/
Everything changes, Hermione thought as she walked through the largely deserted Diagon Alley with Harry and Ron and noted the typically colorful, glittering window displays of spellbooks, potion ingredients, and cauldrons were hidden now behind the large Ministry of Magic posters that had been pasted over them.
She was as familiar with this truth as the countless other truths stored in her brilliant mind. Hermione knew some changes were grand, while others small, but they were changes regardless of scope… and she knew they were happening all the time, everywhere, constantly, second by second.
Never had she felt the impact of change in her own life so acutely until this year, however, and it was only just this summer when she realized the number of changes in her life seemed to be growing exponentially.
As she observed her current reflection— a reflection she was still getting used to— warbled by the tinted glass of a shop window, Hermione realized she was just barely beginning to understand change, particularly the changes in the world around her.
She understood war was upon them, and accepted that she'd likely have a significant part to play.
Hermione wasn't one to inflate her self worth, though. Everyone's role is important in one way or another, she thought, brushing an errant curl behind her ear.
She considered that particular lesson had been made abundantly clear with her use of the time-turner, and felt a pang in her chest at the memory of Sirius. Admittedly, she hadn't known him considerably well, but well enough, she felt… enough to know that he'd been Harry's connection to the family he'd never known, to see that they'd created a bond; and that in itself had made Hermione happy.
She knew they all felt his loss acutely, Harry most of all, and despite her gentleness, her unflinching support of her best friend, he was clear in his avoidance of the topic of his recently departed godfather. In fact, she rather felt Harry was doing his best to avoid change, Voldemort, the war, and the role she rather suspected he already knew he would have to play.
She couldn't fault him; the thought of change and war was frightening, even after everything they'd already been through. But what frightened Hermione most was the undeniable loss of control that came with the change— her increasing inability to be sure her knowledge and choices would lead to desired results.
Hermione was beginning to see that with unfettered change came less clarity, a decreased grasp on what was truth, and what wasn't, to see that choice, at best, was most often gray.
But she was determined to make the right choices… or at least to try.
She'd always used rationality, the belief that there was a right answer among all the wrong ones, as a crutch; her mother, knowing her daughter well, had always told her, 'Not everything is black and white, or good or bad. All you can do is try to learn as much as you can, and make educated choices.'
Easier said than done, especially when your best friends are these two. Hermione smirked to herself at the echo of her mother's words in her mind, shaking her head as Harry and Ron's reflections appeared beside her in the Madam Malkin's shop window. They'd changed too of course, inside and out, but it was particularly noticeable in their physical appearances; they were both taller, broader.
"Migh' be a bit of a squeeze in there with all o' us," said Hagrid, bending down to peer through the window as well. "I'll stand guard outside, all righ'?" Along with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny, Hagrid had joined them on their journey for school supply shopping in Diagon Alley.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione entered the little shop together. It appeared, at first glance, to be empty, but no sooner had the door swung shut behind them than Hermione heard a familiar voice issuing from behind a rack of dress robes.
"... not a child, in case you haven't noticed, Mother. I am perfectly capable of doing my shopping alone."
Hermione recognized the voice immediately; Draco Malfoy. She felt Harry and Ron tense beside her as they recognized his voice as well. She glanced uncertainly at Harry's hand as it twitched for his wand.
She groaned inwardly. The last thing they needed at the moment was a confrontation.
There was a clucking noise and a voice Hermione recognized as that of Madam Malkin, the owner, said, "Now, dear, your mother's quite right, none of us is supposed to go wandering around on our own anymore, it's nothing to do with being a child—"
Hermione watched as Draco appeared from behind the rack, his striking white-blond hair contrasting with a handsome set of dark green robes that glittered with pins around the hem and the edges of the sleeves. It was clear to Hermione he'd experienced a growth spurt similar to Harry's since she'd last seen him. He strode confidently toward the mirror and examined himself, unaware of their presence.
Draco's gaze shifted, and his eyes briefly met Hermione's in the mirror's reflection. In the moment before he realized just whose gaze he was staring into, Hermione saw his light gray eyes were bright, despite a frame of darkened shadows, and his facial features had matured since she'd last seen him; his jaw was more defined, his cheek bones more pronounced.
To Hermione's consternation, she had to admit that— perhaps if he were not Draco Malfoy— his appearance was striking, and pleasantly so.
The instant passed, however, as he realized who was in the shop with him. Draco hastily shifted his gaze to Harry and Ron beside her, and his eyes narrowed with displeasure at the sight of them.
Beside her, Hermione sensed both Harry and Ron gripping their wands tightly, and withheld the urge to roll her eyes. Malfoy, however, did not resist this urge.
"Just when I thought I was about to have an enjoyable afternoon," Draco sighed sarcastically.
"I don't want wands drawn in my shop!" Said Madam Malkin, spotting Harry and Ron's offensive stances as she scurried out from behind the clothes rack holding a tape measure and a wand.
"Don't— honestly, it's not worth it," Hermione whispered, hoping to steer clear of a conflict.
"The relative voice of reason— stress on the relative," sneered Draco as he looked pointedly to Harry, then Ron. His eyes found Hermione's again, and she wanted nothing more than to leave the shop.
"Who blacked your eye, Granger?" He paused. "I want to send them flowers."
Hermione frowned, but found the insult rather weak, particularly for Malfoy. She wondered if recent events— namely his father's imprisonment— had lost him some of his zeal.
"That's quite enough!" said Madam Malkin sharply, looking over her shoulder for support. "Madam—please—"
Hermione followed Malkin's gaze and with surprise watched as Narcissa Malfoy glided out from behind the clothes rack. The woman was pale yet poised, her face unreadable. Hermione noted she seemed to emit a natural air of equal elegance and intensity.
"Put those away," she said coldly to Harry and Ron. "If you attack my son again, I shall ensure that it is the last thing you ever do."
"Really?" Said Harry, taking a step forward. "Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?"
Madam Malkin squealed and clutched at her heart."Really, you shouldn't accuse... dangerous thing to say... wands away, please!"
But Harry did not lower his wand. Narcissa Malfoy smiled unpleasantly.
Hermione appreciated Harry standing up for her, but felt it was wholly unnecessary. Malfoy and his mother weren't about to attack in the middle of Madam Malkin's— they weren't fools. Hermione was unable to withhold her gnawing urge to roll her eyes any longer.
"Harry—" she whispered with an exasperated sigh.
"I see that being Dumbledore's favorite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be there to protect you."
Hermione sensed there was something more to her comment that was not necessarily a threat.
Was that a warning?
No, Hermione thought, she must be referring to what happened in the Department of Mysteries.
"Wow... look at that... he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!" Harry jeered.
Hermione felt Harry's insult was juvenile, and a bit uncalled for. Her understanding of Lucius Malfoy was that of a bigoted, arrogant, and dangerous man, and even though she'd been pleased to learn of his incarceration, glancing again at the clear fatigue and stress visible beneath Malfoy's eyes, and Narcissa's weary expression, Hermione quite suspected Lucius' imprisonment paled in comparison to the other repercussions of his failure— to Voldemort's control and wrath. A shiver ran down her spine at the thought.
"Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!" Malfoy snarled.
"It's all right, Draco," said Narcissa calmly, her face still indecipherable as she placed her thin white fingers upon his shoulder, a gentler act than Hermione had ever expected of a Malfoy, and which gave her pause. "As the Mudblood mentioned, they are not worth our time."
Hermione winced, not because of Narcissa's use of the foul word, but because Harry had raised his wand higher.
"Harry, no!" She moaned, grabbing his arm and attempting to push it down by his side. "Think... you mustn't… you'll be in such trouble..."
Madam Malkin dithered for a moment on the spot, then seemed to decide to act as though nothing was happening in the hope that it wouldn't. She bent toward Malfoy, who was still glaring at Harry.
"I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just..."
Malfoy groaned suddenly, as if in pain, and pushed her hand away. Hermione watched the exchange with curiosity.
"Watch where you're putting your pins! Mother, I don't think I want these anymore." He pulled the robes over his head and tossed them into Madam Malkin's arms.
"You're right, Draco," said Narcissa, with a contemptuous glance at Harry, Ron, and Hermione, "now I know the kind of scum that shops here... We'll do better at Twilfitt and Tatting's."
And with that, the pair of them strode out of the shop, Draco taking care to bang as hard as he could into Ron on the way out.
"Well, really!" Said Madam Malkin, snatching up the fallen robes and moving the tip of her wand over them like a vacuum cleaner, so that it removed all the dust.
She was distracted all through the fitting of Ron's and Harry's new robes, tried to sell Hermione wizard's dress robes instead of witch's (although she hardly noticed, consumed by the way Malfoy had winced as if in pain at Malkin's touch on his left arm), and when she finally bowed them out of the shop it was with an air of being glad to see the back of them.
"Got ev'rything?" asked Hagrid brightly when they reappeared at his side.
"Just about," said Harry. "Did you see the Malfoys?"
"Yeah," said Hagrid, unconcerned. "But they wouldn' dare make trouble in the middle o' Diagon Alley, Harry. Don' worry about them."
Hermione shot pointed looks Harry and Ron's way as if to say 'I told you so,' but before she could speak, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny appeared, all clutching heavy packages of books.
"Everyone all right?" said Mrs. Weasley. "Got your robes? Right then, we can pop in at the Apothecary and Eeylops on the way to Fred and George's... stick close, now..."
They all bought items for their new class, Healing, which was now mandatory for all sixth and seventh year students. Hermione was excited at the prospect of a a topic she expected to be both useful and challenging. She had quite the lengthy supply list for Potions as well.
In comparison, Harry and Ron's lists were brief; they had not achieved the grade to continue studying Potions. Despite his loathing of Snape, Hermione knew Harry was disappointed he hadn't earned the marks he'd needed to continue with N.E.W.T.-level Potions; a class which was a prerequisite for becoming an Auror.
Their supply shopping complete, Mrs. Weasley checked her watch every minute or so as they headed farther along the street in search of Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes.
Fred and George's shop was packed with customers, and Harry and Hermione quickly lost sight of Ron, Ginny, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasley once inside (Hagrid, due to his stature, waited outside). They stared around, looking up at the vibrant technicolor boxes piled to the ceiling; Hermione was impressed by the sheer variety and organization of it all, but part of her groaned inwardly at the thought of all the new things she'd likely have to confiscate as a Prefect this year.
She managed to squeeze them through to a large display near the counter, where she began pretending to read the information on the back of a box bearing a highly colored picture of a handsome youth and a swooning girl who were standing on the deck of a pirate ship.
Hermione found herself quite unable to focus on the text however, not merely because of the dizzying, dazzling assortment of goods that revolved, popped, flashed, bounced, and shrieked, but because she could not stop replaying their exchange with the Malfoys in Madam Malkin's; the way Narcissa had placed her hand— had it been tenderly? — atop Draco's shoulder, the way he'd grimaced at Malkin's touch upon his left forearm, and the darkening and the new weariness — or was it fear? — in his typically over-confident expression…
A sudden 'bang!' from somewhere in the shop tore her away from her thoughts, and she looked up to see Harry eying her quizzically.
"Didn't think you'd be into that sort of thing, Hermione," Harry said, gesturing to the box in her hands.
She returned her gaze to said box, and actually read this time:
"'Patented Daydream Charms' "
"'One simple incantation and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling). Not for sale to under-sixteens'.
She laughed, looking up at Harry again and said, "You know, that really is extraordinary magic!"
"For that, Hermione," said a voice behind them, "you can have one for free."
A beaming Fred stood before them, wearing a set of magenta robes that clashed magnificently with his flaming hair.
"What's happened to your eye, Hermione?"
"What— oh," she said, lightly touching her cheek below the affected eye, her mind again returning to Madam Malkin's, and Malfoy's comment. "Your punching telescope," she said ruefully, remembering the incident at the Burrow a few days ago when one of Fred and George's prototypes had given her quite the surprise.
"Oh blimey, I forgot about those," said Fred. "Here..."
He pulled a tub out of his pocket and handed it to her; she unscrewed it gingerly to reveal a thick yellow paste.
I think I'll take the bruise, Hermione thought, grimacing at the sight of the paste.
"Just dab it on, that bruise'll be gone within the hour," said Fred. "We had to find a decent bruise-remover. We're testing most of our products on ourselves."
"It's safe, isn't it?" she asked hesitantly.
"Course it is," said Fred bracingly. "Come on, Harry, I'll give you a tour."
Harry left her dabbing her black eye with the paste and followed Fred toward the back of the shop. Thankfully, it felt better than it looked.
When her eye was sufficiently soothed, she screwed the cap back on the tub, and again busied her mind with the memory from Madam Malkin's.
She didn't realize she'd been staring blankly at the Daydream display case for some time until Ginny sidled up beside her.
Hermione noticed her friend's eyebrows raise in surprise as a playful grin graced her lips.
"Hermione— seems like you've got quite the plans for this term."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled. "You sound like Harry— I was just appreciating the complexity of the magic."
"Riiight," teased Ginny, elbowing her lightly in the side, "thinking of purchasing one— or a few, y'know, for personal study?"
"Ginny—" Hermione's admonishment, and grudging smile, were interrupted by Harry and Fred's return.
"Haven't you found our special WonderWitch products yet?" asked Fred. "Follow me, ladies..."
They met up with Mrs. Weasley and Ron, his arms leaden with goods, before reaching a display near the window.
The display was adorned with an array of violently pink products around which a cluster of excited girls was giggling enthusiastically. Hermione shot Ginny a wary look and was pleased to see Ginny wore a matching grimace.
"There you go," said Fred proudly. "Best range of love potions you'll find anywhere."
Hermione frowned, unable to imagine the level of desperation one would require to use a love potion.
"Do they work?" Ginny asked, her expression full of skepticism.
"Certainly they work, for up to twenty-four hours at a time depending on…"
But his voice faded away from Hermione's consciousness as Mrs. Weasley moved to inspect the item more closely, affording her an unimpeded view out of the window.
To Hermione's surprise, she saw Malfoy hurrying up the street, alone. As he passed Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, he glanced over his shoulder. Seconds later, he moved beyond the scope of the window and she lost sight of him.
"Did you see—" she whispered to Harry and Ron.
Harry nodded. "Wonder where his mummy is?"
"Given her the slip by the looks of it," said Ron.
"Why, though?" she asked, her curiosity again piqued.
Hermione glanced around. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were now bending over fluffy pink creatures called Pygmy Puffs. Mr. Weasley was delightedly examining a pack of Muggle marked playing cards. Fred and George were both helping customers. On the other side of the glass, Hagrid was standing with his back to them, looking up and down the street.
"Harry— the Cloak—" she whispered, a plan taking shape in her mind.
Harry looked at her in surprise, but nodded silently, pulling his Invisibility Cloak out of his bag.
"Come on," Ron said.
She hesitated for a second, thinking perhaps she should be listening more to her reason than her curiosity, but then she hastily ducked under the Cloak with Harry and Ron. Thankfully, nobody seemed to notice them vanish; they were all too interested in Fred and George's products. They squeezed their way out of the door as quickly as they could, but by the time they gained the street, Malfoy had disappeared just as successfully as they had.
"He was going in that direction," murmured Harry as quietly as possible, so that Hagrid wouldn't hear them. "C'mon..."
They scurried along, peering left and right, through shop windows and doors, until Hermione pointed ahead.
"That's him, isn't it?" she whispered, spotting a glimpse of Malfoy's blond head. "Turning left?"
"Big surprise," whispered Ron. "Knockturn Alley."
Of course, Hermione thought, where else would be be going?
They watched as Draco glanced around, then slid into Knockturn Alley and out of sight.
"Quick, or we'll lose him," said Harry, speeding up.
"Our feet'll be seen!" she said anxiously as the cloak flapped a little around their ankles, noting that it was much more difficult hiding all three of them under the cloak nowadays.
"It doesn't matter," said Harry impatiently. "Just hurry!"
Knockturn Alley looked completely deserted. Hermione peered into windows as they passed, but none of the shops seemed to have any customers at all. She reasoned it was a bit of a giveaway in these dangerous and suspicious times to buy Dark artifacts... or at least, to be seen buying them.
So what's Malfoy doing here? She wondered. What an idiot.
It wasn't long before she spotted him again.
"Look! He's in there!" She breathed in Harry's ear.
They had drawn level with Borgin and Burkes, and there in the midst of the cases of skulls, glimmering jewelry, and old bottles stood Malfoy with his back to them, just visible beyond a large black cabinet. Judging by the movements of Malfoy's hands, Hermione could tell he was talking animatedly. The proprietor of the shop, Mr. Borgin, an oily-haired, stooping man, stood facing Malfoy. She could see he wore a curious expression of mingled resentment and fear.
"I wish we could hear what they're saying!" she said, frustrated.
"We can!" said Ron excitedly. "Hang on—damn."
He dropped a couple of the boxes he was still clutching from Fred and George's shop as he fumbled with the largest.
"Extendable Ears, look!"
"Fantastic!" she said, feeling hope bubble inside her as Ron unraveled the long, flesh-colored strings and began to feed them toward the bottom of the door. "Oh, I hope the door isn't Imperturbable—"
"No!" said Ron gleefully. "Listen!"
They put their heads together and listened intently to the ends of the strings, through which Malfoy's voice could be heard loud and clear, as though a radio had been turned on.
"... you know how to fix it?"
"Possibly," said Borgin, in a tone that suggested he was unwilling to commit himself. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"
"I can't," said Malfoy. "It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it."
Hermione saw Borgin lick his lips nervously, then turned her gaze back to Malfoy. She wished she could see his face.
"Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."
"No?" said Malfoy, and Hermione knew, just by his tone, that he was sneering. "Perhaps this will make you more confident."
He moved toward Borgin and was blocked from view by the cabinet. Hermione led them to shuffle sideways to try and keep him in sight, but all they could see was Borgin, now looking very frightened.
Hermione was suddenly stuck by her own feeling of how odd it was to see someone actually frightened— by Draco Malfoy. She'd always felt his bark had been worse than his bite— mostly talk, and little action.
Well, Hermione admitted to herself, remembering his duel with Harry in second year and his role in Umbridge's Inquisitorial Squad, maybe not always.
A man likely accustomed to interacting with all sorts of unsavory characters, Hermione reasoned that Borgin's fear of Malfoy had a significantly more serious implication.
But what kind of implication? Hermione wondered as she again remembered the way Malfoy had pulled his left arm away from Madam Malkin, as if it had pained him.
It couldn't be. Malfoy? A Death Eater?
"Tell anyone," said Malfoy, "and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention."
Hermione grimaced at the mention of Greyback, a notorious werewolf who was known for making sport of turning children into werewolves.
"There will be no need for—"
"I'll decide that," said Malfoy. "Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep that one safe, I'll need it."
"Perhaps you'd like to take it now?"
"No, of course I wouldn't, you stupid, little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it."
"Of course not... sir."
Borgin made a bow as deep as the one Hermione imagined he'd likely given Lucius Malfoy in the past. It almost seemed to her that he'd taken his father's place.
"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?"
Why would he want to hide something from his mother? Hermione wondered, recalling the way Narcissa had reacted in Madam Malkin's, particularly the gentle way she'd placed her hand on his shoulder— it was clear to Hermione that she was deeply protective of her only son.
"Naturally, naturally," murmured Borgin, bowing again.
Next moment, the bell over the door tinkled loudly as Malfoy stalked out of the shop looking very pleased with himself. He passed so close to her that she felt the cloak flutter around her knees again, and she found it infuriatingly impossible to ignore the simultaneously fresh, warm, and woody scent that wafted past her nose.
She shook her head, returning her attention to the shop. Inside, Borgin remained frozen; his unctuous smile had vanished; he looked worried.
"What was that about?" whispered Ron, reeling in the Extendable Ears.
"Dunno," said Harry. "He wants something mended... and he wants to reserve something in there... Could you see what he pointed at when he said 'that one'?"
"No, he was behind that cabinet—"
"You two stay here," Hermione interrupted, a haphazard plan taking shape in the midst of her racing thoughts.
"What are you—?"
But Hermione had already ducked out from under the cloak. She checked her hair in the reflection in the glass, then marched into the shop, setting the bell tinkling again. She knew her plan was hasty, half-baked, but she had to act fast.
Hermione did not greet Borgin, but out of the corner of her eye she saw him cast her a suspicious look. She strolled through the jumble of objects on display, hoping to portray as casual an air as possible.
"Is this necklace for sale?" she asked, pausing beside a glass-fronted case inside which was an ornate opal necklace.
She glanced at the label; 'Cursed,' it read.
"If you've got one and a half thousand Galleons," said Mr. Borgin coldly.
"Oh — er— no, I haven't got quite that much," said Hermione, walking on. "And... what about this lovely— um— skull?"
"Sixteen Galleons."
"So it's for sale, then? It isn't being... kept for anyone?"
Mr. Borgin squinted at her, and Hermione had the nasty feeling he knew exactly what she was up to. She suddenly threw caution to the wind.
"The thing is, that— er— boy who was in here just now, Draco Malfoy, well, he's a friend of mine, and I want to get him a birthday present, but if he's already reserved anything, I obviously don't want to get him the same thing, so... um..."
It was a pretty lame story in her own opinion, but the words just tumbled from her lips. She saw Borgin open his mouth, and prepared herself to be thrown out, but he was interrupted as the bell above the door again sounded and someone entered the shop.
She glanced toward the door and froze, her breath catching in her throat. It was Malfoy.
"Borgin, I forgot—" Draco started, stopping abruptly as he spotted her.
With a sickening jolt, she saw amusement, and a clear knowingness in Malfoy's gray eyes; it was clear he knew she'd followed him. His face was not nearly as unreadable as his mother's, but it was equally as composed. Hermione's heart raced as her mind frantically considered escape plans. She felt her cheeks warm.
"Well, well… what do we have here? Borgin, do I have to consider taking my business elsewhere? I thought you served a much more— refined— clientele."
"Malfoy— sir— I…" Borgin stuttered, fear returning to his eyes at Draco's presence and the threatening tone in his voice.
"This— girl, er— lady…" Borgin stuttered, his eyes darting between herself and Malfoy, obviously unsure of their level of acquaintance. It was clear Borgin did not wish to incense Malfoy further by a slip of the tongue. "I was about to show her out, she was asking a lot of questions. Said she knows you. Is it true?"
"I can't say I'm surprised she resorted to name-dropping," Malfoy sneered. "But yes, it's true we are acquainted— rather unfortunately."
Draco shot a glare in Hermione's direction, which she returned in kind.
"I'm done browsing… I'll just be going—" Hermione tried to make her voice confident as she quickly moved toward the exit, simultaneously reaching for her wand, but Malfoy extended his arm, blocking her path; he used his strength to hook his arm around her waist, pinning her arm to her side in the process leaving her unable to reach for her wand.
He edged them both closer to a glass display case, Borgin frowning on the other side.
"And what, may I ask, was she so interested in purchasing?" Malfoy inquired, scanning the display case.
Hermione recognized the deepening threat in his voice. Her mind raced again with jumbled fragments of escape plans, none making themselves whole.
Borgin looked from Hermione to Malfoy with a mixture of surprise, confusion, and impatience. "Said she was interested in purchasing a birthday gift for you."
A devilish lopsided grin spread across Malfoy's face, the one that had always made her feel wholly incensed… and uncomfortable.
"Oh, did she? I see Weasley's boundless wit is rubbing off on you, Granger— suppose it was only a matter of time. Where are they, anyway, the daft gits… they must be close— making you do their dirty work— how typical."
Hermione remained silent, unable to tear her mind away from the sensation of Malfoy's arm around her waist, from the feeling of his side pressed firmly against her. He'd grown so much over the past year that she had to tilt her head back to meet his eyes.
She attempted to muster her fiercest glare, but he remained unfazed, amused at best.
"I'm touched, Granger, so thoughtful… but my birthday has already passed… and if I'm not mistaken, it's your birthday soon. A few weeks away, isn't it?" His tone dripped with sarcasm.
Hermione's mind didn't have the space to wonder how he knew that to be true. She bit her bottom lip and looked toward the window, picturing Harry and Ron outside the shop under the Cloak, listening closely. She wondered how far they'd let this go before intervening. Silently, she begged them to remain outside, hidden. It wouldn't do for Harry to be seen.
And I can handle Malfoy.
"See anything you like?" Malfoy asked rhetorically as he gestured to the glass display case. "A skull won't do for a birthday, no… and certainly not a dagger… although, on second thought, a gift so savage rather suits your true character, no?"
"Malfoy—" she growled, but she saw he remained unaffected. His smirk only grew, and his light gray eyes brightened. She could hear her heart pounding in her ears.
He's enjoying this. Hermione knew anything she said in protest would only serve to prolong the ordeal.
"I know you're not typically one for the finer things in life— Potter and Weasley are evidence enough of that…" he said as he edged along the length of the case, nudging her along with him, "…but why not some jewelry? Hm? You are coming of age after all…"
The phrase, coming from his lips, made her feel as though she may faint… or murder him on the spot. The latter of the two had undeniable appeal, but she knew neither option would be particularly helpful at the moment.
Malfoy continued inspecting the items inside the case; gold, diamond, silver, stone— all glittering, all reflected in the shine of his eyes. Hermione swallowed.
"That necklace," Draco pointed decisively to a glinting delicate necklace inside the case. "It's platinum?"
"The finest— Goblin-made, but… sir, the cost—" his eyes flashed to Hermione briefly, clearly considering she was unfit to wear something so valuable. "Surely, this wizard-made gold bracelet—"
"You think I care what it costs?"
Hermione couldn't help but notice the platinum band gleaming on the ring finger of his right hand.
"That one," Draco said decisively, pointing again to the necklace.
Borgin hastily obliged this time, and handed the necklace to Malfoy who inspected it closely in the palm of his hand. Hermione took his moment of distraction to test her weight against his arm, motioning for the door, but his hold on her did not yield.
"What? You don't like it, Granger? I'm hurt."
Hermione was startled by the feel of his hands suddenly on her waist, his hold firm, as he positioned himself behind her. Her hands came to rest on the edge of the glass case to steady herself.
"Don't touch me," she said, intending to sound threatening, but noted her voice sounded rather weak.
"Move your hair," he commanded as if he had not heard her protest, his voice quiet, but icy.
Reluctantly, wanting nothing more than to bolt out of the shop, she brushed her hair to one shoulder. As Malfoy placed the necklace around her neck, two small joined rings, connected on either side by a thin platinum chain, glimmered before her eyes as it came to rest on her rapidly rising and falling chest, just below her collarbone. She felt Malfoy's warm breath and light touch on the exposed skin of her neck as he clasped the necklace behind her.
An unwelcome shiver ran down her spine. She felt again as though she might pass out… or murder him.
Her hands now free, she reached for her wand a second time, hoping to catch Malfoy off-guard… but she discovered her wand was gone.
"Looking for this?"
She hastily turned and found him lacing her wand through his fingertips.
"Will that be all, Mister Malfoy?"
Malfoy scowled, as if he had just remembered they were not alone in the shop.
"Yes. Put it on my account."
He gripped Hermione's upper arm in his hand and practically dragged her toward the door. She tried to pull away to no avail. She felt the tip of a wand pressed against her back.
"Oh, and Borgin— remember, not a word to my mother—"
The moment they were outside the shop, back into the summer air, Malfoy poised her own wand at her chest, and, with his other hand, pointed his wand in the direction of Harry and Ron, who had revealed themselves the moment the door to Borgin's had slammed shut.
"Let her go, Malfoy," Harry demanded. Hermione could hear him breathing heavily. Ron's face was red and furious.
"Gladly."
To her surprise, Malfoy released her arm as if it had burned him, or as if she were dirty. She imagined he probably thought so. Despite her anger, she found she couldn't speak; she was reeling.
No one lowered their wands. Hermione saw something she could not quite place flash across Malfoy's expression; there was anger… definitely annoyance and pride… but there was more— Envy? Maybe. Fear? She wondered.
It can't be, Hermione tried to rationalize, knowing he'd had the upper hand throughout the entire exchange. But still… there was something. Hermione couldn't help but note Malfoy refrained from engaging in a confrontation, and he certainly wasn't running his mouth, as was his custom.
It was suddenly clear to Hermione that something beyond Malfoy's appearance had also changed this summer.
"You don't know what— who— you're meddling with," Malfoy said coldly, as if to Hermione only.
"Oh, really? Then enlighten me. Who am I meddling with, Malfoy?" Her voice was quiet, but firm.
He smirked.
"Is that a threat, Malfoy?" Ron seethed.
Malfoy rolled his eyes. "No, Weasel, it's a proclamation of undying love— your stupidity truly knows no bounds, does it?"
"Give Hermione her wand," Harry interrupted. To Hermione, Harry and Ron's voices suddenly seemed unfamiliar and so very far away.
There was silence for a moment, and Malfoy's gaze met hers. Hermione watched in shock as he lowered her wand.
Her eyes flickered to his forearm, where the cuff of his sleeve had risen to reveal the smooth paleness of his wrist.
If only his sleeve was just a little higher… His gaze followed hers and he quickly shifted, knowingly obscuring her view of his wrist.
"What would I want with a Mudblood's useless twig anyway?" Hermione watched her wand clatter to the ground as Draco shifted his focus back to Harry and Ron. She stood resolute.
Malfoy straightened, as if resolving himself to something. He lowered his own wand.
"I'm loathe to admit it, but Granger was right in Madam Malkin's— why should I waste my time?"
He glared at Harry and Ron before shifting his gaze back to Hermione again. "Next time, you won't find me so… forgiving."
With that, Malfoy turned on his heel and disappeared down the alleyway, leaving her with nothing more than the sensations of the cool platinum around her neck— as light as the touch of his fingertips had been— and the ghost of his arm around her.
/
A/N: A good portion of this chapter is directly from HBP. I hope liked my Dramione spin on it :) Thank you for reading and reviewing!