"Why do you make this so hard on yourself?"
The voice was now too well known for her comfort. Hermione opened her eyes, hoping that she was waking up, but realized she was standing in a dusty, unused classroom. The only light provided was moonlight cascading through the windows. It filtered through as a silver shimmer, illuminating a lumpy shape sitting underneath one of the casements. She frowned and moved closer until she could make what it was. Riddle sat with his back against the cool stone of the wall, the skin of his shoulders kissed by the pale light. He had Helena pulled up against him, her head resting on his chest and her body covered in his school robe which they were using like a blanket. Hermione's heart lurched as she saw the defeated expression on her grandmother's face, her eyes staring blankly out of the window.
"I don't understand you, Helena. Any other girl in school would kill to be where you are." He ran his long fingers through her hair and placed a kiss to her temple. She gave no response. "Why can't you see that I'm offering you the world?" Hermione shuddered as he moved his hand downward, underneath the robe to caress Helena. "Don't you know that I'd give you anything?"
There didn't seem to be any fight left in Helena. What time did this take place? How far into the term was this? Hermione frowned and peered at her grandmother. The dark circles were already there and her cheeks were sunken as if from a lack of food. Her hair not only wasn't as vibrant as it had been, it was becoming lank and lifeless. She walked over to the windows, passing through a desk, and peered out. Though it was dark, the moonlight revealed that there wasn't any snow or ice, no signs of winter. It must be at least Spring, moving on into the last part of the term. Graduation would follow soon, along with Helena's disappearance.
"I have something for you." Riddle moved his hand out from under his robe and slipped it into one of the pockets. He pulled out a long, slim box and brought it over so that he was holding it in front of Helena. He opened it and took out a necklace, something green and glittering dangling from a slim, silver chain. "See? I thought of you the second I saw it." He dangled the necklace in front of her eyes, drawing them away from the window. "I know the Gryffindor in you would prefer rubies and gold, but I'm rather partial to emeralds. Sit up." She obeyed with a listless move and he fastened the necklace around her neck before pulling her back down against him. He reached around and adjusted the large emerald so that it hung where the valley between her breasts began. "There… perfect."
~***~
The rustle of feathers and a soft weight landing beside her head on the pillow woke her. She opened her eyes and found herself staring into the golden eyes of Hedwig. She didn't even have time to be thankful that this vision was less violent before she noticed that there was a letter attached to the owl's leg. She propped herself up onto her elbow and untied the bit of ribbon that held it there, noting the Wiggentree family crest pressed into the wax seal. "Thank you, Hedwig." She stretched her arm across the beside table and pulled open the drawer there to get out a bag of owl treats. She opened them and poured them out onto the table for the owl to eat before breaking the seal.
Dear Hermione,
I received your package and I thank you. Actually, my tutor received your package and I'm still trying to convince her to let me touch them. I can't write for very long because I've got other things on my mind. My father is missing. He had gone out to join your parents for tea, but he never showed up at their home. Have they written you anything about it? We thought perhaps he had just gotten side tracked or had been delayed by the Ministry to do a reading, but then that article came out about you in the Daily Prophet and now we're not as certain. Please let us know if you hear of anything or if you see anything.
Be careful,
Alex
Hermione swallowed. One of her cousins was missing? That could explain the Skeeter article. She doubted that Thomas would have told, but if someone had gotten to him… She felt an icy shiver run down her back, followed by a gnawing feeling of guilt. Had Thomas Wiggentree been murdered because of her? But how could anyone have known enough to look into the Wiggentree family? It was relatively certain that Voldemort was unaware of what happened to Helena; otherwise his followers would have shown up on her family's doorstep ages ago.
She should tell Professor Dumbledore. Throwing off the covers she dressed quickly, ripping a brush through her unruly curls and twisting it up into a haphazard sort of bun. She gripped the letter in her teeth as she pulled on her robes and grabbed her satchel, the sharp taste of toothpaste still strong in her mouth. It would be another hour before the rest of the students woke up, but she felt certain that Professor Dumbledore wouldn't mind the intrusion. She sometimes wondered if he ever really slept. Down the spiral staircase and through the common room, finally exiting through the port hole, she heard the Fat Lady tut. "You're going to run yourself to an early grave by keeping these hours."
"Oh, I'll be fine, but I'll promise you that I'll spend a day in the hospital wing to rest if it gets too much for me." She gave the portrait a winning smile, only to have the Fat Lady snort.
"Sure you will."
The corridors were cold and silent, and her footsteps echoed off the walls as clearly as a bell's ringing. She read through the brief note again as she walked on. "Going somewhere, Granger?" She halted and looked around. Draco stepped out of a side corridor, the torchlight flickering off of his pale hair. There was an un-pleasant looking smirk on his face. "Bit early to be out, isn't it?"
"You should talk."
"Catching up on some last minute studying," he explained, shrugging his shoulder to indicate his heavy satchel. Of course he studied; he wasn't that far behind her. He leaned casually against a wall, raking his eyes over her in a way that looked as though he thought she knew what she looked like in only her knickers. "Interesting article in the paper the other day. How does it feel, suddenly learning that you're part of one of the pure blood lines?"
She affected what she hoped was a nonchalant manner and shrugged. "I don't feel any differently than I did when I was just a mudblood." She hoped her tone was bored enough. To her surprise, he frowned. It appeared genuine.
"I should never have called you that. I suppose my only reason is that I was young and stupid, didn't know any better. All I can do is ask you to forgive me."
She hesitated. Malfoy? Apologizing? What was with the Slytherins lately? First Snape gives her a compliment and offers to help her through this in a way only he can and now Malfoy was apologizing. If she hadn't studied the Wiggentree Curse as much as she had, she would have wondered if her newfound family couldn't also alter the behaviour of others. Then Snape's words about the Malfoys came crashing back in on her. She collected herself and offered a slight smile. "Of course, Malfoy. It's a rather silly thing to hold a grudge over anyway."
Draco stared at her in silence for a bit longer, and then smiled. "Very Gryffindor of you, Hermione." He pushed away from the wall and moved towards her. Her instinct was to back away, but she forced herself to remain still. He came to a stop a few feet in front of her. "Where are you off to at this hour?"
"I… I was just going to run down to the kitchens to grab a little something before hitting the books myself."
The stammer at the beginning was regrettable, she was sure he noticed it. However, he seemed to be willing to accept this as he tilted his head to one side, his smile becoming friendlier. "And excellent idea. I think I'll join you. I've always wondered where the kitchens were. I suppose you've been down there loads of times with Potter and Weasley." He even managed to say their names normally, not spit them out like poison. "Come on then."
There was nothing to be done for it. She didn't really want him to know that she was going to the Headmaster, not at this hour. He knew her well enough to know that she wouldn't take the chance of rousing a teacher from sleep for a silly reason and would be determined to accompany her. She tore her eyes away from his, licked her lips, and then headed off towards the kitchens without saying another word. They made the trip in complete silence until they had reached the still life paining of fruit. She tickled the pear until it turned itself into a door handle and pulled open the entrance to the kitchens.
The house elves were already scurrying here and there, busily preparing the various forms of dough which would become pastries and cakes. Some were already working on the breads which would need time to rise before baking and becoming part of the later meals. Draco looked around, obviously impressed by the sheer number of house elves in the school kitchens when a loud crash drew his attention. Hermione turned towards it as well and saw an elf with big, bulging green eyes and a long, pencil-shaped nose staring at them, his long fingered hands covering his mouth. There was little to distinguish this elf from all the others except that he wore, not a Hogwarts pillowcase, but a pair of tiny shorts, a knobby maroon sweater and mismatched socks which peeked over a pair of child sized shoes.
"Dobby?" Malfoy's eyes were disbelieving as he stared at his old house elf in amazement. As he watched, Dobby ran forward and ducked around Hermione's legs so that he stood between her and Draco. He started to back up, nudging Hermione to move away from the Slytherin student and towards one of the long tables which mirrored the ones in the Great Hall above.
"Dobby is surprised to be seeing you, Young Master. Dobby did not expect to see you in the kitchens at school when Dobby never saw you in the kitchens of Malfoy Manor."
"Never had a need to be. I had wondered what happened to you, Dobby. Father said that Potter tricked him into freeing you." He looked over the house elf, apparently amused at the obvious display of protectiveness he seemed to be showing Hermione, and also apparently amused at the mismatched clothes. "Looks as though freedom suits you. How long have you been here?"
The elf looked from Hermione to Draco before answering. "Dobby has come to Hogwarts two years after Young Master's father freed him, sir. Albus Dumbledore said Dobby could work here when no other family would pay him, sir."
"Pay you?" The idea of this seemed to hover just out of the reach of comprehension for Malfoy. He looked at Hermione, shock evident on his features, the expression so unlike him that she had to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing. His grey eyes moved back to the elf. "Dumbledore pays you?"
"Yes sir." Dobby puffed out his chest proudly. "Dobby is paid three galleons a week, sir."
"Three?" Hermione looked at Dobby curiously. "You've gotten a raise, then?"
"Oh, yes miss!" Dobby turned his giant eyes upon her, grinning broadly. "Albus Dumbledore came to the kitchens and spoke to Dobby, miss. He is saying that Dobby had worked here and done well for so long that he had earned himself a raise, miss. He wanted to give Dobby ten galleons a week, but I is not wanting to be greedy, so I talked him down to three. He also insisted that Dobby have an extra day a month off, Miss, and a holiday during the summer when the students is all gone. He wanted to pay Dobby for his holiday, but I told him I is not wanting that much."
Hermione smiled, but it was a struggle not to break out into giggles. The discomfort and nervousness at being cornered by Draco Malfoy dissolved simply by being in Dobby's presence. It also helped that Dobby had powerful magic of his own, enough so that he had been able to flatten Lucius Malfoy when the wizard had threatened Harry during their second year. She knew that he would never let her come to harm at Draco's hands. Feeling better, she politely asked for some breakfast and was immediately herded towards a table and chairs. Several elves served her and Draco, but Dobby ignored proper behaviour for a house elf and sat down with them, placing himself firmly between her and Malfoy.
His tongue kept in check by the presence of a house elf that didn't act like a house elf, Malfoy wasn't all that horrible a breakfast companion. As a matter of fact, if he were kept on the subject of academics and classes, he was almost pleasant.
~***~
Dobby! Dobby was at Hogwarts! His father had shouted curses Draco had never known existed before and promised the most painful tortures on the body of Harry Potter when the Gryffindor boy had so thoroughly outfoxed him. It had never occurred to Draco before then that Dobby might resent the treatment he had received at the hands of Lucius Malfoy, or even the treatment Draco himself had given him. He had grown up watching how his father dealt with the house elves and had just assumed that was how it was done. After Dobby had been freed, Draco had expected him to return to the manor to pine away miserably as he had heard of other house elves having done when they were freed, mourning and pleading until his father took him back. Dobby had not returned, though. He hadn't even given the Malfoys as much as a backwards glance over his shoulder. One slimy, dirty sock and Dobby had taken to the road as though he couldn't run fast enough to flee his family.
Later on while sitting in the library, Draco had to admit that Dobby looked happy. His clothes were clean and well cared for, even if they were ill matched and not entirely his size. He seemed to love his job and was happy that he was being paid. Paid! He probably shouldn't tell his father that little titbit. The elf also seemed to have formed new loyalties on his own. He was obviously faithful to Dumbledore and seemed genuinely fond of Potter. Apparently, his affection for Potter also translated into affection for Potter's friends. The annoying creature had sat all of breakfast between himself and Hermione, keeping them separated. Not knowing how much of anything he may say would end up reported to the Headmaster, Draco had been forced to keep his conversation benign and uninteresting.
Hermione. He had been hoping that he would eventually catch her out before dawn. That was the reason he left the Slytherin dorms every morning before first light and hovered in a corridor on the way from the direction of Gryffindor Tower and the library. He had known eventually she would come down early to study. You couldn't stay at the top of the class without working for it. During daylight it was impossible to get the girl alone, either Potter or Weasley was always by her side, or she was in the library.
She would move into the library if she could manage it. He could easily see her building walls for herself out of the dusty volumes, using parchments and maps for her bed and covers. Hermione Granger ate, drank, breathed and slept learning. Cut her and she just might bleed ink. Combine that with a brilliant amount of magical power, and she was poised to be the greatest witch since Maab. She might even outstrip Dumbledore, himself. He had been jealous of that power at first, unwilling to believe it could be held by a girl with no magical parentage. For the first three years of school he had despised her, loathed her even. With a twinge of guilt, he even recalled how he had hoped the basilisk would kill her in their second year.
Staring at an open book before him, but not seeing the words printed there, he absently rubbed his cheek. If he thought hard enough, he could still feel the sting of her palm where it had slapped him across the face during their third year. The crack had been deafening. He still recalled the fire in her eyes, the crackling light there that he doubted anyone but he noticed. There had been violence there, waiting to spring out. If she had been holding her wand at that moment, he had no doubt she could have reduced him to ash. After that moment, he had been forced to admit to himself that his feelings of animosity towards her had been grounded in something far more complicated. He didn't hate Hermione Granger because she was a Gryffindor or because she was Harry Potter's good and dear friend. He didn't just hate her because she was a Muggleborn; he hated her because she hadn't been born a pureblood. He hated her because he couldn't have her.
In his heart, he had cursed her. Every time he had seen her hair shimmering as though on fire because sunlight had poured through a window and touched it from behind, he had loathed her. Every time she had laughed with Potter and Weasley, the flowing, musical sound caught on the breeze, he had detested her. Every time she had gotten something right in class while the pure blood students struggled and failed, he despised her. Every time he recalled that if he even dared to try and win her heart he would have been beaten, or worse, by his own father, he wanted to hex her soul into oblivion.
And then she had had the daring, the unmitigated gall, to attend the Yule Ball on the arm of Viktor Krum. She had dared to breeze into the hall with her hair twisted up in an elegant style, exposing her creamy, graceful neck, her budding curves draped in airy blues, smiling and lovely and completely out of reach. It had not been Hermione he had hated that night, but the Dumstrang boy who had kept one hand at her waist, the other cradling her own delicate fingers. Worse still, he was certain Krum's parents would no more approve of her than his would, and yet the boy seemed willing to risk it when Draco couldn't muster the courage to stand up to his mother, let alone stand up to Lucius Malfoy. Krum had even asked her to visit him in Bulgaria over the following summer. Draco had never learned if she had actually gone, but the romance had seemed to fail. She was apparently free again the following school year, but not free for him.
Oh for the want of one wizarding parent. Oh for the lack of a pure and noble blood line. But that wasn't a problem any longer, was it?
Draco's mouth curved in a smug, satisfied little grin. It wasn't a problem any longer. Oh, sure neither of her parents were wizards, but his father's last letter had said something about how there were ways for a witch to stop her child from being born a wizard. Draco wasn't sure yet why any witch would do such a thing, but that made little difference. Hermione Granger was a Wiggentree. Even his own father treated that lot with respect, in spite of the fact that he detested them. Death Eaters had feared any Auror born of that family tree, because they could see what you had done. The Daily Prophet had even reported once that a Wiggentree had solved a murder that was nearly one hundred years old. The killer had been old and decrepit by then, but he served out the rest of his days in a secure section of St. Mungo's and his fortune had been divided among the victim's surviving family.
Granger was a Wiggentree, a daughter of a proud and powerful pure blood family. His parents couldn't possibly find fault with her now. She had connections with a wizarding family, and that made all the difference in the world. He didn't think that she had anyone in her life at this time, no one with whom she was romantically involved. And he was in the perfect position to pursue her, being Head Boy. They would be working together often, thrown together to plan various events and oversee the prefects. She would have to speak with him, would be required to be alone with him. He would have six years of ridicule and snide remarks to overcome, he had done little to endear himself to her until now, but he knew he could climb that obstacle given time.
He closed his eyes and indulged himself in a little fantasy, one where he was holding Hermione close. She was wearing flowing dress robes of clinging silk, her hair a crown of glorious curls as he tilted her head back and pressed his lips to hers. She would taste as sweet as honey and as wild as lightening. He could tell it every time he looked at her.
Opening his eyes again, he took a deep breath. The term had barely gotten underway. He had all year to win Hermione Granger.