Authors Note: Here finally is the Next chapter in which I attempt to answer your questions. Thanks to my betas who have between them, made this readable. As always, please review to let me know what you think.
Chapter ten
Hermione looked around her familiar Hogwarts room and sighed in relief. How long it seemed since she had last been here, although it had been just over two weeks ago that she had left Hogwarts to stay at the Brocklehurst Manor. She closed her eyes, willing herself not to think about the night before, and turned her attention to unpacking her trunk. 'Keeping busy would be the best thing right now,' she mused as she put clothes and books away; it would stop her from dwelling on the night before and all that it had represented.
The sound of knocking on the door made Hermione straighten up, cursing softly. For a moment, she was tempted to ignore whoever it was, but the person on the other side of the door showed no signs of going away; clearly whoever it was knew she was back and was determined to speak to her.
Gritting her teeth, she abandoned her partially unpacked trunk and strode over to the door. Yanking it open, she was about to deliver a stinging retort to the intruder, when Ginny Weasley beat her to it.
"And hello to you too," She said grinning at Hermione. "Move out of the way will you? McGonagall said you were back, so I thought I'd come to see how things were." At Hermione's less than enthusiastic expression she went on, "Don't worry, Harry and Ron are in the library for a change – some essay of Snape's – they were in a right sweat about it. Anyway, they don't know you're back so we won't be disturbed."
Hermione moved aside to let Ginny into the room. Shutting and warding the door, she turned to face her red-haired friend, who turned and hugged her. Ginny gazed into Hermione's face, her eyes not missing the dark shadows beneath Hermione's eyes. She frowned, but deciding not to comment, turned and picked up the satin red and gold dress-robes Hermione had dumped on to the bed at Ginny's knock.
"Oh Hermione, these are exquisite!" Ginny breathed fingering the material, "I've never seen them before, and when did you get them?"
"At the start of the hols," Hermione replied as she carried on unpacking her books, thankful that Ginny's attention was diverted for the time being.
"So," Ginny resumed, putting the robes aside, "how was it? I persuaded McGonagall to write you a note saying you had to get back, but I see it didn't work!"
"No, it didn't," Hermione said glumly, sitting down beside Ginny. "Mrs Brocklehurst wouldn't hear of me leaving before the dinner, I had a job to get her to let me leave today. Thanks for trying, anyway." Hermione gave a wry smile.
There was a pause and then Ginny said quietly, "What happened? You look awful – as though you haven't slept in an age!"
Hermione looked into the face of her closest friend, and took a deep breath. She knew it would be useless to procrastinate, for Ginny was one of the most persistent people she knew. Haltingly, she told Ginny everything that had taken place the night before, leaving nothing out. As she talked, she saw the events as though they were happening at that very moment: the dinner scene, the moment she had to get up and sing, the fear she had felt when the Brocklehursts had fallen unconscious, but most of all, the feelings of guilt and mingled pleasure when Draco Malfoy had kissed her in the library at the Malfoy Manor.
Ginny did not interrupt Hermione's soliloquy, but simply sat there, drinking in everything she said. Finally, after more than fifteen minutes of stumbling over her words and hesitations, Hermione was finished. Glancing at Ginny, she noticed that her friend looked as worried as she felt, but she could not deny the sense of relief that seeped through her at finally putting into words the terror she had felt the night before.
"Bloody hell," Ginny muttered, shaking her head in sympathy. "Bloody, bloody hell! Merlin, Hermione, they're one twisted family. I'm surprised that you escaped unscathed. Well, almost unscathed. Being kissed by Draco would count as a bloody traumatic experience, don't you agree?"
Ginny's attempt at lightening the mood worked a bit, causing the girls to chuckle a little at her joke. Hermione wasn't sure herself if she agreed with Ginny – truth be told, she wasn't sure that she would protest too greatly if her experience with kissing Draco Malfoy last night was anything to go by.
Hermione brushed the kiss away with; "To be honest, Gin, I was surprised to get away so easily from the Malfoys too. I mean I had the chocolates on me, as well as my wand, but neither made me feel particularly safe when I was sitting in that drawing room surrounded by three scheming Malfoys."
"Well, even if you'd managed to escape them, you'd have to find your way out of the grounds, and I can bet you anything that there are wards there which would have prevented you from leaving. No, you did the right thing by doing nothing. But Merlin!"
Ginny got up, and went over to the window. She gazed out unseeing onto the grounds below , and Hermione knew she was deep in thought, "What I want to know," Ginny finally said, "is why they went to all that trouble – I mean why be nice to you and feed you all that crap about putting the past behind you? What are they after? There's no doubt in my mind that they were after something – the Malfoys aren't nice to people for the hell of it. Niceties don't come naturally to them!"
Hermione had to smile in spite of her self and then said, "I totally agree. It's something I have been wracking my brains about since the early hours of this morning, and I still haven't come up with a plausible answer."
"Well, let's put it this way: why be nice to you and ignore the Brocklehursts? Why take an inordinate interest in a muggleborn when there are purebloods around? Why you and not the Brocklehurst girl? What is that you have, that the Brocklehursts don't?" Ginny questioned.
"Hmm, I'm not sure," Hermione mused, fiddling absentmindedly with a quill lying on her bedside table, "good questions, all. What do I have that the Brocklehursts who are purebloods, and part of upper-class wizarding society, don't? My collection of muggle holiday souvenirs perhaps?" Hermione smiled at Ginny, causing the younger girl to chuckle and roll her eyes.
Suddenly, Ginny let out a gasp, her hand flying to her mouth, "Hermione, I think I have it! Yes, it would all make sense – the bloody sneaks!"
"What? What is it?" Hermione asked, interest sharpening her voice, "What would make sense, Ginny?"
Ginny had pulled a lock of hair from her ponytail, and was chewing on it while pacing up and down the room, testing her theory with various permutations. Her face wore an expression very similar to Hermione's own when in deep thought. Eventually, she lifted her head, to fix Hermione with an intent gaze, "Well, it's only a theory, and even to me it sounds far-fetched, but it makes sense, in a way."
"Well, it'd be nice to know what this theory is some time soon." Hermione frowned at her.
Unperturbed by Hermione's brusque retort, Ginny went on, "Do you remember that night a few weeks back, when Mum wrote to say that my Aunt Emma had given birth to another stillborn baby?"
"Yes," Hermione replied, "I think your mother said the child had Kurbs-Blood."
"That's right. Kurbs-Blood. And, if the rumours are anything to go by," Ginny continued thoughtfully, still chewing on her vibrant hair, "Narcissa Malfoy apparently has had a few stillbirths… which may be attributed to that dreaded disease. I don't know how many stillbirths she had, but Draco was the only one who survived. Of course, it was all hushed up every time she gave birth to a stillborn, but whispers would always get out – you know what it's like."
"God, that must've been awful – carrying a child to term, and then giving birth to a dead baby." Hermione whispered, feeling sympathy rise up in her, "And to have gone through that more than once…" She shuddered, closing her eyes against the very idea of it. "It's something I wouldn't wish even on my worst enemy."
"Yeah, but don't you see?" Ginny emphasised, "Kurbs-Blood affects pureblood parents only! And the Malfoys are affected by it!"
"Like genes you mean?" Hermione questioned, tilting her head, "Is Kurbs-Blood gene related?"
"Gene? Not sure what that is," said a baffled Ginny, "but the thing is that if Kurbs-Blood's in Narcissa and Lucius's blood, it will be in Draco's blood too! Let's say for a moment, that if Malfoy… Draco, that is, marries a pureblood girl like Mandy Brocklehurst; she would probably have Kurbs-Blood in her blood as well. Well, between both of them there would be lots of… dodgy blood. If they had any children, the chances of the kids inheriting the disease would be much higher as the dodgy blood'll come from both sides!"
"Yeah, OK," Hermione agreed cautiously, "Let's say for a moment you're right, and there's so-called 'dodgy blood' in the Malfoy line. Then surely knowing that with this blood disease in their family, Draco would make sure that the pureblood girl he decides to marry doesn't have the disease in her family. No, that can't be the explanation."
"Oh," countered an excited Ginny, "and how would he do that? There aren't any reliable tests around to test for the disease. Not much is known about it, so how can he guarantee that his wife is free from it?" She pointed a finger at Hermione to emphasise her point. "And let me tell you," she continued, "there's not one pureblood family in Europe who hasn't had the disease crop up at some time in their history."
There was silence as Hermione digested Ginny's words, then finally the older girl asked, "but you lot haven't had it – I mean you are all healthy! Aren't you?" she trailed off feeling awkward.
"Yeah, we're healthy," Ginny's excitement was tempered by Hermione's question, "but both mum and dad lost siblings to the disease. Mum doesn't say, but Bill told me once that it was only because Mum wanted a girl that they tried again after Ron. The first girl they had didn't make it, she was born two years after Bill and a year after that, Charley was born."
Hermione was chilled at Ginny's confession. "I'm sorry," she offered.
Ginny shrugged, "We're blessed when you think about it. At least there're seven of us in our family. Most families are like the Malfoys, with only one child, or two like the Blacks. But still, it means that we all have some of that dodgy blood within us. But think about it, Hermione," Ginny returned to the previous topic, "Why risk marrying a pureblood who's most likely carrying the dreaded disease in their blood? It's surely safer and in the Malfoys' interest for Draco to marry a muggle-born witch – none of whom would carry the damned disease in their blood! Maybe the Malfoys think that untainted wizarding blood will help improve Draco's chances of producing children who are Kurbs-Blood free. And since Draco has had a crush on you for quite some time now, why not take this opportunity to do something about it?" Ginny gave Hermione a pointed look. "You're the most intelligent witch Hogwarts has seen for ages, and I bet Draco would seize this opportunity to kill two birds with one stone – well three actually; someone who's intelligent, good looking, and most importantly Kurbs-Blood free!" she grinned.
"Well," Hermione shook her head with a smile, deciding not to comment on the latter part of Ginny's remarks, "that's a pretty ingenious theory even by my standards! But there's one tiny flaw – the Malfoys are extremely proud of their bloodline. I should know, I've endured taunts about my own "lowly" state for the last six years at Draco's own hands."
Ginny simply smiled at this, "Ah, but what's the point of keeping a pure bloodline if it'll eventually die out, which'll most likely happen, if not in our generation, then in the next one. Not even the Malfoys're so thick that they'd risk that at the expense of keeping their blood pure. Oh and remember what Lucius Malfoy said to you? All that rubbish about putting the past behind you and starting again? Damn it, Hermione, he even apologise for all the things they've said to you and that's saying something! He wanted you to think better of them, and if that meant demeaning himself, I wouldn't put it pass him to do so! It's all means to justify the end to him!"
There was another and much longer pause as Hermione thought about Ginny's explanation. Getting up, she too began to pace the length of the room, her mind working feverishly. It was true; the Malfoys had been anxious to please her last night, and Lucius' apology – that was certainly out of character for that proud pureblood. Could Ginny's theory be true? She shuddered, her mind grappling with the possibilities.
"Genes, that's what it is," Hermione said, speaking aloud, her mind worling, "Kurbs-blood must be the result of two recessive genes coming together. I bet you anything that the genes for Kurbs-blood are magic-related so that only purebloods have them – my god!"
"Err," said a mystified Ginny, "you've lost me again, I'm afraid. What do you mean by 'genes'?"
"Well," Hermione explained, adopting her best teacher voice, "you know that our cells all have this substance within them called DNA?" At Ginny's careful nod, she went on, "Well, in the nucleus of the cell – the heart of the cell if you like, the DNA can be found, which contains all our genes. There're 23 pairs of chromosomes in the nucleus of any one of our cells. Each chromosome contains a single strand of DNA, that's deoxyribonucleic acid—" at which Ginny began rolling her eyes "—which carries the code for a couple of thousand of genes. I won't go into the genetic code and bases and stuff, or we'll be here all day, but suffice to say, what if there's a fault in the gene which codes for haemoglobin?"
"If that were the case," Ginny said, trying valiantly to keep up with Hermione's train of thought, "we would see Kurbs-Blood in muggles, muggle-born witches and wizards, as well as in purebloods. No, it must be more complex than that. But whatever the reason, it doesn't change the fact that the Malfoys want your blood to ensure their bloodline carries on."
"Assuming, of course, that we are right in our theory," Hermione frowned, side-stepping the issue, and focusing on the science instead, "The Kurb-Blood link with magic makes so much sense. I bet you anything the faulty gene's also responsible for the magic of purebloods in some way, which must mean that the Magic in purebloods must be from a different part of the blood compared with muggle-borns, since the latter aren't affected by the disease! Wow, my god…"
Ginny sighed and raised her eyes to the ceiling; she had given up trying to understand what Hermione was going on about, and simply let her talk in the hope she would come to a stop soon.
"Don't you see?" Hermione now asked, "It fits; that's why muggle-borns and muggles don't suffer from Kurbs-Blood. The gene can only be found in purebloods as it must code for both their magic and haemoglobin."
"Tell me something," Ginny asked, turning to face Hermione, "how do you do it? I mean here you are and you've just worked out in a couple of minutes something that healers have been trying to understand for ages! Granted your explanation may not be the right one, but it fits the problem, which is more than can be said for anything St. Mungo's've ever come up with."
"Thanks," Hermione smiled, "I suppose it's because having been brought up in the muggle world, I see things from two perspectives; muggle and magical, and don't have a problem in combining the two as most wizards do, or to separate them into two distinct worlds as most muggle-borns tend to do."
"Yeah, I suppose so," Ginny nodded, and a grin slowly spread across her face. Hermione heard alarm bells go off in her brain, and knew immediately that Ginny was going to ask her something she would not want to answer.
Sure enough, Ginny's next words delivered in such a nonchalant manner that made Hermione squirm, "So you haven't really said much about it… or I might've just missed it altogether… but was he a good kisser?"
ZoZoZoZo
"Oh come on Hermione," said an eager Parvati, "don't tell me there's nothing between the two of you – I mean he danced with you at the Ashworth's ball for Merlin's sake."
It was breakfast time on the first day of the summer term. Students were making their sleepy way into the Great Hall, while above them a cloudless blue sky twinkled down on them. Hermione, buried behind her copy of the Daily Prophet, groaned. Trust Parvati to have been at that damned dance.
"So?" Parvati carried on, leaning forward and grabbing the paper from Hermione, "I mean come on, he introduced you to his parents! That's got to be something!"
"Parvati, how many times do I have to tell you, there's nothing between us, and never will be. He danced with loads of people at that ball, for heavens' sake!" snapped an exasperated Hermione, making a lunge for her confiscated paper just as another owl landed in front of her plate. Stretching out a hand, she took the envelope from its beak and turned it over, glad for the moment for an excuse not to look at Parvati. Turning the envelope over in her hands, she recognised the seal as belonging to Gringott's – it must be her bank statement.
"Oh no he didn't," said a slyly smiling Parvati, holding Hermione's Daily Prophet just out of reach, while stretching out her other hand to grab the envelope from Hermione, "I was there – I saw him. He watched you and Terry Boot dancing for a while, and then, when jealousy won out, he went over, and stole you away from Boot!" she sighed dramatically, which grated on Hermione's nerves no end. "And at the end of the dance, he took you over to meet his parents. Admittedly, you didn't look pleased," Parvati glared at the brunette, "which you ought to've been. It's quite an honour if you don't know. But that doesn't change the fact he still singled you out." Another sigh. "Oh and later on, Narcissa Malfoy spent ages talking to you, before you had to leave."
Hermione swiftly stowed the letter in her bag before Parvati could snatch it away from her. She resisted the temptation to hex her and ignored the girl, fixing her attention instead on Harry and Ron who were making their disconsolate way over to the Gryffindor table.
"Morning," muttered a bleary-eyed Harry, helping himself to porridge, "What's up with you Hermione?"
Ron too, glanced at Hermione's flushed face before loading his plate with eggs and bacon, but Hermione simply glared back. Parvati however smiled and said, "Oh, the usual: girls stuff!" She rolled her eyes in a dramatic gesture and both Harry and Ron promptly lost interest, turning their attention to their breakfasts.
Having successfully diverted their attention, Parvati leaned towards Hermione muttering, "Why is it you're always getting the best looking boys?" She was grinning as she continued, "why don't you just pass some of them on to me – I certainly wouldn't object. Malfoy, yum, yum yum! What I wouldn't give for him to dance with me!"
Hermione had to smile at this; it was difficult to remain angry with Parvati for long, her sunny nature and humorous outlook on life dispelled anger as soon as it was born. Although rather giggly, she was nevertheless harmless, and Hermione knew would not make it public knowledge that Draco Malfoy had danced with her at the Ashworth's ball.
"Parvati, you're welcome to the whole lot of them; Harry and Ron included. To me, they're simply nuisances who interrupt me when I'm trying to pursue an education!" Hermione shook her head in mock exasperation and downed the rest of her coffee.
"I really don't understand you," grumbled a scowling Parvati, pushing Hermione's paper back at her, "the majority of the sixth and seventh year boys spend most of their time drooling over you and coming up with ways to get your attention, and all you can think about is your books – honestly witch, you need to get your priorities straight! I mean, take Malfoy for instance, he's the most gorgeous boy in the whole school and he's had a crush on you since our third or fourth year, and what do you do? You ignore him!"
"I told you, you can have him with my full blessing!" Then, gathering her belongings, Hermione got up from the table, followed a moment later by a grumpy-looking Harry and an equally grumpy Ron.
The trio made their way through the Great Hall, just as the bell for lessons sounded. Around them, students were hastily finishing their breakfasts or making a beeline for the doors into the entrance hall. Hermione speeded up to try to avoid the crush of students now spilling out of the Great Hall in droves.
As they headed out of the castle on their way to Herbology, Harry suddenly said, "What was Parvati talking about? Did you really dance with Malfoy at a ball?"
Hermione suppressed a groan. "Yes," she said testily, striding ahead of the other two. They, however, speeded up to keep pace with her. Clearly, both had been woken up by her single word, although Hermione attributed their alertness to the warm breeze wafting over the grounds.
"What?" Ron gasped, "You danced with that git? Why?"
"Ron," Hermione stopped walking and glared at the red-head trying to keep her temper in check, "first, because it would have looked rude if I'd turned him down, and secondly, I don't see why I have to explain my actions to you! It's up to me who I dance with." She turned away and strode towards the Greenhouses with a sigh. She should have known that eventually Harry and Ron would hear of the Ashworth's dance, but did it have to be on the first day back?
The rest of the day passed relatively quietly; at the start of every lesson, they were reminded of the approaching NEWTs, and more homework was piled upon them. By the time evening rolled round, Hermione felt tired and wanted nothing more than to curl up with a good book, but she couldn't; she had to go to the library and do some research. Harry and Ron looked close to breaking down, and it was only the thought of Quidditch practice later that evening that sustained them through dinner.
Entering the library after dinner, Hermione let the peace exuded by the huge room steal over her. She loved this place as much for its atmosphere, as for the books it held. Around her, students – mostly fifth and seventh years – were poring over large, dusty looking volumes feverishly scribbling notes.
Making her way along the dusty shelves, Hermione collected the books she needed, and settled herself at her favourite table to read and take notes. She would not stay long, she promised herself, only long enough to take the notes she needed to write her Herbology and Charms essays. She badly wanted to have an early night, and suspected that Harry and Ron would want help on their essays later. Soon, Hermione was lost in the books before her, the only sound being the occasional turning of a page, and the scratching of her quill as she took notes.
She did not therefore hear the sound of someone approaching her table, or notice that the chair beside hers was pulled out. She did not even notice that the seat was taken. It was only when a hand was laid on her arm that she looked up from her book. She saw Draco Malfoy smiling at her, leaning back in his chair, his long legs stretched out beneath the table.
"Malfoy," she gasped in surprised and not a little dismay, "what're you doing here?"
"Hermione, first names please!" came the lazy reply, "I'm here to study, of course, but also to spend time with my… friend," he lifted an arched eyebrow, emphasising the last word. Hermione squirmed, as his words reminded her only too vividly of the pact they had made in the Malfoy library only two days ago.
'And what happened just before that pact,' she added to herself inwardly.
Hermione's emotions and thoughts battled within her: she knew that Ron and Harry were currently in the Gryffindor common room, doing their Charms essays, but that didn't mean someone else couldn't come upon them in the library. Moreover, she had had quite enough teasing this morning without wanting to suffer any more. On the other hand, the table they were at was well hidden and surrounded on three sides by high sets of shelves with a window behind; the seclusion was the reason Hermione like it so much. Now however, she became aware of the isolation of the table and cursed inwardly for not having seen this coming.
Frantically, she searched her brain for some excuse to get away, but could not find a plausible one. She glanced down at the page she had been reading, but as she was only half way down it, she could not say that she had finished her work either. She turned to face the still smiling Malfoy, and returning his smile said politely, "That's really nice of you, but not necessary. I wouldn't want to hold you up in your studies. Like you, I've loads of work to get through, and once I've finished with these reference books, I'll have to go."
"Why Hermione? What's the hurry? Curfew isn't for a few hours yet. "
Maybe it was her imagination, but she could have sworn his mouth tightened slightly.
"It's my turn for patrol duty tonight," she said thinking quickly, "and I want to get this lot done before hand."
At her words, his eyes lit up, and the smile returned to his face. "Ah, I meant to speak to you about that," he drawled leaning closer to her, "be an angel and switch my patrol to match yours, will you? At least that'll ensure us some time together!"
"I'm sorry, but the duty roster for the next few weeks has already gone up," Hermione hedged, "maybe in the latter half of the term we can arrange something else. For now, the roster'll have to stay as they are."
Instead of frowning or arguing as she had expected him to do, Malfoy slid an arm round her and pulled her against him. Even as she tried to pull away, he pressed his face into her hair and murmured, "Only you, my little Hermione would stick so rigidly to the rules." His other hand came up to caress the side of her face as he carried on, "I'm sure MacMillan won't mind swapping with me tonight. In fact, I think, I'll speak to him myself about it."
"No," Hermione snapped, trying to push him away. "No don't, it'll just upset the whole schedule and it'll take hours for me to re-sort it all."
Truthfully, swapping duties amongst the prefects was not an uncommon occurrence, and she knew Draco Malfoy was aware of this fact. However, she still felt an unjustified anger rising within her at the thought of him speaking to her in such a condescending way!
Thrusting her hands against his chest, she managed to push him away, and glared into his smiling face. "And while we are on the subject, I'm not your 'little Hermione', so please refrain from addressing me as such!"
Instead of glowering as she had expected him to, Malfoy surprised her once again by simply smiling and leaning back languidly in his chair.
"Whoa, calm down Hermione! I didn't mean to upset you, I only meant to be friendly." He threw up his hands in a shielding motion, as though to protect himself. Gently, he added, "I promise I won't do it again, OK?"
Hermione too, sat back, her fingers toying with the pages of the book lying before her, shame creeping over her at her outburst. Had it been necessary to snap at him quite so ferociously? She could not afford for him to lose his temper – she really couldn't. Her fingers tightened on the page, causing the old parchment to crumble; damn Draco Malfoy and his ability to make her doubt even her own name – damn him to hell!
"Look," she began awkwardly, "it's been a stressful day for me," she tried to muster a smile with little success, "if you'd known me better, I suppose you would've recognised the signs," she shrugged. "Everyone in Gryffindor avoids me like the plague when I'm in this mood. I guess they all value their heads and don't want them to part company with their shoulders." She gave him a self-deprecating smile.
The blond chuckled appreciatively at her attempt at humour. "Ah, I understand. Now that I'm more aware of your moods, I'll make sure to approach you more cautiously then," he quipped, with a warm look in his eyes. "It'll never do to antagonise a lioness when she's not ready to play."
Hermione shook her head at Malfoys gentle jibe. He was just full of surprises this evening.
"Oh, and before I forget, Mother sent you this," he said, as he pulled a parcel wrapped in brown paper out of his bag and handed it to her. "She didn't send it to you directly as she wasn't sure how you'd receive it, but she asked me to pass it on."
Looking perplexed, Hermione tore open the parcel, to find a letter and a package wrapped in cellophane within. Curiously, she opened the letter first, to see Narcissa's elegant copperplate script covering the thick and obviously expensive parchment:
"Dear Hermione,
I was not sure if you would appreciate me sending this directly to you – house rivalries being what they are – so Draco will just have to be my courier for this purpose.
I hope that you are well, and that your studies are not too wearying. I am enclosing a pack of 'Engel's Energisers' which I thought may come in useful in the coming few weeks. These sweets will ensure that your sugar levels remain high without the need for other food. I suspect that like Draco, you are apt to miss or skimp on meals during the examination period, so I thought these might help keep your energy levels up. It would never do to lose your health at the expense of your studies.
It was lovely meeting you during the Easter break, and it is truly a shame that we could not spend more time together. I feel that if given the chance, you and I could become fast friends; we have so much in common. Rarely have I met such a charming young lady as yourself.
Do take care of yourself and let me know if you would like any more of these sweets. They are imported from the Continent, and are unavailable from Honeydukes. But say the word, and I will be pleased to send you more, if you need them.
Your friend,
Narcissa"
Hermione stared at the letter in her hand, and then her eyes moved to the packet of sweets on the table before her. She had, of course, heard of 'Engel's Energisers' as Ron had spent so much of his time over the last few weeks trying to get hold of some. But for Narcissa Malfoy to send some to her! She turned to face Draco, who was looking expectantly at her.
"Umm," she began, not knowing what to say, "Well, do thank your Mother for me, I mean…"
He grinned and said, "I had a feeling she'd send you those – she sends me a supply every year before the exams and they're really useful."
"Yes, but why did she send them to me? I mean, we've only met once – well twice, if you count the time at the Ashworth's ball – but the point is that she doesn't really know me!"
Malfoy gazed thoughtfully at Hermione, his chin cupped in his palm. Finally, he said, "I think she's taken a liking to you. I mean she'd heard of you from me before you were formally introduced to her, so she was anxious to meet you. And when she did, she took an immediate liking to you." He smiled as he mused, "You know, she was really put out that night after you left that she couldn't spend more time with you. You see, mother's wanted a daughter for as long as I can remember, and well…"
Hermione could feel her heart sinking; this was all she needed! Shaking her head, she said, "But she met me only briefly, and besides, if she wants a daughter so badly, why doesn't she have one? I don't mean to sound callous, but surely that would be the more sensible thing to do."
Malfoy frowned, pushed an impatient hand through his hair and said with an elegant shrug, "I don't know. Maybe Father didn't want any more children – it isn't the kind of thing one discusses with one's parents you know."
His nonchalance and easy acceptance of Hermione's darts, irked her no end, and she knew that if she did not get away from him soon, she would scream with frustration. Shutting her book with a snap, and gathering her things hurriedly, Hermione hastily packed her bag. She had to think about what Narcissa's favour meant, and she couldn't do that with Draco Malfoy breathing down her neck
Beside her, Malfoy watched her, not saying a word. When he saw that Hermione was almost done with her packing, he said, "Hermione, Mother only thought she was helping by sending you those sweets. Please don't take it as an insult or an offence."
"I'm not," she paused in her packing and closed her eyes. Turning to the Slytherin, she added with a wan smile, "I'm touched she sent me the sweets, but I really need to get back to Gryffindor now, or my work won't get finished by the time I have to start patrolling." So saying, she packed the last of her possessions, heaved her bag onto her shoulder and marched out of the library.
The corridors were quiet as Hermione walked along. The torches flickered as she walked past, the sound of her footsteps echoing loudly in the stone passages. The students she passed had the sense not to get in her way, preferring instead to flatten themselves against the walls as Hermione swept past them, her thoughts in a jumble.
Finally, she reached Gryffindor tower, and after giving the password to the Fat Lady, climbed through the portrait hole. Here too, students were working; parchment and books were scattered everywhere giving the room an even messier appearance than usual. Ignoring her Housemates, Hermione strode through the room, up the spiral stairs to the girls' dormitories, and into her own room.
Shutting the door with a thankful sigh, she fell onto the bed, her bag hitting the floor with a thud. Trust Narcissa Malfoy to contact her, now she would have to write to the woman thanking her for her kindness. Hermione snorted. She could just imagine what would happen next, Narcissa would write back and before Hermione knew it, the woman would have wangled a promise from Hermione to spend part of her summer at Malfoy Manor. 'Over my dead body!' she thought angrily. 'I'd never go there willingly!' Her mind then went back to the conversation she had with Ginny. Even now, Hermione was finding it hard to believe that the Malfoys wanted her for her blood; but as Ginny had said, it all made sense, and surely this last gesture of Narcissa's had proved that beyond doubt!
She sighed again, and getting up, retrieved her bag from the floor. She just had enough time to take a look at the bank statement that Gringott's had sent before her rounds started. Opening the envelope, she sat back and scanned the contents of the statement. Listed therein were the transactions spanning the last five months. Her eyes fell on the first item on the list, dated 15 December, and she stared perplexed at the figure beside it; according to the statement, four hundred galleons had been deposited into her account that day in cash.
Hermione frowned; she was sure her parents would have told her if they had put any more money into her account. That was of course, if they had managed to get to Diagon Alley in the first place. So where had this mysterious amount of money come from? Four hundred galleons was a lot of money – the equivalent of almost two thousand pounds. Her parents were generous, but not that extravagant. Quickly, she glanced down the rest of the list and was relieved to see that her new dress robes had cost no more than fourty galleons, and that she had withdrawn ten galleons on her last visit to the bank, which meant she had four hundred and three galleons left in her volt. A feeling of unease crept into her stomach; who had put the extra money into her account and why? She got up and grabbing a piece of parchment, scribbled a quick note to her parents – this would hopefully sort the whole mystery out, she thought as she rolled up the finished letter and sealed it. She would send it off, when she passed the owlry later on.
ZoZoZoZo
"Concentrate! Try and deflect the hex before it reaches you… Concentrate!"
Hermione heaved herself up from the floor and looked into Quentin's face. The lesson had now been in progress for the last hour and Hermione was heartily fed up; no matter how she tried, she just could not fend off the stunning spell.
"I'm trying," she said rubbing her back, "but I just can't seem to fend it off no matter what I do!"
"Right. You're getting too worked up about this," Quentin decided, looking at her exasperated expression, "You've got to calm down. I suspect that you're trying too hard. Tell you what, let's have a breather." He strode over to one of the armchairs by the fire and sat down, and Hermione after a moment, did the same. Pulling out his wand, Quentin conjured up two cups of steaming tea and handed one to Hermione. She took it, sipping gratefully at the hot sweet liquid.
"So," Quentin questioned, looking at her over the rim of his cup, "care to tell me what's on your mind?"
Hermione blinked in surprise but recovering quickly, gave him a bright smile, "Oh it's nothing," she shrugged, "just the NEWTs. You know what that's like – too much studying and not enough sleep." She gave a rueful grimace to emphasise her point, but Quentin frowned in response.
"You're lying," he stated calmly and deliberately, "we both know it isn't the NEWTs that are occupying your mind. I've known you too long to be fooled by you. So what is it? I doubt it's boyfriend trouble, for I know that you aren't currently attached. And you don't strike me as the type to go mooning around after some boy. So out with it," he encouraged, "what seems to be weighing on your mind?"
Hermione looked down into her cup to give herself time to think – damn the man for not believing her! All her friends did, so why couldn't he? She finally raised her head, looking him straight in the face, and said, "I told you, it's nothing."
"For Merlin's sake, girl! I am not trying to pry!" Quentin snapped. "Heaven forbid I would wish to know the workings of a teenaged mind. But as this thing's taking up most of your subconscious mind and interfering with your concentration, I need to know what it is in order to see if help can be rendered in any way." He ended much more gently than he begun.
Hermione could feel colour creeping up her face and bit her lip; she was mortified to tell Quentin what was weighing on her mind. On the other hand, the man would get insufferably moodier if she did not reveal her problems, and she knew that Quentin would keep badgering her until the story was told. Finally, realising the futility of stalling, she took a deep breath and began her tale – let him make of it what he would!
She talked for over ten minutes in which Quentin didn't interrupt; she told him an abbreviated version of her visit to the Malfoys, their subsequent strange behaviour, and then of the mysterious money that seemed to have turned up in her Gringotts vault, "…and mum and dad swore they didn't put it there!" she concluded flatly.
"Hmm, very interesting," Quentin mused, stroking his chin, "yes, very interesting indeed. Well, I can tell you this if it's any help; Kurbs-Blood is gene related as you surmised. It's only found in pureblood families, as you said, and the gene that codes for Haemoglobin is also responsible for the magic of purebloods. This magic, as you so rightly hypothesize, is found in the haemoglobin of the red blood cells. The magic of muggle-born wizards resides in the platelets of the blood, hence they do not get the disease. There was a lot of work done on the different magic of purebloods and muggle-borns by… oh what was his name again?" Quentin paused, looking towards the ceiling,"… Hill? Hind? Hinder! Yes that's it, Gilf Hinder. He actually wrote a book on the subject. Naturally, this didn't go down too well with most purebloods – imagine being told that your genes are faulty." He laughed ironically, as he finished speaking.
Hermione leaned forward eagerly in her chair, her earlier preoccupation temporarily forgotten, "So this book, where can I get hold of a copy?"
"Hmmm, not many copies exist these days – there may be a copy in the restricted section of the library, of course, but most of them were burned. Most wizards called it 'scandalous'!"
"Damn," Hermione muttered, "but he was right, this Gilf Hinder? I mean the genetic explanation makes sense, so why would wizards reject it?"
"Because it went against everything most purebloods believe in – Hinder said that the only way to stop purebloods dying out was to marry muggle-borns and dilute the blood, so the gene would be less likely to manifest itself in the next generation. Well, you can imagine how that went down with the old wizarding families!"
"But the Malfoys… they even went out of their way to be nice and make me feel welcome."
"The Malfoys must not only know about the genetic basis behind the Kurbs-Blood," Quentin mused, "they must also believe it as well. Because it is true, you know, no pureblood wizarding family has escaped that gene. Have you never wondered why the Lestranges have no children? All of them were stillborn – Kurbs-Blood having killed the infants."
"Ginny was right then, the Malfoys must think that 'diluting their blood' must be the lesser of two evils!"
"Oh yes," said Quentin cynically, "Definitely. Imagine what they would do if they knew you were a Lestintia on top of being muggle-born?"
"I'd rather not think about that," Hermione muttered not looking at him, "Knowing them, I would probably be kidnapped or face something just as nasty."
"Yes, quite possibly," Quentin murmured, "tell me Hermione, the Malfoy heir – what's he like?"
Hermione blinked at the sudden change in the direction of the conversation, but answered him as truthfully as she could, "Well, he's in my year, a Slytherin prefect, and most people avoid him and try not to get on to his bad side."
"Attractive?"
"Umm," Hermione bit her lip, "I suppose so – tall, blond, grey eyes… you get the picture."
"Yes, I suppose so. Probably he's someone who never lacks for female company… someone to whom you may be attracted?"
Hermione's face remained impassive, although she was squirming inside. When had the conversation taken such a personal turn?
"Yes," Quentin continued, seemingly oblivious to the girl. "I think Dumbledore mentioned him once. Something about him being the second best in your year with regards to academic achievements. Brains as well as good looks," he turned his gaze back on Hermione, adding, "a potent combination."
"No, I hardly think so!"
"Are you so sure about that?" he asked mildly, noting with interest Hermione's quick protest. "You are young after all, and good looks, brains and charm are highly attractive attributes to a young lady such as yourself."
"Look, Draco Malfoy is an arrogant git who lives to make mine, Harry and Ron's lives a living hell! But the money," she countered, in an effort to steer the conversation into safer waters, "who put that money into my account?"
"Isn't that obvious?" sighed Quentin raising an eyebrow, "The Malfoys did it of course! No doubt in the hope that you wouldn't notice, and would later become indebted to them."
"The Malfoys?" Hermione gasped, "They did that? No, they can't've – I mean not even they would – well…" she tailed off, not knowing how to end and simply stared into the implacable face of the man opposite her.
"And why not? It isn't any skin off their noses, and it is a sure way of ensuring a claim on you." Quentin sighed, as he looked at Hermione's shocked expression, and then said more gently, "Welcome to the real world Hermione, where people don't mind playing dirty to get what they want."
Hermione knew what he was saying made perfect sense, and then slowly her brain began fitting the pieces of the mystery together and she gasped, "My god, no wonder Narcissa seemed pleased when she found out that my robes had been designed by Madam Tooley – she must've thought that I had spent some of the gold they put into my account to buy them."
"Hermione," now it was Quentin's turn to lean forward, "people like the Malfoys will stop at nothing to get what they want, and we now know they want you. What better way to make you do whatever they want you to do? They will call in that debt when they're sure you do not have the money to pay it. And then when that happens, they'll no doubt demand something else in return – your co-operation in a marriage ceremony to the heir as payment."
"Wow, I've seen cunning before," Hermione breathed, "but not on this level. I'll send that money back to them as soon as possible – that will show them!"
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Quentin intervened, "better not to show your hand yet. Give it back when they ask for it and not before – and believe me, they'll want it returned, for they gave it to you for a reason. In addition, presently they are under the impression that you don't know they've put the money into your account, and so will think they have an element of surprise as well. Play along with them for the time being, and only return the money when they demand it." Looking at his pocket watch, Quentin stood up from his chair. "Right, back to work then. Come on, we'll try again with the stunning spell."
Hermione placed her empty cup on a side table and walked to the middle of the classroom. She felt much better now that she had shared her worries with Quentin. She should have known it was the Malfoys who put the money in her account – who else would be so conniving?
She took up her position opposite Quentin, who raising his wand, shouted, "Stupefy!" At once, a jet of red light shot out of the end of his wand straight at Hermione, but only managed to get within five feet of her, before coming to an abrupt stop as though colliding with an invisible barrier.
"Excellent!" Quentin praised her with a smile. "Brilliant! I was worried that spell would be too powerful, but no, you managed to block it. Well done!"
"Thanks," said a beaming Hermione, "but Quentin, I wasn't concentrating, I was thinking about that money, so how…"
To her surprise, Quentin's smile broadened even more, "That's even better!" he exclaimed, "It looks as though you are starting to defend yourself subconsciously! Excellent progress! Keep this up, and you will be inducted into the Order as soon as you have completed your NEWTs. Now we'll try this a few more times to be sure!"
After ten minutes of defending herself against the stunning spell, Hermione yawned. Seeing this, Quentin decided to call it a day and so both packed up, ready to depart.
"An excellent day's work," Quentin beamed, "and Hermione, remember what I told you, behave as though you don't know about that money and do your best to ignore the heir. He'll surely be out to woo you. Understand?"
At Hermione's nod, he strode over to the picture of the mountain, and waving good-bye, disappeared. She gave Quentin five minutes and then slinging her bag over her shoulder, made her way over to the painting, touched it, and a moment later appeared in the alcove beneath the stairs to the hospital wing.
Peering out, she could see no one and so made her swift way up the corridor to Gryffindor Tower. The sound of footsteps behind her did not tempt her to slow her pace, and it was the hand descending on her arm that brought her to a skidding stop.
"How did you do that?" Draco Malfoy asked quietly, turning her to face him. Quickly she glanced behind him at the deserted corridor and seeing her glance, he carried on, "Don't worry, Potty and the Weasel are in the library crying over an essay they can't do. Tell me, how did you appear out of thin air?"
He moved closer to her, so there were barely two inches separating them.
"What are you talking about?" Hermione said, her heart speeding up. Damn the fates for conspiring against her. He must have been standing in that one spot – beside a rusty suit of armour – which allowed him to see into the alcove.
"How did you just appear suddenly like that? I mean I was on my way up to ask Goldstein if he knew where you were, considering you weren't in the library, when I saw you appear out of thin air! And we both know that people can't Apparate in the castle, so how did you do it? And where have you been? I haven't seen you all week!" His voice had taken on a petulant note making Hermione want to scream. Raising his other hand, he took hold of her chin, tipping her face up so she was looking directly into his stormy grey eyes.
Hermione resisted the urge to sigh deeply and roll her eyes. Instead, she adopted a business-like voice, "Look, it's late and I was in Professor McGonagall's office. As for not seeing me all week – I did warn you during the holidays that we wouldn't see much of each other once we're back in school."
"Certainly you did, but you do go to the library, and I haven't seen you in there for ages!"
"You know, one would think you were stalking me," she snapped, "I don't have to justify my movements to you!"
At that precise moment, a loud voice filled the corridor, "Hermione?" Ron and Harry were panting slightly, running towards the couple, each clutching a stack of books. Swiftly she stepped away from Malfoy, whose expression had become surly at the sight of the approaching boys.
"Hermione, is he bothering you?" Ron asked when he reached them, thrusting himself between the two and very nearly knocking Hermione off balance as he did so.
Malfoy simply looked down his nose at Ron, his lip curling in disdain, "So did you finally finish your essay, Weasley? Last I saw, you were blubbering about not understanding the title – given up on it yet?"
"You shut your filthy mouth," Ron snarled, his ears going red, "and get out of our way!"
Harry, who had remained silent until now, grabbed Hermione by the arm and wheeled her round to face the stairs. "Come on, Ron," he said, "he isn't worth wasting our breath on!"
Ron, however, seemed reluctant to leave things be, but Hermione grabbed his arm and dragged him after her.
"Yes, that's right," Malfoy called after the exiting trio, "get Granger to write your essays for you! It isn't as though either of you have enough brains to write them yourselves!"
Both Ron and Harry made to turn, but Hermione having had enough of Malfoy, told the boys, "Ignore him, and come on!"
She led the way back to Gryffindor tower feeling fed up with men in general. Slamming her way through the crowded common room, she marched up the girls' staircase and into her own room. 'Why can't Harry and Ron just go through one day without picking a fight?' she thought angrily. 'And Malfoy was just as bad.'
Deciding she had had quite enough of men for one day, she warded the door, stripped off, and after filling her bath with scented water, plunged herself right in to immerse herself in the soapy water.