Disclaimer: Not only do I not own Harry Potter, but I also do not own Army of Darkness.
Drowned In Tears
~Chapter 6~
Revelations
Draco spent the rest of the lunch period wandering through the halls trying to get some grasp on what was happening to him. Every time he got near Granger he began acting strangely, perhaps he was taking too much of that potion. A few days of not having it might not be a bad thing, but the thought of not having it made his skin clammy with fear. What was much worse was that he knew Granger had it. The guilt was written plainly on her face. Someone needed to teach that girl how to lie properly; she was going to get nowhere in life without that skill.
Having nowhere else to go, and tired of walking, Draco went to his Defense Against the Dark Arts class early. Judging by the past, this class was most likely going to be another glorified study hall, which was fine with Draco. He could use the extra sleep.
Taking the seat at the very back of the empty room, closest to the door, he sat down and propped his feet up on the desk. Stretching languidly, Draco hoped for the sake of the Wizarding world that Voldemort had indeed been vanquished. A whole generation of ill-prepared wizards and witches would be the ones in power in a few years. A smug smile curled over his lips. No matter what happened, however, he and his 'brothers' and 'sisters', the Heliotropes, were safe. They'd all had the benefit of extra-curricular schooling.
But Draco did not expect the return of the Dark Lord anytime soon. His father and his compatriots were nervous, that was apparent through the odd goings on during the summer. Confusion and fear was causing dissention in the Death Eater ranks, and had it not affected his own person, Draco would be pleased with the entire situation. He no more wanted to be Voldemort's lackey than he did Dumbledore's, but here he was pretending to be both. I'm no better than Lucius. Draco reached for his potion only to find it not there.
"Bloody Hell," he whispered to himself, slumping in a defeated fashion. He tried to will his mood to rise, but he could not stop the barrage of thoughts he assaulted himself with. Draco knew he was no better than Lucius as he gave his father the same grudging respect his father gave Voldemort, and only out of fear. In just the way Lucius had to kiss the bums of the ministry just to maintain his rightful place in society, Draco was forced to pander to the egos of the staff of Hogwarts. He never felt that way with Snape, however. From his very first encounter with the Potions Master Draco wished he'd been able to find a father-switching spell. His father was just- his thoughts were interrupted by a swirl of rumpled black robes and absolute fury.
"Hiding from me, Draco?" asked Pansy, panting hard as if she had just been running.
"And why would I be hiding?" asked Draco sitting bolt upright, his voice cracking out like a string of firecrackers. He looked up at his fiancée, not bothering to hide his irritation. Draco couldn't believe his father actually expected him to marry the hag that stood before him.
She put her hands on her wide hips and stomped her foot. "You're cheating on me!" Her nappy red hair stood out wildly and the heavy makeup she'd slathered over her freckles only made her complexion pastier… She looked like the Muggle idea of a witch.
"What?" Oh, there's no way she could have found out about Marilyn, he thought. Absolutely no one knew about the model he was secretly seeing.
"There are rumors all over school!" She crossed her arms and bobbed her head like a brooding turkey. "Just you wait until Daddy hears about this!"
Draco tensed at her threat. The last thing he needed was Pansy going to her father, because he would then go to Lucius. Draco didn't think he could handle that happening again. Putting on his most concerned and caring face, Draco rose and circled the desk to put his hands on her shoulders. "And what rumors would those be?" he said gently, trying not to sound too patronizing.
"I heard you and Hermione… were… were…" She stuck her bottom lip out and turned her face away.
"Hermione?" Draco forced himself to laugh. "Why would you believe something as idiotic as that?" He was going to have to stay as far from Granger as he could, he didn't want anyone to actually take something like that seriously. Just the mere thought of anything more than a truce of mutual hate with the mudblood made Draco's nose itch.
Pansy continued to pout. "I saw you talking to her in potions," she accused.
"We were arguing," he corrected.
"And you've been ignoring me lately." Rocking her shoulders playfully, she gazed up at him with The Look. A foul taste began to form in his mouth.
Oh Bloody Hell… Draco knew exactly what he had to do, and he wasn't sure it was worth suffering through to get her to leave him alone for a few days. But he knew he had no choice. Gently running his fingers through her stiff hair, he leaned forward and purred, right next to her ear, "Fake a headache at dinner tonight and meet me in the Quidditch broom shed."
She giggled loudly, blushing, just as several reasonably attractive Hufflepuff girls came into the room. Draco stepped away from Pansy; he couldn't help feeling embarrassed to be seen with her even if she was from a proper family and a Slytherin. She was a schlump, whatever that was. Malfoy could not recall where he'd heard the word, nor was he even sure what exactly it meant, but it nonetheless fit Ms. Parkinson who was now seated right next to him. Draco hoped their new DADA teacher did not believe in assigned seating.
A handsome dark-haired man in his thirties strode into the room. An iron gauntlet covered his left hand, in which he carried a large stack of books. He wore a pair of torn-up jeans, a white t-shirt and an ancient, shredded velvet wizard's robe in a nondescript gray that may once have been blue, purple or green. Smears of what could only be assumed were dried blood were the only decorations on the robe.
The interested look on Draco's face attracted the instructor's attention. "You gotta problem?"
Malfoy instantly recognized the distinctive accent. "You're an… American." His curiosity was now quite piqued. American Wizards fascinated him.
"Yeah," said the Professor. "I'm Professor Ash, and who the Hell are you?"
The whole class gasped at the teacher's crassness. Draco, slightly offended, but still interested, puffed himself up and answered, "I am Draco Malfoy."
"Well, hello Mister Fancy Pants," Professor Ash drawled sarcastically then turned away. Draco, taken aback, silently returned to his seat. "Okay, let's get started. I'm gonna start out the new year with an introduction to cursed grimoires." He held up a large, leather bound book on which was embossed a hideous face. A cold aura of power radiated from the tome. Draco was simultaneously repelled and attracted by it.
Millicent Bulstrode turned around in her seat and looked at Pansy with a cunning grin. "He is gorgeous," she whispered. Pansy nodded in agreement, her eyes wide in admiration as she watched Professor Ash. "And he's next on my list," she declared before turning back around and pulling off her uniform necktie.
Draco wished he'd been betrothed to Millicent. She came from a family just as good as Pansy's, and the girl was gorgeous. She was everything Pansy could never be. Intelligent, refined, talented… she was a royal bitch, but not in a bad way. One had to be strong to survive in their world. But Millicent was far out of Draco's league. She was only interested in older men. There were even rumors she had managed to seduce Professor Snape. In fact there were so many rumors Draco was surprised there had never been an official inquiry into the matter.
"Necronomicon ex Mortis," said the teacher in a booming voice, "The Book of the Dead." Ash's tone of voice had its desired effect. He had the attention of every student in the room, including Malfoy's.
The Dark Arts professor, who by this time was gaining a modicum of respect despite his eccentric teaching style, held the book aloft. "Bound in human flesh," he went on, "and inked in human blood, it contains bizarre burial rites, funerary incantations and demon resurrection passages. It was never meant for the world of the living…" His voice trailed off as Millicent unbuttoned her blouse revealing the tops of her ample cleavage.
"Pardon me, Professor," said Draco, breaking the thick silence. "But, how did you come to be in possession of it?"
Ash coughed uncomfortably and turned his head away, his expression taking a distant expression. "My girlfriend Linda and I were on a hike in the woods when we found the house of a wizard who had been studying the book," he said in a wooden voice. "It had awakened something dark in those woods. It took Linda. And then it came back for me." The instructor lifted his gauntleted hand. "It got into my hand. And it went bad. As bad as hands can go. So I lopped it off at the wrist." Several females of the class gasped. "But that didn't stop it. It came back. Big time."
"Did you ever find Linda?" asked Millicent in a sympathetic coo.
Ash shook his head. "No…" His voice was almost wistful.
"You must be so lonely." She smiled at him, gazing through her long, thick eyelashes.
"Err, yeah. I guess." He cleared his throat. "But I've moved on." He tore his eyes away from Millicent. "Anyway, to go on. Cursed grimoires have to be treated carefully. The most important thing to remember is that you must say the right words. If you don't you never can tell what evil you might unleash. You might even be destroyed. Now, I want all of you to gather around." He beckoned the class with his intact hand. Everyone stood up and moved closer. Millicent pushed to the front and sat atop one on the desks. "I want you all to watch closely. Every syllable must be spoken perfectly." Holding up the Necronomicon, the professor took a deep breath. "Clatu! Verata! Ni-" Ash gasped and began to choke on inhaled saliva as at that moment Millicent had crossed and uncrossed her legs showing him, without a doubt, that she was not wearing panties. "-ickt-" –cough- "-to!"
The book began to writhe and twist in Ash's hands. "God damn it," cursed the teacher. "I said the damn word! I did!" The book didn't seem to care. It levitated high above Professor Ash's head, opened itself up and swooped down to swallow the screaming teacher whole. Then it began to flap its pages like a bird and swooped toward the window. With a crash, it bashed its way through the glass and soared into the brilliant afternoon sky.
The whole incident happened so quickly the whole class stood in stunned silence watching as the Necronomicon became a tiny black dot and then finally disappeared from view. Pulling himself from his stupor, Draco turned on Millicent. "Bloody Hell, Millicent!" he raged. "We finally get a decent DADA teacher and you had to go and pull that."
Millicent tossed her hair, feigning ignorance. "I'm sure I don't know what you are talking about."
Draco snorted. "I'm sure you don't." He picked up his belongings and skulked from the room.
*****
"Uhh… Hermione? Are you all right?" Harry was naturally concerned to find his friend on her hands and knees on the library floor and searching frantically for something. He realized, as he looked down appreciatively at the way her skirt had ridden up, that it was a good thing she was searching the very back of the library. The way her pure white panties were tightly stretched over her shapely derriere would certainly have caused quite a commotion within the male population. Harry could also see that she was quite damp with female excitement and he wondered why.
"What? Ow!" Hermione attempted to sit up and slammed the back of her head on the underside of the table she'd been searching under. She peered up crossly at Harry, rubbing the tender spot.
"Are you alright?" he asked, trying not to sound as guilty as he felt for admiring her so disrespectfully. Of course, he mused, just because she's my friend doesn't mean I can't appreciate her. He offered Hermione a hand to help her up.
"Yeah," she grumbled, accepting Harry's hand. "What were you saying?" Hermione leaned back against the table, still nursing the growing goose egg on her scalp.
"I just asked if you were alright, I was concerned when I saw you on the floor. Did you lose something?"
"Um, yeah… something like that." She looked around nervously. "Uh, Harry?"
Harry's face grew quite serious, seeing her apparent nervousness. "What's wrong?"
"Have –have you seen Ron lately?"
He shrugged. "No, not since potions. Why?"
"Oh… nothing. Just forget it." She tried to smile and appear nonchalant, but failed.
"Out with it, Hermione. What's going on?" He pulled up a chair and sat down, expecting a long story. When Hermione was this obviously troubled, the tale was never a short one.
Heaving a sigh, Hermione stared down at her shoes and told Harry about her encounter with Ron that afternoon, choosing of course to skip the part involving Draco. When she was finished Harry burst out with laughter.
"Shush!" snapped Madam Pince. "The head boy and girl should at least have proper respect for the school library!"
"Sorry," said both Harry and Hermione in unison.
Harry took her arm and led her away from the glaring librarian. "C'mon, lets go where we can talk." They walked toward the exit speaking in hushed voices.
"Aren't you upset?" asked Hermione.
"No. Serves him right. Besides, those toad charms only last a short while, right?"
Hermione nodded. "Most only last about twenty minutes."
"Well, I'm sure there are some that last longer. If he doesn't show up by supper then we'll start worrying. I think it'll do the Weasel some good to spend time as a slimy toad. As long as he makes Quidditch practice tomorrow night I don't care what happens to him."
"Ron's on the Quidditch team?"
"Where've you been? He made it in during spring tryouts. He never told you?"
"No… I banned all discussions about Quidditch after Viktor, remember?" Hermione crossed her arms as they walked and kept her eyes to the floor. Viktor Krum was not a subject she liked to discuss.
Harry nodded, observing her continued nervous behavior. "Yeah I remember. Anyway, it turns out he only botched the trials because he'd get so nervous. He's a brilliant beater. We're sure to beat Slytherin this year."
"That's great," said Hermione, trying to sound cheerful.
Harry sighed. "Why do you hate Quidditch so much? You used to love it."
They stopped in front of the portrait of an owl perched atop a skull that guarded their shared apartment. "Whooo goes there?" asked the owl.
"Canned Haggis," murmured Hermione. The painting swung opened and they stepped into their study. "I don't hate Quidditch. It just reminds me of Viktor." She sat down at the table and picked up her potions notes.
Harry sat across from her. "I don't get it. You don't want to be reminded of him, yet you are the one that broke up with him."
Hermione looked at Harry and opened her mouth as if to explain. Fleeting emotions passed over her face then she put her nose back down to the book. "You wouldn't understand, Harry," she muttered.
"Try me," he offered. "I think this is important. You've been acting strangely for months now and I want to know why."
"I've been acting strange? Look at Ron!" She snapped the book shut and opened another.
Harry snatched the book away, noting she'd had it turned upside down. "I expect weirdness of Ron. But not from you… you've always been so… dependable."
"Dependable," muttered Hermione as if the word left a foul taste in her mouth. "Perhaps I simply got sick of being dependable."
Refusing to allow her to change the subject Harry pushed the topic. "What happened? I'm your friend, please show some faith in me."
She stared at him, her eyes growing wider and wider as they welled up with tears. "He didn't want me." A tear streaked her cheek and Harry moved to rise and go to her, but she motioned for him to stay where he was. "I just want you to listen right now, okay?" Harry nodded. She took a few deep breaths and willed away her tears.
"How can that be?" Harry asked quietly. "He saved you during the Triwizard tournament, you two dated for a year. It was obvious you were important to him."
Hermione shook her head. "No, I wasn't important to him. What I am was important."
Harry looked confused. "And what are you?"
"I'm muggleborn."
"So? What's that got to do with anything?"
She looked at Harry in frustration. "Haven't you heard the rumors? That the magic in pureblood families is dying out and that they need to reintroduce Muggle blood to strengthen it?"
"But that's just conjecture. Tabloid trash. Everyone knows that."
"That's what the Ministry wants everyone to believe. And that's irrelevant anyway. The Krums believe it, and family is everything to Viktor. I was carefully selected to be his wife." Hermione's expression of pain turned to anger.
"That's sick!" Harry was plainly outraged. "Why didn't you ever tell me?"
"I didn't want to tell anyone, Harry, it's embarrassing. It was bad enough I had to hear all the other girls talking about me behind my back, wondering what Viktor saw in me. I thought I was special… but I'm… not."
"Don't say that!"
Hermione stood. "Why not? It's true." She asked in a dead voice.
"It is not!" Harry argued.
She didn't respond but turned and walked to the staircase that led to her bedroom. I'm going to lie down for a while. Wake me for supper?"
"Sure," said Harry. He watched his beautiful friend leave, wanting to say something to comfort her but unable to think of a thing.
