This is late. I am not giving up.
Disclaimer: I do not own the Harry Potter. If I did, things would have been very different.
Chapter 4: Cogito Ergo Sum
The Weasley's household was in frenzy; there were Aurors everywhere and Ronald Weasley's face seemed to be in a permanent shade of angry pink. He was pacing the room, raving madly at anyone and everyone, and basically shouting obscenities at inanimate objects while Harry Potter sat rigidly at the dinner table with white knuckles clenching his wand and jumping at every little bumps. He rubbed his scar absentmindedly, hoping for some kind enlightening information. He received nothing but a red and sore forehead.
"Where is she?" roared Ron for the nth times at no one particular. Everyone had given up on calming down Ron; it would be futile and only fueled his anger, like pouring oil on fire.
"She couldn't have just disappear," Ginny said softly, "Someone must have kidnapped her or something." She stole a glance at Harry and sighed; nothing and no one could comfort him.
"Voldemort," Harry growled vehemently. Everyone flinched.
"Well, Aurors didn't find her body," Fred piped in as the rare voice of reason, "So she must be alive. They've turned Diagon and Knockturn Alleys completely over."
"They are going to use her against me." Harry glared at the floor.
Ron finally grew tired of wearing hole into the ground and sat down heavily in the chair next to Harry. "If I didn't argue with her over that stupid Muggle, I would've been with her and I would've protected her."
"Ron, it's not your fault." Ginny placed her hand on his shoulder.
He jerked it away and turned furiously at his sister. "How could you have let her go to the bloody bookstore ALONE at a time like this?"
Ginny's eyes widened. "You are blaming me," she sputtered.
"You should have gone with her!" Ron jabbed his index finger at her face.
Ginny smacked it away and stood up abruptly, toppling her chair backward. "Ronald Weasley, you will not shove your stupid guilt onto me. If you learn to control your bloody temper and shut your mouth, then Hermione would've gone to the bookstore and--"
"Enough!" Mr. Weasley slammed his fist. "It is no one's fault. It is not going to do anyone good with you guys squabbling. Go to sleep."
They started to protest but Mrs. Weasley came swooping in and herded all of them to bed.
Mr. Weasley gave a huge sign and rubbed his temples.
Hermione gripped the note so hard that it crinkled and her fingers left distinct marks. She forced herself to breath again and read the note again, hoping the words would disappear.
I have another matter to attend to. Work together to find the gauntlet. Complete the task.
Severus SnapeMalfoy plucked the note out of her hands. "What?"
Her brain still could not register what was going go. A billion questions flying in her mind: where did Snape go, how could she work together with Malfoy, Is Malfoy going to kill her, where is her damn wand. She was hyperventilating. Everything suddenly seemed very hazy; she hadn't eaten decent food in few days now. Hermione could not fathom how her former potion professor survived with bread, cheese, and a strange assortment of inedible meat.
"Crazy old bat," Malfoy snarled. "Work together with a mudblood. It's inconceivable!"
Malfoy's angry, arrogant voice jerked her back to reality. "Shut up, Malfoy," she snapped, "If you want to find the gauntlet, you will need me. Snape gave me something." She added smugly.
His gray eyes bulged out of the socket. "He told you."
She nodded.
In a blink, Malfoy had invaded her very precious personal bubble. His face was so close that she could smell his stale breathe (she supposed that Snape also lack hygiene products as well) and see the strange flecks of blue that bordered his iris. She bit her inner lip and glared back; she refused to be let her fear take over. If she couldn't choose flight, she might as well fight.
"Give it to me."
"What?" Her mouth flopped open.
"Give. It. To. Me." Malfoy grounded the words out into dust.
It dawned to Hermione that he was referring to the eagle feather. "No."
"You will give it to me, mudblood." His arms shot forward before she could squirm away and clamped onto her forearms hard.
She jutted her chin. "You won't be able to use it anyway, Malfoy." She squared her shoulder; she forced herself to be calm.
He shook her violently. "What do you mean?" A gray flinch of doubt and dread appeared and disappeared.
Her head shook back and forth painfully. Hermione dug her nails into her palm; she reminded herself of the Gryffindor courage. She thought of Harry and Ron and Dumbledore. "You can't use it, Malfoy," she said in her best haughty-know-it-all voice. "Ravenclaw's power follows the female line. Rowena, herself, was the seventh daughter. After her, not a single male Ravenclaw's descendent was known to exist even before their line became untraceable. You should know that." She ended with her trademark smirk or, at least, she hoped that it was her trademark-knowing smirk.
She could see the rusty gears of Malfoy's head turned. What she said was true but whether it had any connection with the journal and the quill, she had no idea. She was roughly shoved aside and tripped back onto the scrawny sofa. She could still feel his numbing grip.
"I will get the gauntlet, mudblood," his wand centered on her, "Nothing can stop me, Granger. Nothing!" He swerved and disappeared up the stairway.
As Hermione tried to calm her racing heart, she came to the startling and very unfortunate conclusion that Draco Malfoy was no longer the scrawny bully flanked by two knuckleheads. He had passed the course for verbal abuse with flying colors and advanced to physical and psychological abuse and was on the road toward being a full fledged devil's advocate. She wrapped her arms around her knees and breathed deeply.
Then she reminded herself that he was already a Death Eater; he was already a devil's advocate. But there was more to the plain malice. There were despair and hopelessness laced in his tone and words. His untidy looks and bloodshot eyes all pointed toward insanity. The more her tried to analyze Malfoy, the more afraid she felt. He was not a kid anymore and neither was she.
Her eyes burned. The world was crashing down around Hermione as she curled into a ball to muffle her whimpers and tears. There were no longer any teachers to come swooping in to the rescue; hell, even Snape was gone to Merlin-knows-where; at least, he kept Malfoy in line and did not have any apparent intention of killing her.
But, now, she was alone with Malfoy without her wand. More tears streamed down her face. She could not even cling onto the one thing that could give her security. Hermione hoped desperately that Malfoy did not have her wand. He couldn't have had it, she reasoned, Snape wouldn't do that; he must have hid her wand. She clung distraughtly to the modicum of hope and bit her bottom lips.
All of her feelings were flushed out of her body with the pints of salty tear and her rational mind began to function again. There was no use crying and she was not going let Malfoy see her crying. To show weakness now would be placing her throat at a lion's jaw. She took in a shaking breath and closed her eyes. She thought of her parents in America. She thought of beautiful Hogwarts. She thought of Sirius Black. Images jumbled in her mind, all reminding her to be strong.
She had to be. This was not a multiple-choice test; there is no choice but to be strong. When she regained her composure, she scanned her surroundings carefully and began to explore the dingy living room. She must keep her mind occupied and her alertness tuned to optimal level and resisted the urge to simply wallow in her pitiful situation with Malfoy in this scrappy prison
She strolled around the room, tracing her finger over the spine of books. The musky scent told her that most, if not all, of the books were extremely old and valuable. The soft, neat bindings showed that Snape took great care with his books. The film of tear still blurred her vision and she wiped furiously; she refused to turn into a puddle. Her finger stopped instinctively and she peered closer at gold swirls of words.
Hermione gasped and her face broke into a large grin.
She tugged the thick volume out of the shelf and placed it on the table. She traced the familiar words with her finger with a thoughtful smile.
Hogwarts: A HistoryShe could've weep with giddiness at the small source of comfort but she was Hermione Granger and she was not the type to weep with joy. She lifted the cover with excitement dancing on her freckles like frogs hopping on lily pads. Hermione Granger was that happy— then something clattered onto the ground. She snapped her attention toward the ground.
Her wand.
Hermione's eyes bugled out. Snape hid it in her favorite book. She did not know whether to worry about that fact that Snape knew her favorite book or jump with joy that he knew. Hermione drew another conclusion: Snape was a very strange person. Her thoughts dissipated as her 15 inches of vine wood and dragon heartstring rolled innocently toward her. She brought it close to her body as if it was her baby and savored the tingles of magic charging through her veins.
She was so afraid; so afraid, that she would lose her magic. She wasn't going to let go.
He glared at the leather bound journal lying placidly on the desk. Maybe he could intimate with glare. No luck. The book sat stilled and completely devoid of any writings.
He could report to the Dark Lord that Snape was a traitor but he had no proof and he doubted that the mudblood would come forward and testify that Snape gave her the key to open the damn book. This was his last chance before the whole line of Malfoys was tossed to the bitter wind and out of the inner circle. Zealous followers came in waves; the weak ones never stay for long. Draco Malfoy refused to be anyone's lackey. The constant fear and humiliation were things that he would not stand for.
He gripped the leather cover.
A tide of loathing electrified his veins. Loathing for Snape. Loathing for the mudblood. Loathing for Harry-fucking-Potter. Loathing for Dumbledore for his cryptic words. Loathing for his father, yes his father, for putting him in this predicament. An absolute rancor that was dark and slimy. It coated the heart like tar.
He had nothing but this passionate loathing. This desperate frenzy to survive. He would hold on for dear life because it was the only thing he could follow, one step after another after the mass of blackness that reeked of anger, abhorrence, and disgust. It was the only thing he was sure of while everything slipped through his grip and ebbed away into the distant past.
Draco Malfoy was always alone. He never had a true friend and he never wished for one. To have a friend was to show weakness in one's character. He wielded his house with a firm hand and power. He felt not qualms to use his surname to his advantage. But his name no longer held the same hypnotizing power. His father stamped and shredded every dignity of the Malfoys the moment he failed to a bunch of teenagers.
He needed to find the gauntlet. No ifs. No buts. He had no choice. He never had a choice. Images of his mother lying pale on the floor flashed before his eyes. Blood pound like a thousand drums in his head and pain hammered between his eyes. He hadn't sleep well in days. Every time he closed his eyes, something would come and haunt him. He could feel the shadows creeping in from all sides to suffocate his last breath. He could feel the blood coating his hands. Red, fresh, warm blood sank into the lines of his palms.
He dug his palms into his eyes. He knew that he was close to breakdown mentally and physically. He had never been so lost, so directionless. And now he was stuck with the fucking-know-it-all. He snatched an empty glass vial and chucked it to the wall. The tinkling of shards of glass mollified his rage but did nothing for his exhaustion.
His eyes burned with the desire to cry. He refused the urge violently and knocked the stack of books to the floor. His father was everything he wanted to be. Powerful. Everything was about power. Power was what dragged the Malfoys into this situation. Power over the fucking mudbloods. Power above the law. Power of a blood so pure, so pristine that was now tainted with disgrace.
And now, his mother was in the clutch of Dark Lord. She might have been a trophy wife but, like most mothers, she cared about him. She was not strong enough to deter his father's discipline style; she calmly accepted it as her life. When his father was locked away, she continued with a stoic face.
"Draco, we are Malfoys and we are powerful," she smoothed her robe and sat up regally, "But your father is gone and he is unlikely to come back."
"Mother," he gasped, horrified his mother's statement. She stomped out the last snuff of hope.
She turned her head toward him with icy eyes. "Draco, you will grow up whether you like it or not and you will make choices whether you like it or not." She leaned forward. Her clear azure eyes glistened and twinkled in ways that he'd never noticed before. They were filled with love and sadness, regret and hope, despair and faith. Their heartbreaking beauty paralyzed him. Something ended at that moment. Something he did not noticed until afterwards. She slid her cold, nimble fingers across his cheeks and cradled his face in her cold embrace. "Open your eyes, Draco. Open your eyes before it's too late."
He could not understand her words then. He still did not fully comprehend what his mother was trying to convey to him. But he knew without a doubt that he could only depend on himself at this point, the world is filled with unworthy people, you can only trust yourself. He was now alone without a clear direction. The path clearly paved by his father was gone, obliterated the moment his father fell from the Lord's favor.
Draco Malfoy must find his own path alone. Always alone.
And he let himself cried.
Time passed, his tears subsided. He wiped any remains of tears from his cheeks and eyes violently and took a ragged breath. He straightened his robes and combed through his white gold hair with his fingers. His smoothed the wrinkles from his robes and tug on his collar. He heaved a great sigh.
He took the journal from the desk and strolled down the stairs.
He would find the gauntlet and save his mother.
That was his only direction.
He sauntered into the room and found Granger cradling her wand.
"Granger," he sneered, "Stop wasting time." Her eyes widened in surprise and her lips formed a perfect circle. Draco scoffed at her fish-like appearance and rolled his eyes. Will this girl ever learn to stop doing that? "The feather, take it out."
Something clicked underneath the birds' nest she called hair and she snapped back, "Don't order me around, Malfoy."
He glanced at his nails. "You can't leave, Granger. You have no idea where you are so you can't even disapparate. Even you want to risk splicing yourself, this house prevents any apparition and it is heavily warded inside and out." He was enjoying her shocked silence. Foolish little girl. "There is no where you can go without my help."
"I don't need your help," she snarled.
He reigned in his petty anger. "Au contraire, unless you want to wander in this invested area, you do need my help. Also, vampires are known to roam in this area, preying on some stupid muggle," he leaned forward and she scooted back uncertainly. He grinned inwardly at his power.
"You want that gauntlet. I want that gauntlet. By no choice of ours, Snape decided to force us to work together. I don't want to spend anymore time breathing your foul air but I will get the gauntlet even if I have to force you to help me. Accio wand. I have the upper hand, accept it." Draco caught her wand and pocketed it. He twirled his wand expertly and settled the tip at her throat.
Granger glared at him with venom. Oh, if only looks could kill.
Always shifting, always changing, this was the way that Draco Malfoy will face the world.
Hermione mentally delivered a sharp kick for her stupidity. How could she have been so stupid to not disarm him when she had the chance? Damn it.
She raised her chin to meet his chilling eyes. "What do you want?"
"I want your body, heart, and soul, Granger," Malfoy said scornfully, "Did you hit your head that hard?"
She flushed and her cheeks burned with anger and embarrassment. "I won't help you find the gauntlet. I will never help Voldemort."
He flinched. "Don't say his name," he snarled.
His face was close to hers. She could clearly see the sparks of silver flickering in his eyes and the way he tightened his jaw line. He did not worship him. She was startled by the sudden revelation. His tone did not connote any sort of reverence yet she could not decipher the exact implication of his tone.
"Granger, are you listening?"
She snapped her attention back toward the Slytherin. "Fine, we will work together." The words tumbled out of her mouth before she could stop them. She resisted the urge to clam her hands over her mouth.
Malfoy stepped back and eyed her warily.
This was a game. They were playing a power game. They both wanted the gauntlet but for different purpose and needed to work together to achieve the same goal with different intention.
A power dance. They would tiptoe around each other, lying with every word.
Fear plummeted deep into her stomach.
"Well, then we should begin."
Hermione could hear the glee and smugness oozing from his words. She suddenly felt the urge slap him silly just like third year when she could hear the crack of her palm against his cheek. Instead, "Journal," she retorted smoothly.
Malfoy took out an old, leather-bound journal from the folds of his robes. It was clearly old and enchanted. The book reeked of magic, good and dark. It reeked of power. The leather had a tint of blue and gold embroidery of a flying eagle span across the cover.
Malfoy sat down on the sofa and laid the book on his lap.
"Malfoy, how am I suppose to figure how to read it if you keep hogging it?"
"Live with it, Granger because this book will stay in my hands."
Hermione bristled. "That's completely ridiculous." If only she could get the book out of his hand and her wand, then… maybe…
"Mudblood, listen to me and listen to me well." His molten gray eyes narrowed dangerously. "You agree to this. You will help me find the gauntlet whether you like it or not. And I will not unhand this book."
She bit her tongue. She did agree to this. "Fine," she snapped. She sat down heavily on the sofa and leaned close to him. She smirked grimly at the way he wanted to recoil. He asked for it. She brandished the feather from her sleeve and poised to scrawl on the blank page.
"Wait." Malfoy slammed his hand on the page. "Blood, we need blood."
"What?" Hermione quickly flinched away.
He raised an eyebrow at her reaction. "Ink won't work."
"What do you mean?" she asked suspiciously.
"Oh, something Granger doesn't know," he smirked and continued before she was done sputtering, "Family journals are a pureblood tradition, so I am not at all surprise that you won't know. They are family heirloom and extremely protected. Outsiders are not allowed to add memories but a rare few do allow outsiders to know the memories. Blood is required though, an oath not to use the information to harm any of the family's blood descendents. Most require more than just blood but this book has gone through some serious dis-enchantment and dis-warding."
Hermione was silent. She did not know how to respond. She had never experience this side of Malfoy. Sure, he was still an arrogant jackass but he sounded intelligent. She always pegged for a brainless spoiled brat who happened to take great pleasure in others' pain especially Harry's pain.
Malfoy snatched a knife off the counter and cleanly glided it at the tip of his index finger. Blood blossomed from the cut and dripped onto the page into a perfect dome. He handed the knife to her with a sneer.
She resisted the urge to recoil and stared intently at the knife. A thin film of crimson blood coated the blade stirred an unquestionable terror in her stomach. She was sinking farther. There was no return.
But having Malfoy outdo her in any way was unacceptable especially with the way he was so sure that she would be too afraid. She wiped Malfoy's blood with her robes and almost gagged at the thought of his blood on her robes. She positioned the knife over her index finger and squeezed her eyes shut and pressed down.
It was a strange sensation. The cold sharp edge just dancing on her skin then piercing her skin and her blood vessels. She opened her eyes and dripped her blood onto the page as well. She watched her blood and Malfoy's blood mingle into one crimson splotch.
She observed Malfoy from the corner of her eyes.
Malfoy turned his eyes away from the page and stared directly into hers. "Sign your name, seal the oath," he sneered, "Mudblood." He held her gaze.
She stared back and turned away his coldness. She looked at the blood. The two drops of blood were together; it was impossible to distinguish between them. She wondered for a moment, maybe Malfoy just possessed a special ability to see things like this. Then she realized she was being ridiculous. She signed her name; her hand was shaking to maintain her usual neat, slanted letters.
Suddenly, she found it difficult to breath. All the doors were slammed in her face and this is the only path. She could not stop shaking.
Malfoy plucked the feather out of hands and signed his name in loopy, extravagant letters. Hermione eagerly snatched back the quill. This was her only card.
The signatures sank into the page and disappeared. Suddenly, words in navy blue ink appeared, "Cogito Ergo Sum".
"I think, therefore I exist," Hermione whispered.
"De Civitate Dei by Augustine of Hippo. Commonly, associated with Descartes. What is the point of this? We need to know where the gauntlet is hidden!"
"Think, Malfoy," she was shaking but with excitement this time. "To think and you will be."
More words appeared. Life is uncertainties; therefore it is beautiful.
"I am not looking for a philosophical lesson," Malfoy growled at the journal. "Granger, write something."
Where is the gauntlet?
Hermione Granger & Draco Malfoy. The letters were intertwined together. Hermione frowned uneasily at the journal.
Do you know where gauntlet is?
Nothing to stand on; learn to fly. Malfoy growled.
Can you tell us?
To fall freely is to live freely.
One Gryffindor and one Slytherin faded away and disappeared into the pages.
The journal dropped onto the ground.
To all those who reviewed, thank you. Reviews are very warm and fuzzy. I write better when I am warm anyway.
Review.
Cliché? Original? Interesting? Like? Hate?
How is Draco in this story?