Chapter IX- Smiling Faces Sometimes Pretend:

As Draco sunk his fist into his childhood friend's face he bellowed "where the fuck is it?" Wands had been abandoned in favour of fists. It was much more passionate and personal. Zabini just grinned up at him lazily. He could sense Hermione lurking reluctantly in the shadows, along with a growing crowd of onlookers. It was almost dinner time, and they were near the Great Hall. Gritting his teeth, he dragged the suave Italian into an empty classroom where they had more privacy. "Tell me," he ordered, finally drawing his wand. "Or I'll kill you."

He heard the door open and close and instinctively knew it was Hermione. The guilt for what had happened in January was already eating her alive. He couldn't let her blame herself for the destruction of another horcrux. And he'd trusted Zabini to help her get it. The selfish part of him couldn't live with the guilt of being the one who caused hers.

Zabini laughed like a mad-man, long and leisurely. "Oh Drake," he drawled. "It's not that I don't believe you... I just don't care." That couldn't be true. Self preservation was etched into every Slytherin's DNA like self justification was in Gryffindors'. "I don't care about anything," he said slowly, tip-toeing his fingers along the desk behind him until he gripped the handle of a knife. "Except making you suffer." He launched himself forwards, the knife pointed at Draco's chest. Draco did what was automatic. He spun the knife, plunging it into his friend's chest. He heard Hermione's gasp without really hearing it. He felt the air brush past him as she raced forward to Blaise, collecting his head in her lap. He saw the blurred image of the always active greying face as it became less lifeless, the eyes wide and disbelieving. "Draco!" Hermione shouted like she was underwater. "Go get Madam Pomfrey."

"No..." a weak Blaise said and it jolted Draco back down to Earth. He fell to his knees, crawling towards his friend as Blaise stared at him. "It was this," he struggled to reach around his neck, but Hermione helped, pulling off a locket engraved with a pattern of jewels for him. "I took it from the vault... God I'm sorry, I'm sor-"

"Shush..." Hermione whispered. "It's not your fault."

"Of course it is, I was a greedy prat." Blaise gazed up at her, his voice becoming more breathless as he started to run out. He looked to his friend. "Don't you blame yourself for a second Drake," he chuckled darkly. "I know what you're like."

"I'm sorry anyway," Draco's voice cracked as he spoke and his heart clenched, but he managed the smallest of smiles.

Satisfied, Blaise looked back up to Hermione, speaking faster now, trying to make sure he said every word he needed to. "The cup-it's behind a portrait just outside the Owlery. He was going to send it- I don't know where- you should... go now."

"We're not going now, wanker," Draco said. Hermione looked at him proudly as she squeezed Blaise's hand, the blood oozing out of him. Slowly his face slackened and Draco licked his lips uncomfortably for a moment before instinctively gripping the other hand. His friend died with one last smile at him, and Draco was glad. Smiling was the way Blaise looked best. It made him uncomfortable to see the emotionless expression on his face now, so he got to his feet and cleared his throat. "I'll go to the Owlery."

"Alright," his girlfriend replied, her voice a little hoarse as well. "Draco," he paused as she called out his name and laid a comforting hand on his shoulder. "He meant it. It wasn't your fault."

"Neither was the other horcrux or Weaselette's death yours," he told her, sending her a brief smile over his shoulder before he left to go find the cup.


At dinner that night after burning her clothes and getting changed Hermione waited for an announcement of Blaise's death. None came. Perhaps they hadn't found him yet. The next day she peered into the classroom on her way down to breakfast and saw the blood had been mopped up, the body removed, and everything put back to how it had been before they'd entered the room. Still no announcement. Burning with rage, she gritted her teeth, sat down at the table with the boys and pretended that everything was fine. She could see the Slytherins whispering and confused at the other end of the hall but apart from that everything was completely normal. No-one was giving them any explanation or acknowledging that there was an empty space. She could see Draco itching to offer his friends some closure but neither of them could say anything, it would demolish their cover. Dumbledore would surely see it as proof of Draco's already assumed Death Eater status and her being present at one murder- a coincidence, two- that bordered on suspicious.

Almost there was her mantra. She used the time to focus particularly on developing her non-verbals, since she was sure that guard at Gringotts must have been weak, and even then it had barely worked. When the time came, she wanted to be able to take down anyone that got in her way, not just a conveniently placed puny adversary. She wished she could be at the Manor though, planning the takeover, aware of what was actually going on. She had no clue whether her father would strike today, in a month, or a year's time. Dumbledore's even further increased security didn't help things either. She wanted to see Draco; to comfort him, to have him comfort her. She knew there would be more death to come and she was willing to weather it, but Blaise's had been unnecessary and unrewarded and unfair- and they were both still struggling with it alone.


In the Easter Holidays Hermione again used the excuse that she was going to visit some landmarks, but this time she was met at King's Cross not by Narcissa but by Draco. "Hey," she greeted him, kissing him after doing a quick scan. Soon she wouldn't have to, she sang to herself. "Not that I'm not thrilled to see you, but why are you here? You can't apparate."

"We're not going to the Manor," said Draco. She gave him a perplexed look and he gestured to a taxi. "Your chariot, m'lady." She curtsied in response with a little laugh, sliding in beside him.

"So where are we go-?"

"Shush!" Draco smothered her lips, pushing her against the taxi seat, swirling his tongue in her mouth expertly. She moaned. It had been far too long since they'd last done this. For this moment they were the only ones in the world. The taxi and the threats and the losses and the whole damn city of London, the whole damn world, crumbled. All that mattered, all that existed, was him. His fervent intensity was all consuming and she felt perfectly in tune with him. They were melting into each other, moulding into one creature that breathed with one pair of lungs, lived with one beating heart.

"End of the line!" The sets fell back into place around them and she grudgingly clamoured out as Draco tossed an excess of muggle money at the driver.

She glanced around, and instantly recognised that they were outside the Leaky Cauldron. Turning to Draco to ask him what they were doing here, he enveloped them both in his invisibility cloak. Being so encased with him yet unable to do what she wanted was torturous, but she pushed down her feelings as they hurried down the familiar street. She could almost see Ginny's ghost in the ice cream parlour they always visited at the end of each trip at the beginning of the school year, and across from that Blaise's lively grin as he thundered down the steps of Gringott's. Suddenly ghosts strangling her in a place that had for so many years had been absolutely innocent. Draco took her arm and pulled her down a side alley, one she hadn't been down before. Entranced, she gazed into the shop windows at the shrunken heads, bones and giant spiders. Maybe she should buy some for Ron. Draco pulled her in as she almost crashed into a lumbering wizard charging out of a tattoo shop with a new pattern of snakes etched all over his face. "This is it," Draco told her and she glanced up to see the name of the shop before he took her in. Borgin and Burkes.

Inside the shop a cast of disturbing masks leered at her from every angle, while intriguing medieval torture instruments hung from the ceiling. An old shrunken hand lay decoratively on a cushion. The Hand of Glory... she approached it slowly, her own hand outstretched, jolting back as a similarly shrivelled old man popped up from behind the counter. "Mr Borgin," said Draco respectfully. "My father tells me it is done."

"Indeed," the old man nodded, eyeing her curiously. He led them around the corner to a cobwebbed area where stood an imposing black cabinet. Her boyfriend approached it first, pulling open the door and clapping his hands together in delight when he saw an apple inside.

"Excellent!" Still confused, Hermione took another step forwards. Draco turned back, taking her hand and gesturing for her to follow him. They both squeezed inside the cabinet as although she felt incredibly perplexed she also trusted him implicitly. Draco shut the doors behind them and after a moment he opened them again, whooping triumphantly as he pulled her out into a different, somehow familiar location. "We travelled?" She looked around. It hadn't felt like portkey or even apparition, she hadn't felt any movement at all. Ash scuffed her shoes and as she studied the ruins around her she realised why it was so familiar. "To the Room of Requirement."

"After January I moved the matching cabinet in here while my father worked on repairing the one at Borgin and Burke's. Before we left I put the apple in to test it- and it worked." He shook her a little as if to get her to realise the magnitude of this achievement. "We've got a way in! The invasion's going to happen next term!"

"Disgusting Death Eater whore!" Ghoulish screams filled her ears and Draco noticed her looking around with empty eyes.

"You alright?"

But her eyes weren't empty with sadness. She nodded, smirking a little, and pulled him back into the cupboard. "Let's go set a date."

Merry Christmas!