Harmonia Nectere Passus Ch. 5

"Nott, were you at the inter-House party at start of term?" Draco asked his friend.

Theo looked up from where he was reading his transfiguration essay for the third time. "Yes. Why?"

"Did you see anything strange?" Draco asked.

He was draped over the opposite couch in the Common Room after returning from his rounds. His health was deteriorating and he was losing so much weight, his ribs were prominent under his shirt. All of the Seeker's muscle he'd built up was fading quickly, being eaten up by his starving body. Theo shrugged. "Strange how? Strange like the four Houses getting along for a few hours of mindless drinking games and snogging?"

"Did you see Granger snogging anyone?" the blond asked, surveying his nails as though he didn't care about the answer.

Theo was quiet as he tried to remember the night. "I was pretty pissed."

"Try to remember."

Theo rubbed a hand down his face. "No. I don't think so. She got pretty wasted and wobbly and left before everyone else."

"Did you see anyone else leave with her?"

"What's this all about?" Theo asked him, narrowing his eyes. "Since when do you give a shit about the Mudblood?"

"I don't. But…I just need to know, Nott," he said in a clipped manner.

"No. I don't remember anyone else leaving with her," his friend said, dropping the issue because he knew Draco wouldn't divulge more information.

"Do you mind if I use Legilimency to see that night?" Draco asked, sitting up.

Theo looked at him, searching for answers in Draco's un-telling face. Draco stared back, knowing he could easily overtake Nott and search his memories without his consent. But the connection would be stronger if he could maintain eye contact and not have the other person resisting. The two boys were thick as thieves—always having the other's back when needed. Theo didn't understand why Malfoy was asking him, but he knew it must be important. He nodded slowly. "Only that night," he warned.

Draco nearly rolled his eyes—he knew everything else there was to know about Theodore Nott, he didn't need to see it by way of Legilimency. "Of course."

Theo sat straight across from him and opened his arms in a "let's go" manner. The blond shook his head. "Not here…there's an empty classroom on the fifth floor, end of the long corridor by the tarnished coat of arms. Meet me there in ten minutes."

With that, Draco pushed up and slinked out of the Slytherin Common Room. Last thing he needed was the rest of the nosy Slytherin witches or Blaise or Greg walking in on his wand to Nott's temple. The line of questioning that would follow wasn't something he intended to face any time soon.

He waited in the classroom and true to his word, Nott met him not even ten minutes later. He collapsed down into the rickety chair of an old desk. "One of these days, you'll let me in to what's going on with you," he said, his sentiments mirroring Granger's.

"Today's not that day. Please don't question me, Nott. You know I wouldn't ask if it wasn't important," Draco replied, sitting across from him in another chair.

"Are you soft on Granger?" Theo asked, raising an eyebrow.

"Nott," Draco warned.

"Okay, okay. Let's go…I still need to finish that essay," Theo said impatiently.

Draco put his wand to Nott's temple and whispered a quick, "Legilimens!"

Draco watched as Theo entered the party with Zabini and Goyle, heading straight for the table that was weighed down by the dozens of bottles of alcohol. Theo poured himself a stiff drink, more alcohol than mixer. Typical. Then he retired to the corner where the Slytherins were keeping to themselves, ever the standoffish bunch. Draco listened to minutes of inane conversation, some involving himself and speculations on what exactly was going on with him.

Theo glanced toward the alcohol table when his drink had been swallowed and Draco could feel the heaviness that Theo had felt that night, the inebriation already setting in. Granger was there by the table with that Brown girl, who appeared to be mixing a strong drink of her own. Draco tried to crane his neck in their direction, but he was seeing through Theo's eyes, and Theo was wholly uninterested in Granger. He turned back to Pansy who excused herself, claiming she was starting to feel unwell and wanted to check on Draco before she went to bed.

Funny. Draco didn't remember speaking to her that night…though, to be fair, he'd been avoiding her. Theo wasn't watching the door closely, but Draco caught sight of Longbottom leaving with Abbott. And Brown and Patil left before, finally, Granger stood where she was. Her idiot friends were paying her no mind as they talked animatedly—probably about something as trivial as Quidditch. Draco felt anger burning as he thought about what was to happen to their so-called best friend in a few short minutes. Theo seemed to take notice that she was unsteady on her feet and Draco could feel the inner turmoil in Theo. Theo was a good man, despite his upbringing, and he was debating whether or not to help her to Gryffindor Tower or save face in front of the other Slytherins. In the end, Theo remained where he sat and rejoined the conversation with Blaise until the two stood to leave a while later. He hadn't noticed any one else leave on their own, most favoring to head out in pairs.

Draco lowered his wand, more questions raised than answers. Had one of those pairs of people attacked her together? Granger had sustained injuries indicative of putting up a fight, it might have taken two of those guys to hold her down…if they didn't use magic to do it. Perhaps they got off on the physical struggle. He ran through every face he'd seen and made it a point to use Legilimency on every single one of them at some point or another.

"Did you find what you were looking for?" Theo asked, rising.

"Why didn't you help her?" Draco demanded, seeming irrationally angry to Theo's ignorant mind.

"What do you mean?" he asked slowly.

"I could feel it—you were going to but then decided against it," Draco said accusatorily.

"How would I explain that to the others? To Goyle and Zabini?" Nott asked, his voice sarcastic. "What is this about? You would have done the same thing!"

Draco bit his tongue. "She was roughed up pretty badly after she left that party," he divulged, knowing Nott would never tell another living soul.

Theo recoiled slightly, his face one of incredulous shock. "How badly?"

"I'm not going into details. But I just wanted to see who else might have been there. I suppose it could have been a student…or teacher…who wasn't there," Draco's voice trailed off as he thought about a Professor overpowering the poor witch.

"I had no idea," Theo said and Draco could see guilt in his eyes.

"Don't worry about it. She's just a Mudblood anyway…probably mouthed off to the wrong person," Draco said, trying to fill his voice with a haughty sarcasm.

Theo wasn't to be fooled by Draco's false air of uncaring—there was obviously a reason he wanted to know so badly. But Theo didn't ask any more questions—he knew better. He had suspected for years that Malfoy had harbored a tender spot for the witch, especially considering he went out of his way to torment her when he virtually ignored the other Muggle-borns in the school.

Theo left to finish his essay and Draco remained for a few minutes longer, replaying the party in his mind. He had been so focused on who had been at the party that he hadn't even thought about who hadn't been. It could have been anyone—a Prefect who had turned a blind eye as their Housemates had snuck off, a younger student she'd taken House points away from who harbored a grudge, a teacher with a sick schoolgirl fantasy. The possibilities were overwhelming and Draco began to feel sick to his stomach.

He finally dragged himself into bed a while later, staring straight up into the dark room. Granger. Why the fuck did she have to materialize now? In the three years since he'd first felt a stirring of admiration for her, she'd never given him so much as a 'hello' or 'go fuck yourself.' Now that he had the Dark Lord breathing down his neck at every turn and it was inherently dangerous, she came out of nowhere and was showing genuine interest in him and his life. How dare she? He nearly growled in frustration.

Why would she have ever paid him the time of day to begin with? He'd made her life hell thus far. She hadn't belonged in the Muggle world and then, just as she thought she'd found a place where she could be equal to everyone else, he'd spent all of his free time cutting her down and making her feel lesser. He was such jackass. If he hadn't been born into the Malfoy family, if his father wasn't one of the most prominent Death Eaters, and now one of the most hated, would things have been different? He could have asked her to Hogsmeade with him that first weekend back in third year. She could have attended the Yule Ball with him instead of that stupid Quidditch player—she didn't care about the bloke's fame anyway. They could have kissed by the Black Lake every day for the last three years if only he wouldn't have been born a Malfoy…

o-o-o

Hermione was quickly losing interest in everything. Schoolwork no longer held her interest—her essays were all a foot shorter than they normally would have been. She raised her hand far less frequently—usually only when the Professors looked at her with expectation in their eyes. She wasn't eating anything at all, save a bite of porridge here and three bites of an apple there. Her face was growing sallow, her hair limp with malnutrition, her clothes loose and nearly falling off of her hips.

Professor McGonagall had pulled her aside as her Head of House and had questioned her for what felt like an eternity, not entirely satisfied with or fooled by the weak responses Hermione had given—"I'm just tired after so many years of extra classes, but I'll do better next essay, I promise," or "I stayed up too long reading again, silly me."

Harry and Ron had taken to staring at her like she might explode. Harry blamed the stress of having to see Malfoy every night for her sudden lack of caring. If he only knew that her nights with the Slytherin were the only thing keeping her together any more. She brushed her friends off as much as possible, taking to her back corner of the library in an effort to be rid of their worried glances. Often times when she was back there, she would see a flash of brilliant white blond hair and she would know that Malfoy was near, keeping watch over her from afar. For some reason, this comforted her.

Hermione found herself looking forward to the nights she spent with Malfoy in Greenhouse Number Seven. He was surprisingly charming, quick witted and intelligent. Each evening would start out the same, with the pair meeting in the courtyard after dinner and walking in companionable silence. His agitated demeanor was wearing off little by little with each night they spent together. During the days, he was still brooding, harsh and glaring at everyone. But she did notice that he spoke vey little and kept to himself, his fellow Slytherins keeping their distance. At night, it was almost as though he was relieved to have a break away from whatever it was plaguing his days. He became genuinely caring, playful even.

It was a week into their project when she met him in the courtyard. He was looking worn and in pain. He walked with a slight limp, though he tried to keep his head held high. She wondered again what he was going through and wished that he would tell her.

They walked in silence down to the greenhouses, as was the status quo. Once inside, Hermione and Malfoy turned their backs to one another so she didn't have to watch him undress his layers. When they were clad in their uniform shirts and slacks, their sweaters, ties, scarves and cloaks discarded, they turned back around. This evening, Hermione had felt the air was warm enough to make her unbutton the stop two buttons of her white shirt.

She was folding her scarf neatly to place on top of the pile of winter wear when he stood, staring at her with his mouth agape. She noticed his gaze and she narrowed her eyes at him. "If you're going to stare at my chest, could you at least be discreet?" she snapped.

And Malfoy was staring at her chest, though for a different reason than she was assuming. He paid no mind to the bit of cleavage only visible when she moved slightly. No. He was focused on the fact that he could clearly see the ridges of her breastplate beneath greyish tinted skin. "Granger…are you eating anything?" he asked, taking a step toward her.

She took a step back and knocked against a raised box of herbs. "I'm not going to hurt you," Malfoy whispered to her for what must have been the hundredth time since September nineteenth.

He took another step toward her and lifted his hand out, brushing his fingertips over the raised edges of her collarbone, the deep hollow above. His face looked pained as he studied her and Hermione felt her heart race at his gentle touch before he dropped his hand. "You're one to talk," she retorted quietly, and she lifted her fingers to trace the hollows of his face, his high cheekbones more prominent and sharp than ever.

Her fingertip brushed from the hollow to up underneath of his eyes, the dark violet that made the grey of his eyes shine even brighter. "You're not sleeping," she noted simply.

Malfoy closed his eyes briefly and took her small hand in his, before he opened his eyes to stare at her. He pulled her hand gently from his face and tucked it into her side, his hand lingering around her wrist a moment longer than was necessary. "So, we're both a fucking disaster."

And they were. They truly were. She was haunted by the thought that someone around her had violated her and the inability to remember by whom. He was haunted by something larger than life, something monumental that he refused to let her be privy to. Both were gaunt, dull, lifeless shells of who they once had been. Her defiant, knowledgeable attitude had been replaced by a quiet, morose individual she hardly recognized. His haughty, arrogant disposition of years passed was gone and he was replace with a pensive, terrified boy. He was her equal, in more ways than she'd ever realized. She was a disaster of a girl now, but he wasn't faring much better. And what a beautiful disaster he was.

"You need to eat to keep strength, Granger. You can't let your attacker continue to get the best of you," he said calmly, evenly.

"Well you need to sleep—you look like death," she retorted and he laughed darkly.

"I'll sleep if you eat," he countered. "I'll bring you food each night and watch to ensure you eat something at breakfast."

"And I'll brew some Dreamless Draught, since you seem too preoccupied to do so," she promised.

Malfoy looked at her, studying her face and searching her eyes—for what she had no idea. He nodded once. "We should get working—we've got that Charms assignment due tomorrow and I'm only half done," he said calmly, turning away from her.

She found herself in the back corner opposite him, watering Mandrakes, lost in thought. Neither was feeling particularly talkative that evening and the silence was heavy around them. She had just made a pact with him to maintain each other's well being. What a strange concept. Hermione began ticking off the items she would need to steal from Slughorn's supply to brew the Draught for Malfoy.

Hermione wondered where he spent most of his time, now that he wasn't conversing regularly with his friends. She thought about following him and Harry's Invisibility Cloak flashed in her mind's eye. He'd been creeping down after them every night, hoping to catch Malfoy doing something Death Eater like. She felt his invisible presence outside of the frosted windows of the greenhouse. Every night, without fail, they silenced the building around them, but that did nothing to quell Harry's tenacity.

She wondered if she could convince one of the other Gryffindor boys to retrieve the Cloak from Harry's trunk…perhaps Neville. He never asked too many questions…And maybe the Marauder's Map while he was at it. She shook her head. Neville wasn't that naïve. She would have to obtain it from Harry directly.

Hermione felt, rather than heard him come up behind her. She spun quickly and he backed up, putting his hands up in surrender. "I finished what I was working on. I just came over to see if you needed any help."

He was shifting on his legs and she could tell that he was injured somehow, thinking back on the limp he had walking down to the greenhouse. "You're hurt," she accused.

"You're too observant," he quipped, crossing his arms.

"Who hurt you?"

"I fell."

"You're lying."

"You're prying."

Hermione stared at him. Malfoy looked tired and he twitched as they stood there, though he tried to mask it by dropping his arms and burying his hands in his pockets. All signs pointed to the Cruciatus Curse and she nearly vomited at the thought that he had withstood something so wretched. He was the son of a fallen, disgraced Death Eater and now, she was certain she was unwittingly filling his father's shoes. Who else would subject him to such torment?

"What's happening to you?" she whispered to him, concern all over her face.

Malfoy swallowed as she reached out and took hold of his hand. "I can't, Granger. I shouldn't even be this friendly with you. A friendship could get us both killed."

"Killed by whom?" she asked, knowing the answer but wanting him to finally confess it.

He simply squeezed her hand and then dropped it. "Come on, Granger, let's go inside. I think you've done enough damage here—the Mandrakes are drowning."

Hermione looked down at the potted plants and sure enough, there was a heavy layer of water over the top. Why should she care that the plants were drowning, when they could barely keep their own heads afloat?

o-o-o