Disclaimer: Nothing you recognize is mine.
A/N: I have recently realised that I have become obsessed with writing Draco/Hermione fanfic's and therefore have decided to try something new. I hope you like it – I'm certainly enjoying writing it! Lol – Happy reading!
Summary:
"Were two of a kind granger" he whispered, "Both friends with a highly respected and talented wizard, always standing just to the right of them".
Hermione frowned at the boy in front of her, feeling his hot breath on her cheek.
"Don't you think it's about time you found your own path?"
Standing To The Right
Chapter Five:
You smile like the cat that's got the cream
I'm vulnerable and I know you see me
There's so much I wanna say
Hermione finished braiding her unruly curls into a thick plait and fastened it securely. She massaged the back of her neck, wincing at the sharp twinges of pain that shoot through it. Sleeping on a couch was never an effective way of getting a good night's sleep, she thought wryly.
After pulling on her school skirt, now a little crumpled, and the remainder of her uniform, she made her way down into the Gryffindor common room, where Harry and Ron were waiting for her. Ron smiled at her warmly.
"Sleep well?" he grinned as she dispatched him a denouncing expression.
She then stole a glimpse at Harry. His eyes were rimmed thinly with red, as though someone had taken a red marker pen to his retinas, and he wore an exhausted expression, appearing so completely tired of life that it wounded her deeply.
"Harry?" Hermione looked up at him questioningly and received a nod as way of greeting.
"I think I need something to eat" he muttered finally and Hermione steered him out of the room in the direction of the great hall.
After four sausages, two pieces of toast and a cup of tea, Harry was looking decidedly perkier. Hermione felt very much like his Mrs. Weasley, as she straightened his school tie and flattened his hair and laughed as Harry swatted her hands away playfully.
"Mione stop it. I can dress myself. I've only been doing it for the past sixteen years" he cried exasperatedly.
"Funny that and yet you still can't put a jumper on the right way round" Hermione laughed. Harry blushed, pulling his jumper over his head and flipped it inside out.
Pulling it back over his head, Harry caught a red flash from the corner of his eye. Ginny.
"I'll see you two in history of magic. I've got to talk to someone quickly." He said distractedly, his green eyes following Ginny's departure from the great hall.
Hermione sent Ron a puzzled glance as Harry jumped out of his seat and darted out of the hall.
Ron merely shrugged and proceeded to stuff an entire slice of toast into his mouth. Seconds later he decided that that wasn't such a good idea, as he began to choke.
Harry jogged along the charms corridor, desperately trying to locate Ginny. He had no idea why he needed to apologise to her so badly, but he did. The look on her face when Ron had told her to leave him alone last night had made his heart wrench. It had twisted again when he had found himself nodding in agreement with Ron and her look of hurt had deepened even further.
Ginny and he had grown closer over the six weeks he had spent at the burrow. Ron had taken up a job of weeding the neighbour's gardens for extra cash, leaving Harry to his own devices for three hours a day.
On occasions the twins would appear from nowhere and persuade him to test their latest invention, which always ended badly.
However, it was when Harry had reluctantly tried a "torrential tear jerker" chew and water had started flooding from both ears, which Ginny had come to his rescue; healing the frostbite on his ears and banishing Fred and George for the summer.
Harry and Ginny had spent three hours a day for the remainder of the summer in each other's company. He had found her to be an excellent listener and to have the wittiest sense of humour of anyone he knew.
She had listened about his troubles with Cho Chang, the raven claw seeker, with who Harry believed himself to be in love with. However he had gradually began to think less and less of the Asian beauty and more and more about a certain red headed sixth year.
Harry halted suddenly as he heard a distinctive laugh from one of the charms classrooms. It was defiantly Ginny's. Her laugh was loud and unconstrained. When she laughed she laughed fully and completely – not a polite giggle that a lot of girls used so not to appear unladylike. He loved that about her; she didn't care what anyone thought about her.
He knocked sharply on the classroom door and it swung open as professor Flitwick brandished his wand at it, from the top of the pile of books he was standing on, in order to look over his desk.
"Yes Mr. Potter?" the tiny professor inquired in his squeaky little voice.
Harry knew he was growing red and muttered is request quickly.
"I need to see Ginny Weasley for a minute sir"
Flitwick smiled and nodded, gesturing for Ginny to be allowed to leave.
Ginny stood up slowly, a frown set firmly on her delicate features.
She brushed coldly past Harry and he closed the door behind her. Turning around to face her, he took in her folded arms, icy glare and the furious flicker in her blue eyes.
"What Harry? What is so important that you deem it acceptable to pull me out of charms? Am I suddenly worthy enough to be allowed a glimpse into your top secret affairs again!" Harry winced at her wintry tone of voice.
"Ginny, I…." Harry started, and then stopped. In all honesty he had no idea what he wanted to say or why he was saying it.
Ginny uncrossed her arms and walked over to him. He looked so lost, like a frightened five year old, she couldn't help herself. She put her arms around him and hugged him tightly, feeling him relax into her embrace.
They stood like that for a few minutes, blocking out the hectic world around them for just a little while, before Ginny pulled away.
"Harry I refuse to be in and out of your life like this. I need you to choose whether you want me to be a part of it or not. I need to be able to live my life." She whispered gently, the feelings she'd been bottling up since the end of the holidays pouring out from her lips.
Harry said nothing and Ginny skirted round him, twisting the doorknob of the charms class room and opening it.
"Ginny wait" Harry spun round and marched over to her. He tilted her chin up so she was looking directly into his eyes.
"I want you to be a part of my life Ginny. I can't imagine you not being around"
And he kissed her.
Ginny had been kissed many times. Dean Thomas, Michael corner, Seamus Finnegan and several other boys she'd met at parties over the last few summers, but none of them had made her feel like this.
She clung desperately onto Harry's broad shoulders as he deepened the kiss, wishing she would never have to let go. It was a kiss that meant so much and so little all at once. In reality it was just a hurried, spur of the moment gesture that secured her status in the boy that lived life, but to her it was her most desperate and coveted dream coming true. She was kissing Harry potter!
The sound of cheering brought the pair back to reality and as they broke apart they could see Ginny's classmates cheering and catcalling, causing them both to blush heavily.
"I'll see you later ok?" Harry whispered in Ginny's ear and she nodded, grinning broadly.
He placed a chaste kiss on her lips and headed off down the corridor, running a hand through his untidy hair.
Ginny sighed, and then straightened back her shoulders, walking nonchalantly back into her lesson, where her friends insisted on continuing their embarrassing tirade of wolf whistles.
"Quiet class!" squeaked professor Flitwick, glaring at Ginny for causing such a commotion. Smiling like the cat that'd got the cream, Ginny ignored him.
To say Blaise Zabini was having a bad day was an understatement. His general mood was that of a man with an allergy to rain being caught in the monsoon season without an umbrella. Not only had he received a detention from McGonagall for tardiness, he had just been forced to drink a foul smelling purple potion for his ankle which had twisted on the way to potions and he could not for the life of him figure out the code for Hermione and his potion project's subject.
However the cherry on the top of the puddle of melted ice cream that was his day, had been receiving a letter from his father.
Students dived for cover as the Slytherin stormed his way through the parting crowds, feeling very much like Moses and his red sea, but feeling equally like the pursuers of the biblical hero – extremely pissed off.
Blaise didn't stop glaring and storming until he reached the room of requirement. He had known about and loved this room since his first year at Hogwarts, when he had stumbled across it in the middle of a particularly challenging transfiguration class, when he had needed a place to let off some steam. The room had provided him with cushioned walls and various china plates, which he smashed on the bulls' eye target opposite the table they were piled on. It had been tremendous fun and extremely effective in banishing his bad temper. He had returned to class and transformed his cup perfectly into a slender black rat with glittering ruby eyes.
Now as he pushed open the door to the room of requirement, he was unsure of what he wanted to find. He knew however that the room would know could read his subconscious thoughts and desires and so forged ahead, swinging the door wide open. He slipped silently into the room.
It was dark in the room. Blaise could vaguely make out a sofa and a table, but apart from that all that was in the room was a mirror. About two metres high and a quarter that across, the mirror was suspended in an elaborate, thick gold frame, carved with intricate symbols and designs. Blaise crossed the vicinity to the mirror and ran a pale finger over the carvings.
From nowhere a sentence, that made no sense at first to Blaise's mind, carved itself onto the gilded frame, catching his eye. Reading the words carefully several times, Blaise realised that they were written in reverse order. It was something he'd often seen in his father's office; a code used to conceal important or even possibly illegal documents that he might have lying around. Mr. Zabini had taught his son this technique at an early age, along with his fluency in languages and other attributes Mr. Zabini believed were expected of a young pure-blooded wizard of extraordinary talent. For Blaise was a talented wizard – he had already mastered more spells, enchantments and potions when he'd arrived at Hogwarts then most left knowing. He also had a basic knowledge of several dark art areas – another area of knowledge that his father insisted he excel at.
Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi
I show not your face, but your heart's desire
Blaise translated the phrase easily and a slow grin spread across his handsome features.
The mirror of Erised! He had heard about this mirror. It had formally belonged to the alchemist, Nicholas Flamel, and had been rumoured to now be in Dumbledore's possession. As they said there wasn't smoke without fire and it seemed that these rumours held some truth after all. Blaise was suddenly struck with a new dilemma. To look or not to look………. That is the question. Blaise misquoted the famous Shakespearian line mockingly as he ran his fingers over the carvings that framed the glass of the mirror of erised, once again.
Oh hell! He thought wildly. How much harm can knowing my hearts desire do! Its mine after all. Determinedly he stepped in front of the reflective guise of the mirror front and stared into it.
There seemed to be a lot of smoke like substance swirling manically around his reflection and as it cleared, Blaise saw….. Nothing……
"What the fuck?" Blaise bristled angrily as he solely saw himself in the shiny surface. He stomped a foot childishly and made to storm out of the room. Glancing back over his shoulder at the mirror for a final time he stopped. The smoke in the reflection had cleared fully now, leaving a faint outline of what appeared to be some sort of poem. No! A riddle! Blaise's eyes gleamed.
If you take one step forward
And are able to take one step back,
How many steps can you take back,
If you take two forward?
Once is not the sole number of times you can change a situation,
To make it twice as hard.
Blaise frowned at the spidery gold script quivering above his reflection. He reached out with his hand, grasping the quill and parchment he knew the room would have provided the instant he'd thought about writing the riddle down to show Hermione.
He copied the sentences down quickly in his crooked handwriting, and then slumped down into the arm chair situated behind the desk that the quill had been situated on.
Once is not the sole number………..twice as hard…..
He stared thoughtfully up at the mirror, admiring its carved inscription.
Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi
It was a clever way of coding Blaise considered. That was defiantly something that made a sentence twice as hard to read.
Abruptly he stood up. Twice as hard……. Backwards coding. Once is not the sole number of times……….
Quickly he rummaged around for his copy of the potion instructions he'd made the previous night
Potiono
"Fortes Fortuna adiuvat, ante bellum, Fata viam invenient"
Protecticcion deas magrides
Ddly mst s wh th gnst nd mst n s wh th prtct t rdr n scrfc tr nd lv f mpssbl th wth shld t
He easily rearranged the words so they were written in reverse order to that in which they were displayed on the original parchment.
T shld wth th mpssbl f nd tr scrfc n rdr prtct th wh s n mst nd gnst th wh s mst ddly
Great help. He thought sarcastically. There must be another way it's coded to make it twice as hard, he pondered as he gazed at the rearranged sentence.
Sighing deeply, he glanced down at the shiny jet face of his watch. It was ten to seven, dinner would be served shortly and Hermione was bound to be in the great hall. He could ask her to meet him then.
Scooping the pieces of parchment into the pocket of his robes, Blaise slipped out of the room of requirement, into the dimly lit hallway on the seventh floor. He scurried down the stone staircase that descended to the lower floors and disappeared from sight.
Inside the room of requirement however, the mirror of erased was changing. A new image was forming, now Blaise's desire to figure out the potions' code had been fulfilled. One that, if Blaise had stayed to witness, might have altered his wish to share his revelations with a certain Gryffindor.
Hermione dodged Ron's fork as it whizzed past her head.
"Ronald Weasley!" she yelled furiously. Ron gulped.
"It was meant to hit Harry" he explained badly and Hermione glared.
Harry and Ron had been in the middle of an extremely heated debate about quidditch, when Ron had lost his temper and decided to launch his cutlery into orbit.
"Your aim is atrocious Ronald" Hermione rolled her eyes and dived under the table to retrieve the fork.
Grabbing it, she waved it in the air in triumph, before righting herself on her seat.
"Granger, please refrain from attempts at my life via incessant poking with sharp eating implements"
Hermione looked up, to see a highly peeved looking Blaise Zabini sporting a series of little red dots, where she had apparently poked him with the orbital fork in her victory wave.
"Im…. Sorry" she offered, trying and failing to keep the amusement out of her voice.
Blaise shot her a withering look and waved a piece of parchment in front of her.
"I was wondering if you could help me with this" he offered her the parchment and she took it gingerly.
Looking down at the sentence written in untidy scrawl, she laughed.
"That's an easy one" she replied, fishing a quill out of her bag and scribbling anew sentence underneath the original.
"All it's missing is the vowels"
Blaise stared at the piece of paper in shock. The vowels! But it was so easy….
Hermione was frowning darkly at the reformed sentences.
Gradually she looked up, gazing intently at Blaise.
"Is this….?" She asked quietly and Blaise nodded. A huge grin spread over Hermione's pretty features.
"Oh my god! This is so exciting!"
Harry and Ron gaped at her as she jumped out of her seat and almost skipped out of the great hall.
Blaise gaped at the Gryffindor girl as well, then shrugged and followed her out of the hall and down the corridor.
"Crazy I tell you" Ron was saying to Harry, who nodded wisely.
"Probably caused by being round you" he professed, and Ron whacked him with his fork.
"We did it!" Hermione cried happily, as she waved the rearranged passage in the air. Blaise smirked and grabbed the parchment from her.
Potiono
"Fortune aids the brave, before the war, the fates will find a way.
Protection for the magi.
To shield with the impossible, of love and true sacrifice, in order to protect that which is in most need against that which is most deadly.
The passage continued to list the ingredients and steps needed in order to brew the potion.
"I can't believe it was that simple" Hermione gushed. Blaise saw her mentally slap herself for not seeing it sooner.
"Its creator obviously wanted someone to discover it" Blaise mused out loud.
"So why encode it then?" Hermione voice rang in his ears.
"Maybe it was to be discovered by those who really wanted to know about it. Those who really needed it." He shrugged. "We really needed it for our potions project and we really wanted to know about it didn't we?" he suggested. Hermione frowned unsure.
"But we don't really have a use for it do we? I mean we don't need protection do we?" she stated.
Blaise's eyes became suddenly hooded. Maybe you don't Hermione, he shuddered.
He shook the thought from his mind and gave the girl opposite him a brief smile.
"Well, shall we celebrate?" he asked and smirked as Hermione peered at him curiously.
"Do you still have that bottle of whisky you confiscated from my person several weeks ago?"
Hermione's eyes widened.
Having at first refused to fetch the bottle of whisky, which lay concealed in the very back of her wardrobe, Blaise had insisted it at least be returned to him. So Hermione had obliged.
She'd watched as Blaise unscrewed the shiny silver cap of the bottle, summoned two crystal shot glasses, and had poured a small measure of the brown liquid into each.
Primarily when offered one of the glasses she'd declined haughtily. Hermione had only ever drunk butter beer and that was strong enough for her!
For a few minutes she repressed her desire to try something stronger, until finally she gave in, grabbed the shot glass and downed the brown spirit in one shuddering gulp.
"That's more like it!" Blaise, who was on his third shot by that time, grinned evilly.
He poured her a double and she downed it as well.
"Now were even" he proclaimed, refilling both glasses shakily. Hermione started to giggle as Blaise spilt more and more of the whisky over the table, swearing furiously as he did so.
Soon he gave up and swigged from the neck of the bottle, wincing.
"It always tastes stronger that way" he admitted, passing Hermione the bottle. Now a bit tipsy, and as one always does when a bit tipsy, Hermione decided that it was a fine idea to keep drinking, instead of stopping and going to bed.
Being drunk really was quite good fun she thought wildly as found herself talking animatedly with the Slytherin, now sitting next to her, arms gesturing wildly, laughter escaping her at every opportunity.
"Let go" she demanded, as Blaise made to drink the last of the alcohol, pulling the bottle from her grasp.
"No"
"Yes"
"No"
"Why not!"
"Er well…….because its mine"
"What exactly is the point you're trying to make here?" she cried
Blaise shrugged, "not sure, but imp sure it's a good one" he smirked.
Hermione grinned evilly, "ok then, ill give you the bottle if you show me that you can rub your stomach and pat your head simultaneously!" she dared.
Blaise rolled his eyes, "easy peasy!" he replied smugly, placing a hand on his stomach and on his crown.
"ha ha! Got ya!" Hermione squealed joyfully as she quickly drank the last of the liquid from the crystal bottle.
Blaise's smirk slipped off his face.
"Oh your just pure evil!" he slurred drunkenly, "no! Your worse! Your nothing more then a mean girl…… a mean… mean ….girl!"
Hermione burst into fresh peels of laughter.
"s'not funny" Blaise spluttered. Hermione just laughed harder.
"S'not funny!" the dark haired boy promptly grinned.
"Nooooo! Don't!" Hermione squealed as Blaise swiftly began to tickle her.
She jumped up and attempted to get away by diving over the back of the sofa.
Bam!
The weight of the pair scrambling over the back of the couch, had caused it to turn over backwards, sending cushions, shot glasses and the empty whisky bottle flying in all directions.
Hermione stopped giggling for a minute to survey the damage, from where she was lying under two massive cushions, Blaise lying across her, their legs tangled and his arm under her body.
She felt her breathing slow steadily, as she looked directly up at Blaise. He gazed back at her, as if taking in her every feature and it was seconds before Hermione realised she was doing the same thing.
She drank in the way his messy black hair stood up at random angles, instead of falling over his forehead, no longer tainted with his usual scowl. She noticed his eyes were a very deep blue colour, flecked wth lighter blue, making them gleam in the half light of the common room. His arms were tanned and muscular and she almost felt safe having them wrapped around her, even if it wasn't purposefully.
"Zabi-"she started to speak, t say anything to break the tension between them, when he silenced her, as he leaned toward her. Now their faces were millimetres apart, noses and foreheads touching. She parted her lips slightly; desperate to move the miniscule distance that would change everything. He too seemed to be struggling with the temptation also.
"Ouch!" their tension was broken hastily, as the last of the cushions fell off the sofa, smacking Blaise in the back of the head, causing the two to whack heads.
Blaise rolled off Hermione, who rubbed her forehead frantically, as she scrambled to her feet.
"Blaise?" she ventured softly, offering him her hand. He scowled and brushed it aside.
"I don't need any help granger" he glowered as he continued to lie amidst the cushions, scowling up at the ceiling as if he was trying to crack it in half.
Hermione flinched at the icy tone in his voice; all effects of the alcohol seemed to have drained away, leaving her feeling cold and confused.
Slowly she made her way up the stairs to her bedroom, flinging a final glance at the torn boy, who still lay still where she'd left him, then closed the door silently.
Blaise stared up at the stone ceiling of the heads common room, willing for it to open and for the lightening outside to strike him. Shakily he got to his feet, pulled out his wand and righted the furniture and made sure the cushions were replaced. He shoved the two smashed shot glasses into the trash can and went to pick up the bottle, which remained undamaged.
He hesitated however, as he reached for it, and instead of adding it to the contents of the trash, he placed it in the centre of the table that was situated between the red and green couches.
"Just a little reminder granger" he whispered darkly, before sweeping out of the portrait hole.
Why the hell is Malfoy playing the drums? Hermione awoke to a steady, raucous thumping, which she could only presume was Malfoy being a jerk this early on a Wednesday morning.
She attempted to swing her legs out from under the bed covers and found herself slumped, amidst the tangled sheets, on the floor. The thumping in her head was growing steadily worse.
"Malfoy…" she whimpered, and then stopped. Malfoy didn't own a drum kit. Nor could he play the drums. Did he even know what the drums are?
Rapidly the events of the night before started to skulk back into her mind. The bottle of whisky, destroying the common room, Blaise being so close……
"Uggghhhh!" she groaned loudly and slumped backwards onto the floor.
"Granger, what the hell were you doing up there!" Malfoy snapped as he heard her walking slowly and extremely carefully down the stairs into the common room.
"It sounded like a herd of hippogriffs!"
Once Hermione had managed to stand, she'd crashed her way into the bathroom, where she'd been considerably unwell. She'd dropped the shower whilst getting washed, sent her cosmetics clattering all over the floor and had then dropped all her books as she had picked up her school bag the wrong way up.
All in all it had not been a good morning.
Malfoy turned round to smirk at the Gryffindor, but never got the chance as he caught sight of her. His eyes widened and his jaw dropped.
"Bloody hell granger! You look bloody awful!" he exclaimed, his cool attitude vanishing in seconds.
"Thanks ferret face" Hermione grumbled, finally reaching the bottom of the staircase and swaying slightly.
"Do you have a hangover!" Malfoy exclaimed in complete shock.
"no" Hermione denied," just feeling a little under the weather"
"Oh so the house elves polished off this then" taunted Draco, swinging the empty bottle of whisky in front of her eyes.
Hermione blanched at the thought of the taste of the whisky and dashed upstairs again, where she promptly threw up again.
When she returned down stairs again, she found Malfoy gone and the whisky bottle sitting innocently on the table.
Pushing it aside warily, Hermione realised there was another smaller bottle lurking behind the larger empty one.
It contained a strong smelling purple substance, which appeared gloopy in texture. A small note was attached to the base of the bottle.
Drink this. Will help.
Fully effective in one hour.
DM
Hermione regarded the bottle suspiciously, then unscrewed the cap and downed the foul tasting liquid. It seared the back of her throat and she coughed violently.
She crossed the room to the mirror that hung above the fireplace and nearly shrieked, as she caught sight of her reflection.
Her hair hung limply over her shoulders, where she couldn't stomach washing it. Her eyes were bloodshot and dull and her skin dry and pasty.
"Ah Dammit" she sighed as she did something she saw she'd never do. Opening her spell book at the desired page – the only one which wasn't creased and crumpled round the edges from being read.
"Glamour spells" she read out loud, and reached for her wand.