Chapter 4: An Unexpected Encounter
----1----
Draco Malfoy stared at the new Defense Against Dark Arts teacher, who looked as if the only encounter with the Dark Arts she would ever have would be an evil shopkeeper charging her one Sickle more than necessary on her hair products. Her cerulean blue eyes sparkled with sickening happiness, her lips glistened with disgustingly bright lip-gloss, and her robes—they were hot pink! Pink robes reminded him painfully of the Yule Ball held in his fourth year and the night spent languishing in boredom next to the ever-annoying Pansy Parkinson, whose complexion was not helped by that dress.
Even though Dumbledore was a batty old coot, Draco would have never expected him to hire such a teacher. The nut had gone off his rocker for sure this time.
"Can anyone tell me what are the Unforgivable Curses?" her melodious voice rang out. She walked past Malfoy, smiling at every student. Malfoy could hear the male Slytherins breath in deeply and sigh dreamily. Pathetic.
"Draco Malfoy?" she said, glancing at her list of students. It was almost two months since the start of term—real teachers normally knew their students names pretty well by now.
Draco leaned back against his chair casually, knowing all of the Slytherin girls were watching him. He would have no problem—after all, he had known the curses since he was seven. "The Imperius Curse, the Cruciatus Curse, and Avada Kedavra, the Killing Curse."
He surveyed his impeccable nails as the girls giggled at the sound of his suave, suave voice.
Professor Specia simpered again. Nauseating.
"Very good!"
What kind of a teacher is she, anyway? wondered Draco. She flirts openly with seventh years, forgets curriculum, and confuses boggarts with yogurt. She is obviously in no way competent enough to be a Defense Against Dark Arts teacher, much less mine.
Professor Specia glanced at him at that moment, as if she knew what he was thinking.
Maybe she can read minds, thought Draco with a laugh. That's how she got this job.
Most of the other Slytherin boys were smitten by her, probably because of the perfume she wore. Draco recognized it. It was one of his aunt Bellatrix's favourites, called Sinuous Flame, described on the bottle as "dangerous", "seductive," "alluring," and it promised to "arouse dormant desires in every man who walks by." Sadly, it worked on sixteen-year-old boys, too.
Due to his mother and his aunt's unhealthy interest in perfumes, Draco had already worked up an immune system against it. Pitiful, really—ever since he was nine, he didn't have any reaction to perfumes at all.
"Can anyone else give it a try? Draco?" her voice cut through his thoughts coated revoltingly with sugar.
"What was the question again, Professor?" he asked as the other Slytherins gasped. Professor Specia called him Draco. Both the boys and the girls scowled in jealousy.
"Tsk, tsk. You should pay attention better," she said with another smile. Then her eyes widened in feigned shock when she "realized" her slip-up.
"Oh! I'm sorry, Mr. Malfoy. I'm just soo new to teaching, I can't remember to be formal. It's rather boring being so formal all the time, isn't it?"
The boys immediately agreed, brightening considerably when they realized she wasn't paying any special attention to Draco. Draco made a rude noise.
"The question, Mr. Malfoy, was this: What do you say to produce the Cruciatus Curse?"
"Crucio," replied Draco, lip curling in derision. "And what is boring is this class. If you don't mind me saying so, we learned about the Curses in fourth year, when one Professor Moody taught us. We practiced them, too."
The boys gasped at his rudeness (not that they really understood rudeness, considering they were rude everyday) and the girls smiled at his audacity. Professor Specia was unfazed.
"That was two year ago, Mr. Malfoy. I am still required to teach you these Curses," she said pleasantly.
Draco snorted briefly at the irony of learning the Unforgivable Curses, punishable by imprisonment and execution, from an empty-headed woman like Specia before returning to his wandering thoughts.
----2----
Saturday came and went as usual—irritatingly tedious. Draco insulted Weasel a few times, causing him to color up to the roots of his red hair, which couldn't really be called red in comparison to the crimson of his face. He tried to insult Scarhead, but for some reason, Potter disappeared for most of the day. Of course, the Pansy revealed to him that Chang had dumped Potter and the ninny was probably hiding somewhere and crying, so all was set right again; even if he didn't make the idiot's life worse, Potter was already suffering.
There was the homework to be done, which he finished—after all, he was Malfoy, the most brilliant male student in the school. The essay for Potions was easy; it was his favorite subject. Sixteen inches for Binns was unfair, but he finished it anyway. Arithmancy was a breeze, Transfiguration not difficult at all, and he finished Herbology in twenty minutes.
Everything came so easy for him—life, love, liberty. He was an exceptional student, who handled spells well—it was expected of him. He was the single most giggled over male in school—well, maybe besides Potter. But it didn't bother him; he had no interest in the myth women call love. He was a pureblood, so no one would doubt his position in the magical community. Everything came to Draco on a silver platter, uncomplicated, unfettered, and therefore, entirely monotonous and wearisome.
So more interesting events had happened: the Dark Lord rose again, his father was lugged off to Azkaban, dementors were on the loose... that did not change daily life. Even his attempts to ruin the Golden Trio were typical now, whereas they had at least brightened his day a few years back.
Draco wanted something more. It wasn't just variety. After all, he could just run away and live his days out on the Muggle streets if he wanted variety. No... it was something hazy, something that he couldn't pinpoint exactly—as of yet.
----3----
Madam Pince ushered Hermione out of the library at exactly eight. Not that she needed to stay in the library, of course; she had already finished all of her homework. Hermione was able to block out her despair when she concentrated on her homework, a habit developed when she first started school and everyone laughed at her studious ways. After she was done with her essays, she read the yellowing, dusty books piled by her side, mostly full of gibberish about transfiguring oneself.
Now, as she walked towards the Gryffindor common room, dreading seeing Harry again and talking to him, the memory of what happened earlier that day struck her. She paused right before she turned into the corridor in which the Fat Lady hung. She could hear the sound of uproarious laughter and loud crashes coming out of the room, barely muffled by two feet of stone wall. The Gryffindors were having a party.
Hermione backed away from the corridor, knowing that if she went inside, they would force her to celebrate with them. She would have to face Harry again, a prospect that terrified her. So she fled blindly, knowing that they wouldn't miss her. When she was far enough away for the merrymaking to be drowned out by other noises, Hermione slowed her run and looked around, her chest pounding and slightly lightheaded from lack of blood. Madam Pomfrey's stern voice popped into her head. "NO EXERTION, MISS GRANGER!"
She had wandered into a collection of abandoned corridors and staircases that led everywhere and nowhere. The halls were dimly lighted, yet she could see pretty well. Flickering candles, enchanted to burn forever if needed, lined the corridors, though they seemed to cast more shadows than light. To her right, a stone wall separated her from several feet of air and the Hogwarts grounds, where she could see the lake shimmer in the moonlight. Windows were carved into the stone, in the ancient, gothic style that was popular a hundred or so years ago. To her left, wooden doors lined up neatly, though dust covered their knobs and the numbers painted on in black were stripping away.
She opened up a door to her immediate left, peeking in curiously. The stone room was small and sparsely furnished. A rusting cot stood along one damp wall, an old oak table along the other. A small trunk, unused for ages, stood at the foot of the bed. A grime-coated window faced the door, spreading gray moonlight into the room, painting its furniture a mournful, almost regretful color. Hermione thought it best not to enter.
She concluded that she had wandered into a forgotten wing of the castle, probably originally for visiting or misbehaving students that provided them with their own rooms instead of letting them spend their time in common rooms. Unneeded for so long, caretakers forgot to clean and maintain them, leaving the rooms to decay away with the years. She wondered if even Dumbledore knew about these rooms.
Being here calmed Hermione, as if she had stepped into a place and time in history untouched by anyone else. Even the old, archaic windows—the kinds that were curved at the top and had no glass panes—told a period before the current, unsettling time, where dark wizards ran amok and people lived in disguised fear.
Feeling slightly fatigued, yet loathing to intrude upon any of the aging rooms, Hermione found a stairway leading downwards into shadow at the end of the hall. She sat down on the second step, leaned her head against the wall, intending to rest there for a while before leaving. Before long, the soft breeze had persuaded her into a light sleep.
When she awoke, Hermione realized she was cold, despite her thick robes. The indigo of the night had deepened into a dark ebon-gray hue, the zenith moon having reached its apex. How long have I slept? she wondered groggily.
When she looked up, she met a pair of steely grey eyes, glinting in the reflected moonlight.
Only one person she knew had those hard, calculating eyes.
-----
She's waking up, Draco noted. Granger shivered a bit, raising her head. She met his eyes and her own brown eyes widened. She stiffened visibly, frowning.
"Why did you save me?" The question came out before he could stop himself. She blinked in surprise.
"Huh?"
Now that he had started, he had to continue. "That day, three weeks ago... why did you save me from the runespoor?"
She relaxed and answered, "It was natural for me." That only confused him even more.
"But you know I hate you."
"I don't like you that much, either, Malfoy," she said wryly, straightening up. "But it was not a matter of preference. You were in danger and it was in my nature to help."
Draco cocked an eyebrow. Slytherins never would have thought about the situation the way she did. It was stupid to stay and help when you yourself could be in danger, too.
Granger moved over to one of the windows that looked out at the Hogwarts grounds. She leaned against it casually, gazing at the moon absentmindedly, as if she didn't see the danger in being alone with a Slytherin.
"What about you? Why didn't you tell Dumbledore about Harry?"
"That's easy," Draco said, moving from his position on one of the stairs to a window a meter away from Granger. "You see, it is not becoming for a Malfoy to fall unconscious in front of a woman, much less a mudblood like you." Satisfaction spread through him as she stiffened again.
"Therefore, you and your boyfriend will not tell anyone what happened that day, and I will not tell Dumbledore about Pothead."
"Harry is not my boyfriend," Granger said, a touch of despair invading her voice. "Nor will he ever be."
So that's why she was wandering in the halls when she should be in the Gryffindor dorms. She can't face Scarhead, Draco mused with a pleased smirk.
"Besides, don't you owe me? I saved your life," Granger said, turning to scrutinize him.
Draco winced. He had never thought of it that way, partly because his subconscious would not allow him to think that way. Falling unconscious in front of Granger was embarrassing enough—owing a debt to a mudblood was plain disgraceful.
"Fine, what do you want me to do?"
She smiled craftily. "I won't use it here, now."
Draco clenched his fists. The little bitch was saving it so that he, Draco Malfoy, would be indebted to her for god knows how long. Suddenly, he realized something. "You're thinking like a Slytherin," he said, amused. "You aren't the perfect little Gryffindor everyone thinks you are."
She fixed an exasperated look on him. "Don't you understand, Malfoy? Everyone has a little of the other house in them. I would do very well in Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff too, or so the Sorting Hat said."
Draco grinned haughtily. "I'm Slytherin all the way."
"And that's supposed to be good?" Granger retorted, rolling her eyes.
"Certainly better than being entirely Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, or Hufflepuff. Slytherin is superior," he said.
"Sure it is," replied Granger sarcastically. "So superior that Gryffindor has surpassed you in everything for years now."
Draco was affronted. "We are still superior. It's only the teachers prefer Scarhead and so award him more points for stupid tasks."
"I don't see facing Voldemort four times as particularly stupid," cried Granger, glaring at him with unexpected passion. But, then again, she was still in love with Potter.
"You Slytherins are just pathetic cowards," she spat.
"Oh, we're cowards? Well, you Gryffindors are too trusting. You don't realize that your closest friends could stab you in the back any time because you give your faith so blindly. At least we know how to be cautious." Draco was angry, angry that a mudblood had called him a coward, but also angry because it was true, and he couldn't deny it.
"We have real friends, who would stick by us no matter what!" Granger shot back, blazing with righteous anger.
"Don't you realize that no one can be completely trusted? Look at Mad-eye Moody! He was actually the younger Crouch!"
"That's truly sad, Malfoy, if you think you can trust no one. How are you supposed to gain happiness that way?" Granger sounded as if she pitied him. Draco couldn't stand pity.
"Power means happiness," he replied, glaring at her.
"Friendship means happiness," contradicted Granger. "Love means happiness."
"Love?" scoffed Draco. "Such as your love for Potter?"
She stared at him in shock.
"Yes, I know of your adoration for him. It's so obvious, Mudblood. Anyone could see if they pay attention. Aren't you sad that he rejected you? After all, he loves someone else." Her jaw worked, though she kept silent. Rage swirled in her brown eyes, silvered by the moonlight that was now streaming through the windows. "Love does not mean happiness."
"How would you know? You never loved anyone in your life," Granger replied, her voice hard and controlled. Still, Draco could hear the fury beneath the ice. A memory of a furious voice echoing through freezing dungeons suddenly surfaced, one that Draco forced down immediately.
"I know all too well, Granger," he replied, a forlorn tone creeping into his voice. He chastised himself inwardly. What was he doing? He couldn't show weakness to anyone. He couldn't reveal to her anymore than he already did. But already, Granger had changed stances, now looking at him with undisguised interest.
"What do you mean?" she asked softly, tenderly.
Damn all women with their "empathic" ways. Like they could really understand.
"Like I would tell you, Granger," Draco snarled, turning away.
"Oh." Granger blinked, then changed the subject, as if she knew he didn't want to tell her.
"Well... Pansy sure loves you..." she said lamely.
Draco let out a disdainful laugh that sounded more like a bark than anything. He could see Granger hide a smile out of the corner of his eye. "Love? Parkinson doesn't know its meaning. She thinks that if she can get with the most powerful Slytherin, then she has it made. After all, I am the Slytherin Prince, and my gorgeous looks only add to the deal."
Granger made a rude noise that Draco chose to ignore. After all, she knew probably knew more hexes than him, thanks to the "Dumbledore's Army" deal last year.
"She doesn't love me. She lusts, and that's all." Granger gave him a compassionate glance. Draco hated it.
"Don't look at me like that." Draco clenched his fists in anger. He would never stand to be pitied, especially by Granger.
"In what way?" she asked, puzzled.
"Like you understand. Like you want to understand, to feel bad for me. I don't need you sympathizing with me. I don't need anyone trying to comfort me. I don't need to be comforted."
She only gave him another sad look.
Draco turned and stalked off, leaving Granger back at the window, gazing after him with that hateful empathetic look of hers.
----4----
Hermione finally climbed into the Gryffindor common room, after half-listening to the Fat Lady admonish her for being out at two o'clock in the morning. She was tired; the conversation with Malfoy had taken a lot out of her.
The fire in the common room had died down to glowing embers. Around the room was scattered garbage—pieces of ripped up paper, butterbeer spilled over the red and gold rug in front of the fireplace, and remnants of a giant poster of a golden lion bearing the initials HG in red tearing up a puny, green and gold snake bearing the initials DM. Giant windows at one end of the room set silver shadows across the floor, giving the room a quiet melancholy that permeated throughout.
Hermione dropped her bookbag on a squashy chair in front of the fire, which she stoked with a poker. A worried voice called across the room to her.
"Hermione! Where were you?"
She looked up to find Ron standing in his vermilion pajamas by the staircase, a present from Fred and George, who were doing quite well indeed, and therefore they fit Ron perfectly. She smiled at him sheepishly. "I fell asleep."
"In the library?" he asked disbelievingly. "Wouldn't Madam Pince have thrown you out anyway?"
"No, Ron, not in the library. I... lost my way and found myself in an unfamiliar place, so I fell asleep. I'm still pretty weak, you know." His expression immediately softened as he rushed forward to support her to a chair.
"I'm not that weak, Ron," she said, a grin spreading across her face despite her drowsy condition.
"We were having a party for you, y'know," he said reproachfully. "You should have had the kindness to come. We wondered where you were. When Ginny suggested that you committed suicide, I swear Harry turned ten shades of white!" He sniggered. When Hermione didn't smile, he got up and went over to a table, under which there piled several wrapped presents.
"These are for you. More tokens of appreciation from your fellow Gryffindors. Of course, we all went broke," he joked painfully.
Hermione sighed. "Really, Ron, you shouldn't have."
"Except we did. Oh... and you remember that giant blue stuffed bear that squealed like crazy?"
Hermione nodded warily.
"It... got into an... accident." He pointed to a mess of blue fur and stuffing. "Crookshanks went berserk for no reason. Of course, we couldn't sleep while it was crying, so many of us didn't get to bed until one...."
Hermione smiled. It was obvious Ron had something to do with it. After all, Crookshanks liked the big bear; he enjoyed snuggling up in its warm fur and would never hurt it without a cause. But she didn't say anything.
"I'm going to bed, Ron. I'm rather tired." He nodded and jumped to her side. "Really, Ron, I think I can walk all the way upstairs by myself."
He stepped back, looking rather flustered, his ears turning pink. "Yeah... Hey, 'Mione?"
"Hmm?" Hermione stopped in the middle of the stairs, turning back to look at Ron.
"Are you mad at Harry?"
"What for?" Oh my god. Does Ron know? Her stomach twisted in fright as the possibilities whirled through her head.
"For going to the Forest and getting you into trouble."
"Oh... no. It wasn't his fault, really. Don't hold it against him." Hermione felt the knot in her stomach loosen. Ron didn't suspect anything. Rather, he looked fairly relieved.
"Well, g'night," he said with a smile, ascending the stairs on the other side, to the sixth year boys' dorm.
"Night." Hermione was suddenly drained. She entered the girls' dorm and collapsed on her bed, where she promptly fell asleep without so much as taking off her shoes.
----x----
Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to Ms. Rowling. I am but an insignificant daydreamer who transcribes her ideas as words.
A big thank you goes to my reviewers! I have more than twenty reviews for only three measly chapters and one pathetic prologue! I feel so loved!
The last chapter was, in the words of my good friend who will remain unnamed, a "transition chapter." It was a little boring, wasn't it? I hope this chapter was better!
Wow... I have one thousand more words in this chapter compared with the last one....
I apologize for any mistakes I have made in spelling or grammar. If my word choice is not very British, well, that's because I live in Washington, USA... XD! For this story, I'm trying to use British vocabulary, so I'm using favourite instead of favorite and mum instead of mom.
Onward towards the little blue button that makes you review!!! Please criticize! I'd like to know if something is wrong!