/
Hermione tried to ignore the knowing— and frustratingly condescending— gleam in Malfoy's gray eyes, and the satisfied, lopsided smirk gracing his lips, but she was failing miserably, despite their distance, as they occupied opposite corners of the Prefects' compartment.
Hermione sat resolute, her back stiff, arms crossed tightly against her chest. Draco, on the other hand, looked as though he were on vacation, enjoying a sunny veranda somewhere, reclined in relaxation, his legs spread long.
Pompous git, Hermione seethed inwardly, barely registering the voices of the Prefects and Head Boy and Girl as they reviewed the extensive list of banned items, which was really just Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes' complete inventory list.
It seemed Malfoy also wasn't listening, more interested in inspecting his platinum ring, which he now, rather purposefully, rolled between his fingertips.
Is he taunting me?
Hermione clenched her fists in anger, and felt her nails digging into her palms. She stared at him, wishing nonverbal spells had been part of their fifth-year curriculum. She had quite a few choice spells in mind, just now.
Neither Hermione nor Draco noticed Ron and Pansy Parkinson's scrutiny, respectively. Ron observed Hermione with tentative caution; Pansy's gaze, in sheer adoration, never moved from Draco— she rather looked like she wished she were the ring Draco seemed so intent on showing off.
"Hermione— are you ready to lead the first year Gryffindors this year?"
I'm going to murder him— no, first I'm going to get him to remove the stupid necklace, and then—
"Hermione?"
Draco looked up from his ring, and gray eyes met brown. Hermione looked away quickly. She felt Ron nudging her ribs.
"What?" She whispered furtively to Ron.
Owen Oxley, Head Boy, sighed impatiently.
"Er— yes— she's ready to lead the first years. Right Hermione? I'll help too," Ron answered, glancing worriedly between Owen, Hermione, and Malfoy.
"Perfect," Owen announced, referring back to his list, and checking an item off said parchment with an exaggerated flourish. "Don't forget to check with McGonagall for the password this week. Next—"
"Are we about done here? Some of us have things to do before we get to Hogsmeade," Draco announced.
Owen scowled, clearly perturbed that his Prefects were not taking the meeting as seriously as he'd hoped. Orla Quirke, Head Girl, noted his consternation and rolled her eyes.
"This is going to be a long year," she muttered to herself, dropping her forehead into her palm.
Unperturbed, Owen opened his mouth, most likely to reprimand Malfoy, but Ron beat him to it. The exchange went unnoticed by the other Prefects, who had taken Malfoy's interruption as an out, and who were now gathering their things to leave the compartment.
"Don't want to keep Crabbe and Goyle waiting too long, do you Malfoy? Afraid they might forget they're on a train and decide to take a little walk outside?"
"What a stroke of brilliance Weasley! Why don't you go ahead and lead the way for them?"
Hermione sat, immobile. As Malfoy rose from his seat, she thought she could feel the searing heat of the necklace's burn on the skin of her collarbone.
"Wait— Draco— where are you going?" Pansy trailed after him hopefully.
Without looking at her, Draco unceremoniously tossed an unrolled bit of parchment in Pansy's direction. She scrambled to catch it.
Pathetic. Hermione almost felt pity for the girl who featured in some of her most unpleasant interactions with other Hogwarts' students. Almost.
How Parkinson had been made a prefect, Hermione felt she'd never understand; the girl's marks were hardly more than average, and she seemed to think herself above the rules.
She certainly loves implementing her own rules, Hermione scoffed inwardly, and taking any chance she can get to abuse her power.
"Slughorn's compartment. Invite only," Malfoy explained.
Hermione recognized the name immediately— the new Defense professor Harry had visited with Dumbledore. She wondered what the wizard wanted with Malfoy, but then she remembered what Harry had said, '"Dumbledore said he'll try to collect students with skill, useful connections, and influence."'
To her own irritation, she couldn't deny Malfoy certainly fit the bill.
"Don't forget—" Owen pleaded as the prefects filed out, paying him no mind whatsoever. "Filch will need us to help move students along as he scans for dark objects!"
Hermione's fingertips found her necklace, and Malfoy smirked in satisfaction at the action. At the sight of his response, she could contain herself no longer.
"If I have to endure more than one second of Filch breathing down my neck because of this—" she pulled the necklace from her collar for Malfoy to see, "—I'll—"
She saw with grim satisfaction that Parkinson looked on in awe.
"Oh, Hermione— that's a beautiful necklace!" Hannah Abbott announced kindly from the other side of the compartment, "Ron, did you get that for her?"
Ron sputtered, his cheeks suddenly as red as his hair. Draco bent over with laughter.
Scowling, Hermione couldn't help but notice how Malfoy's genuine smile only seemed to somehow improve his already striking features, even though it was at her expense, and hastily exited the compartment, suddenly overwhelmed by an eagerness to be rid of them all. Ron scrambled after her.
"Draco— what was the mudblood talking about!?"
She heard Pansy shriek at Malfoy from three compartments down the corridor, and Hermione grinned to herself in satisfaction, thinking she'd rather deal with Malfoy's cursed necklace for a lifetime than share a train compartment with Pansy Parkinson for a moment longer.
Lucky Malfoy.
/
Hermione and Ron spent the rest of their journey to Hogwarts sharing a compartment with Luna, but the train was rapidly emptying now, and Hermione could not find Harry. She'd urged Ron to take the lead with their prefect duties, explaining she would search for Harry and catch up; but her plan was rapidly falling to pieces. She couldn't find him anywhere.
She and Ron hadn't seen Harry since they all first boarded the train together, but when they found Luna after their Prefect's meeting, she explained that he and Neville had been invited to Slughorn's compartment.
"Shocker," Ron had shrugged, plopping comfortably next to Luna. The Ravenclaw smiled in his direction. "Although, what's Slughorn want with Neville?"
Hermione frowned at Ron's lack of perspective, "Ron, you know Neville's parents were well-respected, and pureblood, Aurors—"
"I wonder why Slughorn didn't invite me?" Luna questioned airily.
Hermione bit her lip in silence, but Ron's smile broadened as he pat Luna on the shoulder.
"Y'know, I was wondering the same thing, Luna. His loss."
Hermione's robes flourished behind her as she whipped from empty compartment to empty compartment; no Harry, only empty chocolate frog wrappings, forgotten textbooks, rogue ties— the vestiges of the students that had only just occupied the train.
As she emerged from yet another empty compartment, she heard a whirring noise, as if all the curtains in a compartment had been drawn at once. She gripped her wand, poised and ready.
She heard a door slide open not far from where she stood, and she chanced a glance into the corridor only to find Malfoy's blond head emerge not more than three compartments down, looking decidedly satisfied.
"Expelliarmus!" Hermione shouted without delay, easily catching Malfoy's wand in her palm.
She couldn't recall if she'd ever disarmed him before; his wand was dark, smooth, and heavier than her own. She felt a cool tingle in her fingertips, as if Draco's own magic was leaking out, into her.
Draco jumped, the force of Hermione's spell knocking him into the now-closed compartment door.
Seeing his typically flawless hair now askew, she smirked in satisfaction.
"Granger," he growled. "Shouldn't you be torturing some first years right about now? Don't want to be late for your date with Filch, do you?"
She wouldn't play his game this time. No, I have his wand now.
"Where is he?" She said coldly.
"How should I know? You seem to be the one obsessed with the caretaker. Thought you always looked a bit jealous of Mrs. Norris."
Hermione marched forward, both wands poised at Malfoy's chest, pinning him against the compartment door.
The top of Hermione's head just barely came up just to his chin, and her now-familiar delicately floral yet warm scent, like cardamom, filled his nostrils, but he would've been a fool not to feel at least a little intimidated. He remembered what Theo had said about Rita Skeeter, trapped in a jar.
Maybe that wouldn't be so bad, a voice in Draco's mind whispered, then everyone might think I'm dead.
"Why is it always so much talking with you, Malfoy?" Hermione asked rhetorically, her voice sharp. "One of these days it's going to put you in a position you'd rather not be in. Although…," her gaze travelled purposefully to his left forearm, where she suspected his Mark was hidden beneath his sleeve, "I'm not sure there's any position worse than the one you're already in."
With satisfaction, she watched his eyes widen slightly. Although she still had no concrete proof, it was enough for her to assume that she was right— Malfoy was a Death Eater.
She knows, Draco thought, surprised at her intuition.
"You know I meant Harry, not Filch. Where — is — he?"
So what if Granger knows? Another voice in his mind answered. No one would believe her anyway.
Even if they did believe her, Malfoy figured she was right; it wasn't any worse than the position he was already in, nor worse than the task he'd already been given.
"I don't know. Up at the castle? Kissing Dumbledore's feet?"
He felt the tip of her wand, and his own, press against his chest more firmly.
"What did you do to Harry—"
"You didn't ask me that, Granger— I'll gladly tell you what I did to him," Draco interrupted, his anger rising. Why does she care so much about him anyway?
"Let me tell you exactly what I did— I gave that speckled git exactly what he deserved."
"And let me tell you what's going to happen now. You're going to move aside to let me in that compartment, and then you're going to take this bloody necklace off of me."
She could feel the necklace pressed against her throat, suddenly as heavy and cold as Draco's wand felt in her hand.
"Language, Granger… and no, I don't think I will. I rather like Potter, and that necklace, right where they are."
Hermione's ears were ringing, the restraint she'd shown in Malkin's and Borgin's long gone. She briefly considered perhaps her patience had disappeared with the culmination of a summer's worth of sleepless nights. Without a second thought, she pressed the tip of Malfoy's own wand into his forearm.
He groaned at the blistering pain, again falling back into the solid surface of closed compartment door, bright pops of light blooming in his field of vision.
What had Theo called her? Draco wondered, his agony making him a little delirious. A sadist, his mind answered.
Why is that prat always right?
Draco braced himself, willing himself not to pass out. As the bright lights faded, Hermione's golden brown eyes swam into his view, wide but fierce, yet Draco saw fear there too— perhaps of her own actions. Or was it fear for him?
Doubtful, Draco thought.
In the places where his rage would've once surged, telling him to fight back, Draco felt only emptiness, distance, as if dementors were near.
What's the point? He wondered, the searing pain in his arm now returning to a dull throb as Hermione eased the pressure. Draco saw that his battles were no longer with her… there were much bigger things at play. He reasoned that because she was a mudblood— and Potter's best friend— she was marked for dead. Draco considered he at least had been given a chance, however small, to live— there was no hope for Potter and certainly not for people like Granger in Voldemort's war.
Any shed of gratification Hermione might have felt at her action disappeared as she witnessed Malfoy's lack of action— and the pain, more than physical, in his expression.
He deserves it, she tried to rationalize, but as she watched the usual brightness drain from Malfoy's eyes, his typically light gray eyes now darkened, another part of her felt as though she was being quite the hypocrite.
He deserves it, her mind whispered again, more feebly this time.
"Malfoy—"
"Don't move, mudblood."
Draco and Hermione diverted their gaze in unison to find Theo Nott had entered the corridor, his hazel eyes narrowed, wand at the ready.
Draco nodded discretely to Theo in silent gratitude.
"Don't move, or I'll hex you," Theo commanded with quiet fury.
"No one will be hexing anyone," a voice Hermione recognized sounded from the opposite end of the corridor. "At least none of you anyway. Drop your wands, both of you."
/
A/N: Some Draco/Hermione angst for you :) Thanks for reading and reviewing!