It started over a week ago. It was a clear, crisp day, sunshine peeking out through a blanket of clouds and the soft trilling of birds filled the air. And Hermione's side of the room had been ransacked. Then, at breakfast, everything she touched seemed to magically disappear from existence. After that, in class, all her quills exploded when she tried to use them. The final straw was when she went to request a book and couldn't get any words out, literally. Distraught, Hermione had made her way back to the common room, locking the door and burying her head under the covers. After two and a half suffocating minutes of listening to her own heavy breathing, shed wrenched back the covers and began to pull a large corkboard from under her bed.
Said corkboard contained all the clues she had gathered so far, all the unusual instances and what little she knew about Blaise and his efforts. She'd paced for hours, trying to think of who could be behind such an operation. It had to be someone with access, someone who hated her and wanted her away from Draco, permanently if necessary. And it had to be someone outside Hogwarts, otherwise they would have carried out their vendetta in person.
There was only one wizard who fit such a description. The next day, Hermione had strode into the Library, ignoring the looks she got at her remarkably purposeful gate. Locating Luna and Blaise in a secluded corner, kissing like it was the end of the world, Hermione hadn't even bothered to clear her throat politely or slam a book on the table. No, she went right up to them and declared, "I know everything."
Luna jumped away from Blaise like a scalded cat, having the decency to blush and set her blue jumper rights. Blaise, on the other hand, just leaned back in his chair, the portrait of male satisfaction. "Really?" he purred. "Do you know how much I want you to go away right now? Because let me tell you, it's a lot."
Luna wacked him on the arm. "Oi, don't talk to her like that. We agreed you'd try to be civil to my friends." She'd turned to Hermione, utterly contrite. "I'm sorry about that; Blasie is still learning how to act like a human being."
"That's okay. You seem to be doing a remarkable job so far."
"Hey, not a dog, and I'm right here," he'd grumbled. But his face had soon turned serious, likely remembering her outburst. "What do you know, Granger?"
Hermione had sat across from them, lacing her hands on the table. She felt a little like a detective on TV, going through a suspect's motive and such. "I know you've been in contact with a certain Death Eater who's son is particularly fond of green apples, and that said Death Eater wants me away from him, at any cost. That he's likely made you plan to do something drastic before our departure at Easter, and that you've been trying to delay such an act with your...kiddy pranks," she said with a raised brow. Her tone became softer, more sincere. "I also know that you care about Luna, and that's why you're doing all this, isn't it? Did he threaten you?"
Blaise nodded. "A note arrived last week. I thought I was being careful, but not careful enough. We were spotted, in Hogsmeade. There wasn't anything I could do."
Luna had put her hand on top of his, and he smiled at her. It had made something in Hermione ache, to see that kind of open ans deep affection. But good for them, at least.
"I thought so. Right, there's only one thing for it: you need my help."
"We don't want your help."
"Want and need are two very different beasts, Zabini. We need equal pay in the workplace; we want vending machines at Hogwarts so that we don't have to sneak down to the kitchens when we're hungry. You won't survive without me."
Luna shook her head. "Hermione, that's very sweet of you, but do you really believe that-"
"Do you think your boyfriend is going to get off scott-free if he doesn't succeed, Luna?"
The pair had blushed. "We haven't officially declared anything between us yet," Blaise had murmured, rubbing the back of his neck in that way boys seem to when they're nervous.
"It's all very new," Luna had chimed in, as if to ease the awkwardness.
It had been Hermione's turn to lean back in her chair. "Really? You seemed quite familiar with the each other's faces five minutes ago."
"Shut it, Herm. As if you wouldn't be snogging Draco senseless if you could."
"So not the point. And don't call me 'Herm,' I'm not a crab. Are you in or are you out?"
The two had shared a look. "We're in."
And that had been that.
It had been Hermione's idea with the cat, her magic that replicated Crookshanks and then wiped all traces of herself from it using a combination of spells. That had been a very tense evening, the three of them sitting by the Reflection Pool, since it garnered more privacy what with the Valentine's Day bash being prepared and all. So they'd made sure Hermione, Blaise and Luna were all seen at the party. Then, the enchanted balloons that Luna had suggested Ginny to put up had all burst at once, the perfect cover for Blaise to cast a Disillusionment spell so the portraits didn't see him and stage the scene.
And it would be worth it, all this lying and sneaking around. It would be worth it, if they and everyone they loved got out alive.
But it still didn't stop Hermione, in the days that followed, from missing the boy who held her heart without him even realizing it, didn't stop her from making up excuses, each one more ludicrous than the last, to go to the Hospital Wing when Draco put in a few hours of experience. When the doors opened and she stepped into the ward were the only times he looked at her, as far as she knew, of course.
For him, yes, it would all be worth it.
"Something's going on with my boy."
Pacing in front of the fireplace, hands deep in the pockets of her pale cream trousers, Narcissa paced while her sister blew bubbles from the tip of her wand at baby Teddy, smiling as he giggled and caught them in his tiny fists, utterly enchanted by the different colours.
"Like what?" Andromeda asked, blowing a particularly large bubble and trying not to grin as it exploded over her sister's head without her even noticing. Andy didn't smile: she'd known her too long not to pick up on her moods, knew when something was bothering her even if her sister didn't know it herself. If she thought something was going on, it likely was.
But she still had to ask, "What makes you say that?"
Teddy grabbed for a fistful of her hair, likely wanting more bubbles. She pulled him into her lap, quieting him.
"Because I just received a letter the length of America detailing Draco's latest Astronomy exam, and then a letter from Hermione the size of the Nile going on about the latest Quidditch Game point for point."
"And?" Andromeda raised a brow.
"And that's not like them!" Narcissa cried out, flopping back into the sofa dejectedly. It reminded Andy of when they were teenagers, Narcissa throwing herself onto her bed and bemoaning her latest problem while trying to blow her fringe out of her face. But they were adults now, with adult problems: a bar of Honeyduke's best chocolate wouldn't solve this. "I don't like not knowing what's going on, Andy. The last time Draco kept secrets from me..."
She didn't need the reminder. Andromeda felt awful enough about Draco and his entanglement with Voldemort as it was, how she hadn't been there to protect him, protect them both. It weighed on her every day, as did the weight of her daughter's sacrifice, all that she wouldn't get the chance to see.
Getting up from the carpet, Andromeda deposited Teddy in Narcissa's lap. Now that she had a baby to occupy her, she seemed to calm somewhat. Andy sat beside her, mind whirring.
"Do you think this could have anything to do with those pictures? she puzzled. "I know you tried to look into who sent them."
"Yes, and it was a dead end. Whoever it was obviously had superior connections to cover their tracks so masterfully. I don't know, maybe I'm just being paranoid. Maybe my son has decided on an occupation as an Astrologist and Hermione -who's like a daughter to me- wants to go off and play Quidditch."
Andromeda snorted. "Cissy, even I know Hermione wouldn't get on a broom to save her life. If your intuition I telling you something, then it's probably right."
Narcissa nodded her head, stroking a hand through Teddy's hair. "But how do I find anything out? They're both at school and with the WWWE coming up..."
An idea struck her. Turning, Narcissa narrowed her gaze at her sister's grin. "Andromeda," the witch warned.
"How do you feel about housewarming parties?"
It was dank, and cold, and miserable. Every day was the same, the same continuous wheel of nothingness. Sitting on his cot, eyes glued to a sliver of light emanating from one of the larger cracks in the wall, Lucius Malfoy listened to the approaching footsteps of the guards. A hatch in the door opened, revealing the wizard's dull boots. Did no one cares about genuine leather these days? Shoving a tray throw the gap, it's deep metallic clang covered his retreating footsteps, the grate closing automatically.
Lucius turned, hungry for the tray. But not for the food on it -oh no, even if he was starving to the point of death would he ever be glad for that gruel- but what was under it.
As it happened, there had been a little 'accident' with one of the trays. As in, a hole had somehow burned through one of them, the food too hot for the flimsy metal. So Azkaban got new ones. Nothing amazing, nothing that would shake the world. No, just ones that had a reinforced bottom, perfect for slipping notes under undetected.
The guards checked the food themselves, but didn't bother with the trays. Disguised in rice paper, it didn't appear when they surveyed them with magic. Due to their edible quality, Lucius didn't have to fret over incriminating evidence lying around in his bedsheets like an amateur if there was a surprise inspection. Who knew paper could be so delicious?
But not nearly as delectable as the hell he was soon to unleash upon his son, when the time came.
Being in the Hospital Wing sucked. Not tending to the students, comforting the scared ones and laughing with the bored ones, but being in a bed with nothing to do but stare up at the ceiling as Madame Pomfrey spread yet another salve on his blistered hands. His hands were so cold now, Draco wouldn't be surprised if he woke up with snow on his bedsheets and hoarfrost on his pillow. But it was better than the molten hot agony he'd felt when he hadn't been concentrating in Potions and tipped over a cauldron full of bubbling, magical mixture onto his hands. Luckily, no one else had been hurt, except his pride. Draco Malfoy didn't cause accidents, didn't make such stupid mistakes. Yet, could anyone really blame him? The past four days, all he'd been able to think about was Hermione -nothing new there- and what she'd said to Blaise -defintely new. She was in love. He couldn't tell who it was, for she didn't seem to treat anyone with an unusual favor, was the same kind and compassionate and warm and understanding witch he'd come to know her to be.
Maybe she was better off this way, away from him and his black, tainted, torturous history, away from his scrutiny and his shame. Of course she'd want someone nice and normal, someone who shone just as brightly as she did. And maybe he was better off, maybe if they had tried to develop their relationship into something more it would have only ended up hurting him. Better to focus on himself and making something of his life, helping those in need, rather than focusing on a relationship that had never gone farther than a meaningless kiss.
Right, because that plan was working out so well for him and his burnt hands and endlessly wandering mind. Draco wondered, for a moment, if Hermione had the same problem, if sometimes she had so many thoughts that she couldn't turn off.
At some point on what Draco assumed was perhaps his third day, Madame Pomfrey came bussling in, helping a sick student to the nearest bed. The sound of breathless coughing made his heart wince. Why did pain have to be such a big part of life? The elderly witch soon came over to him, pulling the curtain tight around his bed.
"Mr Malfoy," she began in her no-nonsense manner, "I've just had a student in who needs my immediate attention: we may have a Dragon Pox outbreak on our hands. Whilst you may have begun to heal, you will still need monitoring and salve applied to your hands on a regular basis for at least the next twenty four hours. Therefore, since you are not of the highest priority at the moment, I've decided I need assistance in overseeing your care."
"That's fine," Draco replied, nodding his head. He knew how serious the condition could be.
"Good. I'll make the arrangements."
If he'd known what those arrangements were, he would have likely bolted out the nearest window.
Why did doors always look so ominous when you don't want to open them? Hands tight fists in her pockets, Hermione stared at the doors to the Hospital Wing, surprised her penetrating gaze didn't scorch through the wood. Why had she agreed to do this? Oh, right, because the thought of Draco in pain for the last few days had been doing a wonderful job of eating up her insides. She'd wanted to keep him safe, and yet this happened. Morgana's mercy, how was she going to do this?
By knocking.
Which she did.
And opening the door.
She did that, too.
And by straightening her shoulders and putting on her most authoritive expression -she'd modeled it after Headmistress McGonagall's imposingly penetrative gaze- and strode over to Madame Pomfrey's small office tucked into the back of the wing. After conferring with her for several moments, Hermione bolstered her courage and made tentative steps towards Draco's bed. She grasped the bedframe, the cold metal welcome against her warm palms. Draco's eyes were closed, so at least she didn't have to worry about that, but...
"Playing nursemaid, are we, Granger?" Draco teased, eyes still shut.
"She didn't have anyone more qualified at her disposal," Hermione muttered quietly.
Draco finally opened his eyes, shaking his head at her. "What you mean is, you're too much of a people-pleaser and didn't want to let her down. Well, I'm sorry to disappoint, but I won't let you look after me for however long it takes for me to get back on my feet."
"And whyever not?" Hermione asked shrilly.
"Because I don't trust you anymore," Draco snapped bluntly. "Care is about trust: you can't have one without the other. Ergo, your services are not required. I've been looking after myself for most of my adult life and I'm more than capable of it now, burns or not."
Hermione gripped the bedframe tighter, seeing her knuckles turn white as if from a great distance. "Draco, don't be an idiot. You need help."
"No, I don't. I won't let you turn this into some mission to fix our friendship. It's dead, Granger: move on. I certainly have," he drawled with a viscious smirk.
Hermione began picking up bandages. "No."
"No? You can't say no. You can't make me submit to your genteel ministrations, Granger," he huffed.
She reigned in a smile. 'Genteel ministrations?' Yeah, she'd definitely picked her perfect match, hadn't she?
"I can, and I will. Unless you want to go cry to Madame Pomfrey about how the great Draco Malfoy got his feelings hurt by a Mudblood," she purred, pushing up her sleeve for emphasis, baring her scar.
That got his attention. All the fight seemed to drain out of him. "Hermione, I know you're only saying this to get me to cooperate."
"Clever boy. Now, do you want help getting out of bed, or will it hurt your pride too greatly?"
Draco shook his head. "A truce. Just for the day."
"Just for the day."
"Splendid. Now, please do help me up before I faceplant onto the floor."
It was weird. So incredibly weird, to be sitting on a couch in the Room of Requirement, watching as Hermione cut up bandages beside him, the merrily burning flames in the fireplace gilding her hair as it slowly came out if it's braid and trailed down her shoulder: they hadn't been this close since their encounter outside her common room. It all felt so natural, so familiar, yet Draco didn't let himself get caught up in the feeling. This was only for the day.
"Put out your hands," she asked.
And wouldn't it be the most torturous of his life.
She took his right in her left, unwinding the bandage Madame Pomfret had tied earlier that morning. Tilting his wrist into the light, Hermione clicked her tongue in sympathy. She prodded it lightly.
"How badly does it hurt?"
"Bad, but not nearly as painful as watching Blaise and Pansy stand up at a Christmas party and sing 'Silent Night' when we were five," he remarked with a chuckle. He'd had the presence of mind to hide under a table so he wouldn't be roped into their scheme: sing, and get rewarded with cookies from doting adults.
"I'm sure they weren't that bad," Hermione said with a shake of her head, reaching for a tin of salve that smelled like eucalyptus and lavender and something else he couldn't place.
"Trust me, they were."
"I sang."
Draco looked up at that, finding her brown eyes tentative, shy.
"In a Christmas Play. I think I was probably around the same age, actually."
Draco didn't hide his grin. "I'm sure you were wonderful."
"I would have been," she relented. "If I hadn't stepped into the spotlight, opened my mouth, sung one line and then Burt's into hysterical tears and ran offstage. I was so embarrassed," she recalled, "that I didn't even go to my parents, but the school library. Naturally, I found solace in a book: Matilda. It soon became a favourite for when I was upset, especially when I first started showing signs of magical abilities and didn't know what the heck was happening. It's funny, I've never told anyone that story, had practically forgotten about it."
He tucked that shared piece of history, her history, away.
"Everyone makes mistakes," he told her. If anyone knew that, it was him.
"True. But most don't involve tutus and running away so fast you almost lose your brand new shoes."
"I'm sure they were happy to get away from you," he said with a smirk.
In retaliation, she began slathering his hand in the salve. "Ow!" Draco grumbled as the sting set in.
"Sorry," she said in a too-sweet voice, but she was more gentle as she worked it into his burns.
The silence between them turned heavy, expectant, charged with something neither of them could name. Clearing his throat, Draco searched for something to say and landed on, "How long do you think it will take for this to heal?" At least it was a question he genuinely needed an answer for.
"Three, maybe four days. Five if you strain yourself. Although your burns may be superficial, the epidermal layers need time to heal before you start any extraneous movement. You might be off a broom for a while, just in case," Hermione advised, as if worried about his safety.
"Duly noted," was all he could think to say.
Having applied the salve and made sure it had all set in, she got put clean bandages, starting the process of rewrapping his hands. "Is this too tight?" she asked. And with the feel of her so close, her touch as gentle as always, her hair tickling his cheek...he could barely nod his head. No one else had ever had such an effect or him. Or maybe he'd just never let anyone close enough to try.
Hermione tied off her knot, smoothing down the bandage so that it didn't crease and stick to his burns. "Done," she declared, putting the lid back on the salve.
"What is that stuff?" he asked her, knowledge-seeking brain hungry for answers. "I've done a little research, of course, for my WWWE, especially in what potions are used and methods applied, but I haven't heard of anything working so fast on magical burns."
"I invented it," Hermione admitted shyly. "Over the years, me, Harry and Ron have spent a lot of time in the Hospital Wing over various things. Well, one time...I think it was when Ron got poisoned...anyway, one time a student came in with really bad magical burns, and I wanted to help. Fred and George were always experimenting in the common room and more than once they got some nasty burns, so I made them a salve as a Christmas present. I'd never tested it out myself, but I'd kept some, just in case a need for it arose. I gave it to Madame Pomfrey, who studied it and approved it, and she's been using it ever since."
Draco shook his head in wonder. "Wow," he breathed. "That's really quite something. You should be proud."
"I am. I'm just glad I could help."
"You're always a help." At his words, he could have sworn she blushed. And maybe it was because of that affect, maybe it was because he was still woozy with pain and he knew this might be the only opportunity he would get, Draco asked her, "Who are you in love with?"
Her whole body tensed beside him, as if she'd been electrocuted or hit with a Cruciatus. Something seemed to shutter, to die in his eyes as she turned to him slowly, so slowly, and said, "What are you talking about?"
"Who are you in love with?" he said again, hating saying it the second time around almost as much as the first.
Hermione bolted from the couch and began to pace. "Who said I was in love?" she demanded, frantic, worried. Worried about him knowing?
Draco shrugged an elegant shoulder. "Corridor gossip."
That seemed to placate her somewhat, but not entirely.
"I don't know who came up with that ridiculous notion, but I can assure you, I'm not," she said hotly.
And he almost believed her. If he hadn't spent all that time since the Battle with her, he wouldn't have doubted her word. But he had, and he did.
"Is it because you don't think I'd approve of whoever it is?" he asked gently. "Did you not want me to know? Is that why you've pulled away from me; does he not like me? Is he in some kind of trouble and you're trying to help him?"
Hermione shook her head vehemently, curls flying. "Draco, no, it's not like that, not like that at all. Nobody is in a relationship with me. And, for the record, as if I'd let any wizard I was dating dictate who I spend my time with. Don't think so little of me," the witch chided.
Instinctively, he reached out, only able to catch a thin strip of her jumper in his mitten-like hands. "Then tell me what's going on. Tell me why that cat someone hung up didn't show any traces of magic. Tell me why you've been sneaking around and avoiding me. Tell me why I'm losing you."
"You're not losing me," she told him, but he did not believe her: she didn't even sound like she believed it herself.
"Very well, then, keep your secrets. Come back when you have to put the next lot of stuff on my burns, but until then, get out of my sight, Hermione: the truce is over."
Hermione Granger left without a word.
It wasn't until he could no longer hear her footsteps that he allowed himself to put his head on his knees and cry, not even caring as his bandages became heavy with his tears. It wasn't until after she'd gone that Draco realized that as she'd left, she'd been crying, too.
Author's Note: Anyone need a tissue? No, it's just me? Wow, that was hard to write. But fun, as well. I'm sorry about how long this was, I was thinking of splitting it but then decided I liked the flow. So, what did you think? Did you enjoy it? Are you happy about Blaise and Luna? Did Hermione do the right thing? What the heck is Andromeda up to? Don't worry, all will be revealed. I'm thinking of doing a time jump up to Easter for the next chapter, but I haven't entirely decided yet. If I did, then are two favorite people may be together by the next chapter...but I haven't decided yet? Would you like that? Let me know!
As always, thank you so much for reading. Wherever you are, I hope you and yours are doing well and if you're struggling at the moment, I hope you can find solace in my fic, even if it's only for a little while. If not, then I hope you enjoy spotting all my various fandom references. Speaking of fandoms, I've been working on some Buffy the Vampire Slayer and Angel stories. Would anyone be interested in reading them? Also, I've been trying to submit new stories but whenever I go onto the select category bit, it just says 404 Error: File not found. Has this happened to anyone else? How do I fix it?
All my love and best wishes, Temperance Cain.
