco enquired, evidently amused by her defensive stance. "I thought we established that I'm not a Death Eater."
"That's not funny," she replied stiffly, "How did you find me?"
"You can find anyone if you look hard enough." Hermione did not find that thought comforting, "You look frightful and really, I'm not going to attack you so you might want to put that wand down."
Hermione did as suggested but at this moment the last thing she needed was Draco being Malfoyish. That attitude he adopted when surrounded by his Slytherin cohorts never failed to annoy her and something must have shown in her expression because he became immediately serious. Draco stepped toward her and without a word guided her over to the gnarled mossy roots of a tree.
"Would you like to talk about it?" he asked sitting down beside her, twisting so that he could see her fully.
"It's Paul," she said, focussing through the branches on the last traces of scarlet and gold that were fast disappearing behind the hills.
"Who's Paul?" Draco probed, drawing Hermione close against his body, so close that she could feel his shirt crisp against her cheek, fresh, like a newly turned bed. Hermione lifted her chin so that she might see his face as they spoke.
"My friend Paul, he's dead," her voice wavered and she was unsure if she could trust herself to finish, "He was attacked on Saturday and I should have been there. It should have been me. They wanted to get me!"
"I saw the Prophet, and I'm sorry," Draco's brow creased, "But I think you're wrong."
"About what?"
"Nobody wants to harm you."
"Are you seriously telling me you believe that?" Hermione twisted on to her knees and glared directly at Draco, "There are too many people around who want to harm Muggle-borns."
Hermione knew that he could not deny it, he seemed to be having trouble meeting her eyes. She also knew that he considered her to be an exception and she always struggled to forget that he was as hostile as ever to the others.
"Trust me, this was a coincidence," he said firmly.
"Absolute rot! I should have been there then Paul would be alive."
"And you?" he held her shoulders, matching her outburst with a note, not of anger but of something Hermione found indecipherable. She wasn't sure what she had expected from Draco, not pity, not sympathy but not such a bland acceptance of the situation. How could he be so certain that she was safe?
"Nothing will happen to you, Hermione," he said cupping her face between his hands and as she slipped into them she wondered just what was going on behind those eyes; the only thing that ever changed them was passion and anger, everything else swirled far beneath the surface, unseen. As their lips parted Draco lay back against the roots taking Hermione with him, holding her close, so very close.
"I won't allow anything to happen to you," he whispered, smoothing her hair with his hand as he smoothed her fear with his voice, "Just trust me, it will all be okay. I can protect you from anything…"
And at that moment Hermione believed it was true. She sobbed, big choking sobs and all the while he muttered to her, comforted her, supported her as the flood of fear and anger and hopelessness that had gathered during the day released and washed over them.
"I'm not going to let them intimidate me," she said eventually. If only everyone could know. Perhaps they could, when the exams were over, when the Quidditch season was over, when the war was over.
~0~
In Part Fourteen: Between the Lines (Part ii)… what motivates miraculous changes of heart. The Malfoys and the Ministry in abundance, Niccolo Machiavelli would have been proud!
Authors Notes:
In writing this chapter I realised that what I intended to have as Part Fourteen is enough to fill three chapters so rather than confuse you all with a change of title I have split Part Fourteen into two parts.
I'm sorry if Part Thirteen was depressing, it was a little reflective of my own mood whilst writing and of my anti-mush romance crusade.
The Trophy Room scene is dedicated to the 'Tale of Two Kitties' thread over at FAP, which is just the cutest ship ever;)
Once again I find myself without a beta so please forgive me any small mistakes (It's probably my own fault for having a four-month case of writers block) and somehow I just cannot find a replacement. Until I do, the long suffering other half is helping me out. Thanks M.
Enough waffle. Expect Part 14 part ii within the next four weeks!
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