Chapter 3: Birthday Surprises

Hermione's parents dropped her off outside the Leaky Cauldron the last week of the holidays, and as she stood and contemplated its shabby exterior and the nearly empty street leading off into Muggle London, she'd never felt more grown in her life. If she'd thought about it beforehand, she might have assumed she'd feel nervous, even terrified; after all, she'd never been out of her parents' sight for longer than a day (unless you counted school, where she was even more closely supervised). However, an involuntary grin came to her face as she watched a few harassed-looking businessmen in ill-fitting suits pass by, barking orders into mobile phones before disappearing into a taxi down the road. For the next week, she could do whatever she liked and no one would ask her any questions or remind her, as if she'd ever forget, to apply sunblock before going outside.

She'd no sooner stepped into the dim, musty inn than a shout and a sudden flurry of movement startled her.

"Hermione!" Ginny pelted toward her, grinning from ear to ear. "C'mon, I've got to show you-"

"Ouch!" cried Hermione, though she couldn't help grinning as Ginny seized her by the elbow and dragged her unceremoniously up the narrow, creaky stairs, trembling with barely suppressed excitement.

"C'mon, put your things away and let's go," said Ginny impatiently, and Hermione laughed incredulously.

"What on earth's got into you?" she asked, though she complied and allowed herself to be dragged immediately back out of the small, rather shabby room and down the stairs so quickly she wasn't quite sure how she managed it without tripping.

"I've waited ages to see you, for one thing," said Ginny, as though this were perfectly obvious. They had paused in the narrow alleyway behind the Leaky Cauldron, and Ginny pulled out her wand and tapped the third brick from the left above the rubbish bins. Hermione watched, filled as always with warmth and mild awe as the solid brick wall gave way to reveal the archway into Diagon Alley. "Now c'mon, I promise you'll see in a moment."

Together they stepped through the archway onto the sun-bathed cobblestones. Hermione stopped for a moment to breathe in the sweet-smelling air and admire the lively, bustling scene before her, but still, Ginny was having none of it.

"Come on," she insisted.

"For heaven's sake, Ginny, what's-"

"There you are," interrupted Theo's voice impatiently as they came to a stop in front of Quality Quidditch Supplies. "You've been ages, and he's gone-" noticing Hermione, he broke off and gave her a grin, which she returned. He'd grown a bit over the summer, and Olive the black cat perched regally on his shoulder. "You might've said, instead of just running off," he reprimanded Ginny. "Hey, Hermione." Ginny shrugged, and Hermione laughed.

"Hi, Theo."

"Is Ginny back yet?" said another voice, and Hermione's heart leapt into her throat. "I asked for the price, but she's not going to like-" Draco stepped out of the shop and he, too, broke off as he saw Hermione. "Hi," he said quietly. Like Theo he was a bit taller, and his hair had grown around a inch and sat in an effortless sort of mess that made her long to run her fingers through it. She'd either forgotten or never properly appreciated the sharpness of his cheekbones. He looked beautiful, the light tinge of pink in his cheeks as he gazed shyly at her awakened something deep inside her that she couldn't name, and suddenly she couldn't remember feeling angrier in her life. Without thinking she took a swift step forward and smacked him square across the face.

"'Hi'?! Are you serious?" Draco stumbled back in alarm, clutching his cheek where she'd hit him. She was vaguely aware of Theo and Ginny muttering to one another behind her, but she couldn't pay them any mind.

"You hit me," said Draco wonderingly, and the way he was looking at her burst the bubble of anger inside her and replaced it with confusion. He didn't look hurt or angry-rather, fascinated, perhaps a bit scared, and a glimmer of something she didn't have a name for.

"Yes, and if you ever disappear for two months again, that's not all I'll do," she snapped, even as she wrestled furiously with the smile fighting its way onto her face. To her immense chagrin, Draco noticed this and raised an eyebrow.

"Then why are you smiling?" he asked softly, and something about the tone of his voice sent a shiver down her spine. She shook it off firmly, sighed, and hugged him.

"Are you okay?" she whispered, so only he could hear. He clung to her for a few seconds, then gave a barely perceptible nod as he released her.

"This is boring," Ginny announced from behind. "Draco, did you say you'd asked them the price?" Draco winced.

"Yes, but you'd rather not know, believe me."

"I don't, though," countered Ginny.

"The price of what?" Hermione asked Theo. He sighed slightly and gestured wordlessly toward the window of the shop. Hermione looked, and spotted, for the first time, an extremely glossy but otherwise ordinary-looking broomstick hovering above a thick swath of deep red velvet.

"The Firebolt," said Ginny reverently, gazing up at the broomstick. "How much, Draco?"

"I'm not saying."

"Come on, how much?!" Draco sighed as though Ginny was causing him enormous pain.

"Two thousand five hundred galleons," he said quietly. Hermione choked. Theo laughed humorlessly.

"Shut up!" exclaimed Ginny, and she smacked Draco, rather hard, in the shoulder. "Why would you tell me that?!"

"Because you begged to know!" cried Draco, massaging his shoulder and looking at Ginny as though she'd murdered his mother. "And I wouldn't have told you if I'd known you were completely deranged-"

"Never mind," sighed Ginny, and she threw her arms around Draco and Theo's shoulders.

"Watch it!" cried Theo, but Olive remained haughtily undisturbed. Draco started to recoil, but seemed to think better of it. Instead, he beckoned Hermione into their line, and she relished the warmth of his arm around her shoulders and tried to ignore the way her heart fluttered at twice its normal speed against her ribs.

"We should probably get our books," said Ginny as they set off down the street, ignoring the few dirty looks from middle-aged witches and wizards forced to careen out of their way on the sidewalk.

Flourish and Blotts was plagued by chaos as they'd never seen it before, and the moment they entered they could only stand and stare. A large wrought-iron cage in the center of the shop held hundreds of copies of the most peculiar book Hermione had ever seen. They were deep, forest green and scuttled all around the cage like crabs, snarling ferociously and biting anything within their reach with what looked to Hermione like very sharp teeth. As she watched, two copies seized a third and tore it brutally in half, ripping its spine and growling all the while. A small golden plaque on the front of the cage read The Monster Book of Monsters, and with a jolt, Hermione recognized the title from their booklist. She turned to Draco and Theo, who seemed to be sharing her unwelcome realization. Quite suddenly, a harassed-looking shopkeeper marched up to them, a desperate, vaguely mad look in his eyes.

"Hogwarts?" he said abruptly. Utterly blindsided, they could only nod. "Right," said the man, and as his eyes flitted from one of their faces to the next, he visibly wilted. "So you'll be needing...four...then." There was a pause, and then, so suddenly that Hermione jumped, he let out an anguished howl. "No!" he cried. "No, I won't-Harold, that's it! I've had it! Absolutely had it! First the bloody Invisible Book of Invisibility and now this?! I quit!" And with that, he shoved Draco and Theo aside and stormed out of the shop, slamming the door violently behind him. There was a very long, ringing silence. Hermione kept her eyes trained very carefully on the bookshelf in front of her; she didn't trust herself to look at Draco, for she could tell that he was struggling very hard not to laugh.

"Er-I don't need one," said Ginny quietly, as a man Hermione assumed was Harold dragged himself from the back of the shop like an old, wizened soldier returning to battle. At this, Draco did laugh, and Hermione thought this was probably responsible for Harold pushing them so brusquely out of the shop the moment they'd paid for all their books.

"Poor Harold," said Ginny, though she was doing a very poor job hiding her grin and didn't sound sincere at all.

"Poor us," Draco countered. "Wonder who the hell's assigned this thing?" He was holding the tight bag containing the biting book at arm's length, looking vaguely revolted as it snapped and snarled. Hermione had a hunch, but she knew nothing good could come from sharing it.

"Right, I'd better go home," said Theo, who was having a very hard time keeping Olive away from the book. Every time he switched the bag to his other hand she scurried down his shoulder, batting frantically at it.

"Let me come with you," said Ginny excitedly. Theo frowned, but Ginny snatched the struggling cat from him and cradled her, stroking her head with her free hand until she purred.

"Oh, all right," Theo decided. "But don't tell your Mum, she's terrifying."

"Yes!" exclaimed Ginny. "I've always wanted to see Muggle London!"

"Be careful!" Hermione called after them, but Ginny simply gave her a dismissive wave and stuck out her tongue in answer. Draco laughed.

"Where would you like to go next, then?" he asked, as Ginny and Theo disappeared around the bend. Hermione thought for a moment. The birthday money her parents had given her was burning a hole in her pocket, and she would have a whole week to buy the rest of her school supplies.

"I really want an owl," she decided. Draco looked slightly surprised, but shrugged.

"All right," he agreed, and they set off once again down the street.

"Are you really okay?" she asked, after a moment. "I mean, I've been so worried, I-" she broke off, unsure how to finish her sentence. Draco stared off into the distance for nearly half a minute.

"I'm sorry," he said quietly. "I-I really wasn't, I just…" he trailed off, and Hermione recognized the way he'd looked last Christmas on the train, telling her about his father's barbaric underage magic lessons. Unease crept up her spine and into her throat. She gently guided him off the sidewalk and up onto the steps leading to Gringotts Bank, where they found a place out of the way of foot traffic and sat.

"Draco, what is it?" she asked, taking care to keep her voice low. "Please tell me." He was quiet for a long time, but Hermione didn't prompt him.

"It was my father," he said finally. He didn't look at her, and spoke so quietly she could scarcely hear. "It was his diary. He planted it in Ginny's things last year, he nearly killed her, and...and he nearly killed you, as well." Hermione felt her heart shatter in her chest. She hadn't understood his reluctance to talk about what he'd done in the Chamber or the cloud of melancholy around him despite the joyous atmosphere in the castle, but now they made perfect sense. How horrible it must have been, she thought, to learn that his own father was responsible for the attacks on the school. And given what she knew of Draco's parents, she doubted his summer had been any kind of picnic once they'd caught wind of his involvement in Riddle's demise. As gently as she could manage, she took his cheek in her hand and guided his face up to look at her.

"That must have felt awful," she said softly. "I'm really sorry, Draco." He frowned and lightly prodded his face where she'd touched him, as if expecting it to burn him.

"You're not-I mean, you don't think I...helped?" he asked.

"Of course not," she said at once. "I do wish I'd known, though. I wouldn't have gone on all summer about what a wonderful time I was having on holiday." Draco laughed.

"I loved reading about your holidays," he said softly, and the way he held her gaze made her heart stop. She couldn't have said how long he looked at her before a grin lit his face and he ran an absentminded hand through his hair, mussing it further.

"C'mon," he said, standing and dragging her up by the hand. "Let's get your owl."

When they reached the Magical Menagerie, however, Hermione forgot all about owls. The large, ginger cat she'd seen nearly a year ago still lounged in the window, this time accompanied by a trio of sleek, black rats huddled in the opposite corner of the display. She ran to the window at once, and Draco, sensing exactly what was about to happen, groaned faintly.

"Hermione, no, remember, you wanted an owl," he said weakly.

"I can't leave him here, Draco, it's been a year," Hermione countered as they stepped into the shop.

"Owls are useful," Draco reminded her. Hermione snorted.

"You're afraid of them." Draco looked shocked.

"I'm not afraid-" he broke off, knowing his indignance had given him away. "Er-how'd you…" Quite amused, but having the sense not to show it, Hermione simply shrugged.

"Because you flinch at the breakfast table any time anyone near you gets any mail," she told him. "Don't worry, though, I don't think anyone else has ever noticed."

It took nearly a half-hour of reasoning with the middle-aged witch behind the counter, but when they walked back out into the sunshine, Hermione was cradling the ginger cat-Crookshanks, he was called-and, though Draco claimed to find her choice ridiculous, he couldn't resist reaching up to scratch the cat behind the ears.

They spent the rest of the afternoon outside enjoying the sunshine. Draco seemed much happier after he'd told her about the diary, and when he said goodbye, it was with the promise to come back and see her later in the week. Ginny re-appeared just in time for dinner, with a wink at Hermione and a story for her parents about losing track of time admiring high-end broomsticks in Quality Quidditch Supplies. Draco was driven entirely from her thoughts by a very pleasant evening with the Weasleys and Harry, third helpings of every delicious course at the dinner table, and much fussing from Mrs. Weasley to get them all into their rooms at bedtime. It wasn't until much later, as she lay in bed staring up at the ceiling and listening to the drone of the city beyond the windowpanes, that his face floated back into her mind.

I loved reading about your holidays. That look in his eyes-she didn't have a name for it, but even hours later, it made her feel weak.

You should've kissed him, whispered a voice in her head. Alone in the dark, she felt her face flush.

He's my best friend.

Don't lie. It's all you can think about.

It is not.

It will be… taunted the voice. And, indeed, it was a very long time before she managed to fall asleep.

"What's your birthday?" They were snugly ensconced in the Hogwarts Express, even as rain pelted the windows outside with increasing violence the further North they traveled.

Pansy was engrossed in a magazine and scarcely looked up to ask her question. Daphne frowned at her.

"You know my birthday." Pansy rolled her eyes slightly.

"Yes, but tell everyone anyway," she said stiffly. Daphne raised an eyebrow.

"The eighteenth of March," she said lazily, and blew a large bubble with her gum. Pansy nodded and turned back to her magazine and read for a moment, brows knitting together seriously.

"You should avoid confrontation on Mondays this month," she said at length. "But if you're planning to talk to your crush, Thursdays are the best days to do it. Oh, and you'll want to watch out for blond men." At once, raucous laughter broke out in the compartment as Blaise, Theo, and Daphne all turned to look at Draco.

"Draco, if you're planning to hurt me this month, you'll be a dear and let me know, won't you?" asked Daphne, giggling and wiping tears from the corners of her eyes. Draco snatched the magazine from Pansy's grasp, ignoring her yelp of protest. His grin grew wider as he skimmed the star chart.

"Not with Mars in retrograde and Jupiter in your eleventh house, I won't," he said seriously.

"I'll protect you, Daphne, not to worry," said Blaise valiantly, and Pansy rolled her eyes.

"Don't be gits," she snapped. Daphne grabbed the magazine out of Draco's hands and read.

"What's your birthday?" she asked Theo, looking up after a moment. He gave her a mischievous half-smile.

"The twenty-ninth of February." Blaise snorted.

"Right, and mine's the forty-sixth of June." There was a pause. Draco shared an incredulous look with Daphne, and Pansy stopped frowning long enough to raise her eyebrows at Theo.

"You do realize the twenty-ninth of February is a real day, don't you?" asked Daphne. Blaise looked at her as though she'd announced she had it on good authority that dwarves would be taking over the Ministry the following Thursday.

"No it isn't," he said at once.

"Yes it is," countered Draco, who couldn't believe how lovely this day was turning out to be.

"No, it's not," Blaise insisted. He rounded on Theo, desperation creeping into his eyes. "Tell them you made it up." Theo looked as though Christmas had come early.

"I didn't," he snickered. Blaise looked furious.

"Right, if there's an extra day in the year like you're all saying," he began hotly, "then what day do you lot think it is today?" Pansy seemed to be trying very hard not to laugh.

"It's the first of September," she said slowly. "But Blaise, the twenty-ninth of February doesn't exist this year, it's only once every four years, and-" she broke off and paused for a moment. "Has no one ever explained leap years to you?" Blaise frowned at her, and shook his head.

"No," he said resentfully.

"Thanks for your honesty," Pansy choked, losing her battle with laughter.

"Right, would one of you explain what the hell she's talking about?" Blaise demanded.

"Every four years, February has twenty-nine days," Draco explained. "That's it, it's not that complicated."

"You're winding me up."

"If we were, don't you think we'd pick something a bit more interesting to tell you?" Theo asked. Blaise frowned mistrustfully at him.

"And everyone agrees on this?" he asked. "Everyone in the world?"

"Yes," said Daphne. Blaise nodded, thought for a moment, then turned back to Theo. For the first time, he looked mildly pleased.

"And you were born on one of these...extra days?"

"Yes." Blaise grinned.

"So-so you've had, what? Three birthdays?" Theo groaned.

"Oh, for fuck's sake." Blaise opened his mouth, then shut it nearly at once, seemingly torn between what he clearly considered two brilliant jokes on this subject. Nobody heard them, however, for at that moment the train gave a great lurch and slowed to a halt, the sky outside suddenly darkening as though someone had pulled a giant curtain over the train. Out in the corridor, lamps flickered to life.

"What the hell's going on?" asked Pansy, craning her neck to see out the window. Draco glanced at his watch.

"We can't be there yet…" unease crept into the pit of his stomach, and Daphne, who was nearest the door, stood and poked her head out into the corridor. She turned back and opened her mouth to speak, but all at once the lamps went out, plunging them into a complete darkness that shouldn't have been possible at four in the afternoon. A few frantic footsteps came from somewhere to Draco's left, then a soft thud.

"Ow!" snapped Theo's voice.

"Sorry," moaned Daphne.

"Shut up," said Blaise tensely. "I can hear something." They did, and Draco realized Blaise was right. There was a curious low murmur coming from the corridor. It didn't sound like voices, or anything he'd ever heard before, for that matter, and it chilled him to the bone. Suddenly the air in the compartment cooled, then froze. Draco shivered. He could hear someone's teeth chattering behind him, and the air kept growing colder and colder, and then the compartment door rattled open. Pansy seized his arm, her fingernails digging into his flesh, but he scarcely felt them. Someone screamed, a thin, pathetic sound swallowed at once by the cold. He turned his gaze toward the door, and felt the breath leave his body as his lungs contracted and his heart shriveled in his chest. Lit by a curious, vaguely otherworldly light from somewhere behind was an enormous cloaked figure, its face completely hidden by a black hood. A hand protruded from the cloak, but not a human hand. It was glistening, grayish, slimy-looking and scabbed, like something dead and decayed in water. Draco wanted, with everything in him, to scream, but the cold was so heavy now that it filled his chest like lead and stopped him drawing breath. Suddenly, a pair of eyes appeared in front of his own, glowing out of the darkness, clearer than his friends' silhouettes, clearer even than that horrible rotting hand. They were large, shockingly blue, unblinking, and filled with such desperation that Draco felt as though he'd been punched in the gut. He tried to look away, but they followed him wherever he moved his head, and with a horrible shock, he realized they were attached to a body. A woman, to be exact, floating in midair above him, revolving slowly in a way that made him profoundly sick. Her hands and feet were bound and she was staring directly into his eyes, into his very soul, pleading with him-but for what? He reached out to touch her, but suddenly she was careening toward him in midair, and the desperation in her face looked more like malice now, and before he could move or speak or think she smacked him square in the chest and evaporated-but that wasn't quite right, for the sensation he felt next was the most horrible he'd experienced in his life. His chest ripped open, flesh tearing, bones snapping, and the woman struck his very heart like a rock. He tried again to scream, but the pain and the cold were so absolute that they strangled all sound before it could escape him.

And then, just as suddenly as it had begun, it was over. The lamps flickered back on in the corridors, the sky lightened to its normal cloudy gray, and Draco could see his friends' faces again. With a jolt, he realized they were all huddled around him, clinging to one another for warmth. There was a long moment during which no one moved or even breathed, and then Daphne sat up tentatively, as if testing whether her body still worked.

"I'm going to vomit," she said matter-of-factly, and stumbled out of the compartment. Blaise and Theo returned to their seats, each looking paler and sicker than Draco had ever seen them.

"Are you all right?" said Pansy's voice behind him. There was a pause.

"What?" asked Theo dully.

"You're bleeding." This was true. There were several vicious scratches down Theo's arm, and a gash in his lip. He looked at Pansy as though she were speaking Hungarian for a few moments, and then, abruptly, his eyes doubled in size.

"Olive." Wordlessly, Blaise pointed. It took Theo nearly a half-hour to coax the trembling cat out from under Pansy's seat. Draco knew exactly how she felt.

For the next hour, no one spoke. Draco watched the color gradually return to his friends' faces, and by the time the sky really darkened outside the windows Pansy had returned to her star chart, Daphne was laughing at her, and Theo was rolling his eyes at Blaise, who seemed to have finally remembered his jokes. Draco, however, no longer felt human. It was as though his insides had been scraped clean out and all that remained was the ice-cold block of lead the spectral woman had clamped around his heart. He couldn't move or speak for the rest of the journey, and when they arrived at Hogwarts, it took everything in him to peel his body from the seat and stumble after his friends up to the carriages.