Chapter 5
"There's something to be said about magic, Granger," Draco grumbled, copying down ingredients and directions on the parchment before him with distaste. "It's called making menial tasks easier." He looked up. "Go with me on this."
Hermione rolled her eyes and raised her head from its resting position on her outstretched arm.
"We've been over this, Malfoy," she replied, saying 'Malfoy' in a way that suggested she would have rather substituted in another word, "all restricted, special books are plagiarist-proof. You make a copy of any page, and the book'll develop a goddamn monologue, telling Pince exactly who copied from it."
Draco sighed in annoyance, hastily admitting to himself that maybe she was just a little right.
"Well, why am I the one doing all the copying? With all those notes you're famous for taking in class, this is right up your alley. I'm more useful with strategizing anyway."
Hermione quirked her eyebrow as Draco pushed the open book toward her in resignation.
"I'm not certain you're useful for anything in this case, but since you literally blackmailed me into giving you something to do, you're going to copy down the ingredients like a good boy. Arsehole."
Draco's nostrils flared.
"I think I missed the part about this arrangement which entails you bossing me about, since I'm the one with all the power. Bitch." Inwardly, he winced at the words that were out of his mouth before he could do anything about them—like screen them, or something. Just that sentence alone reminded him of someone he had no interest in sounding like, and it left a bad taste in his mouth.
"You're right. You're so goddamn fucking right. Why would I know anything about telling you what do with my project, when you're fucking blackmailing me into including you?" Her voice was a high-pitched shrill that Draco's eardrums didn't seem to fancy at this point.
"Will you keep your voice down? Hot damn, that banshee screech is not going to repel Filch and his cat," Draco warned irritably, ironically raising his voice, "despite the temptation to run away from it."
Her eyes flaming to the point of no return, Hermione's hand gripped the edge of the table at which they were seated and bit her tongue so hard that she felt like she exceedingly close to piercing the flesh. Exhaling slowly, Hermione looked at the boy sitting across from her and wondered how she ever got herself into the position of being in constant communication with him. The arrangement they had was ridiculous—and she knew that he must have known it too.
Chuckling, Hermione closed her eyes briefly.
"You… you must have known this would happen," she said cynically, motioning with her hand between them. "We can't be left alone in the same room together."
Draco grinned at the absurdity of the situation as well, the tension melting off his demeanor as he leaned back in his chair.
"That all depends on the room. I have reason to believe we'd provide marvelous entertainment within a battle dome or wrestling rink."
Hermione glanced back at him, the smallest of smirks on her face.
"In pudding."
Her smile dropped.
"Being a pig is really like your calling, isn't it?"
Draco shrugged, totally serious.
"That—or being a florist. I haven't yet decided."
Hermione clenched her fists once more before raking her hands through her brown curls.
"There isn't a word for how much I can't stand you," came her whine, complete with a pout, before she waved her hand dismissively at him, "and I can't even plot your murder in peace since you're sitting right there."
Despite the intended pun, Hermione's eyes suddenly hardened as she realized what she'd just said, reminding her of the task at hand, while Draco merely raised an eyebrow at her. Deciding to steer away from the cat-clawing subject that could possibly be the reason for his… theft of family jewels one day, he flipped the cover of the heavy volume in front of him shut.
"And on that happy note," he scribbled his last word and put a period at the end, raising his quill dramatically, "I'm through."
The girl in front of him mechanically picked up the book, carried it back into Pince's office and dropped it into the trap door hideaway.
"And on a happier note," he heard her muffled voice from the office as she kicked closed the latch of the door, the protective charms reforming around the cherished boundary, "I'm through as well." Stepping out of the office as she shut the door behind her, Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and moved to collect the parchment on which Draco copied the ingredients of the potion. "Through with that book, with this blasted office, through with you. I can just go… and finally get some sleep."
Draco's brows furrowed as he swiped the parchments from the table before she could reach them and held them above his head.
"Hold on a tick," he began, waving the spell ingredients in front of her tauntingly, yet making it very clear that his height will benefit him in keeping them out of reach. "Would you—would you just sit the bloody hell down, woman? Getting a sodding thought out would be a lot easier if you weren't hopping around me like a deranged monkey."
Stopping her pursuit for the information, Hermione narrowed her eyes at the blond.
"I don't think I'm the only thing in the way of you getting your thoughts out," she fumed. "The fact that you have no coherent ones might also present quite a problem."
"Thank you," Draco continued pompously, as though she hadn't said anything; merely stopped jumping. "I realize that having the potion ingredients is all well and good, but what are we going to do about the situation meanwhile? I mean, six weeks is quite a long time to be left ineffectual in the process while we—"
"What—what are you talking about? Six weeks. What the snot is your damage?"
Draco blinked.
"The potion," he motioned, unfolding the parchment. "There's no way we can brew it right away. I mean, look at the ingredients."
He watched the wheels turn in Hermione's head as she scanned the list. Her shoulders rose and fell.
"So? We have most of this stuff in the greenhouses and I could make in less than…" she trailed off as she evidently spotted the problem. "Antlers."
"A moose's antlers, to be exact. The bone marrow from a set of moose's antlers is required in the potion at the time of brewing or the previous ingredients will overcook and evaporate—understandably, since it will be a six-week wait—and therefore render our efforts of pilfering the remainder of the ingredients useless, as they would be ineffective at the needed time."
Hermione just stared at him for minutes, thoughts of the antlers lost on her.
"Did a bunch of phrases mix in your mind and that's what you regurgitated?"
Rolling his eyes, her conversation partner huffed in annoyance at straying from the topic.
"Actually, it's simply intelligent conversation. I presume that's quite a stretch from your new 'fuck that, bitch, and leave me the hell alone' catchphrases, but I suppose you're just going to have to live with it, won't you?"
"Ugh. I do not only say—" Catching herself, the brunette Gryffindor puckered her lips and looked away, exhaling through her nose. When she looked back to the irritated Draco, her lips were wearing a knowing smirk. "We're doing it again."
"It's the only it we do."
"We need to stop and concentrate on the work."
Draco nodded in response and pointed at the parchment, "Moose antlers."
"Right. So tell me, Snape Junior, why is this potion doomed to brew for six weeks?"
"It's not going to—Is that Snape thing an insult?" he stopped mid-sentence, forehead scrunched up. "He's a very talented professor and an esteemed Potions Master; that's not an insult." Hermione simply grinned condescendingly and nodded at him, in a 'Yes, of course' kind of way. "It's not. Except the hair—The hair's definitely better over here," he declared, pointing at his blond skull.
Hermione closed her eyes, quelling her annoyance and raised her eyebrows at him a moment later for him to continue the parts not about Snape.
"Right. The potion won't take six weeks to brew. We have to brew it in six weeks."
She stared at him.
"Very different."
Draco looked at her like she was crazy.
"Yeah."
"Right. Well why do we have to wait that long? And where are we going to get moose antlers?"
Draco grinned uncharacteristically.
"Both correlated, lioness." Hermione frowned at one of the words. "Moose are populous, more commonly, in Canada. It was the first thought that came to my mind. Coincidentally, I have an ex-fiancé there who I'm still on good terms with and can count on her giving me said antlers that we need. Unfortunately," he continued, ignoring Hermione's weakly-shielded surprise at the 'ex-fiancé' part, "the reason moose are so prosperous there and are protected from Muggle hunters by the government is because of those valuable antlers. They are very useful and prized in the production of Muggle medicine, therefore cut from the moose and awaited until they re-grow, at which point they are cut again. Quite productive, frankly speaking."
Hermione's first show of outward emotion was projected on her face as it took on a sympathetic and concerned expression.
"That's so cruel. How painful it must be for all those moose to have their antlers cut off. That's a part of them."
Draco shrugged, raising an eyebrow.
"No more painful than us cutting our finger or toenails. That's a part of us."
Hermione bit the corner of her lip and chewed on it for a moment before motioning with her palms for him to continue, void of any comment. Anything she said would've blatantly proved that she was in the dark about something and she and Draco both knew—albeit separately—that she'd never unnecessarily admit she was wrong.
"As I was saying, antlers are very precious to the government due to their scientific value, and one can't attain them simply. The connections I have there are fairly minimal and mean, quite literally, shit to the government officials. It will take my ex-fiancé five to six weeks to owl the antlers to us." Draco drummed his fingers on the gleaming tabletop. "At least that's how long it took last time."
Hermione rubbed the back of her neck.
"Last time?"
Her partner in crime let a small smirk conquer his features, palpably pleased at being the knowledgeable party in the conversation.
"Just as the antlers are valued in Muggle science, they are quite valuable for Potions as well. Mostly for forbidden, uncommon potions, such as…" Draco pointedly motioned to the parchment of ingredients in front of them, "and some medical ones as well. I made a few potions requiring moose antlers." Hermione glanced at him in an unintentional, accusatory way, probably focusing on the 'forbidden potions' part. "Once or twice."
Nodding, Hermione's eyebrows quirked in genuine fascination.
"So you researched all about Canadian moose for a potion you did once or twice?"
Draco smirked and shook his head condescendingly.
"Actually, if you paid even the smallest amount of attention in Potions lately, you'd know just as much about Canadian moose as I do."
"Well, Merlin's underpants, I really missed the goldmine." Hermione knew she was lying, and with the nearly spotless track record of guessing what she was thinking, she didn't doubt Draco knew it as well. She never really lost her thirst for knowledge. She just lost the will to quench it. She hoped that Draco wouldn't start a thing and bring it up.
To her surprise, he only shuddered.
"Where are people getting these expressions? I doubt Merlin would have chosen to become so prominent if he knew people would refer to his undergarments years after his death."
Looking at Draco as though he was insane, and then deciding that she shouldn't be surprised because he was, Hermione simply shook her head.
"Off topic. Again. So what do you propose we do while we wait for your fiancé to owl over the moose antlers?"
"Ex-fiancé," Draco corrected, noticing some sort of unidentified emotion behind Hermione's eyes before she raised her arms in surrender and spread her palms out in front of her, as if saying, 'Not my business; really don't care', "and what did you have in for the next step, before we brew the potion?" Draco caught her eyes. "I assume you had some sort of plan in your head."
She looked to the side then back to him.
"Of course I had a plan. Brew the potion; drink the potion to cast the charm on Harry's tomb; find the bastard that killed him." She spread her arms out and grinned. "Master plan."
"That's it?"
"Well, I wasn't exactly thinking torture strategies… but now that you mention it—" Her eyes caught his impatient stance. "What? What is it you want me to say, smartarse?"
"How about that you have proof," he retorted. "I mean, this de-tracer could point to anyone in this bloody school and you'd only be halfway there in your accusation. And that's all it would be—an allegation. A conviction would take proof. Proof that this person is the murderer and didn't just fix Potter's glasses with his wand or hex his hair green before the true crime was committed."
Hermione, tired of being outdone and lectured, raised her chin defiantly, regaining some of that familiar hate she often found herself feeling for Draco Malfoy.
"If I cast the de-tracer, it'll find the wand of the person who last cast the spell on Harry, so it's impossible for it to find the wrong person. The last person that cast the spell on Harry is the fucker that killed him."
Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. This was all so elementary. To him, at least.
"Not if Potter was killed the Muggle way. Then you'd just accuse the wrong person and create an enormous scandal."
Hermione's mouth dropped open as she leaned over the table to stare Draco coldly in the eye.
"This is a huge scandal and whomever the spell may point at deserves to be scandalized," she gritted through her teeth. "Besides… the Ministry checked all possibilities regarding Harry's death and during their… profound—" Hermione spat distastefully, "—conclusion that it was a suicide, they explained that they found no fingerprints or any further evidence that Harry was killed. Magically or otherwise."
"But you don't believe that!" Draco exclaimed, raising his voice for the first time since Hermione and he began working together. Standing up from his seat, he leaned over the table to meet Hermione's accusing face halfway. "You wouldn't be doing all this if you did. You don't believe he committed suicide and you can't possibly believe what those wankers at the Ministry unearthed." He shook his head as he watched her lose some of the confidence behind her angered expression. "You—we need to find out who did this, when, how, and why. This can only work with all the facts and the complimentary proof." He sighed. "Otherwise, we have nothing."
Hermione's mouth opened and closed before she ran a hand through her hair and sat down.
"What do you propose we do… now?"
Draco took a seat, too.
"Well… I guess we should make a list of suspects. Sounds cheesy, I know, but we could call it something else."
"The list of bastards?" Hermione offered. Draco's lip turned up at a corner.
"Has a ring to it." He rubbed his chin. "So, you can take care of compiling the list. What? Did I really deserve that gesture? I wasn't there that day. How close did you think Potter and I were?"
"And what will you be doing? Frolicking and napping? No, I know—" Hermione cut Draco off as he began to say something, "—that I would rather do this myself but now you know too much. You're in on this." She leaned closer, her palms pressed on the table, eyes darker than chocolate. "And if you're in on this, you don't get to be the lazy arse I want to be."
Draco chuckled at the proposition.
"Whatever. I'll do my part by interviewing the people on the list—just as you'll be doing, but you have to come up with whoever it is you remember that was there that day near Potter."
"Fine. Done."
"Good, we can meet during next weekend's sixth year trip to the Mediwizard's Four Star Institute."
Hermione shrugged.
"Yeah. Whatever."
Draco gritted his teeth to resist the urge to roll his eyes. He hated the word whatever but he kept his mouth shut. He was no hypocrite.
"There is one more thing."
Hermione stood up, sighing and really feeling the fatigue settle upon in waves. Folding the parchment full of ingredients into halves, then fourths, and eighths, she stuffed it into her pocket and looked wearily at Draco.
"Of course, oh Master of detective work. And what it is that I seemed to overlook now?"
Draco stared at her, unsure of whether that was supposed to be a guilt trip or not. It wasn't his fault she couldn't properly see the flaws in her hit-and-run, rushed plan to clear the Golden Boy's name. She should have been thanking him for thinking clearly and making her plan plausible. Whatever it was, he knew one thing; he wasn't about to feel guilty when he actually being borderline decent.
"Above everyone else on the list, you have to talk to the one other person besides you that was closest to Potter, that had access to his room, his belongings, and knew of his whereabouts." He laced his hands behind his head as he sat back, sighing in exhaustion. "The other one of you lot he trusted."
Hermione's eyes caught his, fiery and uneasy.
She hadn't a doubt of whom he was speaking.
Author's Note:
Ha. I'm getting better. It wasn't completely a year before I updated again. My next update, according my ultra mega super complicated system, is going to be for Sucker Love. And then back to this story. I feel that's the only way I'm going to get anything done. So if I'm not updating this, there's a chance I'm updating Sucker Love.
This chapter was actually really tough to write, especially at the beginning. But it's really kicking off the story nicely and the end just kind of wrote itself. Good interaction and base ground set between Draco and Hermione.
Um. All information given about moose in this chapter is true, as told to me by a true Canadian.
So if you think I'm wrong, too bad, because I'm not.
And review. Because believe it or not, I do update faster that way. If no one reviews, it gives me relief to know that I don't ever have to update because no one is honestly waiting on another chapter.
Or are you?