Chapter Three: Incubation
An owl from Lucius Malfoy made its appearance the next day, casting Draco into a pit of anxiety. As he stood once again in Dumbledore's office, he ruminated on the fact that he'd been in that room more times in the past two days than in all his years at Hogwarts combined. It was almost comfortable and felt safe, somehow.
Dumbledore frowned at Draco from his desk. "Mr. Malfoy I have heard of your inability to convince Miss Granger to help you with your Arithmancy studies. I have taken the liberty of asking Professor McGonagall, who is here for the next three weeks only, to try and help you."
Draco looked up at the wizard with anticipation. Did this mean he could stay for the summer?
"Your father, however, has asked that you be sent home after your short tutoring session has ended."
Draco's heart fell. He swallowed hard and tried to put on a game face, knowing all the while that it was no use trying to pretend anything around his Headmaster.
"I do not know if you will be able to accomplish what you need to do in only three weeks, so I will send correspondence back to your parents asking to allow you to stay the duration of the summer. I am hard pressed, Draco, to come up with a reason to keep you here. Do you understand?"
The Slytherin was confused. "No, Sir," he answered truthfully.
"Since your parents are holding a social function this week and the next, they are occupied. But once these functions commence and are completed, Lucius requests your presence at Malfoy Manor." The aged wizard paused and reflected. "There is a reason you do not want to go home, and I suspect it is to do with Lucius, does it not?"
Draco hung his head. "Yes, Sir."
"Very well. I will do my best. Take this schedule." Dumbledore handed Draco a piece of parchment with instructions for his daily courses. Draco looked it over.
"There must be some mistake, Sir. You have here that I am to wake at six bells."
"That is correct. You must wake earlier than you normally would because Draco, this is not a normal school year. The rules you see, are slightly different than what you would expect," the old man said cryptically. Draco had the feeling Dumbledore was imparting some wisdom but he just wasn't picking up on it.
Thinking it pointless to argue, Draco waited to be dismissed.
"If I am not mistaken," Dumbledore said with a slight smile, "you are expected in the greenhouse in five minutes. You are dismissed."
Draco left the office and headed to the greenhouses. Five minutes? He scrutinized the parchment. Indeed it listed his appointment with Professor Sprout but gave no indication of the prescribed activity he would be partaking in.
When he arrived at the greenhouse he saw Hermione Granger talking with Professor Sprout next to one of the long tables. Great leaves hung down and spidery vines clung to the walls, seeking sunlight. He ducked under the hanging foliage, pushing it out of his way as he moved further into the humid room. He approached as quietly as he had in the library the day before, and neither woman was aware of his presence until he stepped out into the aisle, just behind Hermione. She'd just finished speaking with the professor and turned to go when she ran right into Draco, dropping a book near his feet. He didn't miss the blush that rose in her cheeks as her body pressed up against his for that half-second. She pulled away quickly and reached down to grab her book, but Draco was faster this time. He swept the book from the soil-speckled floor and brushed it off on his robes. Silently he held it out to her, never breaking eye contact.
"Thank you," she said, and exited without another word.
Draco didn't have time to ponder what had just occurred between them, so he filed it in his mind for later analysis. All at once, the booming voice of Professor Sprout was upon him and he shrank back slightly.
"Mister Malfoy," Professor Sprout enunciated clearly, "You are late!"
"I was in Dumbledore's office; he only just gave me this revised schedule of courses." He showed her the parchment and she nodded slightly.
"Right. Let's get you started, then. Change your clothing - you don't want to ruin your uniform and robes now, do you? Of course not. Today we're going to repot baby Mandrakes. You remember the Mandrake don't you Mister Malfoy? You've murdered enough of them." Professor Sprout was in a foul mood and more tetchy than usual. Draco had grown accustomed to her being a bit of a pushover but something flickered in her eyes as she said the word "murdered" that made him remember what Dumbledore had told him. Nothing would be as he expected.
He changed into his Herbology cloak and plucked a pair of earmuffs from a shelf. Professor Sprout waved him over to a table at the far side of the room.
"You will repot each of these, Mister Malfoy," she instructed ruefully.
"How many are there?"
"There are fifty in total Mister Malfoy and I expect you to have them all done by lunchtime. And remember to cover the babies with soil or they'll catch cold and become ill. I know you wouldn't want that to happen, would you?" She eyed him suspiciously.
"No, Professor," he said obligingly.
"Don't forget to keep those earmuffs on and keep them tightly fastened. I won't have you passing out on me. There will be a sign outside the greenhouse so that anyone wanting to come in will know that there's dangerous work being done in here. I've left some spare earmuffs for any visitors, but you shouldn't be having any."
"Yes, Professor."
Professor Sprout narrowed her eyes and lifted a finger, wagging it at him as she spoke. "Watch that attitude, son. I won't be having any of it. When I return, those plants had better be in tip top condition!"
"You won't be here?" asked Draco hopefully. Maybe he could sneak a smoke while the barmy old witch was away.
"Not today I'm afraid. I will be tomorrow, though and I'll know everything that goes on. I've got eyes and ears that you can't see, Mister Malfoy," she said. With that, she waddled out of the greenhouse.
"Eyes and ears I can't see?" he said to the plants. "What is she on about?" He turned to the Mandrakes. "Eyes and ears on her fat arse, more like," he said, scowling at the little blighters. He pulled on his gloves and got down to it.
Two hours later, Draco was still repotting the Mandrakes. Taking a break, he yanked off his gloves fished a cigarette from the inner pocket of his school robes. He set about finding his wand to set the tip of the joint alight when he heard a rustle of leaves. Someone had entered. He hurriedly shoved the unlit cigarette back into his pocket and looked around. It couldn't be Sprout, thought Draco. I'd have heard her right away the way she stomps about. He heard the gentle rustle again and sneaked around the table, pulling off his earmuffs. He still had thirty-six more Mandrakes to repot but the ones he'd finished were silent and snuggled deep in their new soil.
Hermione Granger came into his view wearing the earmuffs Professor Sprout had left outside and walking carefully to the spot where she and Draco had bumped into each other. He traced her movements as she looked around the floor, apparently searching for something. He lost sight of her as she bent down beneath the tables and leaned down to see what she was doing. With the earmuffs on, she wouldn't hear him at all, but he knew better than to assume she didn't know he was still there.
She got down onto her hands and knees and peered under the far tables. As she shifted, Draco was treated to a view of her backside; her skirt rose just enough for him to catch a glimpse of her upper thighs as she leaned her upper body closer to the ground. Draco's mouth hung open and he dared not blink lest he miss a moment of the entertainment the young witch provided. His breathing labored and his eyelids feeling a bit on the heavy side, Draco himself sank to his knees and crawled toward her slowly. His hands came into contact with bits of soil, moss, vermiculite and stray cuttings, but he didn't care. He moved toward her like a great cat stalking its prey.
Hermione shifted again and Draco scrambled under a table to keep out of sight. His foot hit an object and it slid across the floor. A book. She must have had two books with her when we collided, he thought. He sank back under a table covered with overflowing fern leaves and held his breath for a moment in the dusty shade. Hermione needed only to turn right a few degrees and she'd see the book and be on her way. Suddenly Draco realized he didn't want her to go.
He hadn't felt any kind of serious attraction to a girl or a boy since last summer, since Lucius. The sex drive that had plummeted after that traumatic event was now back in full force. Is this what it feels like to really crave someone? And why do I crave...her? Draco rationalized his feelings by assuring himself that it was just guilt and his attraction to Hermione was some kind of internal punishment. Why else would he want a Mudblood so badly? Something in him deserved the worst, he reasoned. He was the worst, and so it was only fitting that he be further degraded in desiring something almost as unfathomable as the unholy desire his father felt for him.
Draco looked at his hands. Filth. I'm filth. She's filth. Of course. That makes sense.
But something even deeper inside Draco fought to surface; he pushed it back. No, that thought was even more disgusting. The thought that yes, he did deserve her, but not because he was so bad. Because he had the capacity to be good. And she was pure, not mud after all. The thought brought bile into his throat and he swallowed hard. His arousal dissipated, he grit his teeth, crawled out from under the table and confronted the girl on the floor.
"Your book's right there you prissy Mudblood," he said, venom dripping in his voice. His words were lost on Hermione as she still had the earmuffs on. Draco strode over to the book, picked it up and proceeded to shove it right into Hermione's face while also yanking off her earmuffs. She jumped back with a shriek, then stood to face him.
"What are you doing?" she demanded.
"Just giving you your stupid book back, what do you think?"
"I didn't know you were still here. Where's Professor Sprout?" She scanned the room quickly before realizing her Professor had left Draco alone.
Draco smirked as he saw the familiar flash of fear in her eyes. "Went out."
"She left you here alone with the plants? With the Mandrakes?" Hermione asked incredulously.
"What, do you think I can't repot those bloody buggers myself? I don't need any help," he said, sticking his chin up so he could look down at her. "What do you take me for anyway, Granger?
"It would be impolite to use such language so I shall refrain from answering that question, Malfoy," she said, her eyes glittering with hatred.
This is more like it, thought Draco. Me treating her like shite, her lashing back at me. It was comfortable somehow. He knew exactly what to expect. Dumbledore wasn't always right about everything; there were things Draco could still control.
"Please yourself," he said, a sneer curling his lips.
"I will," she said and turned to go.
"Where are you going?" he asked, stepping after her.
"What do you care?"
"I don't."
"Then why are you following me?"
"I'm not," he insisted, even though he was on her heels all the way to the greenhouse door.
Hermione whirled on her heel and stopped dead. Draco didn't bother trying to catch himself as he fell into her for the second time that day. He caught the scent of her hair - lavender? - for a split second before she brought both hands up to his chest and heaved him down onto the floor. He landed hard and winced in pain, but jumped right back up.
"I told you not to touch me, Malfoy!" she said, her voice strong and loud.
"I didn't!"
"What did you call that, then?"
"What?"
"You're playing at something. I don't know what, but I am not a pawn on a chessboard. If you keep this up you can just forget about passing your courses and go home to your father and mother where you really belong."
Her words cut him to the quick. His eyes widened as a mixture of embarrassment, fury, shame, and regret filled him. He looked into her brown eyes and saw that she knew her words had affected him. Hermione Granger had one over on Draco Malfoy. Had Dumbledore told her why Draco didn't want to go home?
"What do you know about it?" he said in a very controlled voice.
"About what?"
Ahh. She didn't know; she didn't know anything at all. He was safe. "Nothing," he replied, trying to make it sound like he harbored an ominous secret. An uncomfortable silence passed between them until finally she spoke.
"I won't help you, Malfoy."
"I didn't ask you to," he replied, turning away. He walked slowly towards the table of Mandrakes still needing repotting, halting for a moment when he heard the slam of the greenhouse door. Then he went back to work.