AN: Greetings lovely readers! I am truly soooo sorry for taking this damn long to update! Life has been happening, as is the way for us all. I won't bore you with that stuff but side note: the only legit excuse worth mentioning is that I've mostly been focusing on my own, completely original works of literature-in-the-making in between messing with my fics so getting anywhere with my stories takes foreverrr. IMPORTANT: I made some minor edits and grammatical corrections to the previous chapters. Nothing too significant, the trajectory of the story hasn't changed at all and nothing was taken out. However, I decided to add a few small bits I deemed as absolutely necessary, strictly to try and fatten things up with some more details. So considering it's been awhile I'd give it a quick refresher, an itty bitty wittle skim. Hey, don't sue me! My memory is total shit so regardless I'm constantly re-reading chapters of the stories I follow in order to remind my brain what the fuck was going on where I last left off. I whole-heartedly applaud those of you who don't have that problem!
One last thing, I just want to give a huge thanks to all of my followers and to the beautiful, encouraging reviews I've so kindly received. It means the world to me, and it is inspiring that there are so many of us out here, connecting through our love of shared interests and having so much in common. Joyful are we to know we are not alone in our fantastic obsessions. I wouldn't have it any other way. Peace and love to all :0)
She's A Work Of Art
Chapter Four
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Hogwarts Castle, 5th Floor, September 6th, 1997
If you asked the Head Girl if she was nervous while she waited in the Prefects Lounge, she would have told you the word nervous was an understatement. Hermione was anxious to the core as she sat there, tapping her quill over an open textbook and chewing her lips and cheeks in distress. A cozy, hot cup of tea was her saving grace and it steamed beside her in a mug on the big, round dining table where she and her "squad" literally speaking, had their meetings and sometimes their meals. It was a bit reminiscent of the story of Camelot and the Knights of the Round Table, and that had been a long running joke between her and a few of the others.
She thought of this, attempting to distract herself. Her eyes betrayed her, snapping back to the ornate clock on the wall for the second time since she entered the room. All of the Prefects should have been finished their rounds by then, unless of course any of them had come into trouble but that was unlikely. Most of them would have gone straight to their dormitories but a few were prone to pop in and out of the lounge after rounds before bed time.
So there Hermione sat fidgeting during the time chosen between her and her handsome Slytherin classmate, simply to hand over a book. 'Damnit all Hermione,' she inwardly berated herself. 'It was only just yesterday he first asked for it. Could I have seemed any more like a desperate slag?' It was a tad worrisome to her that perhaps maybe she'd come off as too eager when they'd chatted earlier at Scrivenshaft's but what she told him wasn't a lie. She truly was finished with the tome and could find no more new information after she'd gathered the data she was searching for. Besides, she had to give him some idea that she was interested in getting to know this polite, more improved Draco Malfoy. What better way to show interest than to agree to meet up for a casual, non-serious reason?
Was she really only just giving him the book though? Hermione was thinking as she slid her fingertips along the weathered spine of the culprit object. Did he expect more of her? 'Of course he does. You can't be that stupid. His intentions have been made clear enough.' Normally a suitor, no matter how attractive, would need to be a lot more than just witty or charming to greatly impress her and keep her attention. They'd have to be much more than playfully clever and alluring for her to feel comfortable enough opening up and breaking down all her walls, her walls which were expertly built upon years of romantic apprehension and cemented in place with understandably high standards for herself but… she had to admit, ferret-boy was good and Godric yes she absolutely wanted him to touch her, unlike Cormac McLaggen.
The aggressive brute had thrown himself on her merely hours ago and Draco had unequivocally saved her. He was like a radiant superhero that'd beamed down from the sky to adhere her safety. It seemed a little childish but oddly she felt like she'd lived through the climactic scenario in a cliché fairy-tale, the slow-motion exit-scene etched finely in detail over the pages of an illustrated, graphic novel… as if she'd been the relatable and desirable heroine of the story, tormented by a hurtful, greedy villain but who's honor is ultimately defended by the irresistible, swoon-worthy hero.
Pondering the intrigue of it all at that very moment had Hermione rubbing her thighs together with lustful approval. But what was he doing? They were already starting to cause a commotion and all they'd done was converse like ordinary people. She still couldn't believe that him of all people... Why was he so bent on pursuing her? Were they really to risk opening Pandora's Box, to risk unleashing total devastation unto their usually peaceful kingdom, all over a potential shagging? Would allowing themselves to give in to their self-serving thirst for each other's intimacy be worth it? Would it be worth upending the normalcy of their entire school?
Not only had all of the Slytherins somehow involved themselves, not the least alarming with his heightened paranoia over Death Eater conspiracy theories was how Harry was overly suspicious of Malfoy. This had quickly turned into quite the sticky situation, a messy scandal of pivotal proportions, one that was certain to bring an unwelcomed shift in the regularity of the traditional politics between the Houses. In less complex terms, should they follow-through with this wave-inducing union, it was evident they'd be rocking the proverbial boat.
The event in Hogsmeade had been witnessed only by the three people involved but nevertheless the damage was done as the passerby's in the aftermath had seen Cormac dusting off his trousers, muttering swear words under his breath and repeatedly coughing and spitting up blood. Draco and the Head Girl were spied briskly striding away and the question of what had happened lay densely unanswered in the air at Hogwarts. Gossip was in full effect and the rumors were sure to be piling up.
Upon her return from the restroom at the Three Broomsticks she'd quickly gathered her things, bid farewell to her friends and hastily left for the castle. This was her way to avoid all the staring and hushed whispers she knew she'd see and because she loathed receiving questions in which she had no answer for yet. So at that point, before she came to the Prefect's Lounge she'd locked herself up, isolating away in her own bedchambers. Then, with no regrets she'd skipped dinner and instead opted for some leftover snacks she had lying around. There were no disturbances for a while until the much-expected advent of Ginevra's own personal interrogation in which Hermione was honest. Much to the redhead's satisfaction the Head Girl recounted to the nosy Weasley sister about her brief but steamy conversations with Draco, what the Slytherin girls had said when they'd approached her in Gladrags and finally of the incident with Cormac.
Ginny was beside herself, upset from hearing what her Gryffindor classmate had tried to do her friend. Regardless, when Hermione described for her how unreal it was to see firsthand the unforgettable gleaming visage of a gallant, knightly Malfoy coming to her rescue and decking McLaggen across the face, the redhead had instantly perked up, feeling better after knowing Cormac had been put in his place. She giggled excitedly and sighed, her tawny-walnut eyes glazing over dreamily. In Ginny's opinion, the Slytherin's chivalrous grand gesture made him most deserving of Hermione's appreciation and declared that as a woman the Head Girl was now at the very least, obligated to grant him a fair chance in further piquing her interest. She'd waggled her brows in sexual suggestion, boisterously begging her to indulge the silver snake and then brazenly added a naughty statement, something along the lines of finding out precisely how big the Pale Prince of Slytherin's manly bit was.
The younger Gryffindor had gotten a pillow thrown in her face and a boot out the door, for at the time it had been too much to hear for Hermione. She really didn't need Ginny flailing about girlishly or telling her who she should go out on dates with, although the girl did have some good points but it wasn't like Hermione hadn't overanalyzed everything already, Virgo that she was. Yes, Ginevra had been right; Hermione was indebted to Malfoy, in fact there was a small possibility that he'd even prevented her death. Who's to say Cormac wasn't more dangerous than people presumed? Especially if she'd made him angry enough who's to say the lousy creep wouldn't have killed her in a twisted-up crime of passion? That type of misdeed wasn't uncommon so seriously, did anyone really know Cormac McLaggen, like actually know him? For the life of her, she could not even name a particular student she knew him to be close to… except for Lavender Brown but she had a reputation of being reckless, callow and a terrible judge of character. So it was a fact; Cormac was strongly disliked by many, and when he'd come around most everyone's noses upturned with disgust as if there was a putrid smell in the air. The duplicitous, incontinent boy definitely gave her and everyone else a bad vibe and she practically owed Draco her life. The Head Girl wouldn't forget it, unless of course this all turned out to be a cruel joke in the end.
Hermione pinched off a little fuzz from her pale purple sweater and blew a rouge strand of curly hair out of her face. She held her tea, taking a sip of it and with the other hand she lightly primped the top of her mane. Tonight she'd chosen to wear her hair in a braid. It was so long now but still it was always harder to keep out of the way but no, she'd never cut it again, at least not for a long time. She loved it this way.
Her eyes darted to the clock again. 'Bugger,' she thought. Where was he? 'He should be here by now.' She took deep breaths, willing her anxiety away and remembered what she'd learned that summer.
Things shall pan out as they should, for all time. Let live what is to be for it is truth. Be strong but serene, like how a rippling river is so dense but very gentle as it slips over stone.
'I'm sure he'll be here any minute.' She decided hopefully, but Draco Malfoy was rarely late.
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3rd Floor
'Fucking hell,' he thought, lamenting with palpable conviction as he went barreling down a corridor. 'That took entirely too long.'
Firstly, Tracey and him caught a few immensely un-sneaky badgers playing "puff, puff pass" in one of the greenhouses. The accumulation of seventh and sixth years had shared a spliff, rolled up with an incredibly illegal substance prior to the arrival of the two snakes. Yes, it had been five against two with the older of the Hufflepuffs being Justin Finch-Fletchley, Susan Bones, and Tamzin Greeves. The sixth years were Owen Cauldwell and Kevin Whitby who both played on the Quidditch team and thought they were tough.
Thankfully, nobody wanted conflict for it was very obvious who was really in charge, seeing as they were the Prefects and especially because it was something as forbidden and hush-hush as cannabis was in the wizarding community and the muggle world. No Draco and Tracey, scholars that they were did not enjoy as much as one might think, the idea of tattle-telling or ruining someone's educational career. Anyway, he didn't think smoking the skunky-flower was really such a big deal.
So yes, he jested with the sheepish but cheerful crowd of plant-hugging, dirt-divers and he mocked their insolence and lack of tact. He told them if they were able to find them, wouldn't they consider anyone possibly finding them huddled in there, dark as it might be? Say, the caretaker Argus Filch or Professor Pomona Sprout? And then that sniveling punk Cauldwell, a beater for the Puffs, confessed that one time they'd actually gotten the jovial woman to smoke with them. Tracey immediately hissed that he was lying but Finch-Fletchley and the rest attested to it, admitted that they'd all been there and it was quite the jolly good time; a testimony for and of the ages.
Draco felt a strange twang of envy at the thought that he'd missed out on witnessing such a bizarre yet comical moment, a moment where he could have glimpsed his long-time professor do something unexpected and extremely prohibited with students. Imagining it made him chuckle in amusement at how hilarious that must have been. And how fitting, because really who else from the faculty other than lovable ol' Sprout to be revealed as the Resident Rascal all along? Clearly, one could not deny that the earthy, stout witch loved her plants.
The Prefects bestowed their mercy upon the harmless delinquents and before ordering the badgers to return to the hovel they called a common room, Draco recommended if they must continue their shenanigans that they start thinking more like a Slytherin so they don't get caught again and to use a Smell-Suppressing Charm to rid out the potent aroma. For good measure he added that if the Slytherins needed a future favor of some sort then the Puffs would do well to remember their particular kindness this night, for it wasn't given lightly.
If that hadn't been eventful enough, then he and Tracey captured a couple fourth years of their own kind rummaging through Severus Snape's potion's storeroom and those two were in trouble. Upon reaching the door that was left carelessly ajar, the older Slytherins had eavesdropped on their conversation which illuminated for them the details of their endeavor.
Mindy Spelling and Priscilla Atwood had big, big plans for brewing love potions. Draco felt sorry for whoever the unfortunate souls were going to be because he sort of knew the girls. The two weren't exactly the most attractive little females but it was their atrocious personalities filled to the brim with obnoxious opinions, over-bubbly, effervescent voices and bland overall countenances which was the most off-putting. Perhaps they were just young and would probably grow into nicer, more practical ladies who had their priorities straight. Actually, they were incredibly similar to Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil at that age… even though those Gryffindor girls were still a bit like that but he had higher hopes for his fellow Slytherins of course.
Tracey and Draco dragged the humiliated, smaller snakes to the Potion Master's Office where gratefully he'd been and not yet receded to his chambers. They relayed to the Bat of the Dungeons exactly what the girls were found out to be doing and handed over the smuggled contraband: powdered Moonstone and pearl dust.
Predictably, Snape was not the least amused and Atwood and Spelling were so lucky not to be expelled.
Draco should have known it'd be like this the first weekend after the start of term; bad apples and assorted riff raff running amuck, up to no good like it was bloody Mischief Night. He could only hope Granger was still in the lounge awaiting his arrival, but he was late. What if she thought he'd stood her up? What if she thought he was just the same, chauvinistic ruffian that he always was? He was doing so well at gaining her interest, he believed. He'd been an utterly compelling force and could see in her eyes that the desire for him was there. The Prince of Slytherin really didn't want to ruin it. He didn't want to squash out this smoldering spark they shared so soon… and they did share one, a spark. Draco came to realize from the electricity of their heated auras and engaging, playful camaraderie that he and Granger undoubtedly had a connection, the likes of which he couldn't neglect or deny. He wanted to dive in headfirst and discover exactly how deep it ran.
As he rounded a corner Draco stopped in his tracks, taken off guard from a swift stinging in his eyes. He rubbed at them, confused as he winced in pain. "What the bloody fuck?" he mumbled, the panic setting in when they grew all the more itchy and started swelling up at a rapid pace. Before he knew it they'd sealed shut, secreting thick goo that dried and crusted at his tear ducts. It made them unable to open.
Oh Salazar's shit, he'd been rendered blind. Draco couldn't see anything. Obviously, someone had just casted the Conjunctivitis Curse on him. He kept quiet, straining his ears for any noise. He had an attacker, and they were close.
Quickly, he reached inside his cloak for his wand but to his absolute horror his hands and fingers had been reduced to an unmanageable consistency that of which was identical to marmalade. His digits were boneless, uncomfortably bumping against his wand and bouncing around in his pocket. It was no use, he could not grasp it.
A door opened and a solid body rushed into him, sending both parties to the floor of the empty study room. His assailant stood, magically locked them in and then kicked his prisoner in the ribs. Draco wailed in anguish from the splintering wallop to his side. The aggressor grappled him, holding him down and pelting him with hard punches in an uncontrolled frenzy. The Prefect tried to buck the person off of him but it was to no avail. Whoever they were (and he had a good guess), they were strong and pretty heavy but also clumsy and unsure in their movements.
The bumbling oaf who Draco figured was male, had no style or grace whatsoever to accompany the strength he happened to have but then again, who needed style or grace when you could just beat the ever-living shite out of somebody? Presumably, this had been a well-thought out tactic, a bold effort of cursing his target so he could be jumped but Draco knew some things that his attacker didn't.
There was a loud, stiff thud that had his ears ringing, his throbbing head flying to the side with the impact by a blunt hit from a fist. He groaned in agony but Draco couldn't feel his lips. His face was numb and a trickle of wet blood was seeping from a slice in his cheek. He'd gotten the wind knocked out of him, perhaps a bruised rib even and his eyes were on fire, remaining swollen and tightly glued together. Even if he'd managed to crack one open he was pretty certain the act would rip his lashes clean off.
"When I said you'd pay for that," the oaf spewed, clutching Draco's collar and lifting him slightly off the ground. "I meant it, Malfoy." He dropped him, then grabbed the top of his silver-blonde hair and roughly rammed the back of his head into the floorboards with a resounding thwack.
Draco only grunted and sputtered a little from the intense blow, valiantly trying to hide how much pain he was really in. Had his cranium just…? It was bleeding beneath him. Cormac still had a hold on him, his sweaty palm pressing crudely against his forehead, keeping him down while his chubby fingers dug ferociously into his tenderized skull. Despite how dire it probably looked from an outsider's perspective, to Draco's delight the weakly-cast Jelly-Fingers Curse he'd been subjected to gradually begun to wear off and almost all the feeling of his bones were returning in his hands. He might still be blind (until he could get to Madam Pomfrey) but cleverly Draco brewed up a plan.
"Oh McLaggen," Draco sighed lazily, sounding bored. "I didn't want to assume you were this stupid but low and behold, I've gone and given you far too much credit."
Cormac held him in place and Draco endured another dead-weight punch, straight to his left ear. From this, he'd trouble listening to the next words spoken to him as each one echoed and rebounded fiercely through his ear drum. He remained passive and emotionless despite feeling dizzy and despite how distraught he was that tonight on top of everything else he'd been literally hunted down and overpowered, battered and tattered like he'd been whipped up by a muggle egg-beater.
"Why don't you just shut your mouth, you snarky git," the Gryffindor growled, shaking him up. "You talk too much, all the time just talk-talk-talking your way out of everything, like you're so much bloody better than everybody else. Gods Malfoy, you think you're so damn special! Well, you're not at all! You're just a big fuckin' fake, and a fuckin' liar."
The moron's voice croaked out the spiteful words, his throat twisting with fuming rage and Draco could tell Cormac felt so big and unstoppable but that kind of smack-talk was unacceptable. Who did this mangy Gryffin-Puss think he was? The time had come to put a stop to the mayhem.
With lightning-fast movement Draco's now fully capable hand found its way to Cormac's round face. Placing it on his temple he spoke firmly, "Legilimens."
Immediately he was flooded with McLaggen's memories from only five minutes ago when he was darting menacingly after Draco through the dark hallway, drunk on his own revenge… and then it was hours ago at the Three Broomsticks as he stalked greedily after Granger to get her alone. In that instance the brute's private thoughts, which had been perversions of the most uncouth and sinister nature, reverberated harshly within Draco's brain and it felt exactly like it were a formidable wind, swirling violently under the mighty thrashing of a dragon's wings while it takes to flight. His conscious was shuddering, knocking to and fro and for a second thought he might be swept away by the mental cyclones, never to return. That nauseating sensation simultaneously meshed with the pain from his pulverized body made the Slytherin suppress his vomit.
Pushing through his weariness Draco plunged himself further, deeper to more memories where Cormac had been obsessively watching the chestnut-haired beauty during all their classes, meals and free-time in the common room, but this had not been a recent prospect, oh no. Cormac had been meditating on the idea of Hermione Granger since they were children and the worst part was the slimy wanker didn't even care if she returned his feelings… ultimately he cared only about bedding her, with or without her consent. What was more disturbing if possible, were his feeble ambitions that she'd one day belong to him, like an object to keep. He wanted to own her, lock her up and put her away like a toy he could play with whenever he wanted and it was a sick, sick revelation. Cormac was one-hundred percent a sadistic psychopath.
In fact, this dumbfounded Draco more so than he already was. This was no doubt akin to the kind of person his dear mother was afraid of him becoming and he had to think on himself for a brief pause.
Weeks prior, Narcissa had confronted him about his risqué-portrait collection and expressed her worry that he'd turn into a misogynistic arsehole who only thought of women as playthings. Although, that wasn't at all the way Draco was, and that wasn't how he thought of the opposite sex. He could understand how his mother's concerns came to be but honestly he'd felt quite offended by her lack of faith in him. Draco knew his provocative portraits to be no less than the beautiful, profound pieces of artwork that they were; candid displays of blossomed, goddess-like witches, free and comfortable in their respective settings. Truly breathtaking to him they were, for not only were the pictured sirens happy and content but the various backdrops, lighting and color combinations were chosen well and done right, resulting in awe-inspiring scenes that were visually appealing in every way.
Draco did not take his collection for granted and he felt blessed with the privilege to gaze upon the erotic sights at his own leisure; those sensual sights, they were a piece of time frozen to a stand-still, existing there for him to admire. And yes, when he was ready to relax and unwind at the end of the day with a viewing of his dream-maidens he'd of course become sexually aroused, especially from the Hermione Granger look-alike but for the love of Salazar he was a hormonal young man. It was normal to do so, completely natural but he did want to reiterate how much he genuinely appreciated women, not only for their bodies but for their hearts and minds as well. Draco saw them as works of art, each a unique masterpiece to be adored and respected, very much unlike the way the callous devil before him viewed his fellow witches.
After sponging up all he could of the incriminating proof from Cormac's memories and stowing it away for later, Draco released him from the memory-sifting spell and the stocky Gryffindor whimpered meekly as he collapsed in an exhausted heap. 'Wow,' he thought in wonder towards his own abilities. He hadn't reckoned he was that strong of a Legilimens but he wasn't complaining.
Alright, so there was the evidence and the Prince of Slytherin had every intention of presenting his alarming new discovery to McGonagall and Snape at once but this battle was not yet won. Despite draining Cormac directly of his energy and reducing him to a pitiful pile of scum, Draco was unconvinced that one round of mind-bending was enough current punishment for the rotten cur. McLaggen had to be taught a lesson for good and Draco had another trick up his sleeve.
"You made an effort, I'll give you that. I can't see a thing right now," drawled the silver fox, standing there statue-still and sensing the mutinous miscreant's whereabouts as he attempted to get up. "But my hearing is immaculate, you know that McLaggen?" he lifted his black boot and kicked Cormac in his shin causing him to topple back to the ground. "I'd hear if you tried to get away." That was still true even after the blow to his ear. He went to land another kick, this time punting him directly in the side as payback for earlier and the Gryffindor wheezed, grasping at his torso.
Then the Slytherin dug inside his pocket, retrieving his hawthorn wand. Draco raised his weapon, aimed it towards Cormac and with a razor-sharp flick of his wrist he said, "Suffocatio eorum."
Instantly he heard him gasp for air, his wind pipe constricting and closing up. Guaranteed Cormac had his hands grasping his neck in desperation. Draco had to hurry, this was Dark Magic. He definitely didn't want to kill Cormac by accident, Gods forbid.
"You really asked for it this time, now you listen to me," Draco began gruffly in an attempt to fill the degenerate with terror. He stooped down low, resting his arm on his knee. "You, Cormac McLaggen are a pointless, worthless, revolting waste of a wizard," he barked a cynical laugh, rubbing his inflamed eyes in irritation. "Did you actually think it was a good idea to come after someone like me, someone who was raised in the Dark Arts? Fuckin' imbecile I tell you, an average student at best. You don't even deserve your magic…"
The sounds emitting from the asphyxiated Cormac made him realize he wasn't being quick enough. He released the hold of the curse for a merciful couple of seconds letting the Gryffindor suck in a monstrous few breaths, spewing and coughing everywhere. Reaching forward he was able to find Cormac's shoulders. As best he could manage he punched him clear-cut across the face, hopeful he'd left a nasty reminder. Then just like that he raised his wand, repeating his incantation and Cormac was once again in his choke-hold, strangled and restrained. If Draco could see how frightened he'd made the boorish sociopath become while in the throes of potential death, he'd be overjoyed.
"Here's the deal, you're getting expelled... tonight. I'll see to it straightaway, but I swear it McLaggen that if you try anything; try to find her, contact her, if you ever even look at her or step foot in Hogwarts again I won't hesitate to murder you with my bare hands." Draco finished in a venomous snarl and with that he lifted the curse. Cormac's airways opened and as he heavily inhaled for more oxygen the Slytherin Prince tried to decide how to go about his next move.
Tragically, this meant he'd have to postpone his meeting with the Head Girl. Surely she'd forgive him once she found out what happened. Yes, Cormac was a danger to all of society but Draco hadn't done this for greater good, nor had he done it for himself. Believe it or not, he wanted to protect Hermione Granger. That had been the forefront of his motivation: her safety.
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The Marble Staircase Tower
Meanwhile, the cherished Princess of Gryffindor felt absolutely livid, which was understandable considering she was wholly unaware of the debacle that transpired below. Her unadulterated rage seethed within as she marched resiliently up the marble staircases towards the Lion's Den where she'd withdraw to her beloved personal chambers but she needed to make it there without any interference. All she yearned for was to be wrapped snugly in her warm quilt on her big, cozy bed. As impossible as it was, she wished to be blessed with the knowledge on how to delete this day from the history of her life.
Of all the careless mistakes in the world she could have made, it had to be this? Of all the people to let reel her in… she'd never anticipated that someday she'd be idiotic enough to fall prey to such a fallacy, no matter how convincing it was. It had been a cruel deception and her heart ached, feeling mortified it'd been orchestrated by the foulest, most conniving charlatan of them all.
'Good show Draco Malfoy, well done,' she thought grimly. Inside her, that ray of hope she'd nurtured all week had burnt out, turned over to ash and died away. 'I knew it deep down, that it was too good to be true. I just wanted to believe you'd changed.'
Hermione felt like she could cry, not that she would. She'd not dare to let herself waste a single tear over that arsehole, wouldn't give him the satisfaction of reacting at all actually. She could spare herself any grief or humiliation by simply pretending as if nothing ever happened in the first place, like they'd never spoken cordially or shared all those enticing, tempestuous stares with each other. Hermione would forget all of it, forget about him. Indeed, that was easier said than done but for the Gryffindor Head Girl, to exude a sense of stoicism was not as hard for her to achieve as one might assume. She would will herself to feel and appear completely unaffected even though now all she felt like was a naïve, foolish little girl.
Come morning, she'd make a dash to the library and return that wretched book back to its high shelf and out of her possession. If he needed it so badly he could fetch it himself, end of story. Hermione would no longer entertain thoughts of the smarmy git or humor him by playing his childish games.
As she approached the Fat Lady, a tempting thought she'd kept at bay (for fear of getting her hopes up again) was pulling her attention and she gave into it. Occurring to her was the small chance that she was jumping the gun by overreacting and that maybe something had genuinely come up which the Slytherin Prince was unable to avoid. Perhaps he'd have an explanation for his absence but if so he'd better be honest about it and it'd better be a bloody good one. She might choose to be reasonable if correctly swayed.
Oh, but then what of the other Slytherins? Were this past week's events just a massive prank, a tiresome, theatrical production arranged through the Snake Pit for their own petty amusement? If that was accurate then this was not only a Malfoy-problem, this was a Slytherin-problem. When pretty purebloods Daphne Greengrass and Tracey Davis questioned her in Hogsmeade she was certain they'd only been bored and curious and if that wasn't the case then one of them, Daphne more than likely had feelings for the silver-haired heir. What was the truth of it all? The lack of information was maddening to her.
These were the grueling anxieties that zoomed through her head as Hermione finally gazed up at the painting at the top of the landing. The large woman flattened out her poufy pink dress and greeted the Head Girl in predictable fashion.
"Password…?"
"Rhododendron,"
"You may enter."
Hermione shuffled quietly through the entryway and into the warm atmosphere of the common room where to her total dismay sat Harry and Ron. They were hovering over a round of wizard's chess with only a half-dozen pawns left on the board. At her emergence the boys snapped their heads to see who'd come in.
"Hermione," began the raven-haired Seeker as he got up from the chair. In his eagerness it was easy to see he'd been awaiting her return, a million queries ready to tumble out of his mouth. Before he could speak she put her hand up for him to yield.
"Harry, I've had a harrowing day and I'm thoroughly spent. If this could wait until later on…"
Potter nodded, swallowing down his inquisition. If he were to speak he'd have to tread cautiously. "Okay, it's fine. I'm just worried about you… we're worried about you, after the things we heard." He turned to look at Ron, suggesting precisely what she thought he was suggesting; that despite her harsh dismantling of their relationship Ron Weasley was still concerned for her well-being - shocker. After all they'd been close friends since the beginning and for all those years Hermione stood by his side through the thick and thin, pushed him along during the times when he wasn't sure he was going to make it and he (usually) helped her do the same. As a companion who'd shown him nothing but long-time loyalty as well as a shot at a romantic relationship, the fact she might be in any sort of distress should be enough to generate his regard for her well-being, at the least.
And how much did Ron and Harry think they knew, anyway? She'd bet that Harry already told him who he'd seen her chatting with in Scrivenshaft's which had probably been a discussion spawned from an exaggerated rumor they'd heard. She refrained from rolling her eyes, caught up again in the ocean of her own mind. "Oh, um… I see. Well I'm just great, Harry. Never better honestly but it's time for me to turn in so I'll talk to you tomorrow, alright?"
There was a momentary beat and then, "Sure, of course 'Mione," he responded gently and lifted a hand, resting it on her shoulder as a gesture of comfort. "Why don't you go get your rest? I'll see you in the morning." She was grateful for his kind heart, but also that he wasn't going to persist.
"Sweet dreams Harry," she started walking but stopped before the stairs. "Night Ronald," she offered.
His blue eyes widened, crimson brows popping up a bit in surprise at her polite acknowledgment of him. "Night 'Mione," he said softly and she departed up the steps.
As soon as she was gone Harry was back in his chair. "See what I mean?"
Ron nodded, sentimental in his expression. "Yeah, I see it."
Harry had stayed alert but still McLaggen had yet to return to the dormitory and was a no-show at dinner. "I'm going to kill him Ron," he ground out, absentmindedly palming his lightning-bolt scar. "I'm going to strangle McLaggen to death when I see him,"
"He won't make it out of Hogwarts alive. Now what are we going to do about Malfoy?" Ron wondered.
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Gryffindor Tower – much earlier in the evening, after the Hogsmeade trip but sometime before dinner
Ginny Weasley, clearly in the gayest of moods, went catapulting down the stairs at record speed and when reaching the bottom she jumped and landed on her feet, nice and agile-like as if she were a cat who had an energetic disposition. Those present in the common room had all turned to observe the minor commotion. Harry grinned to himself, admiring her spunk and vivaciousness. 'Such a show-off… a sexy show-off,'
"Hullo boys," she sang and plopped between the Boy Who Lived and Neville Longbottom on the couch. She looked at the table where they had their parchments out and textbooks open. "Studying very hard, are we?" she asked them with a coy smile.
"Very," Harry emphasized. "I'm not sure I've ever studied so hard in all my life." The sarcasm in his tone was apparent and it got Ginevra heartily giggling. She playfully whacked him on his arm anyway.
"What you got there, Nev?" the redhead asked, elbowing the taller Gryffindor in the side.
Neville cleared his throat, distractedly ruffling the front of his brown mane and tore his focus away from the scroll he had unrolled. "I'm just going over some things for my Herbology homework, nothing I can't handle."
"You'll never need help with Herbology Neville; you're Sprout's best student." Ginny intonated mirthfully and the bashful wizard's cheeks pinked from the compliment.
"Thanks," he said quietly and his timid nature absolutely thrilled her. She loved to be bothersome occasionally, innoxiously subjecting her friends to a healthy dose of harmless torment.
"It's the truth; you have a gift you adorable little lamb." Ginny teased and his rosy face dimmed to the deepest rouge which made her laugh again. Then to Harry, "Do you need any help?"
"Uh, let's see…" he shuffled through his stack of notes but her simple query reminded him immediately of his brilliant best friend who he was worried for and he couldn't stop himself. "Actually, there is one thing but…" he trailed off.
"Yes..?" she could already tell this wasn't going to be about school work. He locked gazes with her, a serious gleam in his jewel-green eyes. Still holding his notes, he leaned in closer to be more discreet.
"Since we're being so truthful here, would you mind telling me what's going on with 'Mione?" Ginny peeled her light brown eyes away. Shit, how could she not have seen this coming? She should've left the Tower and went elsewhere when she had the opportunity. That could still work if she made a run for it. Timorously, she weighed her options. "If you know anything, that is. You just spoke to her, didn't you?"
Ginny decided to go for vague and unaware, unsure about what he was referring to specifically. "Uh, yeah I did and she's fine, Harry." This did nothing to appease the Boy Who Lived and he barreled onward.
"Look, something strange is happening. Hermione was… different today." He did a once over of the room to make sure there was no one listening, save for Longbottom. He'd heard it all already. Harry felt so agitated earlier he'd sought the only solace he could find, confiding in and venting to Neville whom he was comfortable calling one of his best mates. "After I'd picked out a quill at Scrivenshaft's I went to get Hermione and…" it troubled him to say out-loud. "And there she was, talking to Malfoy," he whispered his name so soundlessly that it almost had Ginny cracking up again. Instead she tried forcing her expression to that of surprised interest, like she had no idea about any of it. "Yeah him, which was already bizarre right but the worst was seeing them just… just fuckin' mixing it up like they've been dandy old friends for years! I couldn't believe it… I thought I was hallucinating, or hexed." Ginny nodded with vigor. "And they were standing so close it looked like… like they were actually…"
The youngest Weasley took this as her moment to jump in. "Hmm… this is most intriguing. You know, she didn't tell me anything about that..." It was a bold faced lie, an attempt at keeping the knowledge of Hermione's secret crush at bay. Then she reasoned she should say a bit more to try and deter the direction he'd been going so she clasped her hands together and with child-like whimsy she peered up to the ceiling. She would attempt to work this into Hermione's favor and say appraising words about Malfoy to make him sound better in the eyes of his foe. "Although, she did give me details on what happened at the Three Broomsticks," but she was interrupted.
"Wait, what?" asked Harry in astonishment and Ginny was perplexed. Everyone had been talking about it… had he really not heard? Now she truly felt like a grand idiot. "What happened?"
She sighed woefully. "Well, here's how it went Harry," she began looking around for Cormac, remembering her anger but the dirty blonde wasn't in the room, lucky for him because she was very eager to chop his bullocks off. "Hermione went to the loo and when she was walking back that creep McLaggen followed her and tried to force himself on her," Harry Potter's eyes lit up with a vengeful violence, the likes of which Ginny had rarely seen. "I don't know where that slimy bastard is Harry but I don't think I –"
"How the bloody fuck could you keep this from me, Gin? All this time, just sittin' there," He was fuming.
"No Harry," she interceded, hushing him with her hands before he got too loud. Neville, who was also donning an angry expression, was immersed in their conversation and already a few other students had become more aware of their voices. "I didn't say anything about it because I assumed you already knew and were leading up to a discussion about it… but Harry, please listen to me because then Malfoy happened to be walking by and intervened, otherwise things would have been much worse. Slippery prick that he might be, Malfoy saved Hermione! He punched Cormac in the face! I didn't see but Lavender came to me and cried in a huff about how ugly the bruise looks."
"Are you serious...?" Harry wasn't sure exactly what he'd just heard but he was pretty sure it wasn't that Malfoy had come to the rescue of his best friend in a time of crisis, not that he'd be ungrateful. His first reaction was that this would mean, strangely and unexpectedly that Draco Malfoy, the wealthy and pale, pureblooded heir and Slytherin's Prince might actually have a thread of humanity inside him. Never would he have predicted such a monumental moment to transpire, a moment where the silver-haired ferret had done a good deed as extreme as this for another Gryffindor, a 'muggle-born' witch no less. This couldn't be happening; the very image of Malfoy that Harry held for so long was now out of nowhere split and shattered. In the past, the Slytherin despised Hermione for simply what she was born as. Maybe there'd been a radical change of heart? At the very least, it must have been that Malfoy was decent enough a person to save a girl from the hands of an assaulter, no matter who she'd been.
Ever the more anxious Harry continued to zone out as Ginny kept blabbing and Neville asked her a question. Thinking drearily, 'But what if… what if Malfoy had actually been doing the same thing McLaggen was?' It could be a fair point. What if the snake really had been plotting something all along? Harry was quick to notice the way the two behaved together at the quill shop, the way Malfoy burned into her with his eyes, raking her right up as if he'd compelled her, seduced her. That wasn't the Hermione he knew. His Hermione wouldn't fall for that artificial charm unless her sacred brain had been tampered with.
And then, come to learn that Malfoy just happened to be there when she was being attacked, at completely the right time? It just seemed so fishy and played out, like a set-up. Malfoy had to have orchestrated it all. Harry deduced that if his hunches were correct then the Slytherin's motives must be to worm his way into the good graces of the Gryffindors and falsely befriend them, gaining their trust only to eventually betray them somehow, probably with the return of Voldemort or something morbid of that nature.
Nothing good could ever possibly come from a Malfoy. Harry didn't trust Draco as far as he could Stupefy him. His instinct now was to find his right-hand man, Ron Weasley and tell him of his suspicions. Then they could come up with a solid plan.
AN: Yes loves, I knowww, I KNOW. No Dramione fluff this chapter as I'd promised but I had to end here so I could finally give you guys something! I didn't mean for this to turn into quite the slow-burn it's become but I just couldn't stop myself. This is the way it went and what is a story without disgruntled angst and juicy filler plot? Probably a much better story! Haha ugh. Take pity upon this humble hermit and let me know what you think so far! Kind input is always appreciated. Chapter 5 is in the works so look out for my next update! Thank you all for tolerating my writing. Cheers! :0)
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PS: if you look it up, the choking spell I described exists but with an unknown incantation so I created one using Latin for, "choking them" which I decided sounded good and made sense. Also I meant to say before that I may have made up a thing to bend the will of my story, a Legilimens thing which basically means that certain memories seen through the eyes of the spell-caster can in some cases be shared with another skilled Legilimens. I read what I could about Legilimency but could find no concise answer addressing my particular concern.