Chapter 7 : Fight Club
Although he remained at The Burrow for the next few days, it felt obvious to Hermione that George was avoiding her, deliberately going out of his way to make sure that they never found themselves alone. Hermione desperately wanted to talk to him, remove the wary look from his eyes, but whenever she thought she had found a portal of opportunity Fred would invariably turn up, a self-satisfied smirk sitting comfortably on his face. And tonight the entire Weasley household were going to London to Tonk's Christmas Eve party, so there really would be little chance of monopolising George for a few chance moments.
Hermione lingered gloomily at the back as one by one various members of the Weasley family stepped into the fireplace and disappeared in a plume of green smoke. She didn't particularly feel like spending an evening in the pervading gloom of 12 Grimmauld Place, despite Tonk's various… home improvements. All those members of the Order of the Phoenix interrogating her accademic progress out of a bored sense of obligation, before turning to one of the older Weasleys for a laugh and a joke.
Sighing, she put her first foot forward, only to find her progress halted by a painful pincer grip around her upper arm. She spun around quickly, certain that she had been left alone in the house.
"Where is it?" the dark figure growled, squeezing her arm so tightly that a gasp of pain escaped from her lips. "Where is it, Granger?" the man repeated the question, a sharper edge of menace entering his voice as he took a step closer toward Hermione.
"I-I don't know what you're talking about," Hermione found herself stuttering as she struggled unsuccessfully to shrug off her assailants grip. She tried to look under the lip of the man's hood but his face was completely obscured by the long shadows. "What do you want? Who are you?"
The cloaked figure reached his left hand up to back of his head, pulling down the hood to reveal a face hard with determination. Grey eyes flashed in the light as Draco Malfoy surveyed Hermione's shocked reaction with sadistic satisfaction.
"The ghost of fucking Christmas past," Draco drawled nastily in reply as he folded his arms confrontationally.
"Draco, what are you doing here?" Hermione hissed, wondering how he even knew where the Weasleys lived – she was sure information on Ministry of Magic employees was supposed to be confidential.
"Don't play games with me, Granger. I know what you took in Diagon Alley and I want it back, you little mudblood thief. Give it to me now and I might just spare that pathetic excuse for a face when I hex you into oblivion."
"Oh yeah?" Hermione growled, whipping her wand out so fast it whistled through the air.
"Think you can take me on, do you?" Draco sneered, pulling his own slim wand out for combat. "Ha, soon wipe that smug look off your face. You may fool everyone else with all that book reading, but let's see how a mudblood copes doing real magic against a real wizard."
"I suppose I'll just have to wait a bit longer before I find out. But for now, I guess you'll do as target practice." Hermione quipped back, holding Draco's glare unwaveringly. "Let's take it outside."
"Sure, because we don't want to run the risk of despoiling all these precious Weasley artefacts." Draco sneered as he took in the macaroni pictures of Ginny's infancy and the dented cooking pots hanging by their handles from the ceiling. All the same, he turned sharply around and flung the kitchen door violently open.
Hermione followed behind, turning to face her opponent as she stepped out into the still night.
"Ready for annihilation, Granger?" Draco jeered.
Wordlessly Hermione turned and began counting to ten aloud as she strode forward, not quite sure she trusted the Malfonian counting system to end after the same number of steps.
"Ten!" She whipped round quickly, pointing the end of her wand tip straight at Malfoy's chest. "Cocitas!" A whoosh of red light shot out, only to be deflected by Draco's counter spell.
Surprised by the effective blocking of her curse, she didn't react fast enough to defend herself against Draco's next whoosh of blue light, and had to jump quickly out of the way as something cold swept uncomfortably close past her left ear.
"Oh, very clever," Draco sneered, "That's why all the worthless Hogwart's teachers love little miss perfect is it; she can dodge good?"
"No, but this might give you a better idea, 'Pentendium!'"
But again, Hermione could only watch helplessly as Draco blocked her curse with perfect deflection. These were good hexes, ones they wouldn't even be studying till next year. How did he know how to block them every time?
As she stood wondering something heavy hit her hard in the chest, flinging her to the floor. A swirling kaleidoscope of purple threads danced across her eyes, her head spinning so fast she wondered whether she was going to be sick. She tried to get up, but even her head seemed to weigh more than her neck was able to support. Her limbs felt like lead, filled with a strange tingling sensation akin to pins and needles.
"How's that for starters?" Draco sneered, towering over Hermione's limp form with his wand pointed dangerously into her face. "Accio wand!"
Hermione felt the warm piece of wood fly out of her hand and, unable to sense any feeling in her limbs, watched impotently as Draco caught it neatly. He held it up to the moonlight, critically examining the smooth grains before pocketing it in his robes. Hermione's face coloured in outrage, feeling violated at Draco's breach of Duelling etiquette.
Draco squatted down, lowering his face so close to Hermione's that she could feel his breath tickling her cheek. She trembled, unsure what those cold grey eyes could be capable of.
"No Potter or half-wit Weasley to save you now." He spun his wand around loosely in his hand. "Now, what shall I do with a paralytic Granger, hmm? Oh, the possibilities."
Hermione's eyes widened in panic as she took in Draco's leering expression. She had to act; she had to somehow shake off his curse. Concentrating on the tiny tingling she could still detect in her left hand, she managed to move her fingers while Draco continued his sadistic soliloquy, oblivious. Slowly clenching and unclenching her fist, she felt feeling return into her sluggish hand.
"…maybe my father might be entertained by your current predicament."
Now was her chance. While Draco was distracted with his machinations Hermione suddenly reached up and grabbed hold of the end of his waving wand. Reflexively, Draco reasserted his grip, looking down in surprise at Hermione's free hand. He tugged violently at the base, then watched in horror as a sickening crunch split his wand in the middle.
"My wand!" he exclaimed in a choked voice, examining his jagged end of the snapped wand.
With the destruction of his wand, Hermione could feel the spell quickly wearing off.
"What have you done?" Draco moaned, still clutching the decapitated base.
Hermione sat up, clutching a hand to her spinning head. She turned to face Draco, almost feeling sorry for him when she saw his distraught expression. By channelling a Wizard's power the wand became part of the magic character, almost an extension of the Wizard himself. But then she quickly remembered what was hidden in his robe pocket, and she hardly expected him to hand it over after a polite request. She inched toward Draco, trying to figure out the best way to play him.
"My wand!" he repeated, this time looking up angrily into Hermione's soft eyes.
"Draco, I'm so sorry!" she said, wondering whether he would take a placatory hand on his arm. But then she was always better at words than actions. "I know – I know you probably don't believe me, but I would never, ever, break another Wizard's wand on purpose."
"Oh sure," he retorted, though with diminished force. "I suppose that's in the Granger code of conduct, is it?"
"Perhaps I could erm, buy you another one?" she said softly, looking up into his eyes simperingly, deciding to try playing the dumb female card – it certainly seemed to work for Pansy Parkinson.
"Don't be stupid!" he snapped, quickly switching from distraught Draco to aggressive Draco. Hermione bit her lip, realising that she had miscalculated him. "There was only one nine inch rowan wand with core of dragon eyelash in Ollivanders," he said gloomily, still staring at the shorn stump. Despite the damp seeping through the knees of his trousers he remained immobile.
Seeing her chance, Hermione lurched forward, diving onto Draco as her hands flew searchingly into his robes. She was sure she had seen him tuck it into his left pocket, yet all she could feel was the smooth lining of his robes and the contrasting warmth of his solid body. She carried on searching with mounting frustration, fingers running through his pockets and down his chest. But Draco merely lay back, staring at the stars as Hermione continued her thorough body search. Finally she stopped, banging her fists on his chest with frustrated resignation.
"Where's my wand?" she moaned, still sitting astride Draco.
"Carry on searching a bit longer and I might just tell you," Draco leered, lowering his eyes with obvious intent to Hermione's chest.
"You bastard!" she fumed, reaching forward to administer a sharp slap which Draco easily blocked. He took her wrists in his hands, gripping them restrainedly.
"Now, why don't you try asking nicely?" His eyes flashed dangerously, betraying his mocking, level voice.
"Why don't you go suck cock," Hermione retorted. "I hear it's your one redeeming feature, and it's certainly the only way we can think of to explain Snape's particular friendship."
"Such a charming, polite young lady. I can suddenly see the worth of muggle parenting after all. Now, if you try being nice you might just get better results."
"Where's my wand, Draco?"
"Where's my diary, Granger?" He raised an eyebrow quizzically, clearly enjoying toying with her.
On the one hand it was Draco's possession after all, but on the other hand it was possibly a Dark object which required confiscating. She wished George were here to give her the clear, straight opinion that she needed. As it was, she could do with more time to weigh up the moral argument versus the potential threat.
"How did you find me here?" she asked.
"One of the smartest features of my craftsmanship," Draco sneered, revelling in the opportunity to display his intellectual superiority. "I added a drop of my own blood to the charm so that if somebody else opened my diary it would detect the alien touch. That's how I knew you were the thief."
Well that wasn't so clever; Hermione was sure she could do it too if she read up on it. "Well I hate to break it to you but it seems to have malfunctioned along the way. George was the one who took your diary, he was the one who flicked through the pages. I only opened it once."
Draco frowned. "But if someone else had read it… the charm would have detected their blood?" he puzzled to himself.
A triumphant glint entered Hermione's eye and she started to laugh, laughing so hard that she flopped down on the grass again.
"What?" Draco said, half-annoyed, half-amused by this unexpected display of humour.
"It's-it's just," Hermione stammered, trying to catch her breath and control her mirth, "It's obvious, isn't it? I mean, somebody told me before that everyone in the wizarding world is related to each other somehow or other, and, well, you and George must be distant cousins or something!" Draco looked dumfounded. "Ever had any ginger babies in your family?" she giggled.
Draco patted his hair down grumpily. "Blondes have more fun." He pouted resolutely.
"So it's true? You knew about this?" Hermione dissolved into another fit of giggles, clutching her sides at this new nugget of information.
"Ok, don't wet yourself," Draco huffed as he plonked himself down cross-legged beside her. He began tearing chunks of grass out of the ground absent-mindedly, his pointed chin resting on his fist.
Hermione stopped laughing and surveyed him critically. He actually looked kind of beautiful sitting there in the moonlight, propped up like a grumpy pixie.
"You know, I think this is the first time I've ever seen Draco Malfoy look bashful," she smiled.
Draco looked up suddenly. "I'm not bashful, Malfoys never get embarrassed. But I'd just rather you didn't go around sharing that piece of information with everyone." His face suddenly clouded over again. "Or else I'll give you a memory hex so powerful you'll forget how to breathe."
But he didn't seem half so frightening without Crab and Goyle supporting him either side and a snapped wand laying dejectedly on the floor.
"Look, I'll do you a deal. I'll give you back your diary – it is yours after all, and I swear I had nothing to do with it being taken from you, and I didn't read any of it – and you can give me back my wand. And I can't promise anything, but it may be possible for me to fix your wand with a Transfiguration spell, since it was my wand which broke it. Deal?"
"This won't change anything in school, you know?" Draco looked up at her from lowered lids.
"I know," she sighed. "I know you hate Harry, and Harry hates you, and by association we hate each other, and it's not even personal anymore, it's all ancient history, symbolism and adult politics, but please, just for now, when there's no one else around, can we please behave like normal carefree teenagers – just a boy and a girl sitting around?"
Draco nodded slowly. "On the count of three we exchange." He placed his hand in his robes as Hermione fished in her pocket for the diary. "One – two…" Two pale hands stretched out toward each other, almost touching. Just the hand of a boy holding a slim wooden stick and the hand of a girl holding a book. "Three."
Yet things are never that simple in the real world. Hermione was not just a girl, in the same way that Draco could never be just a boy. As Draco's hand gripped onto the other end of the diary, at the precise moment Hermione grasped onto the other end of her wand, something unexpected happened.
"Wh-wh?" Was all Hermione could get out as they became engulfed in a pulsing orange-red light which seemed to lift them both off their feet and sent them spinning down, down, down into the depths of the earth; faster and faster, some powerful, irresistible force pulling the two of them together. She found she couldn't let go of the book or the wand, even as they heated in her hands to a scolding temperature. She tried to focus on Draco's face, pulled back and contorted by the g-force, but the light was too bright and she was forced to shut her eyes, wild patterns dancing on the insides of her eyelids.
Until suddenly it all stopped and they collapsed together onto the cool, still floor, gulping in the fresh night air like grounded fish. Hermione could feel Draco's heart pounding like a hammer through his ribcage where her head had fallen and his legs twitching underneath her own. When she finally got her breath back she rolled over, away from Draco and onto her back. Her eyes looked up to find a circle of night sky framed by tall, bowed pine trees.
"Where are we?" she said as she sat up, clutching her head. They appeared to be in some sort of forest glade.
Draco opened one eye cautiously, found that he was not dead, and opened the other to survey the scene. "What was that?"
"I don't know." Hermione bit her lip. "Do you think it could have been some sort of reaction from my wand?"
"You think?" Draco retorted sarcastically. "Do you have any control over your wand, at all?" he said nastily, since pretending to be just a boy and just a girl was blatantly a dumb idea.
"Oh, yeah, I have great control of my wand - when it's in someone else's hands!" she shot back, shooting him a patented Granger stare.
"Yes, because you wouldn't know anything about stealing other people's property at all, would you?"
"I've told you, I didn't take your stupid diary. Why would I want to read your constipated thoughts in my leisure time when I have to put up with enough of them at school? 'Ooh, Crab is so dreamy, but I can't decide whether I'd rather indulge in questionable homoerotocism with Goyle instead?'" she said in a falsetto imitation of Draco's voice. "'Or if I just prefer having my arse licked by brainless bimbo Pansy Parkinson?'"
Draco sneered. "Well at least now I can believe that you really didn't read my diary. You don't know me at all."
"Good, let's try to keep it that way. All I want is for me to get back to The Burrow and for us to get back to hating each other. And I'm not giving you your pathetic diary back until we're out of this mess."
"Fine." Draco's eyes flashed. "Then I'm not giving you your worthless wand back either." He tucked it neatly back inside his robes. "There. At least we agree on one thing. Now all we've got to do is find a suitable spot to Apparate out of."
"But - but, we haven't got Apparating licenses yet. We haven't even been started taking Apparating lessons," Hermione whined, trotting after Draco as he began stalking off toward the edge of the glade.
"Speak for yourself, Miss book smarts."
"But you're underage! It's against the law!" Hermione trilled as she raced to keep up with his long stride.
Draco stopped and whipped around to face her, so abruptly that she crashed into his side. "That's what makes it so much fun," he drawled, a dangerous glint in his eye.
"What. An. Idiot," she said to herself as she watched him loping off toward the tree line.
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
"George! How's it hanging?" A clearly over-lubricated Tonks greeted him, with what was probably supposed to be an affectionate little punch on the arm but nigh floored him.
"What? Oh, yeah, really like what you've done to this place." George managed to snap his attention back to Tonks for long enough to return her greeting.
"Really? Because there were those who thought that pink leopard print walls might be a bit too, you know, cheerful," said Tonks, in the same tone of disbelief men had used to describe a moon landing 40 years ago. "I think even Severus has come to appreciate its benefits."
George glanced over to where the sour-looking man was standing in the corner listening boredly to an animated Kingsley Shacklebolt. He doubted very much whether Snape was capable of appreciating anything that wasn't dead and pickled.
"Yeah, what's that vampire doing here anyway? Hardly the embodiment of festive cheer." Ginny broke in, joining George and offering him a glass of white wine which he gladly received.
Tonks coloured. "Actually, I think he's kind of," She bent down and lowered her voice to a conspiratorial whisper. "Cute."
Which was as much encouragement as George needed to move on and exit the conversation. He didn't know why he was so restless, but something seemed to be missing; something was not quite right.
Mum and Dad were having a rare night away from the worries of the family nest and were chatting quite amiably with their friends. George had disappeared upstairs some time ago with one of Tonks' prettier friends. Ron was still gawping in fascination at one of Hagrid's new 'pets'. Ginny was always adept at conjuring up her own devious entertainment. And yet, something bothered him. If only he had more time to think what it was…
"George, Candida has a friend!" Fred hissed, pulling him reluctantly out of the room and up the stairs. Duty called.
9