Chapter Five
Hermione and Ron reacted just as Harry would have predicted to the news of his impending duel with Malfoy: Hermione immediately warned him not to go through with it, and Ron insisted on being his second.
As they huddled in the library between classes, Hermione leaned in, her eyes dark and serious, to whisper urgently, "Harry, it's against the law! Don't you think you've already run far enough afoul of the Ministry?"
"We've broken the law before," Harry reminded her.
"Yes, but not for something stupid like settling a score with Draco Malfoy!" She flopped back in her chair, exasperated. Harry thought again how pretty she looked this year – and, again, felt guilty for thinking it. "Just tell him you're not doing it. He's only trying to get you into trouble, Harry, to deflect the attention off of himself."
Ron broke in, "Who cares why he's doing it? This is our chance to kick the little bastard's ass. I say we do it."
Harry grinned back at Ron. He appreciated the support. Hermione, however, was unimpressed by Ron's solidarity. She shot hotly at him, "And what about you, Ron? If you get caught, you'll be stripped of your Prefect's badge for sure, if you don't get expelled! How is your mother going to take that?"
The mention of Mrs. Weasley was a low blow. Ron paled but recovered quickly. "It's Harry's decision," he declared bravely. "If he's fighting Malfoy, I'll be his second. I wouldn't trust anybody else to do it."
"Don't we have more important battles to be fighting?" Hermione pleaded. A few students glanced their way, causing her to lower her voice as she continued, "Think about it for a minute, Harry. You-Know-Who is out there right now, recruiting for the cause, and Dumbledore just told us himself that we have a long fight ahead of us. Why risk being kicked out of Hogwarts now? Don't you both want to become Aurors and fight more important people than Malfoy?"
Harry ran a hand through his hair, already weary of the argument. From the moment he'd agreed to the duel, he'd known he would never bring Hermione around to his point of view; arguing was futile, because neither of them were going to change their minds on this.
How could I explain it so she'd understand? Harry wondered, noting the genuine concern for his well-being shining in her hazel eyes. Everyone here is watching me. They're all waiting for me to set the tone, to show them how it's done, how we fight this…evil. If it weren't for that, I'd have died myself this summer, to go be with Sirius and my parents. I can't back down from Malfoy, not with everyone looking to me – but how could I make her see that?
The truth was, he couldn't. Hermione would never accept that this war didn't adhere to the rules of Hogwarts or even those of the Ministry of Magic. It was just that – a war. They made the rules up as they went along, and discarded them as needed.
"I have to do this," he told her simply. "And I need to know you won't go to Dumbledore or any other professor about it."
The glare she fixed on him was acidic. "Don't be stupid," she snarled, before stalking out of the library.
Ron rolled his eyes. "Forget about her," he encouraged Harry. "But listen, she says Malfoy's pretty good – they're doing this thing for Dumbledore's class, you know. Maybe we ought to, you know, practice a little, between now and Saturday."
"You're just wanting to get away from Susan," teased Harry. "I've seen the doe eyes she makes at you, mate. Anything you want to tell me…?"
Ron groaned. "Don't remind me. Talk about a nutter. She's almost as bad as Loony Lovegood – don't tell Neville I said that, okay?"
As they grabbed their bags and headed for class, Ron asked, with purposeful nonchalance, "So…you don't think Malfoy's after killing you or anything, do you?"
Harry shook his head. "Doubtful. The Malfoys don't seem cut out for Azkaban."
Although Ron snickered at that, Harry could tell he wasn't convinced – and to be honest, neither was Harry.
Granger wasn't waiting outside the Great Hall for their practice session that evening at nine. Draco wasn't exactly shocked not to find her there; even if Potter hadn't told her about the duel, which Draco assumed he had, word of it had spread like wildfire through the school – just as Draco had intended.
If the professors didn't catch wind of it, it would be a small miracle.
Draco tried not to be disappointed about Granger's absence as he tromped down the stairwell to the bath-house, alone. He had stayed visible for most of the day, smirking as the rumors about the duel circulated and escalated, holding his head high whenever a fellow Slytherin cast him a murderous look. The news of his impending battle with Potter had diffused much of the anger, exactly as Draco had anticipated, although not everyone was eager to welcome him back into the fold – that would only come after he put The Boy Who Lived to shame in their duel. Yet many Slytherins appeared ready to accept that even if Lucius Malfoy had jumped ship, Draco was still firmly aligned with the Dark Forces, and as such they willingly granted him some much-needed grace.
Still, Draco wasn't anxious to spend the evening staring people down in the common room, so once he discovered that Granger was blowing off their practice session he decided to hang out in his private sanctuary until curfew, when he would sneak upstairs in case Snape was doing a bed-check on him. His bookbag was crammed with study materials, and soaking in a nice warm pool was as good a way as any to pass tedious hours of reading.
But to Draco's astonishment, Granger was waiting for him inside the bath-house.
He hid his surprise well, covering by dropping his bag to the floor with a solid thump and remarking snidely, "Didn't expect you to show, Granger. Planning to take me out before I face your boyfriend?"
She ignored the dig about Potter. He suspected that was because it was true, and he hated himself for being jealous over it. "I'm not here to practice," she snapped, marching over to him with fiercely-glowing eyes. "I'm here to ask you to call off the duel."
Draco arched an eyebrow. This was a scenario he hadn't envisioned: Granger, looking even more striking than usual when furious, begging for her boyfriend's safety.
Coolly, he countered, "If Potter wants to back out, tell him to do it himself."
She snorted derisively. "Don't flatter yourself. Harry isn't afraid of you. I'm asking you myself." She waited a beat, staring directly into his eyes, thoroughly earnest. "Call it off, Draco."
He started. Never, not once, in the entire six years they had known one another, had Hermione Granger called him by his first name.
The effect it had on him caused Draco to respond with more venom than he'd intended. "And what makes you think," he demanded acidly, "that I would do anything for you?"
Granger didn't flinch. In two swift steps she closed the distance between them, caught the front of his uniform shirt, and pulled him down into a bruising kiss.
She took Draco's breath away. His knees nearly buckled; he swayed into her, then quickly braced himself and wrapped one arm around her small waist and drew her closer. She tasted faintly of pumpkin juice, a quite intoxicating sweetness that made his head swim. Her lips were cool but he could feel the heat of her, a heat he wanted to touch; he parted her lips deftly with his tongue – she didn't resist – and explored the silky-smoothness of her cheeks.
Her hands were in his hair, her body pressed so tightly to his that Draco realized, somewhere in his increasingly-fogged mind, that she could feel exactly how much he was enjoying the kiss. A kiss that seemed endless, that stole his senses even as it stole his breath.
He could have kissed her forever. It was Hermione who pulled back, breathless and flushed, after what suddenly seemed far too short of a kiss.
"Wow," was the only semi-intelligible response Draco could manage. He was certain his face was as pink as hers, knew his breathing was just as labored.
He should have been embarrassed, but he wasn't.
Hermione – he couldn't possibly think of her as Granger now – seemed rather shocked at herself. She half-turned away and gestured uncertainly toward the edge of the bathing pool. "Um…Maybe we should…sit?"
Draco, feeling slightly rubber-kneed, agreed. They kicked their shoes off in silence and sat with their toes under the warm water, side-by-side but not touching. He wanted to tell her she was beautiful; he wanted to hold her hand. Yet none of it seemed right.
Or maybe you're just afraid to make the first move, afraid to be rebuffed…
She spoke before he could muster the courage to say or do anything. "I'm asking you to call off the duel. Please."
A cold fury swirled in Draco's stomach. The duel? The bloody duel? Was that what all of this was about?
He could have spit with frustration. Their practice sessions had been, in Draco's opinion, increasingly laced with tension; he could have sworn Hermione felt the same attraction to him that he felt to her, that her kiss had been the culmination of that desire. But –
The duel? Was that kiss, amazing as it was, a ploy to use his feelings against him? To protect Potter, the person she really cared about?
The possibility of emotional manipulation turned Draco's blood, super-heated by passion seconds before, to ice. He withdrew into his well-guarded shell, exuding cold indifference. "Don't think one kiss is going to change my mind, Granger. It wasn't that good."
She did flinch at that. He tried to be glad that he'd wounded her…and almost succeeded.
Turning to him, she asked, with no small amount of desperation, "And what would be enough to change your mind, Malfoy? Name it, and it's done."
Draco stared at her in disbelief. God, could she really think that of him? It was disgusting, absolutely repulsive. He was many things, yes, and purported to be much more than he actually was, but he had never (at least in Draco's opinion) cultivated the image of himself as some pervert who would swap sex for…
Well, anything.
"My, my, Granger," he taunted, concealing his true emotions behind a cocky façade, "you must really be in love with Potter to sink this low."
"Shut-up. Just shut-up." She glared at him, furious once more. "You're really an idiot, you know that?"
"Hey, you're the one throwing yourself at me."
"I am trying to help you!" She kicked her feet hard in the water, spraying them both, though she didn't seem to notice – or care. "You could be expelled for this. Is that what you want? Are you really so desperate to get away from here that you're looking for a way to be kicked out?"
His shrug was decidedly non-committal. "We only get expelled if we get caught."
"I heard twelve conversations about this today. Twelve. Do you think there is even the slightest chance that Dumbledore won't hear about this? Especially when he has every professor in school watching your back twenty-four hours a day?"
Draco glanced casually around. "I don't see any professors down here. Maybe you're being paranoid, Granger."
"I wouldn't count on this place staying secret for long, Malfoy. But even if it does, a rumor like this can't be kept a secret. You will get caught."
"So then you'll be shut of me. But if it's Potter you're worried about, don't be. He's the Ministry's golden boy. I'm sure he won't be expelled." Draco tried but failed to keep the bitterness out of his next words. "I should think you'd be pleased to see me go."
Hermione hopped to her feet, fairly hissing with rage. "You know what? I should be. If I had a brain in my head, I would be thrilled to see you kicked out of here and shipped off to Durmstrang or whatever other worthless school would even touch your family right now."
Ouch. Draco decided refusing to engage her anger was the best way to infuriate her, so he hid his scorched pride behind a chiding, "So what's the hang-up, Granger? Disappointed we won't have another randy little snog if I get kicked out?"
He leapt to his feet and grabbed her wrist in a vice-like grip before she could back away. "What's the matter, Granger? Potter leave something to be desired? Or are you just slumming it for a while?"
"You're disgusting." Hermione yanked her arm free. "You're disgusting and you're the thickest person I've ever met." He was startled to see tears sparkling in her eyes. "Harry's the most powerful wizard I've ever met, you know. And I don't just mean students. This Voldemort you and your father have such a yen for, Harry has bested him every time they've met. Even Dumbledore knows Harry is more powerful than any other wizard alive. And you're stupid enough to challenge him to a duel?"
A knot of apprehension formed in Draco's stomach. She was making a duel with Poter sound like veritable suicide; he realized, of course, that Potter was a gifted wizard, but admittedly, he hadn't considered that he might be quite so out-matched by him.
Or maybe I'm just assuming Potter's too much of a do-gooder to play dirty, to use his full power against someone he knows isn't that dangerous to him…
Draco disliked the sound of that, so he hastily shrugged it off. "I'm flattered that you're so concerned," he sneered at Hermione. "But I think you should mind your own business."
"Harry is my business."
Wounded to the core by those words, Draco fought the urge to race from the bath-house, burst into the Gryffindor common room and pummel Potter into a bloody pulp. He struggled to keep his voice devoid of all emotion except arrogance.
"That's sweet, Granger. Really touching. So did Potter send you down here to beg for him? Did he ask you to snog me so I'd agree not to fight him?" She started for the door; he followed her, determined to rankle her as badly as she had him. "And by the way, how does Weasley feel about the two of you? He still follows you around like a little puppy-dog, you know. Maybe he's hoping Voldemort will snuff Potter and give him a clear shot at you, ya think?"
Hermione tossed her hair haughtily over one shoulder and eyed him knowingly. "For someone who couldn't give a shit about me, Malfoy, you seem rather preoccupied with my love life."
He hated that know-it-all look. Bristling, he shot back, "Tell Potter I won't back out of the duel. If he's too scared to fight me, that's his problem."
Abruptly, the fight seemed to vanish from Hermione. Hand on the door, she dropped her eyes and shook her head sadly. "You're wasting it," she said softly.
"Wasting what?" he fairly bit out, more than ready to be finished with this wretched scene and alone with his fury and confusion.
Her eyes met his for one breath-taking, heart-wrenching second. "Everything." She turned on her heel, apparently satisfied with leaving exactly what he was wasting a mystery, and pushed wordlessly out of the room.
Draco didn't move until he heard her footsteps echo away up the stairs. Then he threw his head back and roared at the ceiling, unleashing a deep, guttural scream that reverberated off the stone walls but didn't escape the room.
He screamed for his father, for Lucius's miserable betrayal of his friends and his son.
He screamed for Hermione, for the kiss that would probably make all future kisses pale in comparison.
He screamed for Potter, too, for the narrow-minded sense of right and wrong that had kept him from choosing Slytherin house over Gryffindor, for the destiny that had made them enemies when they should have been friends, two brilliant wizards shuffling off the wars of their fathers and striking out on their own paths, free of the past and its horrors.
He screamed for himself, for his own pain and loneliness and heartache.
He screamed for his own stupidity at falling, totally and helplessly, for a girl who would never, ever fit into his life.
He screamed for all the things that could have been and now, never would be.
He screamed until his voice gave out and his throat ached. Then, utterly spent, he lay back on the warm stones, closed his eyes, and fell into a troubled sleep.