23 – No Words
Draco was so glad he could finally just be with Hermione, tell her what he was really thinking, say exactly what he wanted to her. Holding her in his arms was . . . .
He sat up with a start. Bloody hell. She'd taken over another dream, and now . . . he rubbed his eyes roughly. He'd never get back to sleep after that. He fell back heavily on his bed. She was ruining him. He was becoming a complete and total idiot. What had he been thinking – to stay all night in her room, watching over her? He hadn't even thought about how he'd get out of the room, what he'd do if one of her witless bodyguards came in and stayed by her side. Worse yet, when Weasley came in to sit with her he'd completely forgotten that he could leave, should leave. He'd stayed there, invisible, feet silenced, pacing and seething. He wasn't sure if he was angry because Weasley didn't treat her better, or because even a dunderhead like that might realize how lucky he was and at least try to make her happy.
When they changed positions and Potter came in he had remembered that he should go. Then he realized that once Potter had closed the door there was no way for him to get out unnoticed. He could either open the door, which surely wouldn't go unnoticed, or have Nappy come, which couldn't be done without the distinctive "pop" of apparition.
Of course, looking back, that's what he should've done. Maybe those dunces would've known the spell to detect who'd apparated and maybe they wouldn't have. Either way, he'd have been gone before they could figure it out. Instead, like a fool, he'd waited, invisible, silent, hoping for a chance to escape undetected.
The long night, with nothing to do but think and watch a sleeping Hermione, had not been comfortable for Draco. There were many reasons why he was there – she was his handler, he needed her safe and healthy, he owed her a life debt – but time and time again he found himself staring at her. His mind would drift of its own accord to what it would be like to walk through his gardens holding her hand. He imagined her smiling up at him over something witty he'd said. He pictured her accepting a gift from him, opening the box . . . he fought against the images, but each time he chased one away another, even more dangerous, would take its place.
And then – he shook his head, disgusted with himself – this morning, when Weasley'd come in, he'd been so distracted by the obnoxious way that the Weasel spoke to her, manhandled her really, that he'd failed to even notice if the door had been left ajar.
How could she put up with that? How could she let him paw her like that? Although – it was beginning to appear that there was nothing romantic going on there. In fact, she'd been as clear as Veritaserum when she declared that she wasn't in love with him. So there, schmuck. Actually, she'd said she wasn't in love with anyone, but he knew that . . . he didn't really think she could've been . . . they'd been getting along well enough, but he didn't really hope that . . . .
She was turning him into a complete and total idiot.
Maybe he was just tired. When was the last time he'd actually slept in his bed? Lately, he'd just been catching what rest he could on the couch downstairs. He pulled his wand off of the bed stand and cast a quick time spell. He'd been asleep for three hours. He felt like he could sleep for three days, but at least that nap would help some.
He put his wand back, then felt the heat coming off of the charmed coin next to it. Hermione'd sent him a message – "Ready when you are."
He rolled over and closed his eyes. Maybe this would be okay. Her message sounded so normal. Maybe he hadn't given himself away. Could she really be that clueless? Was it possible for a witch to be completely brilliant in every way, but totally oblivious about how he felt about her? Maybe. On the other hand, maybe she was just pretending not to notice. That would actually be the wiser course. Then they could continue to work together and just ignore the hippogriff in the room.
He reached for the coin, to tell her he was ready, then threw it back with a start. He lay back on his bed and listened as the coin fell off of the bed stand and rolled on the floor.
He wasn't ready. Not even close.
He took a deep breath. Control. He needed to stay under control. That was the key to everything. The only reason he'd agreed with his mother's mad idea to spy on the Dark Lord was that self-control had been drilled into him since birth. The nightmare that'd been his 6th year at Hogwarts had been all it had taken to convince him that he needed to harden himself, finally take his father's lessons seriously. Then Severus had shown him the deepest levels of occulmency and he'd thought his control was complete.
At the time he'd figured that, having lost all that he ever cared about, he had nothing left to lose. Maybe he could end the Dark Lord's reign once and for all, although he'd never thought that was likely. At least he could damage the monster who'd ruined everything before he himself, inevitably, died.
Somehow – this bushy-haired know-it-all had changed everything. Now, after his desperate panic last night, he had to admit that he now had something to lose, someone he cared about too much, way too much. Conveniently enough, this same someone was making him lose all of the self-control that he needed to stay alive, to keep her alive. Add to that the fact that she was appalling unconcerned with her own safety, and seemed to enjoy being surrounded by idiots. They were all doomed.
Heaving a deep sigh, he sat up and called for Nappy.
"Master?"
"Can you get me tea?"
"For one or for two?"
Ignoring her inquiring eyes, he snapped at her - "One."
Tea was waiting in the kitchen by the time Draco came down. He sat down and got to work. Hermione appreciated lists. She'd understand that they had a lot to do, many issues to cover and couldn't waste time going off topic. Once he'd finished his tea, and his list, he felt much better. This would just be a calm, efficient meeting. He summoned the coin from wherever it'd rolled to, took it in hand, and sent the message – "Ready."
It would probably take her some time to respond, maybe quite a while if she were busy. He'd go ahead and get started with the first item on his list. That he could do without her. He sorted through his jars of potions ingredients and found the dried dates. A 'pop' in the other room signaled Hermione's arrival. She'd certainly responded quickly. He decided to ignore her arrival for now. He needed to get the dates steeping, so that tomorrow he could brew more blood replenishing potion.
"Draco Malfoy!" He looked up from his work, refusing to turn. This sounded like trouble. "Where are you?"
"In the kitchen. Sharing crumpets with Greyback." If she was going to barge in, yelling like she owned the place, he'd remind her that it could be dangerous.
"Don't give me that." She was now standing in the kitchen doorway, but he refused to take his eyes off of the cauldron, now boiling. "You're the one who just told me that the coast was clear."
"So it is."
"What were you thinking? You do realize how close you came to blowing your cover completely today. As it is, now I have to convince Ron to keep his mouth shut." The thought of her with Ron in any way, let alone 'convincing' him, made Draco's hand clench on the glass jar he held.
"Just obliviate him then." He hoped his voice sounded light, betraying none of his tension.
There was no answer. He finished added the dates to the cauldron, got it started simmering, then couldn't delay looking at her any longer. Strangely, she'd turned and was pressing her forehead into the doorframe, biting down on her own fist, her eyes pressed shut as though she was in pain.
He was ready for flying insults, but this silent suffering made no sense. What had he said?
Then her head snapped up and she turned to him. Her eyes bore into him. "I won't be doing any more obliviating." The words were clipped, definite.
God help him, but all he could think was that she was predatory, blazing and more beautiful than she'd ever been before. He turned away from her. He couldn't look at her. He began to clean the jar that the dates had been in, doing it by hand so that it would take longer.
Hermione wasn't done though. "I ought to hex you within an inch of your life. You almost ruined everything. Who knows? Maybe you did. What were you thinking? What if they'd found you when I wasn't awake? What if Ron had . . . ."
"Granger," he interrupted, now carefully drying the empty jar, "What I can't believe is that you are so lacking in common gratitude."
Hermione started. "I'm not. I . . . I was going to . . . that is, after I . . . ." There was silence, but he refused to look at her. He reached up to put the immaculately clean jar away. "Draco." He froze. "Thank you for saving my life. I owe you . . . ."
"You do not." His eyes bore into the cabinet door in front of him. "We are even. You saved my life. I saved yours."
"Well, perhaps." Draco frowned. How could she possibly not think that they were even? "I can't help but think that you risked far more by what you did for me."
"Nonsense, besides I don't think that matters. A life for a life. We are even."
"But why did you come to St. Mungo's? What were you doing – staying all night? Harry and Ron were there. I was perfectly safe."
"You made sure that I had the appropriate care after you patched up my arm. I was merely doing the same. Then I heard that there was . . . speculation regarding the potion I gave you. I wanted to make sure that your healers knew what they were dealing with." No need to mention that he'd needed to see her, needed to see with his own eyes that she was no longer deathly pale, her lips no longer bluing. "Once I'd gotten into your room, right past your supposed bodyguards, I was concerned that . . . others could do the same, others with less benign intentions."
"Is that all?" He clenched his eyes. She was the undisputed queen of questions, questions he couldn't answer. He went over to his pantry and began to gather the ingredients he would need to complete the blood replenishing potion, even though he wouldn't need them until tomorrow. He needed to distract her.
"Granger, how are your stores of Verita. . . . "
"Draco," she spoke as though she hadn't even heard him, "What's going on? You didn't need to stay, especially not once the boys were in the room with me."
She was right. Ron had been the first to take a shift in the chair next to her bed. At first Draco had stayed, watching, because he couldn't stand the thought of leaving her alone with Ron Weasley. He'd even thought of various ways to keep him from touching her – an itching hex, a slumber charm – then been puzzled when none of his plots were necessary. Weren't they dating? What was wrong with the fool?
"Draco, you haven't answered me."
"I don't have to answer to you," he snapped. "I take Greyback's threats seriously, even though you refuse to. You should know . . . back in the cave . . . you were polyjuiced when Dolohov hit you, weren't you?"
"Yes."
"They didn't know it was you, not at first, but Greyback knows now. He smelled your blood. He was raving, insane because he'd been so close. He could've grabbed you. He killed a goblin in his fury over missing his chance." Greyback had slashed the goblin open. She didn't need to know the details.
When Hermione spoke, her voice was small. "Harry and I have decided . . . not to take such risks again. We won't be polyjuicing anymore." He glanced over at her. She was now leaning back against the doorframe, her shoulders glowing blue beneath the white tank top she had on. Did everything she owned have lace trim? He forced his eyes away from her.
"Potter was there, too? You lot are insane. And he is an atrocious bodyguard. Where was he when Dolohov was . . . ."
"He wasn't there to be my bodyguard. That was my fault. I thought I heard . . . . "
"You must be suicidal. I specifically told you that Greyback would be there. What were you thinking?"
"It was too late. We were already in position. I didn't mean to ignore your warning. But Draco, you still haven't answered – why did you stay? Why did you watch over me?"
Damn, she was persistent. He'd thought she'd been well distracted. Time to take a more ruthless approach.
"What are you implying, Granger? Worried that I've become besotted with you? Just because you're used to easily entrapping all the weak minded males in the Order doesn't mean that . . . . " He reached up and took down a jar of dried beetroot.
"How dare you! You have no idea what you're saying. That's total rubbish."
Draco chopped several pieces of the beetroot and then began to crush them into powder.
"Really? Then why all the questions? It sounds to me like you've gotten some sort of delusion into your head that I'm madly in . . . ."
"Do you have to be a complete jerk about this? It was obviously strange behavior for you to . . . ."
"Don't tell me what 'strange behavior' is. I'd say that it is pretty strange for you to be running around the Ministry playing polyjuiced hero without making sure that . . . ."
"What you call playing hero I call caring about others. I can't just stand by and listen . . . ."
"Stand and listen? You have no idea what it's like to have to stand and listen while they . . . when hideous things are going on, but if we're going to win this war you have to think, not just act . . . ."
"Exactly." She stopped her pacing and looked over his shoulder. "Think. By the way, I think you've thoroughly crushed – whatever that was." Draco looked down and realized that the beetroot was ground into a powder so fine that no distinct particles were visible. He sighed. She kept talking. "So what were you thinking when you stayed all night in my room, endangering your cover?"
"My cover is fine as long as your idiot friends don't blab. If you'd let Greyback grab you it would've endangered your life as well as my cover." He stopped and rubbed the bridge of his nose. She was giving him a headache.
"You're supposed to be this super spy, but I can tell when you're lying to me."
He measured out 2 ½ drams of the powdered beetroot, then carefully put the remainder into a small clean jar. His hands were steady, his right hand now fully healed, but his heart was pounding. She was bluffing. He could lie to the face, or lack thereof, of the Dark Lord. His deceptions held even when his mind was plundered. Still, he was reluctant to hear her theory of how she thought she knew he was lying. Finally, he could delay no more.
He turned to her, and raised one sardonic eyebrow. "And what makes you think I'm lying? I'm not even clear on what you think I've lied about." He held her gaze. He could do this.
"It's not a specific lie, more your whole scheme of avoiding my questions. You've been working very hard not to answer me."
"Okay, ask away." He was insane. What was the point of saying that? Why not just remind her that they had too much to do to waste time with . . . .
"Fine. Look me in the eye when you answer." He met her eyes full on. He couldn't do this halfway. "Now, tell me that you don't care for me."
His shock at her bold approach registered on his face – but that was okay. He'd be surprised that she'd be that forward no matter what his feelings for her were. "Fine." He did not look away from her. The only way to do this was full out. "Granger, I don't care for . . . ."
She flinched. It was small, just a twitch of the muscle by her eyes, but he saw it. She was hurt. She hadn't wanted that answer. She'd been so sure. Now, he could see the pain she was masking in her eyes. What did that mean? Why would she . . . ?
Then her eyes changed again, a slight frown appearing in her brow, questioning. "Draco?"
He closed his eyes, then looked down. His silence had given him away. What had he been thinking?
"Granger," his voice came out low, almost a growl. "Don't make me do this." He was begging her. He could stand up to the most evil wizard alive, but she reduced him to mush. With the Dark Lord most found it difficult to look right at him. They were afraid that he would plunder their minds. Draco could stand up to him, endure the intrusion. Hermione though – with her it was completely different. When he looked into her eyes the problem was not what she could see, but what he could see. She was so open. He saw that there was a chance, a chance she might care for him, and then he was finished.
She turned and walked back to the table, picking up the list he'd left there. "Let's get to work then. There's a lot to cover here."
That was it? She was just going to drop it? Before he could say something stupid he went over to sit across from her. Fine – they'd get to work. "Yes. I've done the first one, but now . . . ."
"I take it I'm 'H' and you wanted to ask me about the Amorita?"
He nodded, still not completely trusting himself with too many words. "It's still moving then?"
"Yes."
"And you can't feel it?" She wasn't meeting his eyes now. Why? Was she angry?
"Not really, . . . maybe . . . there might be this slight . . . tingle . . . just beneath my skin. I'm not sure if I'm imagining that or not. Why? Do you know what it is?"
"Not exactly. What the healer described though . . . the blue glow just over the heart . . . that's Amorita. That's what used to happen to me, too."
"It doesn't anymore." At last she looked at him, but her face was still guarded.
"No. I wish . . . my mother might've known more about that. I thought . . . I thought it had something to do with growing up. When it stopped, when the glowing stopped, she wasn't surprised. She seemed sort of sad, but I didn't ask her about it."
"How old were you?" Hermione'd mustered a quill from somewhere, along with a piece of parchment. Now she was taking notes. Finally, she was distracted.
"There was a long period in my life when I . . . when my mother and I . . . were not close. My father thought she was making me weak, and I . . . I guess I just wanted to please him. I didn't know, not until later, how much my behavior saddened her." He sighed. She really didn't need all of that background - they just needed to figure out the Amorita's effects. "Anyway, I was 17 when I had Amorita again, and the glowing blue was gone, but it had been more than 2 years since I'd last had any. That makes it difficult to pinpoint what made the difference."
Hermione nodded. "Wait. You said that for you the blue glowing was just around your heart. Have you ever seen . . . have you ever heard of this strange . . . moving bands of glowing blue thing?"
"No." He wasn't sure he wanted to share his mother's memories with anyone, but . . . she'd already seen his notes. "I'm hoping . . . well, it's possible . . . my mother left me some memories. The first one told me how to make Amorita, but she also left me this other one – more about Amorita. I need to watch it and maybe it'll explain about the glowing blue. Whatever it is, she thought it was important."
"Okay." Should he invite her to watch it with him? She was looking down, diligently taking notes. She wouldn't ask. No. The last memory felt private, intimate. Who knew what was in the next one? Time to move on, although this next issue was delicate. "Does the Order have any information on werewolf packs? What I mean is . . . a pack besides Greyback's?"
"This is connected to finding a better place to brew the Wolfsbane?"
"Yes."
"Maybe. Hagrid would be the one to know."
"Can I talk to him?"
"Directly? That'll be a problem for your cover."
He scowled at her. Of course, he knew that. The problem was that he needed to find out if Blaise's . . . friend was in Greyback's pack or another. Not knowing who Blaise's friend was he'd have to use Blaise's name. Either Blaise's identity or his own would be compromised.
"I could deliver a note for you."
His eyes snapped up. That would help. "How soon could you do it? The full moon is tomorrow night."
"I should be able to get it to him . . . tonight. You'll need an answer?"
"Yeah, but he'll either know what I need or he won't. It won't take any research or anything."
"Okay. I'll wait then." She slid a piece of parchment over to him, quickly pulling her hand back before he could touch her. He summoned a quill and wrote out a brief note, then charmed the paper so that only Hagrid could read it.
"The words will appear at Hagrid's touch," he explained, not sure if Hagrid had a wand or not. She looked carefully at the parchment, which now appeared to be blank. Was she offended? "Look, it's nothing personal. I'm just being careful with . . . ."
"It's fine." Her tone of voice didn't sound like she was fine, though. He hated this. It was his fault. She was, at best, uncomfortable around him now. They should just get on with the list.
"The last item was about 'the goblin situation.'" She leaned back. "What is that about?"
"I've done something, something I hope we can use." He tried to catch her eye, but she was doodling. What had he done? They needed to be able to work together. "Look, I'm sorry about . . . before. It's just I . . . I don't know what to do. I can't have too much in my mind, too many things I have to hide. The stronger the emotion, the harder it is to hide. I need to stay detached. I'm sorry. I . . . ."
"Draco." She cut him off. "It's okay. I get it. We just need to kill him." This time she didn't look down. She met his eye and there was so much there – warmth, interest. Should he ask? Did she mean that, when Snake Eyes was gone, she'd want to . . . No. It was better not to know, not to make any promises.
"Okay." He took a deep breath. What an amazing witch. Time to focus – back to work. "So what happened was that we were supposed to bring back . . . someone . . . victims for . . . Old Ugly from the Ministry." He saw her shudder, but kept going. "I don't know if you've heard, but a bunch of goblins were taken. I took one, actually two, but I left one at the Cottage. I don't know how much you know about goblins, but . . . ."
"I actually know a fair amount. Besides what we learned in school, Bill Weasley told us a lot about them, and I've dealt with . . . well, one goblin a bit."
"Weasley? What's he know about them?"
"He works at Gringott's."
"Perfect. We'll need his help. Did you know that goblins, at least the ones who work at Gringott's, they put all these spells on their minds? I don't even know if the spells would work on a wizard, but they keep them from giving away information. You can't use Legilimency on them or Veritaserum. Even regular torture won't work because they just die before they'll give up anything."
"Really? But your aunt tortured Griphook."
"Was that his name?" She nodded. "I think she figured that she was asking about something that wasn't in Gringott's so he could answer."
"He lied to her, you know."
"Did he? Good for him. Anyway, one thing that still works on goblins is the Imperio so I used it on one. I said his name was Brimrock."
"Is that his name?" She frowned, looking up from her notes.
"I have no idea. I told you – legilimency doesn't work on goblins. Anyway, I had him say a bunch of stuff. It was mostly just babbling garbage, trying to buy some time. He said his brother was the head of security at Gringott's, that he would negotiate for his life. Luckily, there was only one other goblin still alive and he refused to say whether this guy was telling the truth or not."
Hermione bit down on the end of the quill, made some notes, then looked up at him with a brilliant smile. "Draco – that's perfect! Just what we need." He fought back his smile, trying to look like her praise meant nothing to him.
"It was a gamble, but it worked, at least so far. Nothing Nose told me to find out, Monday when the bank is open, whether his brother really is the head of security. The question is – will the goblins work with us on this?"
"I think they might. Bill will help. The thing is . . . we don't want them to reveal any of their secrets, at least not any real secrets. All we have to do is come up with a way to make Baldy think that they've given up something, then plant our false information there. Plus, after losing several goblins, they're probably not looking forward to life under Beady Eyes."
"Yeah, but we have to be careful there. If they think this was a set up in any way . . . shit . . . we'll have to let them know that there's someone inside."
"Let's talk to Bill. Maybe there's some way around that, and . . . ." She bit down on her lip, making some more notes, obviously reluctant to say something.
"Spit it out."
She smirked at him. "Fine. We should bring Harry and Ron in on this. I know you don't get along, but . . . ."
"Potter I understand. We need to compare notes anyway on where Ugly's vulnerabilities are, but the Weasel? He'll have his wand at my neck all the time."
"I know. I'll talk to him about that. It's just that . . . Ron's a chess genius and that's what we need here. Strategy. Setting things up several moves ahead."
"The Weasel's a genius? Why do I find that hard to believe?" She started to protest, but he interrupted. "Look, if you think you can control him then fine. But where do we meet? I can't have them all here. It's too dangerous." That wasn't true. If it was that dangerous, he wouldn't have her meet him there, but this was his sanctuary. He couldn't turn it into a Gryffindor clubhouse.
"I'll figure something out." She stood, flicked her wand and her parchment rolled and tied itself. "I need to go deliver your message to Hagrid. Hopefully, I can get back to you tonight."
"Okay, although I'm exhausted. Hagrid'll give you a 'yes' or a 'no.' Just send that on the coin." He stood too.
She reached into her purse, pulling out her portkey. "Draco," she looked up at him, her eyes searching for something, "I . . . I want you to know, I . . . ."She looked down. She'd changed her mind. When she looked back, though, she was smiling. "Let's just kill him."
He couldn't think of anything to say, so he nodded silently.
With a quick 'Portus' she was gone. For some reason he couldn't stop grinning.
AN – So sorry for the delay. For those of you who've read my fanfics before you know this is unusual. I'll just say I've had a combination of sick kids, a travelling husband and some very unpleasant problems to deal with. No worries though. Mischief managed now and I should be back on track. Thanks for your patience. ; )