Chapter Four
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Hagrid's eyebrows furrowed in a thoughtful frown as he regarded the girl in front of him with intense suspicion.
"A de-tracing spell?" he asked slowly, rubbing his beard as he thought of how to answer her. He didn't want to break her hope, but he didn't want to interfere with school rules and practical law and all that crap. He was an honorable man. He sighed, licking his lips. But he was also a truthful one. "You do know that spell's not exactly… kosher to use on Hogwarts grounds? You sure you know what you're asking about?"
Hermione restrained herself from rolling her eyes as she sat back in the kitchen chair with defeat.
"You don't have to worry about me using it, Hagrid," Hermione promised somewhat deceitfully. "I just need to know about it; find a text that includes information on it. Anything you might have access to. Please?" Hagrid's extremely skeptical expression didn't leave his face. "Come on, Hagrid," she coaxed slowly, "…please?"
Sighing deeply, Hagrid stood up and collected both of their teacups to deposit in the sink, not asking whether Hermione was done with her tea or not.
"Dumbledore would be very upset with me if he knew I gave you any sort of hint in finding information for a de-tracing spell, Hermione. It's not exactly unclear as to why you want to know about it," he said finally after he washed each cup thoroughly. He glanced back at her. "Have you looked in the library?"
"Hagrid," Hermione said with a firm expression, "you and I both know how rare it is for anyone to have any text on a de-tracing spell to date. That kind of information disappeared into the hands of very few a long time ago. No public or school library anywhere would carry it." Hermione dropped her gaze to the floor, feeling the defeat and unsuccessful outcome of her meeting with the friendly giant settle on her shoulders and heart. "It's why I came to speak with you. I thought you could help me."
Hagrid sent an uncomfortable look toward Hermione. Why did he always end up in these positions? Helping students bend and break the rules? Why did he have to know so much, damn it. Why was he such a softy, damn it.
"Have you talked to Dumbledore?" he asked with one last hope of escaping giving an answer. "You know he'd help you in a heartbeat, and it's nearly a given that he'd know all I'd know. More than that, even. "
"No," Hermione answered automatically, "he wouldn't. It's why I didn't approach him. You think he'd help me break the rules for my own benefit, for my own needs? He wouldn't give me special treatment, you know that, Hagrid. He wouldn't even give Harry flat-out special treatment half the time. He's a nice man, but he likes the rules because, well, he made them." Hermione's eyes got wide with despair. "I just-I knew you'd help Harry if he had this problem. I thought maybe…" she looked down, "…you'd help me, too."
The tall giant suddenly felt tired and swept with built-up emotion. There was that damn softy thing.
"I can't help you with this, Hermione," he finally said, the thoughts of turning her down finally voiced in the air. "I know you're having a hard time dealing with the events of this year. Heck-we all shut down for a while; researched; did all we could to try to find a way to bring him back." Hagrid moved his chair closer to Hermione's as he sat down, lacing his thick fingers together and resting his elbows gruffly on his knees. "But you can't bring him back, Hermione."
Something flashed in her eyes as Hermione bit her tongue to keep from lashing out.
"I know that," she said in a strained voice.
Hagrid studied her for a moment before raising his eyebrows and rubbing his beard once again.
I don't think you do know that.
But a decision was made.
He stood up, his heavy boots bending the wooden floorboards of his cabin as he moved determinedly toward his bedroom, disappearing from the only visible clearing the open door allowed. After a few minutes of shuffling around, Hagrid returned with seemingly nothing new or gained in his grasp.
"What…" Hermione started, but Hagrid's determined look cut her off.
Unclenching his fist, he let a small, ripped piece of parchment be shown as he held it out to her on his palm.
"You were wrong," he began, starting with a phrase that was the first aggressive thing he said directly to Hermione to date, "about the school library not having this spell. It's in the archives, but you wouldn't have been able to find it yourself; even in the Restricted Section. Go to--Well, the directions are all there and you'll have to say a specific spell to unlock the bindings that contain all of the valued texts; Alohamora won't do." Hagrid took a deep breath and looked around conspiratorially, as if suspecting spies in his very own home. "After you get the book, you have a maximum of two hours to copy down all the information you need about the spell before a charm is triggered, signaling the text missing. I strongly suggest, Hermione, that the charm is not triggered when you have that book." His grave look told her she most likely wouldn't want that either. "When you're done, bring the directions back to me, and I hope not to find you in a compromising position, wreaking havoc about the school and casting de-tracers. Are we clear?"
Hermione had never seen Hagrid so grave and serious before. He was never a lecturing guy, never one to worry too much. But then again, he had never revealed something so volatile to the three of them, even long ago.
She nodded, eyes confirming her promise, this time wishing she would genuinely mean it.
"Thank you, Hagrid," Hermione finally said, displaying the first smile she'd worn in weeks. It wasn't a smile from happiness… but it was close enough. "You have no idea how much I appreciate this."
Hagrid's serious and stern expression faltered as he saw the hope and optimism swell in his former pupil's eyes.
"Don't mention it," he said somewhat lightly, though somewhat meaning it literally.
Watching her place the piece of paper carefully into her robe pocket on the way to the door, Hagrid pressed his lips together in thought.
He knew it wasn't the smartest thing to give a mere student Hogwarts archive information, but he was one of the few
"Hermione?" he called out, waiting for her to turn around with her hand on the knob, flashing him a hopeful, don't-retract-your-information-please smile. "Be good about this." He caught her eye in a stern glance. "And don't get my hide in trouble."
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The dark enveloped the library, making it seem larger and quieter than Hermione ever remembered seeing it. Reputably, she had spent ages in this library, but never this late and never with criminal intentions.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione approached the librarian's office and hesitated. She found herself staring at the doorknob as if it were a variation of the Rubik's Cube. Hermione didn't remember Hagrid saying anything about the office needing a special charm to be opened, but could it be that simple to get in there?
Whispering an Alohamora, she heard a welcoming click as the door unlatched.
Rolling her eyes, Hermione condemned Hogwarts' security--or lack thereof--while thanking her lucky stars at the same time.
One would think that the most powerful magic school in all the land yadda yadda would guard their texts containing nearly lost information and three-headed dogs, for that matter, with more than just elementary unlocking spells.
The young witch stuck her head inside the office. Oh well. Better for the young, on-the-go delinquent.
Just as she was about to step in, Hermione heard a faint noise behind her.
Looking over her left shoulder cautiously, she saw only the inanimate.
"What are we doing?"
"Holy--" Hermione pulled back with a start, thinking she was caught, a hand instinctively over her fast-beating heart. Draco Malfoy's amused face met her enraged look as soon as she recognized his voice, promptly pushing open the office door angrily with her foot. "Stupid asshole, inconsiderate pain in my goddamn--"
"What was that?" he asked, his voice only slightly quieter than usual, as he followed the girl easily. "I scared poor Granger to death?"
Hermione's cross gaze veered over her shoulder.
"Trust me, if I was near death, you'd be right there with me."
Draco faked happiness as he placed a hand over his heart.
"Would you look at that. We're making friends already."
The brunette in the room lit the tip of her wand and ran the light across the cluttered counters of Pince's claustrophobic office.
"In that case, friend," she bit out, "mind telling me why you show up everywhere I go lately? Or is stalking just Slytherin's new trend for this month?"
Draco's brows furrowed in disbelief and he took a brief pause to look at the girl in front of him incredulously, even though her back was to him.
"Even the deranged have standards, Granger," he explained slowly, as if teaching.
"You speak from previous criminal experience?" Hermione's muffled voice sailed from beneath Pince's desk.
Draco snorted as he leaned against the doorframe.
"And you would know nothing about crime of any sort with the secret agent spy mission you've got going here."
"Shutting up would be nice," Hermione ground out, opening drawers now.
"What the hell are you doing anyway, raiding Pince's office?" he continued as though he hadn't heard her. "Not exactly the goldmine location for money, books, or illegal substances--a pity as it may be."
"You'd be surprised," Hermione muttered under her breath, scanning the contents of the small office for a locked cabinet she hadn't checked yet.
Draco raised an eyebrow.
"What was that?"
"I said, 'Why won't you die?'" she replied irritably, waving around her wand in Draco's direction.
"A few words with those flicks and the job would be done, oh brave Gryffindor," he challenged with a smirk, folding his arms and stepping forward.
Hermione paused her search to roll her eyes.
"Please. As if I'd kill you to risk them tracing your pathetic death back to my wand." She opened a file drawer in the corner of the room, rummaging among the parchment inside. "Now poison--there's a different story…"
Realization struck Draco fast and hard as he watched the Gryffindor before him turn Pince's office upside down in haste.
"Ooh," he said, nodding his head, as if he should've known all along.
"Ooh?"
"Uh huh."
"Ooh what? Wait, scratch that. I don't care," Hermione concluded, frustrated, running a hand through her hair and looking around the office helplessly. "What are you doing in the library at midnight anyway—if not stalking?"
"Hey, I could be stalking for all anyone cares," Draco replied, holding up a pass. "I'm actually allowed to be here. Thought I'd get some extra studying done when people aren't trying to steal books I need then dump them at my feet the next day."
"You're right, that is injustice," Hermione said, opening useless drawers for the second time. "I should've dumped them somewhere that counted."
Draco bit the tip of his tongue, then chuckled.
"Ouch, that hurts, Granger."
"Not now, but it would've," she promised as something on the floor caught her eye. Scrambling to pull a piece of parchment out of her pocket as she squatted, Hermione read the contents before aiming her wand at the spot beneath Draco's feet.
"You want to move, please?" she asked with disgust, already miffed that she'd spent valuable time searching where the big annoying thing wasn't standing, and her loot turned out to be beneath him the whole time.
"You're begging me for something on your knees. Now here's the Granger I've been trying to reach underneath all that PMS and hostility."
Hermione's smoldering glare did convince him to move a few steps back, though.
"Give me a few hours of sleep, peace of mind about my spy mission and you'll get your fuck-you's, leave-me-alone's and castration threats back in no time," she promised solemnly before whispering some sort of tongue-twisting incantation and grinning in triumph as it worked.
Draco watched her unlatch the trap door and hesitate before carefully reaching in to pick up a large, stone-and-dust-encrusted book.
"And you'll get peace of mind about this mission after you…" Draco paused pretending to speculate, "…copy down the de-tracing spell and antidote from that big ancient book?"
The trap door clattered closed as Hermione's terrified expression met his, her hand hugging the book close to her chest.
"H-How did you—"
"Wild guess."
Hermione recoiled, stepping back a few paces as though this would give her room to think. Malfoy must've figured out her reason for this book somehow; not like he was a stranger to her research topics anymore. Now her biggest question nagging at the back of her mind was, what was he going to do about it? Hermione glances at the book worriedly. And would he do this under two hours?
"You can stop plotting defense tactics now. I'm not going to hold this over your life," Draco reassured, his brow suddenly furrowing. Oh dear Merlin. I'm going soft. What the hell has aging done to me?
Hermione's eyebrow raised in annoyance as she watched Draco mull over his sudden troubling thoughts, his hand feeling around on his head. She snorted, her hand coming up to cover her mouth as his gaze refocused on her.
"Are y—are you looking for a bald spot?"
Draco looked horrified. Had she spotted one? But her cruel laughter indicated that wasn't why she was laughing.
"Of course not."
"Then what are you doing or are going to do?" she asked bitterly. "I don't think your lack of plans for tonight compensates for interfering with mine."
Draco glanced at Hermione incredulously.
"As guilty as I feel for ruining your date with a book," he assured, "I wouldn't go about insulting someone with the power to deport your precious date back to its cozy home in the ground."
Hermione shook her head in disgust.
"You're going to tell on me?"
"Since I can't kill you," he replied wistfully.
"Fucker."
Draco twirled his wand in his fingers.
"What was that?"
Hermione sighed in defeat, but not before treating Draco to a welcoming hand gesture.
"What do you want?" Her voice sounded resigned and open for suggestions. So long as she could have that book.
"I want in," he said simply, rolling his eyes at her questioning glance. "I want to help you with your whole murder research…thing."
Hermione stayed silent for a moment, rooted to her spot, trying to process what the Slytherin in front of her had just rambled about.
"You can't be serious," was her retort before she saw Draco recharge for another blackmail speech. "That's—it's—no. No chance. And, for that matter, why would you even want to be involved? Isn't it enough for you to taunt Harry's death? Now you want in-depth coverage for your fucking jokes? What the hell do you—"
"I suggest you quiet down your bitch fit just a tad if you don't want Filch to catch us," Draco suggested, effectively shutting her up for a moment, giving him his window of opportunity to talk. "And I've got plenty of material for any joke I would ever want to make on the topic of my choice—all up here," he motioned to his head. Hermione rolled her eyes in disgust. "But this interests me. I didn't exactly fancy Potter," he remarked, observing Hermione's rage ready to explode if he made any snide comment there, "but I don't think those bunch of sniveling imbeciles at the Ministry knew what the bloody hell hit them when investigated his death. And if I could help solve the case, then—"
"Then you could get half the glory," Hermione finished, face twisted into a revolted expression. "I think I'm going to be sick."
Draco shrugged a shoulder, deciding not to correct the woman on her assumption. He didn't want to venture into the messy gray area that told him maybe he wasn't asking to solve the case because of the credit. Maybe he was really interested in what happened to the Golden Boy and disgusted with the sloppy, unjust investigation the Ministry slapped on his case. Maybe more.
"What else does the Malfoy name stand for, now that Voldermort's six feet under?"
Hermione slowly regained some semblance of a grip on her emotions, and stepped out from Madame Pince's unlit, overturned office. She made a mental note to go back and tidy it up a bit when she returned the book.
Promising herself that this was for the good of Harry's investigation, she resigned herself to accepting that she'd have to work with Malfoy. For the good of Harry. For the good of Harry. She also convinced herself that it was a good idea to chant a reminder of why she was agreeing to work with fucking Malfoy.
"…Good of Harry, for the good of Harry," she mumbled under her breath as she pushed back from the office door and sauntered toward a perplexed Draco. Raising her eyebrows, she shoved the heavy book that was nestled in her embrace at Draco's unsuspecting arms. "Well?"
"Well what?" he asked dumbly, unsure of what the moody girl in front of him wanted him to do with the book.
"Get your privileged arse inside the library, Mr. I'm-Allowed-To-Be-Here," she commanded, placing her hands on her hips decisively. "We've got two hours."
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Author's Note:
I know, I know. Just when you thought you'd never hear from me again because I moved to some snowy, isolated country in the middle of nowhere where electricity is considered a sin brewed straight out of hell, I just pop back out of the frosty oblivion.
If there is anyone still reading this, you guys are really, truly amazing. What tolerance you must have. What attention spans you must have.
Awesome.
Love you guys.
Beach.