Clandestine Rendezvous
Chapter 5: Autumn Cleaning
---1----
Hermione curled up in a corner of the common room, persuing a book by the light of a single candle, sipping one of Madam Pomfrey's potions as well. It was still the middle of the day, but the sky had clouded over with storm clouds and the rain poured down from the heavens in torrents, as if the gods themselves were crying. Thankfully, the common was rather hushed at this time, as many students had resigned to their homework.
The occurrence of Metamorphmagi is not hereditary. It is rare having two Metamorphmagi in one family over even five generations. Two Metamorphmagi in one immediate family is unheard of. The event of one being a Metamorphmagus occurs from a mutation in one's magical construction...
The book she read, History of the Metamorphmagi, was one of the thick, antique ones she had skimmed over and checked out last night in the library, just before she had wandered among the halls and had the confusing conversation with Malfoy.
She had an actual conversation with Malfoy.
The full concept and its consequences had finally hit her, now that she had time to think over last night's events. It was a rather strange conversation really... Malfoy was half arrogant, half snide, and a hundred percent annoying. Was she fooling herself, or did he sound rather sad when she goaded him about not loving anyone at all? But, since it was very unlikely she would meet him like they did last night again, she dismissed the event and returned to her book.
Ron called over to her. "Hermione! What does properties does calcite have in the Draught of Dreams?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "You really should listen in class. I wasn't there for three weeks, and I still know the answer."
"Well, what is it?"
"Calcite blends and evens the texture so that the concoction is stable." Hermione glanced over at the bulky armchairs where Harry and Ron were curled up, discussing their homework. Ron gave her a grin before returning to his essay, which, even though he had been working on it for an hour, was still only a couple inches in length. Harry was faring better, having already approximately six inches already.
Harry glanced up at her gratefully. Hermione found she couldn't look at those emerald eyes of his, so she looked away, flustered.
...Metamorphmagi must register with the Ministry of Magic in the same way Animagi must register. There have been only a few Metamorphmagi in the past century...
Hermione felt her mind wander again, much to her consternation. Why was Malfoy in that forgotten wing?
She slammed the book shut and, ignoring the interested glances of the other Gryffindors, made her way up to the dormitories. Her head pounded horribly, making it difficult to think at all. She kicked off her shoes and climbed onto her bed as an owl slammed into the girl's dormitory window, it's eyes rolling comically. Hermione rushed over, letting the scrawny, starved owl in.
"Where have you been? You should have come at breakfast," she said, glancing at the scroll tied to its leg. It was addressed to her in the pointy script that Viktor often used. Hermione untied the letter and sent the owl to the Owlery, feeling distinctly joyous. She had written Viktor many times over the summer, and yet he did not reply her. She assumed he had found a girlfriend and forgotten about her, which had disappointed her greatly. But Viktor wasn't that kind of guy, and this letter, thick and heavy, proved it.
My dear Hermione,
How are things at Hogwarts? It is to my great sadness I have not been able to write you over the summer because of my Quidditch practice and some issues that have arisen here at home. In answer to your questions, I am very well, my family is not faring badly, and I have been able to read the new book you recommended to me. Avoiding Permanent Quidditch Injuries is amazing—I have used it much these past months and my teammates also.
I long to see you again, Hermione. This cold autumn makes me terribly sick for your warm school, which impressed me much two years ago. The new training building where my team practices does not have central heating. The mornings are freezing. Perhaps I can visit London soon, do you think? It would be very nice to see Hogwarts and you again.
How are your friends, Harry Potter and Ron Weasely? Are they in any danger from You-know-who? Due to your asking, I looked for information on Karkaroff, but he did not appear here anymore. He is missing. I could not care less, so I wonder, why would you? He is an idiotic, evil man.
I received your letter on the runespoor. It is terrible you had gone through so much pain! I simply cannot understand why that boy with you, Molfay (is it?), did not protect you from it! It is the duty of gentlemen to protect ladies! Of course, I did a little research on runespoors, contacted a few friends...
Hermione folded the letter up as Ginny burst into the room. "Come see! Ron and Seamus are charming mice to duel each other!" Ginny sniggered. Hermione nodded and tucked the letter behind her regretfully, under a pillow, and followed Ginny out.
----2----
After she came out of the library, the night having already deepened into shadowy indigo, Hermione found herself meandering through the corridors again. She felt odd, as if she really didn't want to go back to her dorm right then. Before she knew what she was doing, her feet carried her back to the spot where she and Malfoy had conversed the other night.
Hermione leaned against one of the archaic windows, looking out at the Hogwarts grounds. The leaves shedded from deciduous trees scattered over the grass, painted ghostly oranged by the moonlight. She found a sense of comfort here, so far away from the magnified racket made daily by the students. She frequently got headaches from the clamor in the rest of the castle, making it impossible for her to concentrate on her work or whatever else she happened to be doing. She had gone to the library for most of the day, but it closed at eight, leaving her to return to a common room that left her disoriented and irritated.
Here, there was a peaceful, drowsy slience that she soaked in appreciatively, relaxing for the first time that day. Her head quieted and she was able to think. So absorbed was she in the comfort that she did not notice a figure standing only a few paces away, half hidden in the shadows created by the flickering candles.
"We meet again, Mudblood," he drawled, steeping forward to allow the flames to cast his face in striking relief. Hermione glanced at Malfoy, noting how his cheekbones elongated and contorted in the candlelight, and, paired with his pointed face, generated an almost elvish look.
"It seems women just can't get enough of me," he sighed, a derisive smirk spreading over heis features. "They come back over and over again to where I once stood, just to feel my presence. Not that you can be considered a woman, of course." Malfoy's chin tilted upwards in arrogance. "You're only a mudblood."
Normally, this would have incensed Hermione, but strangely enough, tonight she felt no anger at all. Her mood was too good to be dampened by Malfoy. In fact, she wasn't even listening to him.
Malfoy scowled when he realized Hermione wasn't paying attention to him—after all, weren't all women prostrate to his charms?
Finally, she spoke. "But you came back too," she said thoughtfully, brushing a strand of her bushy hair out of her eyes.
Malfoy was taken back for a moment, but he recovered his poise fairly quickly. "Very acute observation, Granger," he said, voice dripping sarcasm. "I can wander if I want to—I'm Draco Malfoy—and besides, coming here was just to see if you would turn up. Your presence here shows that even Muggles can't resist the Malfoy charm."
Hermione snorted. "Some charm."
"You doubt it? If I wanted to, I could make you lightheaded, weak at the knees, crawling and begging me for a kiss."
Hermione cocked an eyebrow."If I wanted to."
"You are an incorrigible git, Malfoy," she said, shaking her head dismissively.
Apparently, Malfoy was feeling very full of himself. "But you can't deny that I'm a handsome, charming, intelligent bloke with hair to die for," he replied, looking as as if he to wanted summon a mirror to preen in right about then.
"Go ahead and feed your ego, you bigheaded fop."
"If I'm a fop, then your boyfriends Scarhead and Weasel King have the IQs of an eggplant," He said with a sneer.
"Don't you dare say that again! They aren't my boyfriends," Hermione snapped. Then she remembered something she had been dying to ask Malfoy all day, though she would have never gone up to him to ask. "Why were you here last night?"
Malfoy gave her an appraising look, as if judging her trustworthiness, before speaking.
"Last year, when I was a prefect, I wandered the halls at night regularly worrying about the fate of the Malfoy family, prostrate before the damned Ministry and the Dark Lord. I couldn't sleep. One day, I took a turn in the halls I never found before, saw a door I never saw before. I entered and found a staircase leading up from in front of the Slytherin dungeons, up to this abandoned wing. It was more peaceful than any other part of the castle, so I decided to come back and check for it once I'm done patrolling. I forgot about it afterwards. One day this year, I found it again and came up here. I liked it, so I came back and found you."
Hermione watched him while he talked, marking the ethereal gleam his eyes took on when moonlight bounced into them.
"So... what do you think this place is? I get the feeling it's a wing used in the past for students that needed to be kept apart from the rest of the population."
"I don't think so. There is no record of any students not living in their own Houses and coming here. I think it's where guests lived, guest teachers or speakers," said Malfoy, appearing sincere.
"The beds don't seem like they were for guests." Hermione furrowed her brow, searching for possible explanations.
"This was used a long time ago. Beds weren't particularly soft back then."
"Still, why isn't it used now?"
"What if this is some sort of prison?"
Hermione gave Malfoy a sharp look. Hogwarts always seemed so benevolent, despite dangers that happened there. It was rather strange to think that there would be prisons within the castle, beside the dungeons.
"What if, when the dungeons were used for Slytherin and his students, the founders ordained a part of the castle for those dangerous who were kept here and not let out?"
It made sense. Malfoy said something sincere and it made sense.
"Then wouldn't it be locked up and hidden away so people like us wouldn't wander into it without meaning to?" Hermione asked, glancing around nervously for some sort of guard patrolling the halls.
"The door I came through seemed hidden, as if the door itself decided who to show this wing to."
"I walk along the corridors... there's a stair that I take, going downwards from a hallway close to the library, then I come to a dark place, barely lighted. When the lights begin shine again, I'm in this wing."
"I suppose something about the stair and the hallway provides a hidden way. Maybe this wing decides whoever enters..."
Hermione's eyes widened. "Does that mean it wants to trap us here, if this is a prison?"
"No. I don't know why, but it doesn't seem malevolent to me."
"You would know," said Hermione with a wry smile. Malfoy scowled but said nothing. "Then why did it lead us in? What does it want?"
"Maybe it wants to be cleaned."
Hermione's eyes widened. "Cleaned?" she said increduously. "Why cleaned?"
"Sometimes, in my manor, there are rooms that pull you towards them because they were lonely and wanted to be cared for," replied Malfoy, perfectly serious.
Hermione considered this for a while. "All right. Let's try it."
Malfoy walked over to a door, on which the number '53' was painted, and opened the door. "Scourgify."
Hermione watched eagerly just behind Malfoy as the room suddenly illuminated, though there seemed to be no light source, the walls scrubbed clean, the moth-eaten carpet rolled away and replaced by a clean one, the table and chair scrubbed till it shone, the mattress plumpened, the pillow washed, along with the sheets, and the rust cleared away from the bedstead. The window at the end was scoured and wiped clean, allowing the scenery on the other side to show through. The trunk was dusted and the rotting wood cut away and substituted with other wood. The room seemed young and fresh again.
Nothing happened as the room was cleaned and Hermione waited awhile to see if the wing, ridiculously enough, would protest. After what seemed like hours of waiting, Hermione moved to the next room. "Let's go."
Malfoy sneered. "The mudblood is finally doing what she and her people were meant to do."
Hermione gave him a spiteful glance and raised her wand. "Be careful what comes out of your mouth, ferret." Malfoy's sneer only spread, but he didn't say anything more. She opened the old door, grimacing as it creaked on its corroded hinges, and pointed her wand inside.
"Scourgify."
By the end of an hour, all the rooms were scrubbed and cleaned. By then, it had turned into a competition on who could clean the most rooms. Malfoy had won, much to Hermione's consternation.
Malfoy ran his fingers through his hair, silvered in moonlight, as they surveyed their work. Or at least, they were surveying their work.
"How do you stand all that gel?" she blurted out, watching each strand of his hair shine, one side lit up by moonlight, the other by candlelight, creating a strange contrast between the sides.
He gave her a sour glare. "I enjoy having neat hair, unlike you."
If looks could kill, Malfoy would have died ten times over—Hermione was very sensitive about her hair. "Well, at least I don't spend hours in front of the mirror like some shallow fop who can't even answer a question without insulting someone," replied Hermione angrily, backing away with an irritated air. She pivoted and walked off without so much as a goodbye to the pureblood fuming in the wake of her clicking footsteps.
----3----
"How dare she say I'm shallow? I am not! Just because I enjoy making myself attractive doesn't mean that I'm shallow! And I suppose she thinks she's deep! She should spend more time on her appearance than on her useless brain," Draco muttered as he entered the Slytherin dungeons.
He glanced in a mirror hanging conveniently on the wall just then, pushing an out-of-place strand back into his well-coiffed head.
"I'm not shallow!" he declared to his reflection. The mirror Draco looked out at him and sniggered. Yes, you are, it mouthed. "No, I'm not! I am Draco Malfoy!"
So? Shallow boy... Shallow boy... His reflection smirked at Draco. Shaaallow.
Draco smashed into the mirror with his fist and his reflection shattered into a million pieces. "Damn!" he cursed, clutching his now-bloodied hand. "Damn you, stupid mirror boy!"
I'm talking to myself, a little voice in the back of his head remarked. And it's all the mudblood's fault.
He couldn't shake the insult from his mind. No one had ever called him shallow before. Draco walked off towards the boys' dorms, thankful that the dim torches did not show the blood trickling down his arm and onto the floor. In the morning, no one would notice a few dried, black stains. Finding a sock in his trunk, he wrapped his hand in it and crawled into his four-poster bed as Crabbe snorted into his covers.
I'll find a way to pay her back yet.
----x----
Disclaimer: I am not J.K. Rowling. Period.
Gosh, they seem so out of character. Poo....
I dunno why, but this chappie doesn't seem very good in my opinion... Well, I don't wanna write anymore.
On another note, I just had my thirteenth birthday a few days ago, on July 2! Whoohooo!
Please Review!