Clandestine Rendezvous
Chapter 6: An Initiated Plan
----1----
The first day back, Hermione was greeted affectionately by all of her teachers, who found a way to praise her for what she did—all except McGonagall and Snape. Snape distinctly ignored Hermione in class and McGonagall treated her as if the incident with the runespoor had never happened. Specia seemed strangely interested in the incident, prodding her to tell the class the entire occurrence. Hermione refused.
The students from other houses pestered her for information on what had happened that day. Hermione remained silent and told Harry not to say anything, not because of Malfoy, but because it was much less complicated that way. She received owls from her parents (who had learned the basics of owl post a few years ago), Mrs. Weasley, and Professor Lupin, who represented the Order of the Phoneix. Mad-eye Moody demanded to know if she had seen any Dark wizards in the forest. Hermione was at a loss for words.
Her relationship with Harry was still strained. She could talk to him but standing close to him or looking directly into his eyes scared her. Harry recognized Hermione's fear and didn't push her. Ron and Ginny seemed oblivious.
She spent a little more time with Ron now, partly because Ginny decided she fancied Case Wheatley, a seventh year from Ravenclaw, and spent her time 'studying' with him around the school, mainly in closets and empty classrooms. She felt warm whenever she was around Ron and Harry; it was as if the old days, before she found she loved Harry, were back. Much like the old days, Ron could still beat her in wizard's chess, much to Hermione's dismay.
----2----
Draco took a swig of his pumpkin juice, looking around the Great Hall unenthusiastically. Granger was eating and laughing with the Weasley girl, Potter and Weasel were discussing something with passion (probably Quidditch), and Longbottom was listening to the girls' conversation shyly. Over in the Hufflepuff table, Ernie Macmillian was getting rather puffed up as Hannah Abbott kept praising him for charming a little rose he gave her to serenade her with dopey love songs. In the Ravenclaw table, Chang and her new boyfriend, a slightly effeminate guy named Dustin Normain, snuggled and giggled together. Loony Lovegood was reading the Quibbler, occasionally glancing at Weasley.
Over at his own table, the Slytherins were as stupid as ever, laughing thickly at some semi-intelligent joke Zambini made. Pansy Parkinson sat across from Draco, fluttering her eyelashes, which were painted pink today, at him in an attempt to be discreet. Draco swirled the pumpkin juice in his cup, waiting for dinner to end.
He remembered last night with an uneasy feeling at the pit of his stomach. Why exactly he had gone back to the wing, he didn't know. He had simply been drawn there without words, a feeling in his chest telling him to find it. As for Granger, who knows why she was there. Maybe... no... but... it could have been that same force, right?
He glanced over at Granger again, who talked animatedly with Ginny Weasley. He couldn't have anything in common with her.
Dumbledore stood up with an enigmatic smile and the Hall quieted. "Good evening, students," he said, looking them over. "I hope the food has been to your satisfaction." The hall gave a hearty cheer. "Before you return to your repast, I have a few announcements to make. Due to some new health condition, Mr. Filch has been given a few weeks vacation, so we have a new caretaker, Mr. Dobbs!"
A slightly round, jolly man stood up and beamed down at the Hall. He took an elaborate bow and sat down, oblivious to the giggling of the students and a few teachers' chuckles.
"Our new Defense Against Dark Arts teacher, Professor Specia," clad in bright violet robes, she waved sweetly out to the students, "has suggested a social gathering for the students. Therefore, on Halloween, we will have a costume ball. All years may attend and everyone must be in some sort of costume. You may ask anyone you'd like, not ask anyone at all, or go as a big group. There are no real formalities about this ball, unlike the Yule Ball we held during the Triwizard Tournament a few years back."
The whole hall was silent for a few stunned moments, then burst into uproarious cheering.
"That is all. You may continue your meal," said Dumbledore, sitting down again. The hall was alive with chatter and giggle as they discussed the ball among themselves.
Parkinson turned to Draco with an ominous grin, and Draco felt something twist inside of him. "Draco, we have to go together!" she said, her voice a plaintive whine. Draco remembered the Yule Ball with revulsion and suddenly, an idea struck him.
"No, Parkinson, we don't have to. Dumbledore said, 'You may ask anyone you'd like, not ask anyone at all, or go as a big group.' I'm going stag this time," Draco announced with growing excitement.
Parkinson furrowed her brow. "What?" she asked dumbly.
"Stag. That means I'm going alone," said Draco patronizingly.
"But who will I go with? You can't leave me alone!" pouted Parkinson.
"Go with Crabbe. He doesn't have anyone," said Draco, getting up and attracting several Slytherins' attentions. He wasn't hungry, therefore staying in the Hall had no point.
Parkinson turned to her right, where Crabbe leered at her, the half-chewed chicken quite visible in his large mouth.
"Oh, all right."
Crabbe could have jumped twenty feet for joy.
Gregory Goyle braced himself as he neared the Slytherin common room, drawing himself up to his fullest bulk, muttering, "Act smart, act smart," all the way. When he entered, he saw Draco sprawled on a green and silver couch, shooting little black sparks at the rats scurrying around beneath him. The torches sent flickering rays of light across his face, casting him in a sinister shadow. Gregory took a deep breath, knowing he would need to be strong and brave to face the Slytherin Prince in his element.
"Draco," he snarled in his most menacing tone.
Draco barely looked up. "What is it, Goyle?" he asked in his impressively bored voice.
"Vincent gets to go with Pansy. What about me?" complained Gregory, staring in fascination as one of the mice grew three times in size and burst, its little limbs flying across the room.
"You are a big boy. Figure it out yourself." Draco still didn't look up at him, as if he wasn't a threat. Gregory sniffed indignantly and came closer to Draco, though his heart thudded inside of his bulky body, finally standing in front of him, towering over him like a giant.
"No, I want you to help." Gregory knew he had to be stubborn to get what he wanted.
"How? Can't you just force a girl to go with you?"
"I want a girl. Not just any girl. Someone spacifit."
"Specific? Who?" Draco asked, though he wasn't in the least bit interested.
"Hermione Granger."
Draco's head shot up and his eyes bore a fleeting expression of wild joy. "Hermione Granger?The mudblood?"
Gregory nodded.
"I'll do it." Draco's eyes started to flit back and forth as if he were reading, which meant he was forming a plan. A cunning sneer spread across his features. "I'll do it."
Gregory broke into a grin. He had not forgotten how stunning Hermione looked the year before last in the Yule Ball. Every time he saw her after that, he had blushed fiercely. Thankfully, the others didn't notice. But now, he was able to take her to a dance! As soon as Gregory reached the outside of the common room, where he was sure no one could hear him, he let out a loud, joyous whoop and skipped down the dimly lit dungeons, singing snatches of That Witch Has Stolen My Heart! all the while.
----3----
Hermione flopped onto her bed, halfheartedly reading a book about deciphering ancient runes. She could hear Lavender and Parvati Patil talking about the costume ball two beds over. "Hey, Hermione," they called after a while. "What are you going to wear?"
Hermione blinked. "I... I don't know if I'm going."
"You don't know if you're going? But you have to," said Lavender, casting a meaningful look to Parvati.
"Well, Viktor isn't here this year. It's not like anyone else is going to ask me," said Hermione a little sadly. It was true, after all. The boys weren't interested in her—to them, she was only pushy Hermione.
"What about Neville?" Parvati asked, coming over to sit on Hermione's four-poster bed.
"I don't know. Balls really aren't my thing."
"You looked ravishing at the Yule Ball in fourth year," said Parvati. "I was shocked to see you with all that glamour. You should dress like that more often." Lavender nodded solemnly. "Anyway, pretend you have a date. What are you going to wear?"
"I don't know. I didn't bring any dress robes."
"You don't have to wear dress robes. This is a costume ball, not an official Yule ball. You could wear a cow's disguise if you wanted to."
Lavender giggled. "Imagine Pansy in that kind of costume!"
Hermione gave the smallest of smiles. "She wears one everyday—she was probably born with one on."
Parvati squealed in laughter. "You're right!"
Lavender opened Hermione's trunk, at the foot of her bed, clucking in reprove as most of it was filled with books. She took all of the books out as Parvati looked over the bed and into the trunk interestedly. Hermione sighed and closed Ancient Sumarian Runes and their Dark Purposes. Not that they would find anything inside the trunk, but she had to let them look, like a mother would to her overly curious daughters.
Another loud squeal drew her attention.
"Hermione, how dare you hide this from us!" Lavender exclaimed, pulling out of the trunk a wrinkled, yet sparkling Venetian ball gown from the eighteenth century. Hermione blinked at it for a moment, surprised it was there, before smacking her forehead.
"How could I forget! We went to Venice over the summer, on vacation, and my parents bought this for me! I put it under my books because there was nowhere else and I forgot about it when we got home, because I had memorized all the books and didn't need to take them out to study...." She gazed at the dress, a brilliant hue of gold with pale yellow petticoats, remembering how her mother had fallen in love with it and demanded to buy it for Hermione.
"You will wear this," declared Parvati vehemently, "and you will find a date! This dress can not go to waste!"
"Very well," smiled Hermione, getting a little excited despite herself. What sixteen-year-old girl wouldn't?
"You'll be dazzling," affirmed Lavender, pushing the dress towards Hermione to measure for the size. "Absolutely dazzling."
----4----
Hermione skid to a stop in front of the Arithmancy classroom, where Malfoy stood already waiting, at promptly seven. She wasn't late, though she could have been there earlier if not for Ron holding her up to help with his Herbology assignment.
Malfoy looked his slick, annoying self, though his cheeks bore hints of pink. "So you've arrived, Granger," he drawled. "I was beginning to hope another snake felt like tasting mudblood."
Hermione snarled. "They wouldn't touch me if I didn't try and help you. After all, they are drawn to ferrets."
Malfoy shot her a dirty look as Professor Vector opened the door with a large smile. "Good evening! Glad to see you are both here. Let's go."
Hermione and Malfoy followed her into the classroom sullenly, doing their best to keep as far away from each other as possible. As they passed the chairs and the teacher's desk, Hermione glanced at Malfoy. He seemed to be flustered, as if something important was on his mind. When he sneaked a look at her, a dreamy sneer spread across his face and his eyes started to unfocus.
What is the bastard up to? Hermione mused, trying not to smile at the foolish look on Malfoy's face, which reminded her a good deal of Luna Lovegood.
Professor Vector directed them into her office and closed the door, pointing to a table at one of the corners. Two chairs stood next to the table, facing each other, as did several stacks of loose-leaf parchment. "Your jobs in this detention, and the others afterward, will be to correct on these rows of sums. All the information you need is already on the papers. The papers divine the near future of fourth year students, based on their birth numbers and their year cycles. Their names are also included in the parchment. I will expect all of the thousand sheets nearly finished by the end of our week-long session."
Hermione nodded and immediately started over towards the table. Malfoy looked a little reluctant, but followed her, wiping the dreamy look off his features. They settled in the chairs, pulling towards themselves a stack of papers. Hermione grabbed the top and dipped a quill in red ink, starting to work.
-----
Draco smiled despite himself. Granger would look good in a frilly wedding dress, he decided. He could just imagine her walking up the aisle, a bouquet of white roses in her hand, her hair in a shiny knob under a veil. She would pace forward, smiling as Potter and Weasel looked on in disbelief. Finally, she arrived at the front, gazing up at Gayle's dull black eyes. Draco grinned. And then they would get married and Potter would commit suicide.
"Your jobs in this detention, and the others afterward, will be to correct on these rows of sums. All the information you need is already on the papers. The papers divine the near future of fourth year students, based on their birth numbers and their year cycles. Their names are also included in the parchment. I will expect all of the one thousand sheets nearly finished by the end of our week-long session." Professor Vector gestured to the table, which Granger moved to. Draco pushed away the thought of Potter's gruesome death to sit in one of the creaky chairs and pulled a piece of parchment to him, grading it swiftly.
It was tedious work, but Draco placed his undivided attention on it; he wanted to get the better of Granger.
Finally, after the sun had disappeared over the horizon and it was pitch-black outside of the window, Professor Vector came over, saying kindly, "We're done. Count up the papers and you may leave."
Draco glanced at his watch. BED, 11:19, it read.
Granger finished counting hers. "98," she announced, looking complacent.
"112," said Draco without bothering to look at his pile. Granger frowned and yanked his stack away, flipping through it, her eyes scanning the papers swiftly. She gave it back with a scowl.
"I told you it was 112. I win, mudblood," Draco drawled softly, watching her face heat with fury.
"We weren't competing," said Granger with a forced calm.
"We are now."
Granger gave him a sour look as Professor Vector collected the papers.
"See you tomorrow, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger."
Draco nodded at the professor, then stepped outside.
Granger followed him out after saying goodbye to the professor. She head towards the Gryffindor tower, but Draco interrupted her. Time to initiate the plan, which, though not his best, was pretty admirable.
"Granger," he said, "I have a proposition."
"Good. Stuff it up your ass," said Granger, not turning around.
Draco smirked; baiting the mudblood was enjoyable. "I propose we have a bet on who can correct the most papers."
Granger paused and turned. Draco knew she was weighing her intellect against his, and from the look on her face, she was winning. "All right. Set the terms."
"Not here, Granger. Professor Vector may overhear. Follow me." Draco headed towards a dark hallway, strutting imperiously. After a slight hesitation, Granger followed, her eyes flitting back and forth for signs of ambush from hidden Slytherins.
"Well?" she asked as she stopped in the middle of the hall, unconsciously rubbing ink off her fingers.
"If I correct the most papers, you have to go to the costume ball with Goyle," he said with a smirk.
Granger's jaw dropped. Then her eyes took on a steely glint and she imitated his smirk. "Fine. If I win, you... you... have to wear a pink tutu the night before the dance at dinner, dance Swan Lake on top of the Ravenclaw table, while singing Celine Dion's 'My Heart Will Go On', after which you will present a rose to Professor McGonagall and kiss her feet."
Draco froze. KISS MCGONAGALL'S FEET? She must be joking, or if not, mad!
Granger's satisfied, malicious expression was perfectly serious. Yep. Granger had gone off the deep end.
"Fine."
"Agreed?"
"Agreed."
"I will draw up contract papers." She pulled out her wand and summoned a piece of parchment, scribbling on it with surprising speed and holding it out to him. "Sign."
He glanced through the parchment titled Binding Contract Between Wizards (Witches).
...In the event that Hermione Granger wins the competition between the said individuals, Draco Malfoy must dance Swan Lake at dinner on October 30th in the Great Hall, on top of the Ravenclaw table, while wearing a pink muggle tutu and singing the song from muggle music artist Celine Dion—"My Heart Will Go On." Then he must gift Minerva McGonagall with a ruby red rose and kiss her shoes.
In the event that Draco Malfoy wins the competition between the said individuals, Hermione Granger must attend the costume ball on Hallowe'en, October 31, with Gregory Goyle from Slytherin House....
He had read enough. Malfoy signed on one of the dotted lines with a flourish.
Granger snatched it and signed it, laying a Preservation Charm on it. She gave him an arrogant look that reminded him distinctly of himself and tucked the parchment into her bookbag before marching off.
----5----
When Hermione climbed back through the hole to the Gryffindor Common Room, she found Ron and Harry engaged in a discussion, their eyes shadowed with worry.
"'Mione!" Ron said, glancing up. "You're back!"
"What's the matter?" Hermione asked, pushing one of her elf hats that was peeking out under some more scraps with her foot.
"My scar," said Harry, looking up at her.
Hermione settled herself next to Ron in front of a blazing fire, pretending to be interested in a little piece of carpet so that she wouldn't have to look at Harry. "What about it? Did it hurt?"
"No. That's what's strange. You know how it's been hurting all the time, ever since first year? Now, it hasn't been hurting at all." She could still feel Harry's eyes on her, though she knew she should be thinking about what he was saying.
"Isn't that good?"
"No. Harry says something's wrong. He knows it. Why isn't You-know-who doing anything?" Ron reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind Hermione's ear. When Hermione looked at him quizzically, he blushed and turned away, mumbling, "It was obscuring your eyes."
"He's up to something," said Harry thoughtfully.
"Well, what can we do? It's not like there's anything out of place this year," Hermione said, still watching Ron.
"I suppose we can only wait," said Harry, getting to his feet. "The Order may have something sooner or later. Good night, Hermione."
Ron got up too, staring down at his shoes. "Night, Hermione." He followed Harry up to the room as she watched the fire flicker. For a moment, she saw Sirius' head in the flames, but when she blinked, it was gone. "That must be what Harry feels like all the time," she said to no one in particular.
In another part of the castle, a wail broke out, stifled through thick walls.
----x----
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.
Urgh. Isn't this the most boringest chappie? Pounds head on table
To NotYourAverageSchoolGirl: Thanks for your support! That's really sweet of you to say all of those nice, nice things! My ego got really inflated—and my friends kept yelling at me to shut up about your reviews... XD!
To BlissfulSuffering: You're right, there are grammer/spelling mistakes in my stories. I guess it's because I'm writing them at two in the morning. I'll take up the offer of a beta reader, though. I get tired of rereading my chappie for grammer mistakes after tweaking and tweaking and tweaking and tweaking it.
To Anonymous: My reaction on seeing your review was: long silence raises eyebrow I'd just like to say, flamers, please desist. I don't mind constructive critisim—in fact, I welcome it. However, just saying, "your writing sucks" does not tell me anything new or useful. It's completely meaningless. If you, as a reader, wanna flame me, fine. Just tell me WHY EXACTLY you are flaming me, not that my writing "sucks and is terrible." (Grammer!)
Thank you to my other reviewers. I appreciate your support!
I'd appreciate more support, too. XD