A/N: Don't own Harry Potter. I'm just playing around! Thanks for all reviews!
Special Notes To Chapter 11 Reviewers:
Krickette, strawberry, torn through, sun kissed, lilprincess, unspotted giraffe, yellowroses, southern belle, blonde jenny, soul chaser, ami mizuno: Well thanks! All such sweet reviews!
Christy: Thanks for not giving up on me. You know, I'm not sure what we'll do with Narcissa. I'll see.
Coffee and chocolate: Thanks, that was a really thoughtful review. It made me smile.
Cherbi161: As always, thanks for your review. Maybe Draco's dream will come true…maybe not. Oh, hell, we all know the truth. It's a D/Hrm fanfic!
Darktwistedpoet: Maybe not a premonition…but a foreshadowing…
Antanaqui: Thanks again for a wonderful review. I'm glad it's unfolding well, haha.
Willowfairy: Unfortunately, that was a dream. Let's hope it soon becomes reality!
Heyjude: It's nice to have a new reader. I am glad you are enjoying!
"We've got to tell Dumbledore!" Hermione urged, wringing the hem of her robes in her hands.
"No, we don't." Draco's voice was cold and deep as he narrowed his eyes in on Hermione's panicked face.
"But you're in danger." She leaned forward gripping Draco's shoulder, her eyes beginning to tear.
"I know. You really think Dumbledore can help me now?"
"Of course he can. Dumbledore's really powerful, you know." Hermione had removed her hands from Draco's shoulder, sinking back down into the library chair, groaning.
"I don't think it's a good idea to take action right now. You don't know my father, Granger."
"I know." Hermione slumped down, frowning. Then, the defeated expression on her face morphed to rage. "I don't know why you won't let me help you, Malfoy." She stood, her whole body tense. "It's like you don't even care." She spun on her heel and stomped out of the library, too enraged to hear Draco's response.
"I don't!" He called after her, his voice slightly distorted by the stone walls.
Pavarti tossed her shiny black plait behind her back as she leaned into Lavender, whispering. Hermione could barely make out several insulting terms beneath her breath as she plopped down on her bed, books in hand. Lavender giggled for a second, turning her head to Hermione and shooting daggers with her eyes.
"Hermione," Lavender's expression changed to a docile one as she smoothed out her long, blonde hair.
"Yes?" Hermione slipped out of her robes and tossed them on to the bed.
"Is it true?"
"Is what true?" Hermione wasn't sure why she was playing along with Lavender's little game, but she felt an intense urge not to be silent like usual.
"That you're shagging Hagrid for good marks?"
"Lav, that's disgusting."
"Ernie MacMillian told me he saw you going in to his cabin and coming out a few minutes later looking ruffled," Pavarti added, smiling wickedly.
"If either of you had a brain, you would know I would never do that, and it's probably physically impossible to do so," Hermione took a deep breath, gulping. "Plus, I don't need to shag anyone for good marks, unlike you two." Lavender and Pavarti stared at Hermione, wide-eyed, mouths formed into little 'o' shapes. "Now, if you don't mind, I'm going to bed." Hermione slid under her sheets, yanking them up around her chin without even changing into her pajamas.
Hermione didn't dare let the tears pricking her eyes fall. That would only give those nasty girls the satisfaction they wanted. She was just so…frustrated. Not only was she being blamed entirely for the Halloween mess, but she had Draco's life to worry about. Even he didn't seem to care. She didn't understand it--that she could spend every night sweating the idea of his father brutally murdering him, while he could be so blasé about the whole thing. Then there was the matter of why. Why did she even care about Malfoy's life? He was rude, arrogant, womanizing--all the qualities she despised in a person. But none of these things seemed to matter, because none of them could overpower all the traits she now admired within him. He had a confidence that she envied. He carried himself in a way that she longed to be able to do. His own self-belief fascinated her. He was a creature of contradiction and she couldn't get enough.
Hermione could hear someone get up to blow out the candles and the room was flooded with darkness. She could barely make out someone whispering "Goodnight, Whoremione," before drifting off to sleep.
Son,
Tynan's acceptance ball will be on December 31st. It begins sharply at nine. Be in my office at eight-thirty. Don't bring a date this time, boy.
-Lucius
Draco laughed dryly as he shoved the letter into his pocket. Short, cold, void…as per usual of his father's letters. He knew exactly what acceptance ball meant, although his father would probably have not wanted him to. Ever since the age of nine, his father had been pressing the idea of a ball for Draco with all of Lucius's "friends". Every year, Draco had declined the offer. Now, it seemed, his father has wised up and decided to have his son accepted before he could refuse. Not that a baby bearing the 'symbol' would refuse. What his father liked to brand "acceptance balls" were truly just a get-together of Death Eaters welcoming a new inductee. His father's snobby persona called for the title "ball" which instructed each attendee to dress up, but other than that, these gatherings were a far cry from a ball. There was no dancing, no laughing, no food. It was just chanting, ceremonies, and muggle-bashing. Except for the latter, Draco found these things repulsive. His largest concern was to that of why his father had invited him. It was either a ploy to rub the issue of Tynan in his face one last time before his father wiped him out, or it was the actual event of his murder. Draco didn't care much either way--he'd be going to the 'ball'. He wouldn't run in cowardess like so many before him--that would only make him more like a Death Eater.
Draco shifted his thoughts to the second, unopened letter in his palm. This one was bearing the purple stamp of his mother's institution. He considered it for a minute before opening it with apprehension. The writing with smudged, almost every other sentence scratched out and restarted, and was in large, feminine handwriting.
Draco,
Don't listen to the lies. It isn't safe. Tangled webs, my son, tangled webs.
Love Always,
Your Mother.
Draco frowned. What did his mother know? He carefully folded the parchment, placed it in his pocket and slumped forward into his knees. He was in his usual spot, sitting in the Slytherin stands of the Quidditch pitch and a slight snow was beginning to sprinkle gently on the grass. Tonight was to be the first game he and Potter were both back in Quidditch, and Slytherin and Gryffindor were playing one another. He couldn't wait to win--winning was something he'd missed dearly in the past few weeks. He wondered where Granger was--he hadn't seen her since their "argument" in the library days ago. Draco had caught glimpses of her in classes and mealtime, of course, but she'd entirely avoided him at tutoring. Ever since he'd had that jarring dream, he couldn't get her out of his head. He was finding it impossible to deny that he had feelings for her that weren't entirely bad. She was a mudblood, sure, but she was also intelligent, feisty, and kind. She was a for-sure partner in verbal sparring, something he deeply appreciated. It was impossible to fight with Pansy because he always won. It was nice to have a challenge. He stared up at the darkening sky, frowning. Was it possible that he missed her? That he cared?
"Draco." A body clad in a black sweater and jeans sat down next to him, her voice flat and distant.
"Granger. Where've you been?"
"Avoiding my punishment for ruining Halloween."
"If it's any consolation, the Slytherins are happy it didn't happen. We're not big fans of Hogwarts balls."
"Well they already hate me for being…well, me. So it's not much solace, sorry." Hermione tucked her hair behind her ears, breathing the cool air into her lungs.
"Well, I don't hate you. And I'm sure Potter and Weasley don't hate you."
"They don't. But it doesn't matter since I spend all my spare time avoiding Ron." Draco didn't answer for a few seconds, he only rubbed his chin slowly.
"Ah. Weasel's got a thing for you, does he?" Hermione laughed darkly.
"Apparently."
"Good job."
"On what?" Draco had leaned into Hermione, smiling playfully at her confused expression.
"Avoiding him." Draco nodded as if it were most simple thing in the world to comprehend and patted Hermione's knee gently.
"Not it's not. I feel awful."
"You're too good for him." Draco stated.
"What?" Hermione uncurled, spine ramrod straight, her eyes wide and bright.
"I said, you're too good for him."
She could feel cold snow moistening her cheeks as he kissed her. Or, rather, she kissed him. Or they kissed one another. She titled her face down into his as their lips pressed against one another's, Draco's warm breath fanning against her pinkened cheeks. Hermione's senses were overloaded by the contradictions overwhelming her body. Draco's arms had eclipsed her tiny figure as he took her in, his sweater soaking wet, but warm at the same time. He kissed her deeper than he had before, the action bursting a thousand colors before her closed eyes. It was a little bit rough, a little bit tender, a little bit giving, a little bit demanding. It was a little bit…wonderful. Hermione felt her form liquefying, vanishing into the body now holding her. Draco's kiss was intense, like he was trying to suck her soul right from her core. She leaned back into the bleachers, the cool wood digging into her shoulder blades, his hands caressing her sides. He pulled away, just a centimeter, his lips lingering over hers, wanton. He leaned in once more, pecked her bee-stung lips, and then pulled away completely, skimming his hands over her shoulders.
"And I suppose you are?" Hermione mumbled as soon as she'd collected her thoughts and emotions from the ground.
"Are what?"
"Good enough?" Draco dipped his head down, his lips alarmingly close to her left ear and whispered.
"Precisely."
"But I'm not, am I?"
"Aren't what? Christ, woman, stop talking in riddles, I'm still a bit off guard."
"Aren't good enough. I'm just a mudblood, right?" Hermione's eyes darkened with her statement and she briefly looked like she might cry.
"I never said that." And he kissed her once again. Softly, on her left cheek, just above her jaw.
It sounds like a song, it hits you like scripture. You paint the picture with color squeezed from your hand.
Hermione sat silent in the bleachers, Ginny talking excitedly in her ear.
"Ooh, look at Ron! Don't you think he's improved?" Ginny gushed, her eyes following Ron's flying figure on the Quidditch field.
"Yes." Hermione muttered softly, her eyes following Draco's speeding figure as he searched for the snitch.
"Hello?" Ginny tapped roughly on Hermione's forehead, her voice annoyed. "Anyone alive in there?"
"I'm here. Sorry. I'm just really tired," Hermione lied. She watched as Harry dodged a Bludger, wincing. "Close one, Harry," She said under her breath.
"You've been really…distant, lately. We've all noticed it. Mainly, Ron." Ginny added.
"What do you mean, 'Mainly, Ron'?" Hermione frowned. If she had to hear about Ron's crush one more time…
"I mean, he's been trying to get you alone to ask you…on a date." Ginny giggled, running a hand through her straight crimson strands.
"Ugh." Hermione slapped her forehead, moaning loudly. Dean whipped his head around and shot her angry look, as if to say 'Shut up!'.
"I take it you don't return the feelings?"
"I'm sorry, Gin, but I don't. I wish I did. It would make this all so much easier."
"He's going to be heartbroken, Hermione."
"I know." Hermione found her eyes magnetized to Draco's form once again and she smiled.
"Who did you just smile at?"
"No one, Ginny."
"That was a 'someone' smile. Don't lie to me!" Ginny squeezed Hermione's arm, raising her eyebrows.
"It's none of your business whom." Hermione pulled her gold and burgundy scarf tighter around her neck.
"It's not Harry, is it?"
"Of course not."
"And we both know it's not Ron. Is it Dan?"
"He's way too young, Ginny."
"Well, it's a Gryffindor, right?" Hermione twisted her lips, trying to look innocent. Ginny's mouth dropped open and she poked Hermione gently in the ribs. "It's not? It's a Slytherin?" Hermione dropped her head into her hands and nodded, whimpering.
"Yes. Now can we stop with the interrogation?"
"It's not Marcus, is it?"
"Oh, Ginny, give me more credit than that. He's been held back, like, three times!"
"Okay then I'm not even going to ask about Crabbe and Goyle, our resident garbage disposals." Ginny's eyes scanned the Slytherin players, her eyes finally landing on Malfoy's toe-headed figure. "It's Malfoy, isn't it?" Hermione remained silent, her head still buried in her arms. "It is!"
"Please don't tell anyone, Ginny. Ron and Harry would be so angry. Remember what Ron said when I dated Viktor? This is even more than just fraternizing with the enemy."
"Are you two dating?" Hermione held a finger up to her lips, shushing Ginny.
"Promise you won't tell anyone!"
"I won't," Ginny agreed begrudgingly.
"And no we're not dating. We just happen to share an…attraction." Ginny nodded, her attention stolen for a moment by the intensifying game. The points were close--Gryffindor had only a twenty point lead over Slytherin. And then the swooping figure of Malfoy went zooming across the pitch, closely followed by the burgundy-clad Harry, his hand outstretched. Only feet from Malfoy's hand a golden glint was visible, the snitch. Hermione felt her chest tighten. Half of her was urging Malfoy closer to the prize, the other half hopefully watching Harry gain on him. And then Malfoy's hand closed tightly over the winged ball. He climbed height once again, his hand raised proudly, the Slytherins cheering loudly.
Mal-foy! Mal-foy! Mal-foy!
Hermione watched as the defeated Gryffindors landed back onto the field. Ginny grabbed her hand, tugging her down the stairs and onto the field.
"Ron!" Ginny jumped into Ron's arms, grinning. "You did so good."
"Good job, Harry." Hermione gave him a brisk hug, smiling gently.
"Thanks, 'Mione."
"You too, Ron." Hermione stuck her hand out and a disappointed Ron shook it. Hermione and Ginny began to walk off the field, when they passed the celebratory group of Slytherin players. She caught eyes with Draco and smiled. He smiled back, his eyes darting downward.
"Nice playing, Malfoy." She nodded at him, waiting for a response. The other teammates had stopped chattering and were now staring from her to Malfoy in disbelief.
"Well, thanks. Not that your opinion matters, mudblood." The Slytherin team laughed outrageously. "That girl," he turned to them, laughing. "Honestly, wets her panties for me." Hermione felt tears pricking her eyes as she stood there, dumbfounded.
"You're a real asshole, Malfoy. Wank off!" Ginny spat, tugging a befuddled Hermione along by her arm.