Harmonia Nectere Passus Ch. 4

Hermione ambled up to Gryffindor Tower about an hour later. Malfoy had stayed with her a bit longer before he decided to turn in for the night, stating he'd just shower in the dorm in the morning. She took advantage of his leave and lay leisurely in the tub until her fingers pruned.

It comforted her to put her constantly throbbing head back in the water as she floated, only the sound of her heartbeat whooshing behind her eardrums to keep her company. Her mind wandered to her newfound blond companion. She was almost certain that he was a Death Eater, just in the tiny mannerisms and way he spoke—calling Voldemort 'the Dark Lord' for instance. Hermione was unsure of whether or not he'd already taken the Mark, but he wore long sleeves constantly, despite the steam rising from the surface of the water. His actions and words toward her completely contradicted this, of course, causing her already pounding head to feel even heavier as she tried to figure out the puzzle.

She whispered the password to the Fat Lady and stepped through, her mind so focused on Malfoy and his possible Death Eater status that she didn't even see Harry still sitting in the Common Room until his raven head popped up. She startled at the sight and clutched her chest for a moment. "Oh, Harry! You scared me half to death," she told him, coming around the side of the couch to sit next to him. "What are you still doing up?"

That's when she saw it—The Marauder's Map. It was open and showing the entire castle. He narrowed his eyes at her, his face flashing angrily in the dim firelight. "Care to explain what the hell you were doing with Malfoy for over an hour tonight?" he asked, tapping his finger in the area showing the Prefects' bathroom.

Hermione needed to think fast if she was going to keep Harry from exploding. "I went to take a bath."

"And what? Malfoy joined you?" he asked, his voice low but his tone getting more agitated.

"No." Shit, Hermione, think! "I went to take a bath but I heard him talking to Moaning Myrtle…so I eavesdropped a little," she told him.

Not entirely a lie. Harry's face brightened a little. "Oh? And what was he saying?"

Hermione nearly breathed a sigh of relief. "He was crying, actually. Complaining about how much pressure he was under."

Harry nodded and a wide grin spread across his face. "He's a Death Eater. There's your proof, Hermione!"

"Harry," she reprimanded him, "I've cried numerous times in the bath because of stress and pressure. I'm clearly not a Death Eater. You can't jump to conclusions so quickly." But I can.

Harry scoffed. "Please, Hermione. Does Malfoy seem like a guy who cries about his Charms essay?"

He seems to be a different person than you imagined. "I suppose not," she allowed.

"You were standing awfully close to him on the map," he pointed out suddenly.

"Yes, well," shit, shit, shit, "I wanted to bathe, you see. And he was already in there…so we argued a bit over who would get the bathroom."

"How did you go from eavesdropping to talking to him?" he asked skeptically.

"I sneezed," also not a lie.

Harry laughed then. "You never were one for subtlety, 'Mione."

She forced a light laugh with him. When had talking to Malfoy become easier than talking to her best friend of six years? Hermione felt uncomfortable in that moment, a nagging feeling in the back of her mind that she still didn't know who'd attacked her. She knew it wasn't either of her best friends, but had they heard mention of a girl being attacked? Had someone whispered about the rape victim as they all did about Katie Bell? She looked at Harry, who was staring into the dying embers of the fire. His look was wistful and she knew he was thinking of Sirius in that moment.

Hermione may have felt discomfort being around her friends, mostly because of her own guilt that she had a secret—two if you counted her odd acquaintanceship (friendship?) with Draco Malfoy—and she never kept things from the two of them. But Harry was still reeling from the loss of his godfather, so she choked down her own emotions and wrapped an arm around his shoulders, burying her head into his neck. He put his head on hers and they watched the fire die together.

o-o-o

Draco decided he should start attending classes somewhat regularly again. If Granger knew he was skipping, he had no doubt Potter would have noticed as well, and he couldn't quell the feeling that Potter was following him somehow. He had that blasted Invisibility Cloak, and Draco would almost swear to it that he felt someone watching him at odd times, like when he was walking to the dungeons after his rounds, or when he was heading up to the Room of Requirement to work on the Vanishing Cabinet. Even uncloaked, Potter made no effort to hide the fact that he stared at Draco incessantly. It was unnerving to the blond, to have someone watch him as he ate his breakfast. Even when he was doing something innocent, there was Potter, watching to see if he'd Avada some poor unsuspecting first year over porridge and bacon.

Draco walked with Crabbe and Goyle flanking him down to the greenhouses for Herbology—the first time he'd been to the class in nearly two weeks. They had double Herbology with the Gryffindors that day and he couldn't help but feel a little tingle in the back of his mind that he'd be able to see Granger. Unfortunately, that also meant he'd see the two leeches that tagged alongside her.

The October air was biting against his face and he buried his mouth and chin into his scarf and pulled his thick winter cloak around his shoulders. He could see the curly haired witch, walking a hundred yards in front of him, fighting the wind as she made her way to the greenhouses, alone. He wished desperately that he could run and catch up to her, walk with her to class and speak with her. He also felt the need to chastise her for walking anywhere alone, especially after what happened to her. But he couldn't be seen fraternizing with the Mudblood—that wouldn't be good for either of them.

He tuned out Crabbe and Goyle's idiotic babbling behind him as they neared the greenhouse. Once inside, he breathed a sigh of relief. Everyone else was peeling off their layers as the air in the building was near tropical. Professor Sprout was laughing with Longbottom about some weed or another and he scanned the twenty or so students packed in between rows of plants until he found her bushy head. She was standing alone, unraveling her scarf from around her neck, her two friends oblivious to her standoffishness. Daft idiots.

"Gather round, class! We've got quite the assignment to dish out today!" Professor Sprout called.

Draco leaned back against a raised box of earth and herbs, his arms crossed over his chest and his right foot casually crossed over his left, his toe against the ground. He was staring straight at the Herbology teacher, but his peripheral was trained on her. She was standing next to Weasley, who was frowning deeply as she shushed him. Seems Weasley couldn't take a hint—not that the poor bloke knew why she was blowing him off.

"St. Mungo's is desperately in need of Healing herbs and plants. A soil borne disease spread through their supplier's crops and there is no time for them to clean it up and regrow everything. This is where you, my dear sixth years, will come in!"

"Why not the seventh years?" Seamus asked with a groan.

"Seventh years are busy actively preparing for NEWTs, Mr. Finnegan. What we are going to do is split you all into pairs, with one group of three," she began.

Potter and Weasley breathed a sigh of relief as Granger rolled her eyes. "Not so fast, Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley. Your partners will be with someone of the opposite House," Professor Sprout was beaming at the news as several students groaned.

She held out a velvet bag. "Inside is a woodchip with a number. Draw a chip and find your partner with the corresponding number."

Draco inwardly groaned. He just knew he'd be stuck with some half-wit like Weasley, doing all of the work on top of everything else he had going on. He should have just skipped class. Even Longbottom, who had a hand for Herbology, would be a better choice. Professor Sprout stopped in front of him and held out the bag. "Mr. Malfoy, how good of you to rejoin us," she said, plastering a fake smile across her face.

He withdrew his chip and saw a '7' carved into it. Draco refused to move from where he stood, instead waiting for his dimwitted Gryffindor partner to come to him. He inspected his well-manicured fingernails while watching the others move about. Weasley got paired with Zabini and Potter with Parkinson so he breathed a sigh of relief there. He looked up at Granger who was staring at him. "Seven?" she mouthed to him.

He nodded, feeling a little spring in his chest. At least his partner was intelligent and would do her share of the work. Granger made her way to him and stood next to him, leaning back against the boxed garden with him, her hands gripping the wood on either side of her hips. "The number on your chips corresponds to the number of the greenhouse to which you will be assigned. Please begin making your way to your assigned buildings!" Professor Sprout called.

Potter and Parkinson passed the two of them. Parkinson shot a scathing look at Granger and Draco knew that if she could set fire with her eyes, Granger would be aflame. He rolled his eyes—she'd been after him since infanthood and couldn't seem to take a hint. Potter looked at his friend, giving her a meaningful look that Draco scoffed at, causing Potter to glare at him. "You put one hand on her or you hex her in anyway and I will make you wish you were never born, you greasy haired git," Potter said through clenched teeth as he strode past.

Draco raised an eyebrow. As though he were the one Granger need worry about. He wondered what Potter would say if he knew what Draco had done for her. Probably still accuse him. With their position near the door, he took a moment to inhale deeply as each man passed, trying to catch a whiff of lemon and sage. Nothing. Longbottom and Goyle stayed put in greenhouse number two, so Draco finally leaned forward and jerked his head toward the door to indicate that they should make their way to number seven.

When they entered their greenhouse, Draco knew immediately which plants they would be working on—the nocturnal ones. The care, pruning and plucking of these plants could only be done by moonlight. "We'll have to make a schedule around everything else," Granger was saying. "We've both got rounds and homework each night. You've got Quidditch practice and I've been tutoring some third years on Tuesdays…"

Draco looked at the witch as she talked aloud, really to herself more than he. "Granger, slow down. Why don't we come here each night at say…eight? That gives us two hours in the moonlight to do what we need to here and then we're still back in time for a bath before rounds on our respective nights."

He watched as Granger turned a lovely shade of pink when he mentioned bathing. He said nothing, though he was curious as to why the blush arose on her cheeks. "What about Quidditch practice and tutoring?" she asked him.

He shrugged. "I'm relinquishing my position on the team. I have no desire to fill my time with something so childish anymore," he replied, looking down at the ground.

The truth was, he didn't have the time to dedicate to playing such a childish sport. Not when he had such pressing adult matters to attend to. Like how he could possibly kill another human being. "And I'll come alone on Tuesdays so you can still tutor the younglings," he finished.

Granger breathed a sigh of relief. "I had enough going on without adding this side project to it all," she complained.

"Tell me about it," he retorted, pulling his sweater vest over his head as he began to sweat in the warm air.

Draco watched as she bit her lip, watching him undress. He turned his back to her as he loosened his tie a fraction. He knew she was still uncomfortable with the thought of a man undressing, even if layers still remained. "How do you feel today, Granger?" he asked her casually as he transfigured his vest into a towel to sit on atop the damp earth.

He tapped the towel next to him and watched as her eyes darted toward the frosted glass of the greenhouse, making sure no one could see them in such a friendly state. He raised an eyebrow. He wished once more that his life had been different—that he could sit with her in the open and just have a conversation, not have her worry that she would be seen with him.

Granger took her seat next to him and bent her legs to lean into them, her arms wrapped around her thighs. "Fine," she replied simply.

"I don't believe that."

She shrugged. "You don't have to."

Draco looked over at her and caught a glimpse of her pale thigh, between where her stockings ended and her skirt began. He felt guilty and looked away, remembering the last time he'd had a glimpse of her legs under her skirt hem, they'd been blood smeared and battered. How the hell was he going to figure out who'd attacked her? While also trying to stave off the Dark Lord long enough to repair the Vanishing Cabinet, having weekly meetings with said impatient megalomaniac, figuring out exactly how he was going to kill the Headmaster, and attending classes to save face?

Granger elbowed him from his thoughts, his face turned down in a deep scowl. "What's going on with you?" she asked him quietly.

He shook his head. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

"Try me," she said, nudging him with her shoulder once more.

"Granger…some things are better left unsaid and unspoken of," he said quietly.

"My whole point in saying that you knew last night was to point out the one-sidedness of this…arrangement. You know my darkest, most shameful secret, but you won't let me in to what your secret is," she told him, a faint tinge of hurt in her tone.

Draco sighed. She was a pusher, even as broken as she was. She was going to push him until he buckled and told her everything. And the thing was, he could see himself telling her everything. It would feel so good, just to have one person know. But today was not that day. Granger needed to grow to understand him, to know him better. Because if he rolled back his sleeve now and showed her the angry, raised tattoo marring his flesh, told her how he had to kill Dumbledore, how he'd almost killed that Bell girl…she'd run screaming, tattle on him, hex him.

"Granger…when the time comes…I'll tell you. But…it's just not the right time, now," he promised.

She looked at him and he noticed once more how pretty her features were, even as her eyes were brimmed with unshed tears and her lip was gnawed into scabbing. Her head was still against her thighs, her breathing slow and even. "You need help…with whatever it is. You can't handle the magnitude of whatever you need to do and you are buckling under pressure," she pointed out, ever the astute one.

He nodded. She was right and there was no point in lying. She sighed, closing her eyes. "You'll need my help one day. I hope you'll tell me why long before then."

Draco was silent as he pushed a stray curl behind her ear. "I hope that day never comes, Granger," he finally told her, dropping his hand back to his own bent knees to clasp his other.

They were silent for a long while, she staring at him from where her head was resting, he staring out into the rows of herbs in the greenhouse. "We can't meet in the Prefects' bathroom anymore," Granger finally said after a long while.

Draco looked down at her. "Why's that?" he asked, hopeful that her tone had indicated she'd wanted otherwise.

"Harry...it's a long story, but he has this map that can see where all of the students are…he…he knew that I was with you last night," she told him.

Draco groaned. Of course Potter had a sodding tell-all map. No wonder he knew Draco's whereabouts at all times. "The only place that doesn't show up on it is in the Room of Requirement," she told him.

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Are the grounds on the map?" he asked curiously.

"Yes…as well as the secret tunnels hidden under the grounds," she told him.

There were secret tunnels? So why was he wasting his time fixing that blasted Vanishing Cabinet? He needed to get his hands on that map…but how? He thought briefly of using the Imperius on Granger and then felt like he'd be sick at how revoltingly quick that option rose to his mind. He could never do that to her.

"I guess we'll have plenty of time to talk in here for the next couple of months," she mentioned quietly.

Draco could tell she was nervous at admitting she needed a friend who didn't question her, didn't pressure her and didn't leech off of her and drain her of energy and patience. He needed the same thing. Crabbe and Goyle wore on his patience like sandpaper on a broom handle. Nott threw him worried glances every chance he got, questioning Draco and trying to help take on his duties. Parkinson…ugh, Parkinson. She did nothing but grate on his frayed nerves every time she saw him. She tried to seduce him, to draw him closer to herself and in the process all but threw herself at him. The thought made him roll his eyes. As though he would ever court and marry someone so forward. Sacred Twenty-Eight or not, she was never getting into his bedchamber.

Draco looked over at her and gave her a small smile. "It's nice having someone…unattached to speak to, isn't it?"

She scoffed as she sat up and stretched her legs out before her, balling her hands together and stretching her arms almost the length of her legs. "You have no idea. I love Harry and Ron, I really do. But…it's different now, you know? I hated the mindless talk of Quidditch and such before…but now…it's just mind numbing. Some days, I can scarce breathe under the inanity of it all."

"Have you thought about telling them?" he asked curiously.

She looked down at her black Mary-Janes, polished perfectly. "No. That's not an option…Harry has a lot on his plate already and Ron…" her voice drifted off.

Draco could connect the dots for her and knew that she didn't want Weasley to see her any differently, as though she were damaged goods. The thought turned his stomach. He had the insane urge then to reach over and cover her hand with his own. But he refrained. "Suffering in silence will only hurt you more in the long run," he told her.

She shrugged. "I don't have to be silent, though," she pointed out and looked at him.

He bristled under her gaze. For some reason, even in just a few interactions, she trusted him. In what crazy version of reality did Hermione Granger trust him more than her two best friends? "Aren't you the lucky one for finding me that night?" she laughed bitterly.

Draco saw no humor in her situation. "If I hadn't, would we be talking this civilly right now?" he challenged.

She gave him a strange look and nodded. "Touché. I'd have probably hexed you into submission by now," she laughed.

Draco raised an eyebrow at her turn of phrase and she blushed once more. "You know what I meant," she said.

"Uh huh, suuuure," he teased, smiling genuinely for the first time that day.

"Well…we'd better head out…eight o'clock tonight, right?" she confirmed as she stood and brushed off her bottom.

"I'll be waiting," he told her as she retrieved her cloak and walked out.

o-o-o

"So, what did Malfoy have to say?" Harry asked as soon as Hermione had returned to the Common Room after picking up a few books on Arithmancy from the library.

"Nothing much. We didn't really talk," she lied. "We got the nocturnal plants so we're going to have to work together every night for the next couple of months."

Harry looked as though Christmas had come early. "Really? That's great! You'll be able to pick his brain, find out what's going on."

"All right there, Sherlock. I seriously doubt Draco Malfoy is going to divulge his darkest secrets to me, the Mudblood," she said skeptically. I wish he would…then we'd be even…

"Don't say that about yourself, Hermione," Ron scolded gently, wrapping an arm around her shoulders.

Hermione withered beneath Ron's touch and hated herself for it. She'd pined after her red headed best friend since the Yule Ball, and now she didn't want him touching her at all, her dirty, spent body. He didn't notice. It was dinnertime and after that it would be time to head back to Greenhouse Number Seven. Hermione found herself looking forward to the calm, brooding demeanor of her new blond friend. The quiet, unspoken understanding. They walked down to the Great Hall as Ron and Harry discussed the upcoming Quidditch game and Hermione tuned them out.

She pulled a book from her messenger bag and pretended to read as she shoveled roast and potatoes that she had no intention of eating onto her plate. She stared at the Arithmancy problems, but her mind was miles away. She listened to the voices of the males around her, hoping that something would come back to her. But the voices were all recognizable because they were familiar. Her eyes darted over the room to see if anyone was watching her when her chocolate eyes met silver. Malfoy lifted one corner of his mouth in a weak, concealed smile and she nodded once in acknowledgment, raising an eyebrow slightly.

Hermione more or less pushed the food around on her plate and caught Malfoy doing the same as Pansy Parkinson hung all over his arm. If she was uninterested in Ron at the moment, Malfoy must have been completely oblivious to Pansy's feminine wiles because he was ignoring her as though she wasn't pressing her overflowing breasts into his face. Hermione scoffed at her ridiculous attempts to catch his attention. Malfoy clearly had something important on his mind, plaguing him and she was trying to play into his sexuality. She was secretly glad he was ignoring the brunette—Malfoy was better than that.

As though he could hear her thinking about him, Malfoy looked up once more and raised an eyebrow as he pushed back from the table. He turned his eyes toward the door, indicating that he wanted her to follow. "Oh, Draco…are you sure you don't want me to tag along and keep you company? The Mudblood couldn't possibly be much to talk to…"

"Pansy, go to bed," Malfoy snapped and Hermione inwardly smiled.

She watched as Malfoy stalked out of the Great Hall and Pansy pouted at the Slytherin table. Hermione waited a beat and then rose as well. "I'm heading to the greenhouses," she told her two friends.

They broke away from their conversation with Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnegan and both looked her way. "Do you want us to come with you? In case Malfoy decides to get wandsy?" Ron asked, popping a potato into his mouth.

Hermione laughed lightly and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "I can handle Malfoy, Ron."

"Be careful, Hermione…he's a Death Eater now," Harry warned and Ron rolled his eyes. "All I'm saying, is he's been acting strangely all year. I think he tried to sniff me earlier in Herbology."

Hermione wanted to follow Ron's lead and roll her eyes but instead she just nodded. "And tell us everything," Harry said as she turned to go.

She knew she'd be telling a lot of lies when she arrived back to the Common Room that evening.

She walked out of the Great Hall and out of the doors leading to the courtyard. As she stepped through the doorway, she saw Malfoy leaning against the far wall, hands shoved into his uniform pants pockets. "You didn't have to wait for me," she said as she neared him.

He shoved up from the wall and fell in step beside her. "Well, I certainly wasn't going to let you walk across the dark grounds by yourself," he said as though it were obvious.

Just the simple show of solidarity from her former enemy comforted Hermione. He knew. He knew and he didn't care—he was still going to be there, beside her in companionable silence. The thought boggled her mind the more she mulled it over. They walked to the building that would serve as their strange sanctuary for the time being. He was walking much more slowly than she, one step for every two of hers, but he didn't seem to mind. He was quiet, pensive as they walked and she knew he was thinking about whatever it was disrupting his life. But he had told her that morning that today was not the day, so she kept her questions to herself.

"Have you been sniffing blokes?" she asked, breaking the silence.

He looked at her from the corner of his eye. "I've been trying to catch a whiff of lemon."

"Harry thinks it's some nefarious Death Eater activity," Hermione said, a slight smile on her lips.

Malfoy let out a loud barking laugh that rang through the icy night air. She thought she quite enjoyed the sound of a laugh coming from him, never having heard a genuine one leave his lips before—arrogant, haughty laughs at her and her friends' expense, but never a throaty deep laugh that made him stop in his tracks.

"Why would a Death Eater go around sniffing people?" he asked, a jovial smile playing over his lips.

"Malfoy, if you pissed sideways he'd think it was something you'd learned straight from Voldemort," she said, her sentiments sounding more like something Ron would say than something she'd normally say.

Malfoy laughed again and she enjoyed the infectious deep sound so much that she smiled widely as well. A cloud of misty breath puffed out of his mouth as he breathed away the laughs and she watched it swirl in the light of his wand. "Get in the damn greenhouse, Granger," he said, still smiling as he held the door open and gestured for her to enter first.

The door jangled shut behind him and Hermione raised her wand and put a silencing charm around the space. He raised an eyebrow. "I have no doubt in my mind that Harry will get under his cloak and come to spy."

"I thought that was your task?" he asked playfully.

"He thinks you'll harm me," she retorted, lowering her wand.

Malfoy's face fell. "Do you think that?" he whispered from where he stood.

She looked over at him. "If you were, you'd have done it by now. You've had plenty of opportunity the last three times we've been alone."

He nodded slowly and made his way to the closest raised box garden. The petals on the nightshade lavender danced at his touch and she could have sworn she heard the plant giggle as his fingers brushed against it. "These should be ready in a couple of days," he mentioned, his voice back to being low and brooding.

Hermione went to the far corner of the greenhouse and found a tangle of brand new Devil's Snare, barely a sapling. She shuddered at the memory of the tangling plant and brought a bag of magic infused soil over it, sprinkling the bright pink soil over the wood.

"Tell me about your childhood, Granger," she heard Malfoy say from across the room as he pulled on a pair of dragonhide gloves and patted the ground and weeded a patch of venomous bubotuber seedlings.

She thought about it for a moment. "What about it?"

"What was it like? Without magic?"

She furrowed her brow. "It was…all I knew at the time, so I thought nothing of it. You may not believe me, but Muggles have invented and improvised ways of doing things that wizards couldn't even fathom. Now, some of it seems awfully superfluous—like driving a car when there are people with the ability to Apparate. But, it's admirable really that they've found ways around the lack of magic."

Malfoy hummed his acknowledgment. "But what about you? Your life? What was it like, knowing you were different but not knowing why?"

Hermione began weeding the wolfsbane box. "Things would happen to me when I was younger and I never understood, like you said. It ostracized me more than my bossy, bookish personality already did—kids were afraid of the little freak who could turn sand into ants when she got angry enough."

"You didn't!" he said, and she saw his head poke up from where he was crouched to look her way.

"I did! Little Henry Winkler made fun of my buckteeth. So I turned his sandcastle into an anthill," she finished with a shrug.

Malfoy laughed once more. "I bet it was a relief when you got your Hogwarts letter, then?"

She sighed. "It was. I got my letter on my eleventh birthday, as everyone does. But I had to wait almost an entire year to go to school. That was one more year of sitting through arithmetic and science, knowing I was destined for more."

"Why the wait?" he asked.

"My birthday is just after the start of the year. The nineteenth."

He stared in her direction and cleared his throat. "I didn't know."

"Wasn't an important detail," she shrugged.

He continued to stare in her direction when she bent over the wolfsbane garden once more. She could feel his eyes boring into her back. "Anyway…it was a relief when I arrived at school. I thought I'd finally have a place to belong."

"But you didn't?"

"What do you think, Malfoy?" she spit back, not looking in his direction.

"That's my…" his voice faltered.

Fault. Say it. Apologize. "You shouldn't have been made to feel that way," he settled on and Hermione took what she could get.

"I try not to take it to heart," lie. "I just relish, instead, in the fact that I am the top student in every subject," she finished, mocking his haughtiness.

Malfoy laughed a low rumble and she was glad that, even in the midst of the shit storm that was clouding his life, she could provide him with a few good laughs that evening.

o-o-o