A/N: I won't even bother trying to explain why it's taken so long to post this, so I'll just say that I had a really hard time transitioning from the Half-Blood Prince back to this. My muse is back, however, and I will finish this story up. So, my apologies for the wait.
Thanks to my beta, Mary, for her encouragement. I couldn't have finished this chapter without her or the support of the readers and their emails. THANKS!
Old Moon Fades
Chapter Twenty-four: Paracelsus
The chicken tasted bitter on his tongue, and was grainy and tough as he tried biting into it. The rest of the meal wasn't much better. The potatoes were lumpy and thin, almost as if the House Elves had been too generous with the cream. There was too much sugar in the cake. The pumpkin juice had gone ripe. He'd had to refrain from spitting the juice back into his cup after taking a rather large swallow to get the taste of the chicken out of his mouth. Crabbe was sitting across from him, indelicately shoveling food into his mouth, apparently oblivious to the taste of it.
The meal was disgusting and yet no one else seemed to notice.
The Hall was loud with the noise of chatter and laughter. Even at the usually quiet Slytherin table, the students seemed to be in high spirits. As he surveyed the room, Draco took note of the rapt attention everyone was giving him. They tried to be discreet about it, sneaking sly glances his way when they thought he wouldn't notice. Draco caught a group of fifth year Ravenclaws staring at him from behind their borrowed library books. When they saw that he'd caught them staring, they collapsed into a fit of giggles that would have made any Hufflepuff proud.
Idiots. The lot of them.
Normally he would have been pleased to see that he was the prime focus of dinnertime conversation. But not tonight. Tonight he was fighting off the uncomfortable twitchiness that had lodged itself in his stomach. Must be the chicken… He couldn't think of any other reason for the uneasy feeling, nor could he explain away the erratic beating of his heart beneath his robes.
Against his will, he continuously found his eyes focusing on the door to the Great Hall and then back to Gryffindor table.
Hermione's chair sat vacant. Her two little sidekicks were there, intent on consuming a ridiculous amount of food. The Weasel appeared to be starving, probably because he'd grown another six inches since he'd woken up that morning. Potter seemed to have taken notice of the shift in attention from himself to Draco, and was watching him carefully, no doubt angry and jealous that Draco had stolen his adoring fans from right under his nose.
He met Potter's eyes across the room. They watched each other warily and Draco wondered momentarily how much Potter knew about the progression in his and Hermione's relationship. He'd almost been expecting Potter and Weasley to attack him in the corridor after he'd walked Hermione back to Gryffindor Tower the night before.
They'd spent only a few minutes in the Kitchens snacking on leftovers. He hadn't been hungry at all, having just eaten quite a large meal in the Hall. Hermione, he assumed, had been more nervous than hungry since she'd really just picked at her food. He'd been rather surprised that she hadn't been angry with him for his House-Elf comment. But she'd just looked at him carefully and he'd practically watched the inner battle she'd had over accepting him for who he is.
It was a strange feeling, getting to know someone when he'd had a conception of them as a person, however inaccurate or superficial, for practically all his young life. They still tip-toed around certain things. The "Mudblood" issue was one, as was his own blood status. House-elves another. The moment he'd made the joke he'd bit the inside of his cheek. Certain habits were hard to break, and some just never seemed to die, no matter how hard he tried to suffocate them. It was such an odd feeling to watch what he said. He wondered briefly what things she debated about, what things she mulled over in her mind. He didn't like the taste of his foot in his mouth, and vowed silently that he'd try harder to keep snide comments about the house-elves from slipping from his lips again.
In all honesty, he hadn't even been sure that she'd been upset by the comment. Draco didn't know all her facial expressions yet. He couldn't look at her, at the quirk of her eyebrows or the crinkle of her smile, and be able to tell what she was feeling. They hadn't spent enough time together to categorize specific emotions. Draco could generalize that she hadn't been mad because her eyes hadn't narrowed at him, indeed he knew her angry look well, but the distant look in her eyes reminded him of how she looked in Potions or Arithmancy as she puzzled through a difficult assignment. He cursed Potty and the Weasel, and even Ginny, for knowing her better, more comprehensively, than he did.
All at once, the roar of chatter fell silent, drawing Draco from his thoughts.
Both he and Potter looked toward the door at the same moment, as did the rest of the assembled student body. The door opened slowly, cautiously, and Hermione walked in behind Ginny, her face slightly pink at the resurgence of hushed whispering. Ginny seemed steadfastly resistant to any sort of embarrassment and gently steered Hermione to her usual seat at the Gryffindor table.
Almost as one, he felt hundreds of pairs of eyes shift in his direction, as if waiting to see what he would do. He waited to see what he would do, as well.
For the first time in his life, Draco didn't feel like making a spectacle of himself.
His relationship with Hermione was his alone. He didn't need to share it with Potter, or the Hufflepuffs, or anyone else for that matter. So, that decision made, he resolved not to get up and walk over to her, even though he wanted to more than anything. She should have the opportunity to eat in peace, free from the embarrassment of being the latest rumor at Hogwarts. But as she met his eyes across the room, he wondered if he really did need to go over. She'd been happy enough to see him in the Library, but now, with the whole school watching?
For once, he didn't want to give into the queasy feeling in his stomach that told him to walk over to her table. If she wanted to see him, she could just as easily come to him.
He absently swirled a small piece of chicken around in his potatoes before bringing the bite to his mouth and eating it. He normally didn't play with his food. The childhood habit had been all but drilled out of him by his mother's constant attempts to perfect his table manners. He couldn't remember the last time he'd played with his food. It must have been obvious because even Crabbe was looking at him askance, but he couldn't be bothered...
He had more important things to think about. Like the weird feeling in his stomach. Draco rubbed the front of his robes absently and wondered if he needed to see Madame Pomfrey about this apparent food poisoning. But a quick glance around the room proved that no one else was having a similar problem.
His usually neatly organized dinner plate was a mess. His vegetables were scattered about his dish, the potatoes even going so far as to rebelliously drip off onto the thick wooden table.
It was no use, the food was nauseating and he couldn't eat another bite of it.
He pushed his plate away forcibly, and was pleased to see that the rim chipped as it banged into the bowl housing the offending potatoes.
Crabbe glanced up at him again and asked quietly, "You alright? You seem to be in a foul mood."
"I'm fine. It's just this food! How can people eat this pig slop?" he whined, gesturing rudely at the cracked dish in front of him.
Draco noticed that Crabbe's gaze, too, lingered over at the Gryffindor table for the briefest of seconds before he said, "Tastes fine to me, Draco."
He stood up quickly, once again drawing the attention of the Hall. He looked out over the sea of faces and found Hermione's. She watched him carefully, painfully aware of being observed by the hundreds of students. Their eyes met and held for a few seconds. She gifted him with a small smile, to which he nodded minutely.
He turned to Crabbe, his eyes never leaving Hermione's. "I'm going up to my room. Don't forget that we've got the Pitch tomorrow after dinner. Remind the others, will you?"
Crabbe nodded but kept his eyes trained on Hermione, his thick eyebrow raised in concern. Draco almost stopped to question his friend about it, but changed his mind and started walking away from the table.
The door slammed loudly against its frame as he walked into the quiet of the corridor. He took his time since he didn't really have anywhere to be until after dinner was over. Draco had almost made it to the stairs leading up to the first floor when he heard the door slam once again. The noise of feet against the stone floor made him pause, curious to see who it was. He turned around to see, and was greeted with a shout.
"Malfoy, wait up!"
Potter.
He turned on his heel to continue up the stairs, regardless of the Boy Wonder calling out to him. He was surprised that he hadn't brought the Weasel with him, though it would have been suspicious for both of them to have left at the same time. Draco had been expecting just this all day, and if Potter wanted a confrontation, Draco would pick the place. And it wasn't going to be in the middle of dinner, right outside the Great Hall. Better to have it out in the first floor corridor where he was in close proximity to both the Hospital Wing and his room. Not that he was expecting to lose, by any means, but two against one are never favorable odds, especially when one was fighting over a girl.
He'd been expecting it, really, this eventual row with Potter about the safety and security of Hermione while she was with him. Half of him had thought, though, that they'd settled things already, what with that damned business with Harry's initial refusal to give Hermione the protection charm. But, really, what else could he expect from two hot-heads like Potter and Weasley?
Draco continued walking up the stairs and down the hall, so that any noise that their spell casting would make wouldn't be audible from the ground floor. He turned, holding his wand stiffly at his side, ready for whatever Potter threw at him, and waited.
Potter rounded the corner of the stair and stepped into the corridor. When he took notice of Draco, he immediately straightened, reaching for his wand.
"Where's your red-headed shadow, Potter? I'd expected this, in all honesty, but anticipated less favorable odds."
"What are you going on about? And why do you have your wand out? Do you want to duel, or something?"
Draco stiffened and held his wand out higher, pointing it right at Potter's chest. "That's why you followed me up here, isn't it? You and the Weasel are jealous that Hermione wants to be with me, and you just can't handle it."
"Is that what you think this is about?" Potter asked before laughing. "You think I want to fight you? Well, you're right, I suppose. I could always go for a round or two with you, Malfoy. And I'm pretty sure that Ron wouldn't mind it, either, but neither of us are stupid enough to act on it, knowing what Hermione would do to us if we tried."
Draco frowned, loosening the grip he had on his wand. "So, what are you doing up here? You certainly didn't come find me for a nice friendly chat," he ground out through clenched teeth. "We may have agreed to work together for the sake of our prophecies, but that doesn't mean that I'm willing to paint your toenails, or whatever it is you and the Weasel do together."
"And I'd just as soon not spend any of my free time with you either, but I need to ask you something."
"And what's that?" Draco asked irritably.
"It's about the protection charm…" Potter replied.
"Merlin, not that again! Yes, Potter, I gave it to her. She liked it. It's perfectly safe! Flitwick told you that himself, didn't he? It's a waste of both my time and yours for you to keep asking me these inane questions, to which you already know the answers!" Draco shouted, his temper rearing out of control.
"I just want to know what you plan on doing with the other one. The one you didn't give to Hermione."
Draco gave him a puzzled look, honestly confused by Potter's question. "Do you know something about the necklaces, the charms? Did Flitwick say something that you didn't tell me earlier?" he asked.
Potter's uncomfortable look gave him all the answer he needed. A devilish look of comprehension crossed his face, as he smirked and twirled his wand between his fingers. "I see what you're after. Want to get in good with Weasley's sister, don't you? Saw what it did for me and decided you wanted a piece-"
"That's enough, Malfoy," Potter said, taking a step forward.
"Oh, I seem to have struck a nerve," he replied saccharinely.
The other boy squared his shoulders and gave no outward indication of anger, other than annoyance. "What did you do with it?"
He turned quickly, taking a few steps toward his room. When Potter refused to follow, Draco stopped and called out, "Step into my office, Potter."
He continued walking to his room and muttered the password to the little painting by the door. Draco turned to wait for Potter who appeared to be trying to make up his mind. Finally, the other boy moved to follow him into the room. The door swung closed behind him.
Draco left Potter standing by the door while he went to his desk and began rummaging through the top drawer for the charm. When he had the velvet pouch in his hand, he turned to see Potter still standing mutely by the door. Draco rolled his eyes and held it out to him.
When the other boy didn't take it, he sighed dramatically. "Oh come on, I didn't curse it or anything, if that's what you're wondering. It's been sitting in my desk since last night and no one knows the password to my room except me, Dumbledore, and now Hermione."
Draco watched Potter carefully for a moment as the other boy tried to keep his face impassively neutral, but at the reminder of Draco's relationship with Hermione, Potter was betrayed by a rather ill-concealed grimace.
The Gryffindor Golden Boy didn't seem to notice Draco's scrutiny and stepped forward to take the pouch, hesitating only momentarily before opening it. He dumped the contents into his hand and pushed the stone around his palm with his finger.
"I guess you gave Hermione the green one then," he said quietly, and Draco was unsure how to take the comment.
"Obviously. Why, is that a problem?"
"No, I don't know if Ginny will like the red one. I've heard her say that red clashes with her hair…"
Draco snorted. "Well, there's a shop in Hogsmeade that makes this sort of thing. They've got an assortment of stones in other colors and different types of designs. I sent the order in by owl so that I wouldn't have to go into the store, but I have an account there and didn't need to come in. They sent the completed charms back once they were done. Can't have my mum finding out, since she's intent on having Hermione 'taken care of.' If you let the storekeeper know ahead of time that you're coming in, they can have the charm ready for you when you go in to pick out the design. Who knows, they might even do it for free on account of the publicity it would cause."
"What's the name?" Potter asked through gritted teeth.
"It's at the back of Dervish & Banges. A little shop called Gemmeus Burwurd's Stonecutters. The storekeeper's name is Gilbert Peabody. Short, stocky fellow. Looks rather like a toad with hair. You can't tell it by looking at him, but he's a genius with charms. You want the address?"
Potter sighed dramatically and pushed his glasses further up his nose before speaking. "Yeah, I guess… About how long do you think it'll take before it's done?"
Draco could think of at least ten things he'd rather be doing than talking to Potter about the charm. Potions homework came to mind. Shaving Hagrid's back-hair seemed more appealing at the moment. However, he figured that if Potter was really serious about getting the Weasellette a protection charm, he'd better help him. There was no telling what the numbskull would come up with if left to his own inadequate devices.
"The charm is what takes time. If you know what you want the charm to do, you could always send off for that and then pick out the design once it's done. The easy part is setting the stone with the charm. I bet if you sent off for it now, he'd have the charm ready by the Hogsmeade trip this weekend and all you'd have to do is show up with the money and pick out the jewelry… Though, I seriously doubt your fan-club will let you leave school grounds, what with the imminent threat of death and all that."
"Yeah… that could be a problem."
A light knock at the door interrupted their conversation. "Draco?"
"Is that Hermione?" Potter asked quickly, tucking the necklace back into its pouch and tossing back to Draco. He caught it deftly and shoved it back into the drawer.
"Yeah… we made plans last night to meet up after dinner," he replied quickly, all the while smoothing down his robes. Then he crossed the room, pushing past the other boy.
"Move, Potter," he said, as he opened the door on a very confused looking Hermione.
"Draco," she said, not really taking the time to notice the other person in the room. "You left the hall so quickly, I'd rather hoped we could have walked back together," she said quietly, gazing at him intently.
It took her a moment to notice Potter in the room as well. "Harry? What are you doing here?" she asked, looking back and forth between the two of them. "You weren't fighting, were you?"
Potter stuttered nervously, forcing Draco to roll his eyes and answer for both of them.
"Of course not," he replied quickly. "We were just strategizing. You know, for the Dark Lord."
Hermione's eyes narrowed. "Really?" she deadpanned. "Somehow, I just don't believe you."
"Does it look like we were fighting?" he asked simply, holding his hands out innocently.
"No…" Hermione answered skeptically. "That's what's worrying me."
"Think what you want, you will anyway. We were simply doing what you and Dumbledore have been asking us to do for weeks. And that's strategizing," Draco said before gesturing toward his accomplice. "Isn't that right, Potter?"
Potter's eyebrow shot up but he turned to Hermione to reassure her. "Ease up, Hermione. We're just doing all we can to ensure the safety of our friends. No need to worry."
Hermione snorted and Draco had to bite the inside of his cheek to contain his own reaction to Potter's typically heroic and self-sacrificing speech.
"Don't you have to go save something now, Potter?" Draco suggested, motioning towards the door.
Potter gestured rudely at him in response but smiled at Hermione. An awkward silence ensued, wherein Hermione glanced almost giddily between the two of them and Draco tried his best to pretend he'd never engaged in any sort of civil exchange with Potter. Potter, for his part, seemed torn between leaving as quickly as possible, and staying to make sure Draco didn't behave inappropriately with Hermione.
Finally the awkwardness took over and Potter mumbled a quick goodbye and ducked out of the room. As soon as the door shut behind him, Hermione erupted into a bout of very girlish giggling.
"Funny, Granger, I never pictured you as much of a giggler," Draco said teasingly, taking a step closer. "It suits you."
She ignored the comment but blushed prettily and fidgeted. "So, I guess the pair of you are planning to leave me in the dark about whatever it was you were conspiring about before I got here," she said quickly, brushing off his statement.
"Well, you won't have much success trying to harass it out of me, but you can bug Potter about it as much as you want," Draco replied, smiling before shrugging. "It's not even a really big deal. You'll find out eventually, I'm sure."
"Keep your secrets then, and I'll keep mine…" Hermione said vaguely, walking away from him to the window.
He watched her for a moment as she gazed out of the window onto the grounds below. Eventually, however, he let his eyes drift from her and looked out onto the steadily darkening sky. The sun had set but the last of its bright red rays clung steadfastly to the distant clouds. The sky was a riot of color, burning and undulating in the final moments before darkness set in for the night.
It's all some damned metaphor, he thought angrily. All of it. He wondered briefly if he'd ever be able to look at the world around him without remembering his fate, whatever it was, or whatever it would be… Could the world ever go back to normal? Will I constantly be hounded by shadows, he asked himself silently as the sun continued its descent below the horizon.
Hermione, who seemed to have been as caught up in the view as he had been, turned back to him, the unyielding light crowning her hair like a fiery halo. "You seem quiet, Draco… Is everything alright?"
"I'm fine," he replied automatically.
She watched him skeptically for a few long seconds before turning back toward the window. Her voice was soft in the brilliance of the fading light. "You know, I meant what I said earlier. About wanting to walk back with you… But I understand if you wouldn't want to…"
"I would have, had I known that's what you wanted… I guess I'll know then, for next time," he responded seriously.
This time when she turned back to him, she smiled, his meaning obviously not lost on her.
"Well, you said earlier that you wanted to show me something…" Hermione prompted rather nervously.
"Yes. I have something for you. It just arrived this morning."
He walked over to the trunk that was pushed haphazardly up next to his bookcase, pulled a key from his pocket and crouched down in front of the lock. When he glanced over his shoulder at her, he saw she was still standing across the room looking, once again, out of the window. He stood slowly, the key cool in his hand.
"Hermione, is everything alright?" he asked quietly.
"Everything's fine. Wonderful, really. I just wonder how long it's going to last. I just don't want to get too caught up in this," she said quietly, gesturing between the two of them, "that we forget about the prophecies and war with Voldemort."
Draco felt his shoulders tense and clenched his fingers tightly around the cool metal key in his hand. "Do you want to cool things off, or something, is that it? You've had second thoughts…"
He tried not to sound too bothered by it but couldn't help the slightly hurt, angry edge to his voice. Apparently the sound bothered Hermione just as much as it had him, and she turned quickly to him, abandoning the window and the setting sun.
"No! That isn't what I want at all! I'm just so… scared of what's going to happen," she sighed, running a hand through her hair. "I hate not knowing. I just hate waiting for something to happen to me, to my friends."
His grip on the key loosened, and unconsciously Draco let a sigh of relief escape his lips. "Well unless you're willing to instigate something with the Dark Lord, there's not much else we can do besides wait," he said seriously, his brow cocking slightly before a Cheshire grin broke out on his face. "Though I can think of some activities we could engage in to pass the time…" he teased.
She blushed again and nervously tugged at the hem of her jumper, but she didn't pull her eyes from his this time. Certainly that was a good sign.
"You were going to open that trunk, Draco," she said, changing the subject. Or postponing it; Draco wasn't sure which.
"Yes…" he murmured, twirling the key between his fingers, and turning back to the trunk.
Hermione approached cautiously as he twisted the key in the lock. "So, what is it exactly?" she asked.
"A complete set of Gilderoy Lockhart's books, including the bestseller and winner of 'Witch Weekly's Golden Quill Award', Magical Me. All 10 volumes. Autographed, too…" he said quickly, glancing back over his shoulder to where she leaned against the bedpost. "I know that he once held a special place in your heart, so I pulled a few strings," Draco said seriously, and then laughed at the horrified look on her face. "What, you actually thought I'd tell you what it is?"
"Of course not, by now I know never to expect a straight answer from you, Malfoy," she replied, crossing her arms over her chest.
"So, we're back to Malfoy now, are we? You must have been more hung up on that peacock Lockhart than I thought," he laughed, propping the lid of the trunk open with the crook of his elbow as he looked over his shoulder at her.
"Oh, please," she huffed. "You're worse than Ron, you know that?"
"Play nicely, or you won't get your present," Draco teased. "And don't ever compare me to the Weasel. It's bad for my complexion. Now, do you want this damned gift, or not?"
"It isn't really a set of Gilderoy Lockhart books, is it?"
"Here, have a look for yourself," he said, smiling. He reached up and tugged on her hand where it nervously fiddled with the hem of her jumper, and pulled her down until she sat cross legged on the rug next to him.
Dramatically he opened the lid of the trunk further, all the while watching Hermione's face for her reaction.
When the trunk was opened completely, and her face still hadn't betrayed any sort of recognition, he squeezed her hand. "Go ahead, open one up," he suggested. "They don't bite. Not like the books that great un-showered beast they have teaching Care of Magical Creatures assigned us."
Hermione elbowed him lightly in the side but reached into the trunk and pulled back the dark blue fabric that was draped delicately over the packages. He watched as her hand trembled slightly, and smiled at the dainty surprised "oh" that escaped her lips.
She spoke softly, her voice barely louder than a whisper. "Is this really… I almost didn't believe you when you said you had them," she whispered, her fingers shaking over the cover. "You can't mean to give these to me!" she asked incredulously.
"They're yours if you want them," he said simply, before pulling one out of the trunk and handing it to her. "It's not like they were getting much use at the Manor. Mother wouldn't read them. I read them long ago, but it's no fun not to have anyone to discuss them with."
"But, Draco… these are Paracelsus's personal journals! Most people don't even believe that they exist, let alone that there could possibly be this many volumes!" she said quickly, wrapping the book back up and replacing it in the trunk. "I'm sorry, but I can't accept this. It's too much."
"Before you reject them completely, let me explain. I do have an ulterior motive for this, you know," he grinned.
"Draco, seriously, now isn't the time, and I thought I explained to you that you can't buy people off with extravagant presents, and you especially can't buy affection," she stammered, annoyed.
"Get your mind out of the gutter, Granger, and let me explain," he teased, still grinning. "What do you know about the Dark Lord's attempts at immortality?"
"Huh?" she asked confusingly. "As far as I know he's tried several times to gain immortality, with the Sorcerer's Stone our first year…"
Draco watched her quietly as comprehension dawned on her face and grinned when she pulled the book back out from the trunk. She held it out in front of her, her eyes near bulging with surprise and understanding.
"Now do you see what I meant by an ulterior motive? I spent my childhood watching my father read these books cover to cover," Draco said.
She looked at him then, sadness and empathy in her eyes at the mention of his father. He didn't let that look bother him as much as he might have, had he been in a less happy mood.
"Quiz time, Granger. The Sorcerer's Stone. What is it, and who is Nicolas Flamel? You get bonus points if you can name his supposed predecessor," Draco said, leaning back against the bookcase and stretching his legs out in front of him.
She glared at him for a moment before breaking into a wide grin at his teasing.
"The stone was said to have produced the Elixir of Life and could give the drinker immortality. The initial motivation for creating the stone was to give the owner an unlimited supply of gold; that it also made them immortal was only a side effect, recognized only after the fact. Nicolas Flamel was the only known alchemist to have created the stone, and he died only recently, after living for more than 6 and a half centuries," Hermione answered quickly, in typical fashion. Her eyes lit up though as her fingers traced the thick cover of the book in her hands. "Flamel's predecessor is rumored to have been Paracelsus, but no one knows for sure, since both were very secretive and led reasonably quiet lives."
Draco reached into the trunk and pulled another volume from its depths. He flipped the cover open, glancing over the tight handwriting inside. "My father knew there was something inside these books that could help the Dark Lord. The history books say that Flamel's stone was the only one known to be in existence in modern times. It doesn't say that it's the only one ever. Here, let me show you," he said, reaching behind him to pull an enormous book down from the bookcase.
He flipped the pages until he'd found the passage he was looking for. "'There have been many reports of the Sorcerer's Stone over the centuries, but the only Stone currently in existence belongs to Mr. Nicolas Flamel.'"
"So you're saying that Paracelsus could have created a Stone of his own, or at least figured out how Flamel did it in the first place," Hermione replied, still staring at the book in Draco's hand. "I read that book once, our first year."
"Doesn't surprise me, really. You've read half of all the books ever printed. But you see my point, don't you, that these journals may provide some sort of insight into the Dark Lord's mind, or at least the steps he's willing to take to become immortal."
"You want to learn how to create a stone of your own," she said quietly, the faint traces of horror evident on her face.
"I'm not ruling that out, after all, the only way to defeat someone is to understand them inside and out. Right now, though, all I want to do if figure out what my father was looking for in these journals."
A/N: Thanks for reading, as always, I'm more eager to keep writing if I know that people are enjoying the story. Also, be sure to visit me at my livejournal, where I have links to a co-write I did with my beta, waxbean.