Shaelune

Part 11

Surprises and a Tempest in a Wineglass

Harry and Ron had, coincidentally, been roomed across from each other, and the inn's sumptuous velvet furnishings didn't bother Ron (who hadn't yet gotten over the dress-robe incident last year) quite as much when he and Harry were having a manly bottle of butterbeer by his friend's fire.

"So, what do you think about the Malfoy situation?" Harry said after a long, pensive silence.

"What?"

Harry sighed. "What is it with Dumbledore? One minute he's on our side, and the next he's off rooming Hermione with Malfoy." He closed his eyes wearily. "I'd have rather had Malfoy than Hermione have him. I can take care of him; I've certainly had enough experience. With him and his father."

Ron snorted and raised his eyebrows, further elongating his already narrow face. "Didn't you see her slap him third year? He didn't bother us for another month, at least. You've never hit him."

"Yeah, but I want to." Harry laughed. "I just worry about her sometimes, you know? I mean, we've always been there for her safety in numbers, I guess but Malfoy's so twisted. I hate not being able to protect her."

Ron didn't answer. Since Hermione had gotten angry with him for being overprotective' in fourth year, he'd decided to just subtract himself from her relationship equations with other people. It had gotten increasingly difficult; he didn't know why, but every time he saw her laughing with Krum, walking with him, dancing with him, a confusing, horrible strain of envy had begun to eat at him. He didn't like Hermione. He just wanted to make sure she didn't get into trouble. Yeah, that was it.

The door creaked open, and Ginny walked in briskly and unannounced. "Harry, do you have any charms or anything you've used to get rid of Colin Creevey, at least temporarily? He wants to go for a nice, quiet walk to talk about our project."

She looked pointedly at Ron, who, forgetting Hermione for the moment, chimed in conspiratorially. "Mum's always told Ginny to never go for an unchaperoned walk with any boy until she's old enough to Apparate."

Harry shrugged helplessly. "No, I always had to just endure it at least tell me he doesn't take pictures."

"Constantly," Ginny began in exasperation as she sat down heavily in the third armchair by Harry's fire. "It's always Ooh, let's take a picture of the doorbell mechanism so we can see if it moves on its own,' as if we couldn't tell just by looking at it, or Oh, Ginny, you look so pretty when the sunlight hits your iris at that angle wow, this'll make a great shot for my scrapbook' Who cares about his scrapbook? And someone should tell him that no girl likes getting her picture spontaneously taken for eternal immortalization in the Colin Creevey Encyclopedia of Nutter Photos."

"Needed to rant a little, Ginny?" Ron said slowly.

"Yes, thanks," Ginny said, the angry expression she'd put on fading. "So ignore it, then. Thanks for the help, Harry."

Harry didn't catch the sarcasm, or if he did, he did a deadpan job of hiding it. "Anytime."

As Ginny made her way to the door, she stopped as though she'd forgotten something, then turned around. "And by the way, about Hermione?"

"Yes?" Ron blurted in spite of himself. Ginny was Hermione's best friend; she'd have the inside scoop on what was going on with Malfoy.

"Keep an eye on her," Ginny advised. "I think there' s something going on she doesn't want us to know about."

"Why wouldn't she want us to know something?" Harry asked, sounding a bit insulted.

"I mean, I can understand," admitted Ginny. "If it was something she didn't think you'd agree with, or something she'd be embarrassed to talk to boys about she didn't tell you about going to the dance with Viktor until you right well forced it out of her, did she?"

Ron frowned. "Well, no, but that was different. It's not like she's doing anything with Malfoy."

Ginny raised her eyebrows, then laughed, but Ron was still a little disconcerted. Hermione obviously wasn't telling them everything. "We're her best friends," Harry said adamantly, glaring into the fire. "Doesn't she know we'll always understand?"

"Ron didn't exactly understand about Viktor, did he?" Ginny argued perfectly seriously. "In fact, if I recall correctly, he summed up the situation as fraternizing with the enemy.'"

"Hey!" Ron interjected, then realized he had said that, and, when Ginny repeated it back, it did sound jealous and petty.

"Well, she should at least know I'm here for her," Harry said, abandoning all pretense that they were in this together.

"Hey!" Ron said angrily, leaning forward in his seat.

"Only kidding, Ron," Harry assured him with a grin.

"Both of you should be there for her," Ginny told them patronizingly. "But I highly doubt that any plugs for your character are going to earn you her trust at this point. Leave the detective work to the experts." She twirled her wand slyly and winked boldly at Harry, then got up to leave. "I'm going to try and find the kitchens and avoid Colin, do you want anything?"

"I'm fine," Harry replied as Ron began listing several types of pies and a few different coffee flavors he'd like.

"You sure you don't want anything?" Ginny whispered to Harry with a smirk. "Nothing?"

"Well"

"All right then," Ginny said flippantly as she crossed to the door. "See you later." Opening the door, she turned her right palm to Harry discreetly. It read in the familiar, busily scrawled Weasley script: 11 o clock. Fountain Garden.

He nodded almost imperceptibly, and she grinned as she left. Harry stopped then, realizing what had just happened. Ginny, shy little oh-my-gosh-it's-Harry-Potter Ginny, had just asked him out. And she'd done it so confidently, so smoothly, that he had trouble believing she hadn't cast a Courage Charm before she'd walked in. Amazingly, he hadn't gone totally rigid and silent, and had said yes.

Ginny. Huh. Who'd have thought?

"Malfoy, we don't have time!" Hermione protested as Malfoy led her through the maze of chairs and tables in the main dining hall. It was late, but it looked as though most of the contingent of students had roused themselves for a midnight snack and some loud conversation. Here and there, Hermione saw a book sprawled open on the table beside a quill and ink bottle, but most of her contemporaries seemed quite content to take a break for now.

"Loosen up a little, Granger," Malfoy replied as they rounded the corner, through a wooden-carved doorway glittering with tiny, glowing lights, and into a dimly lit bar. A three-piece orchestra was set up in the far corner; the keys of the piano and bow of the violin were depressing and sliding themselves. Polished wooden stools with seats upholstered in deep red velvet were queued up along the bar, and a few round, almost completely enclosed booths were nestled in the corners. Some fifth-year students Hermione recognized vaguely were shadowed, quietly talking and laughing, by the ivy-covered walls. The dark green leaves climbed high into the domed ceiling, reaching their zenith at the top of a tall, branchless tree that was gnarled and old, and twisted itself down to the floor, where its roots sunk into the floor as though it were soil and not crimson carpet.

"Wow," Hermione breathed quietly. The orchestra launched itself into a new song, one sweeping and jazzy and deeply satisfying. Malfoy slid easily into one of the booths, and she hesitated, then sat down across from him as he took up the quill and neatly embellished parchment that lay atop the circular table's glossy surface. Hermione caught a glimpse of what he'd written, reading the inky green script with the enviable speed she'd developed over years of poring over books in the library. She sighed and took the paper back, just as it began to sparkle and vanish. Malfoy quickly reached over and pried it from her fingers, letting it disappear with a faint, minor-key trill. "I told you, I'm not allowed to have alcohol," Hermione reiterated angrily.

Malfoy repositioned himself on the couch with an infuriating lack of interest. "Come on, Granger. It's not as though your parents are watching over you every second. Live a little. Besides," he added as two shimmering, purple, highly alcoholic-looking beverages appeared between them, breaking in tiny lavender-capped waves against the sides of their crystal goblets. "I need a drink, you need a drink, the inn sells drinks if you don't make a commotion about being a student." He raised his glass as if to make a toast. "Have some. Take a risk."

Hermione regarded him carefully. She couldn't recall a time when he'd been perfectly serious; whether it was appropriate or not, that insinuating smirk was perpetually tugging at his lips, and his otherwise stony eyes danced with amusement at every comment she made. He hadn't had time to poison the drinks, and she trusted Dumbledore's taste in an establishment.

Before she had a chance to regret it, Hermione shot out her hand and wrapped it around the cup, then slowly raised it to meet Malfoy's outstretched one.

"Good girl," he murmured with a full-on smirk as their goblets clinked melodically and Hermione took a small sip. The violet liquid was potent, tasting of rum and grapes and was that chocolate? It wasn't bad, she had to admit. Definitely better than the wine she'd had at Malfoy Manor.

Hermione ran over her thoughts, then started involuntarily in alarm. She was willingly having drinks with Malfoy? It wasn't the spell now, she couldn't blame it on anyone but herself. What if Harry or- worse- Ron walked into the bar? What would they think?

But then the alcohol injected itself into her system, and Hermione's head swam briefly with a pleasant feeling of disregard. What had she been thinking about? Somehow she couldn't remember. Hermione looked askance at the stormy glass. God, it was strong. "What is that?" she managed.

Malfoy laughed, and Hermione felt her eyebrows sharpen downward. "What is so funny?"

"You've never had alcohol before this week, have you, Granger?"

Hermione thought for a moment; it was like trying to swim upstream to access her more sensible memories. "Well, no, but-"

Malfoy snorted. "You should have told me, I wouldn't have ordered something so strong"

"What is this, Malfoy?" Hermione asked again, getting more enraged by the second. She could feel her emotions augmenting, but that only increased her anger; she hated being irrational.

"Just the house specialty," Malfoy said through a bout of very un-Slytherin giggles.

Hermione, with some effort, squinted at the perfect cursive the menu was written in on the opposite wall. House Specialty: Raisin Tempest, it said in twinkling blue letters, and then, smaller: A hurricane of currant and cocoa that will bring even the most judicious wizard to his knees. "Perfect," she mumbled sarcastically, sitting back. She could feel the beginnings of a migraine throbbing in her temple, and wanted nothing more than to go to sleep. Against a cool, soft pillow, under downy sheets mmm

Draco had to laugh. Seriously, if he'd known Granger was such a liquor virgin, he wouldn't have ordered the Tempest. But it'd seemed like a good idea at the time; whenever he was stressed over schoolwork or other troubles, he solved it by sneaking down to Hogsmeade (he'd used a very secret passage starting behind a portrait of Emer the Evil, a very mad-looking goblin with only one eye; the other socket wasn't even hidden behind a patch, and was the subject of many groans of disgust from the girls in the house) and the Hog's Head tavern. The tavern-keeper, Fillinch, knew his father, and was always obliged to slip him a Firewhiskey or two.

But Granger? Drunk? It was better than he ever could have imagined. Imagine if Potter or Weasley knew their future Head Girl had been spending her nights making out with and getting intoxicated alongside their worst enemy. They'd have a fit; he could just picture Weasley's unabashedly crushed look, and Potter's I'm-so-disappointed-do-you-have-any-idea-how-this-affects-me expression.

But he wouldn't tell, and, when sober, Granger knew it. Draco frowned deeper as he thought about the consequences of his fellow Slytherins finding out. Or worse, Lucius.

Granger had fallen asleep, which was good in a way, seeing as how if she hadn't she'd probably be in a drunken stupor. A curtain of hair lay across her face, rising and falling with every whiffling, quiet snore. Draco glanced surreptitiously around before sighing reluctantly and pulling out his wand. "Clario sobriem," he whispered, and a headily fragrant cloud of pink smoke wafted from his wand, swallowing her in its rosy warmth; Granger's eyelids fluttered open, and she seemed to take a second to regain her senses before glaring murderously at him, suddenly temperate.

"I can't believe you would intentionally do that to anyone, Malfoy," she said irately, gathering up her bag as he fished in his pocket for a Galleon. "Come on, we've got to get to the library."

Draco watched as she stormed resolutely from the bar, narrowly avoiding the tree-column in its center, curls hanging sleepily around her flushed cheeks. He doubted she even knew how easy she was to rile, to figure out and push the buttons of. It was a game to him, he realized with a surprised smirk. The knowledge that she trusted him just enough to allow him to play with her like this made his Slytherin ambition go haywire.

(A/N: Oh, Slytherin ambition, that's what he calls it, eh?)

"Fine, fine, have a stick up your ass if you want to," he conceded, catching up to her as he flipped a brightly glinting Galleon to the bartender. She was silent, and he laughed softly. "Come on, Granger, be civil. It'll be a lot less traumatic to have me passionately attack you if you're speaking to me when it happens."

"That doesn't make any sense at all," Granger spat, looking straight ahead as they began their descent down the spiral stairs to the library.

"Because everything has to, right?"

"What's the point of trying to understand if it doesn't?" she retorted. Draco blocked her way on the staircase, extending his arms to the walls two steps below her.

He reached up and placed his middle and index finger under her chin, turning it towards him gently but firmly. She stared tenaciously at him with slightly watery eyes, her mouth set in an expressionless frown. "Sometimes you have to do things without analyzing them four hundred times first," he advised, barely audible.

Granger narrowed her eyes and shook her head away from his hand. "You have no idea who I am or why I do the things I do, Malfoy. Get out of my way."

"I know exactly who you are, Granger," he shot back, ascending a step closer to her. "You think I haven't watched every move the Wonder Trio's made for the past four years? I know about your jealous feuds with Weasley over your affair with that Bulgarian oaf. I know about your little late-night adventures under the invisibility cloak. I know you're the one who figured out the Chamber of Secrets, then got herself Petrified. You're smart but you have absolutely no clue how to live life. There's no reference book on how to have a relationship when you've got an overprotective admirer who won't make a move on you himself, but won't let anyone else either." Granger's eyes widened, and as he raised his head to whisper into her ear, he could feel her trembling involuntarily. "If he can't have you, no one can, is that it?"

"I- you- god, Malfoy" she sounded frightened and exasperated at the same time.

His lips were about a centimeter away from her neck, and her hair was cold against his cheek. Her chin was tilted upward, and he saw from the corner of his eye that her eyes were closed- it was hard to tell whether it was in ecstasy or in fear. Slowly, carefully, he moved closer until his mouth pressed feather-light against her skin, gliding under her ear, across her jawline to her lips.

"Yeah, that's it," Granger said shakily, as though it took a lot of courage and effort, and pushed past him down the staircase. Draco sighed.

Hermione bit her lip in confusion; she could feel tears welling inside behind her eyes. Loud footsteps sounded on the flagstones in the hall behind her, and Malfoy grasped her by the back of her delicately woven shirt and spun her around. "What the fuck was that, Mudblood?"

"Oh, don't start, Malfoy," Hermione said, glancing at his hand on her shirt and rolling her eyes.

"Start what?"

"Your pile of shit about Ron and- god, why do you insist on judging people you know nothing about?" She looked down again. "And let go of me!"

"What are you talking about, Granger?" His grip loosened, and she stepped hesitantly away.

Hermione glanced at him. She hadn't been able to see his eyes while he'd been oh, she didn't want to think about it

"It's the spell," she announced firmly, whirling around and taking off at a run towards the library. Malfoy followed her, albeit with a little more leisure.

"Granger, what did I do?" he called after her, sounding extremely confused.

Hermione hurled herself through the door to the library, this time scanning the shelf labels for protection spells. Rifling through the titles, she went into full-on research-under-pressure mode; not even Malfoy, smirking to himself over a pink copy of An Illustrated Guide to Contraceptive Charms, could distract her. She pulled out several thick, archaic-looking volumes, gasping under their weight, and set them down heavily on the nearest table. A cloud of smoky dust rose from them with a clap of leather on wood, and Hermione gingerly opened the top one, blowing softly to scatter the layer of grime settled on its first page.

"Defense Against the Dark Arts: An Investigative Approach," Malfoy read amusedly from behind her. "Granger-" he flipped the cover back, sweeping his hand over the moldy binding. "-it's a Hogwarts textbook! A really old, really big textbook. That somehow made its way halfway across the country to an underground library deep in the heart of Ireland."

Hermione laughed derisively and turned to the contents page, running through it quickly as her index finger glided over the words. "It doesn't make any sense, but things rarely do here."

"That's not what you said earlier," Malfoy said a little more seriously, sinking into the chair beside her.

Hermione didn't look up. "Oh, so you remember that much?"

"I remember everything up to- up to that," he said, his eyes clouding over in concentration. "What happened after?"

"Oh, not much," Hermione said hurriedly, burying herself further in the stack of books in an attempt to dismiss his questioning.

"Granger." The books flew off the table and slammed onto the uncarpeted floor, making Hermione jump in surprise and the other furniture shudder at the impact. Malfoy was staring at her expectantly, arms crossed, wand out and still sparking from the spell.

Hermione responded just as staunchly, shooting "Malfoy," at him as she levitated the books back onto the table. "Do you have any idea how much this hurts?'

"What, being thrown onto the floor?" Malfoy smirked audaciously as he stood. "Because I assure you, in the right context, it doesn't hurt at all."

"What?" Hermione frowned in confusion, and then understanding, followed by disgust. "Oh ew!"

"Don't pretend you haven't fantasized about it, Granger," he said all too knowingly, his wand's angry red flush starting to fade.

"I haven't," she stated with a wobbly case-closed expression, and turned back to her book, the subject of revealing what he'd done under the spell's influence apparently forgotten.

Hermione was well into the third book in the stack (Malfoy'd taken the second to leaf through), her nose almost touching the page she was reading so closely, when Malfoy whispered "Shit," and his body began to convulse as though he were having a seizure. Hermione's first instinct was to push her chair as far away as possible, but she'd found what she was looking for; reaching for her wand, she aimed her wand at his cough-racked chest and shouted "Finite Incantatem." A blue jet of light issued from her wandtip and struck Malfoy in the heart, making him slump lifelessly to the ground. He didn't seem to be breathing; Hermione anxiously knelt beside him, pointing her still-warm wand at.

"Ennervate," she tried nervously. He shook slightly, and one eye opened, then the other. Hermione sighed heavily with relief as he picked himself up off the ground; the sigh caught in her throat as he gripped her arm and pulled her to her feet. "Let go of me!" she ordered for the second time that evening, but this time he didn't listen. Malfoy removed his wand from his pocket and deftly pointed it at her.

"Expelliarmus."

Hermione felt panic churning in her abdomen as her wand wrenched itself from her grasp and flew to Malfoy obediently. She was flung across the room, hitting the wall limply with a resounding slap. And, again, she wanted nothing more than to sleep dark curtains swathed her eyes, and she fell.

~~~Author's Note~~~

Hey all! It's been a week, but this is a long chapter(four thousand words!), which I hope will make up for my absence! It's good to be back, and I'm actually hoping to resolve this story and finish it by the summer. I promise you it'll be satisfying heh heh maybe there'll even be a sequel! But I'm bad at predictions, I don't even know where the next chapter is going until I write it. Stay tuned!

Muchas gracias to:

KeeperOfTheMoon- I used to be a bit of a BSSM fan myself, but I've graduated to HP thanks for the praise, hope this chapter answers a few of your mysterious questions!

Jedi Princess- Wow, thanks! Hope soon and often' apply to this!

Love in Vein- Finally some recognition! No, just kidding, I hate OOC D/Hr stories they're kind of depressing, actually yeah, that's what I thought too! It takes a change in appearance for Draco to notice Hermione in the first place, but I didn't want to make it the plot of my story.

Emmy- oh my god, thank you so much! I love people who review every chapter as they read it really shows that you like the story plus it equals lots of reviews **evil grin** Anyway, thanks for all your wows and compliments, please keep reading! P.S.- I'm aiming for maybe twenty-five chapters maximum.

Kar- Compelling! Wow! Well, hopefully it won't end for a while yet

Sila-chan- Yes, it's a cruel, cruel world You don't have to wait anymore!

Rachel Hunt- Oh, darn **tear** I love your long reviews well, give me one this time, okay? I totally sympathize, by the way- my teachers are cramming on the homework right before the holidays. Ugh.

Dr. Linkinshlof-is not a guy- thanks!

Lilie Blaze- Oh well, I didn't abandon my story! Keep checking for updates, they'll happen frequently!

Avi- Yes, silly you! Thanks!

jepa- Ooh, hope you liked this chapter, then! Did he? I'll have to go see it again and make sure hmm

kar- well, many reviews equals good I know the feeling, I hate authors who leave people in suspense! **slaps self** Uh, yes I am working on chapter 12 yes uh

Felicity- Okay, well, two days isn't bad, right?

Well, that's it for now, I guess!

Hey- does everyone know this fic is over a year old as of one week ago? Wow! And only eleven chapters I suck

See you next time!

~*goldenberry*~