Chapter Two: Stasis

Draco moved his belongings into the Head Boy's private bedroom, a sprawling area almost the size of his former shared dorm room. Tapestries hung on the walls depicting great deeds of wizards past, and the bed was a high four-poster with a canopy of thick red draperies. On the floor next to the bed was a dark, polished wood stepstool. Regal, Draco thought. This room almost rivals my own at Malfoy Manor.

Professor Snape had been hesitant about letting Draco move in so quickly, but had no choice but to obey Dumbledore, so Draco was to sleep in the most luxury he'd ever known at Hogwarts. I could get used to this, he thought. I'll have everyone eating out of my hand next year. He climbed into the bed and ran his palms over the hills and valleys of the green and silver brocade coverlet. Then he lay back and stared up at the canopy. Images unbidden rushed into his mind – him in a bed as rich and plush and this one, only not sleeping, not at rest. His father with him. Draco sat up and jumped off the bed as if it were on fire. He shivered slightly.

Something inside him wanted to cry, but Draco pushed it down and back, hid it far away. He was not weak; he'd never let anyone see him as weak as he'd been with Lucius. Why had he allowed it?

"I could have fought him," he said aloud. The remote idea occurred to him that maybe he didn't want to fight Lucius, maybe that night he wanted to give in and finally be part of the family. As twisted as it sounded, it was a tradition. His father had endured it; his father was strong enough. But then, his father also liked men, and Draco wasn't sure he would have chosen the same path before that night. The times he looked at Blaise with longing, he didn't quite understand. Was it sexual arousal or just the need for a brother, a friend? Was he transferring his loneliness and allowing himself to be taken in by anyone? No. He would not allow that. He liked girls – women. Of that fact he was absolutely certain. He hadn't yet decided what his attraction to boys meant, and thinking on it only made him more cross. He looked around for something to throw, something to break as he'd been broken.

At that moment, a knock sounded at the door. Draco bottled his fury and stomped over to the door, throwing it open. "What?" he said, rage lingering in his voice.

"Enjoying your new room, Mr. Malfoy?" asked Professor Snape with his customary sneer. He looked beyond Draco and into the room as if he expected it to be ruined.

"It's fine, thank you, Professor," said Draco, purposefully softening towards his teacher.

"Ahh, gratitude does you well, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said, his eyes scanning Draco's. "The Headmaster has called for you."

Draco bristled. "I just came up from his office; I'm not finished unpacking—"

"Without delay, Mr. Malfoy," said Snape, turning on his heels and walking away brusquely.

Draco cursed under his breath and wished he'd had time for a cigarette. He left the room and walked leisurely back to Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore met him outside, the older wizard's robes brilliant purple and flowing along the floor.

"Ahh, Draco. Walk with me," said Dumbledore, moving past Draco and down the hall. Draco fell in step beside him and soon found it hard to keep up with the aged man.

"You wanted to see me – again, Sir?" Draco prompted as they walked.

"It seems I have run into a bit of a problem arranging your summer courses. Miss Granger is very reluctant to tutor you."

Draco almost laughed out loud but caught himself. "I don't understand, Sir," he said, a bit too politely. That Mudblood refused to teach him? She had some nerve denying a Malfoy, he thought, curling his lip into a sneer.

"I suggest you wipe that grotesque grin off your face Mr. Malfoy. You are here due to my kindness, nothing more. It is to your benefit that you remember that."

"Yes, Sir," Draco said as his heart skipped a beat. Dumbledore didn't miss anything. Draco suddenly felt laid bare. He wondered if Dumbledore could read his thoughts.

"I've tried to persuade her but if she does not relent, I will look for an alternative or I may have to set you to more strenuous labor."

Strenuous labor? What did he mean?

"You are already set to begin working in the greenhouse with Professor Sprout tomorrow morning at eight a.m., and you will do whatever she asks of you until noon. You will have one hour for lunch and I planned to have you work with Miss Granger on Herbology—"

"Excuse me, Headmaster," Draco interrupted. Dumbledore stopped walking and looked down at Draco, tucking his arms into the folds of his robes.

"Yes, Draco?"

"What kind of 'strenuous labor' did you mean? I thought working in the greenhouse would be the extent of the physical aspect of this arrangement," he said eloquently. Draco felt chuffed with his own extensive vocabulary. His ego was about to be deflated a bit.

"Our 'arrangement', Draco, is that you are to do as you are asked, or you may spend the summer with your parents and whatever they have in store for you. I've sent an owl to your father detailing your academic failures and impressing upon him the need for you to commit your time to summer courses."

"You said 'summer courses' – I don't know of any classes that involve anything strenuous."

"I simply said that I might need to put you to work in a realm you are not accustomed to. But that will not be necessary if you can get Miss Granger to help you. You have not been a pleasant student, Mr. Malfoy. Not from the moment you stepped foot into this school. But this past year has taken its toll on everyone." The wizard leaned down and stared solemnly into Draco's gray eyes. "Including yourself."

"Me?" Draco asked incredulously.

Dumbledore would not speak further. He turned and walked down the hallway. Draco rushed to catch up to him.

"Where are we going?" he asked.

"To see Miss Granger. I have tried my best. It's your turn now." They stopped in front of the library. Dumbledore looked again into Draco's eyes, then turned silently and left him standing alone.

I'm not begging Granger to help me, thought Draco. I can do strenuous labor. I think. Blasted Dumbledore! Draco fumed outside the library for five straight minutes before gathering his wits about him. Finally, he pulled the door open and entered.

Immediately he heard the rustling of paper and the exasperated sigh of a young woman off to his right. He followed the sound, stepping quietly along the bookshelves until he came upon her. Hermione Granger. Mudblood witch. The female representative of all that was wrong with wizardkind sitting there poring over books almost as large as her own body while scribbling notes on a piece of parchment. She was unaware of his presence. Again, Draco gave himself a silent pat on the back for his skills in stealth as a grin formed on his lips.

Stupid little girl, he thought. Anyone could come upon her – she was completely vulnerable, open to attack. No one would be able to save her—

"I'm not helping you Malfoy, so you had better run along. I'm quite busy."

Draco's breath hitched in his throat. Hermione continued to look over her books, copying notes. He wouldn't be defeated that easily – she couldn't just make him go at her command. He was not a child to be ordered about. Still, he was at a loss for words.

"Are you deaf?" Hermione turned around and scowled at him. He didn't think he'd ever seen her so sour looking. His eyes widened at her brazen demeanor. She stood up and faced him and crossed her arms over her chest. The movement drew his eyes down and he suddenly felt that the library was far too cramped, too warm. He couldn't breathe. He swallowed hard and took a step backward. Hermione's expression morphed instantly from anger to curious concern. She cocked an eyebrow and tilted her head slightly to the side, studying his face. "Malfoy?" she asked. "Are you – all right?"

Draco tried to shake the panic that rose within him and he bent forward slightly to allow more air into his lungs. He grabbed the edge of the nearest bookcase for support. "Fine," he coughed out. "I'm fine."

"You don't look very good," she said, assessing his pallid skin.

"You're no bird yourself, Granger," he spat, loosening his tie.

"I mean you look ill, you prat. I was not taking inventory of your physical attractiveness," she said, rolling her eyes.

"I said I was fine. Are you deaf?" He emphasized the word just as she had and surprisingly it elicited a half-grin from her. She shook her head and sat back down.

"What are you doing here?" she asked, looking into her books again.

Draco took this as an invitation to join her at the table and he pulled a chair over and sat down across from her. "What are all these books?" he asked, poking through them.

"Don't touch them!" Hermione squealed, slapping his hand back. Draco leapt from his chair and leaned across the table, raising his hand to strike her back. He caught himself at the last second but Hermione pulled back from him so fast she fell from her chair and toppled onto the floor. In the same instant she'd had the presence of mind to grab her wand and now aimed it dangerously up at him. Their gazes locked. "And don't you ever," she panted, "touch me."

Draco's heart slammed against his chest as it beat wildly. He'd almost struck her. He'd never hit a girl before in his life. As much as he thought this Mudblood deserved it at times, it was just not something that was done. And he couldn't very well say he was sorry. That wasn't the Malfoy way. He simply stood, breathing just as hard as she was, locked in her fiery gaze, his hand still in mid-air.

Before he knew it, the words formed on his lips. "I'm –"

They stared at each other for a moment longer as he struggled to find what he wanted to say. Then Draco glanced down at the woman almost literally at his feet, her gray pleated skirt pushed up to her thighs. A few more inches and—

"You're what? An idiot? A git?" Hermione raged, noting where he was looking at her and reaching down with one hand to put her clothing to rights.

"I-I'm.."

What was he saying? Why was he such a bumbling idiot all of a sudden? This was Granger -- the thorn in his side for years on end; the girl he dreamt about hexing a million different ways; the woman who had the very soft and creamy thighs and who filled out sweater quite nicely. Draco pulled a face at his own inner thoughts.

"Stop looking at me like that, Malfoy," Hermione demanded. Her wand still pointed at him but he noticed that it was quivering slightly.

Draco moved out from behind the table and walked around it.

"I'm warning you, Malfoy!" she said loudly, obviously frightened now.

But Draco wasn't about to hurt her. In fact, he did something he'd never done in his life. He reached out his hand, the hand that almost struck her, and offered it to help her up.

"No, thank you," she said coldly, trying to keep her wand trained on him as she scrambled up. She winced in pain as she took to her feet.

"You're hurt," Draco said dumbly.

"It's nothing a quick spell won't cure. Now I suggest you leave me be and don't come back, Malfoy. Or Madame Pomfrey won't be able to put you back together."

The tone in her voice told him she meant business. He didn't really think she'd do anything, but right now she didn't trust him and he'd given her no reason to. He'd come to ask for help and he'd ended up despairing of convincing her to aid him in any way, even if his life depended on it. Which it might very well for all he knew.

He turned away from her and exited, forgetting even to sneer at her on his way out. His mind was troubled with a great many things, the least of which was how and when he'd stopped seeing Hermione Granger as a little girl and started seeing her as a capable, attractive young woman.