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CHAPTER 12
Firewhisky
"Is it spelled 'Aguamenti' or 'Aquamenti'?" Ron asked aloud, after staring at his parchment for several seconds. He was rubbing his hair with his quill. "I spelled it with G, but now it sounds weird..."
"Aguamenti," Hermione answered immediately, continuing to write with astonishing speed, sitting in the next armchair. Her scroll, dangling over the edge of the armrest, was already reaching the floor.
"Thanks," Ron hastened to write it down, relieved. "Finally..."
He looked up from his writing, proud of the result, and looked at his friend's with a smile. Which instantly faltered upon seeing the difference in length between the two scrolls. He watched the girl write steadily for a brief moment, then looked back at his work. He looked up a second time to stare at her.
"Hermione…" he called softly.
"Hmm?" she answered, without raising her nose from the book she had on her lap and which she was consulting.
"Can you remind me what Charms homework we're doing?"
"Explain in detail at least five charms related to the elements," Hermione recited in a flat voice.
"Yeah," Ron agreed, looking back at his parchment again and then back at hers. "So, can you explain to me why my parchment —" he glanced quickly at Harry's writing, in the next armchair, "— and Harry's, are half as long as yours? What the hell are you writing?"
"Five charms related to the elements," Hermione repeated, casually, without neglecting her task.
"I don't think so! I see at least eight written there," replied the boy, after a quick cursory glance at the young woman's parchment.
"There's your answer to why my scroll is longer," she said sarcastically. "Professor Flitwick said at least five. I don't hurt anyone if I want to do eight."
"You're hurting us," Ron growled, looking up from the girl's parchment and leaning back in his armchair. "First he'll read your essay and think, 'Whoa, Granger has worked hard,' and then he'll read mine and say, 'Weasley should be devoted to feeding the Giant Squid'. You make us look bad. You are selfish."
"I am selfish?" Hermione repeated, with a laugh. "No one is stopping you from doing eight too."
"Ron, don't try to talk Hermione out of trying as hard as she can," Ginny chimed in, sitting in front of the roaring fireplace, fiddling with Crookshanks and Arnold, her Micropuff. She had already finished all her homework. "You won't get it."
"Uh-huh," Harry agreed simply, too used to his friends' little arguments to care.
The redhead snorted and looked at his parchment, worthy of his pride a few minutes ago, with dejection. Now it seemed like crap.
A duo of high-pitched giggles reached the youths' ears, and they looked up instinctively. Everyone except Hermione, who wasn't so easily distracted from her duties. Crookshanks made a dangerous attempt to chase Arnold, who fled in terror and got under one of the armchairs, the one that Harry was occupying. Ginny came to its aid.
Parvati and Lavender, firmly arm in arm and whispering to each other, had just come down the stairs from the dormitories and were undoubtedly coming straight for them.
"Here come the fowls," Ginny wailed in a whisper, still crouched under the armchair, looking for Arnold. Harry covered his face with the parchment so they wouldn't see him laugh.
"Hi, Hermione!" Parvati and Lavender exclaimed at the same time, with more joviality than the phrase required, as soon as they reached them. They had deliberately ignored the rest.
The aforementioned raised her head from her writing, looking somewhat disoriented at having been pulled from her homework, and looked at them with genuine bewilderment.
"Hi…" she said slowly, suspiciously.
The girls giggled again, looking at each other with complicity. Hermione seriously wondered if she had grown donkey ears or something similar in the hours she hadn't looked at herself in a mirror, because it wasn't normal for that pair of girls to look at her and laugh so happily.
"How are you?" Lavender asked, sweetly. Parvati giggled again.
"Er — well?" Hermione replied, with minimal conviction. At least she was until they had shown up.
"Yeah, yeah, we already know you're well," Parvati confirmed, grinning from ear to ear. "You have been keeping it to yourself, huh?! Although it does not surprise me, it is understandable..."
"It is?" Hermione replied, blinking. "What, exactly?"
They laughed again, conspiratorially. Hermione was starting to get impatient. And the faces of her friends radiated the same feeling.
"Why you didn't tell us before that you had a boyfriend, rascal?" Lavender protested, pouting. They both laughed again for the umpteenth time. Hermione frowned and blinked, totally taken aback by that statement. Boyfriend? She? She? Were they serious? "Although, honestly, you could have chosen something else, girl. There are very decent ones in the castle, you could aspire to something... at least a little better. And not a Slytherin, woman!"
Her heart lurched. She felt herself turn pale. A Slytherin... Immediately, a more than familiar face appeared in her mind. And Draco Malfoy sneered at her from the inside of her head, smiling cynically...
She had to stop herself from closing her eyes in frustration and banging himself on the head. She felt hatred towards herself.
Why had precisely his face come to mind? He wasn't the only Slytherin she knew, geez…
Fortunately, a loud laugh brought her out of her stupor. She shuddered and, returning to the earthly world, looked around for the source of the laughter, only to discover Ginny laughing out loud from the floor. Harry, sitting across from her, seemed to be hesitating whether to join in Ginny's laughter or just look at them in confusion. Ron, next to her, had red ears, and didn't seem to find it amusing at all.
"But what are you talking about?" Ginny sneered, as soon as she managed to take a breath and speak, looking at Parvati and Lavender. They looked at her as if they had just noticed her presence. "Why do you invent nonsense?"
They exchanged a look of superiority, as if they knew something of great importance that their listeners did not, and looked at the redhead girl again, with tender condescension.
"For your information, Weasley, we ran into Theodore Nott earlier… You know who he is, don't you? That scrawny, rabbit-faced Slytherin boy who spends his life lonelier than a Hippogriff, and often —"
"Merlin's beard, save yourself the bibliographic data and get to the point, Lavender," Ginny pleaded, exasperated at the high degree of gossip emanating from the young woman.
"Well, that's it," the girl picked up the thread, annoyed by the interruption. "We've met this Nott guy on the Grand Staircase, and he's asked us to tell Hermione, if we see her, if she can give him back the book New Theory of Numerology that he lent her, because he needs it to do an essay."
"Aha. And?" Hermione inquired, making a note on her mental to-do list about returning the book to him, still looking at the girls in confusion.
"That's it," Parvati resolved, smiling. "Since when are you two together?"
Hermione blinked twice. Just two.
"Are you trying to tell me that just because a guy lent me a book we're a couple?" Hermione repeated, trying to make sure she got the point right.
"No, woman, no," Lavender replied, and they laughed again. "It's not just because of that," she added, pretending to be moved. "People have seen you leave Arithmancy class many times with him, talking very animatedly... It is suspicious, don't you think?"
No, of course she didn't think so. Hermione snorted sceptically. How could they be so supremely childish? Talking very animatedly… they must be referring to the conversations they had to try to stop Malfoy, weeks ago. The time Nott had offered to retrieve her wand, and the time she'd asked him about Malfoy's weakness… Other than those few times, she hadn't talked much to Nott. Perhaps they had exchanged a few kind words at the end of some class, but little else. And, despite that, people were already beginning to gossip. It was ridiculous.
"We're offended that you kept it from us, Hermione, we thought we were friends," Lavender continued, pretending to feel insulted. "We sleep in the same room, or not? But we really understand you, honey. It is frowned upon for a Gryffindor to hang out with a Slytherin. People talk, you know? And not too good stuff. So, if I were you, I would reconsider going out with someone like Nott... In addition to the fact that the boy is extremely vulgar, it's not worth it for people to speak ill of you for hanging out with someone like him, is it? It is our advice as friends, of course."
Hermione felt her chest burn. She was so angry that she didn't know what to say. How could they be so superficial? And since when were they 'friends'?They shared a bedroom and got along well. That was all. That was not friendship.
"Are you dating him?" an angry voice suddenly demanded to her left.
Hermione turned her face sharply and met Ron's blue eyes, narrowed and emitting suspicious gleams.
"Of course not!" the girl exclaimed, offended, recovering her voice. "How can you think I'm dating someone behind your back?"
"Then, why have you hidden from us that you're talking to him? Since when do you two talk?" he insisted, without removing his grimace of suspicion.
"Oh, for God's sake! It hadn't seemed relevant to me," Hermione protested, her cheeks flushed with indignation. "Nott attends Arithmancy class with me, we have realized that we can have a cordial relationship —" As a result of trying to stop Malfoy together, "— and he left me a book that I needed, period. I don't think it's anything strange!"
"But how can you even talk to him?" Ron insisted, his ears flushing. "He's a Slytherin! And he's a friend of Malfoy's, what are you thinking?"
"And what does that matter?" she snapped, furious. "He's a nice boy, and —"
"I'm sure it's a Malfoy's trick," Ron went on briskly, as if he'd just seen the light. "I'm sure he's using that Nott to get close to you and do something to you afterwards. And you have fallen into the trap..."
Hermione snorted, deeply outraged. She was beginning to feel very hot, and her hands were shaking. She could not believe what she was hearing.
"How can you have that mentality? Can't he just appreciate my company? If he wants to be close to me, is it to plan something behind my back and then cruelly betray me? Can't he just appreciate me?"
"Oh, come on, of course not," Ron snapped, flustered. "He's a fucking Slytherin. And you are a Muggle-born. If now he suddenly wants your 'friendship' it is with some hidden intention. And assuming that he doesn't want something else..."
"But, do you really think I'm capable of ending up dating the first person who comes to talk to me apart from you? Do you really think I have such poor judgment?" Hermione snapped, offended. "He's just a nice boy. And that's it. I don't care if he is a Slytherin —"
"Well, I do care! And Harry too!" shouted Ron.
"Hey, don't pass the buck to me," Harry protested, interjecting after having been listening to the conversation with a frown.
"Do you also think that Nott is only being nice to me on Malfoy's orders?" Hermione wanted to know immediately, glaring at him. "Or that I'm secretly dating him?"
Harry squirmed in his seat, uncomfortable under his friend's gaze.
"It wouldn't be the first thing I would have thought of, Hermione. But I admit that it seems strange to me that a Slytherin wants to become friends with you, just like that. And — I don't know — I'm surprised that you trusted him in the first place, and that you never told us about your friendship with him..."
"I don't think Hermione has to tell us all the time who she hangs out with," Ginny chimed in. She wasn't laughing anymore, and she seemed annoyed by what she was hearing. "We are not its owners. She can do whatever she wants with whoever she wants."
"I didn't say otherwise," Harry replied, blushing. "I'm just saying that, if she'd ever told us about him, we might have done a little digging to find out his intentions." Ginny snorted in disbelief, rolling her eyes. "Just to be reassured… Because I admit that it is strange, being a Slytherin and —"
"Again!" Hermione snapped, jumping to her feet. The book on her lap fell to the carpet with a thud. "The same, again! You are such hypocrites! You complain about Ma-Malfoy's intolerance, but you behave the same!" the young woman's voice faltered when pronouncing his name, although only she was aware of it. The rest thought she was stuttering out of anger. "You judge people by the House they're in! You are not able to assimilate that someone you don't know simply wants to be friends with me! You are a — an immature — !"
She fell silent, glaring at them, her breath quickening and her fists clenched. Her eyes began to water rapidly. She turned away from her friends and covered her mouth with one hand, trying to keep her jaw from trembling. She raised her head and blinked rapidly to hold back tears.
"Hermione…" Ginny's voice called softly from behind her, though she ignored it.
Breathing heavily and deeply, Hermione faced them again and bent down to pick up her backpack, to start stuffing all her books into it.
"What are you doing?" Ginny asked quickly, sitting up until she was on her knees on the ground. She was scrutinizing her friend's face carefully, with concern. "Listen, don't go like that, let's talk about this —"
"I'm going to the Library," Hermione replied, her voice husky but determined. "I don't want to listen to you anymore. There, at least, no one will treat me as a traitor. Nor will accuse me of 'fraternizing with the enemy', as happened with Viktor Krum. Or will you deny me that this is what you are thinking?"
"I —" Harry began hesitantly. Ron just looked at her with pursed lips in annoyance and said nothing.
"Leave it, Harry, it doesn't matter," the young woman cut in.
Hermione slung her backpack over her shoulder and picked up the rest of the books, the inkwell, the quill, and the essay she still had on her armchair. With that done, she turned and strode through the thankfully nearly deserted Common Room, to storm out of the portrait hole. The few students who were there watched her pass with a truly uncomfortable curiosity and fixity.
When she had gone, the people still around the fireplace looked at each other.
"Hooray, Ron," Ginny muttered angrily, grabbing a flustered Arnold, who had taken advantage of the silence to come out of hiding. "When it seems that you can't be such an asshole anymore, you go and surpass yourself."
"Ah, now it's my fault?" the boy defended himself angrily.
"No, I agree with you there," Ginny admitted, turning her head to glare at Parvati and Lavender, who had watched the entire fight with their mouths agape. "Are you satisfied with what you have done?"
Parvati shook her head imperceptibly, staring at the carpet, uncomfortably. Lavender, for her part, shrugged and pursed her lips in a mock embarrassed pout.
Damn Lavender, damn Parvati, damn Ron… Damn everyone!
Hermione wasn't even aware of which part of the castle she was walking through. She had told her friends she was going to the Library, but it had only been a crude excuse. She had no fixed destination. She had gone up and down so many steps that she had lost count. All she wanted was to walk and walk until she forgot everything that had happened. Or until the pain in her flank dulled the tightness in her chest.
Her thick hair was partially hiding her face, falling on either side of it, making it difficult for her to see clearly where she was walking. But it also hid her from the prying eyes of everyone she passed. A couple of treacherous tears had overcome her self-control and trickled slowly down her cheeks, but she found herself unable to wipe them away due to the sheer amount of utensils in her hands.
How could they have doubted her? Was there so little trust in their friendship that they even questioned that she was dating a person behind their backs? Of course she hadn't explained anything to them, but what did she have to explain? She and Theodore Nott were classmates, and it could be said that they had begun to have a cordial relationship as a result of having the common goal of stopping Malfoy... And now she felt that they had stained that friendship with their accusation, that they had sullied it. Why on earth couldn't Nott just want a friendship, and had to have a hidden intention behind?
She went up some narrow stairs and reached the fourth floor, packed with students. She recognized it because she could clearly make out the double doors that led to the Library. It seemed like a joke of fate. She walked through the corridor with quick steps. She could lock herself in the Library, just as she had said. There, at least, she would find the peace and quiet she needed. She always found it there.
As she walked, a lighter colour, a pale blond colour, caught her eye among the crowd of students clad in black robes. Her heart gave a start. She almost came to a stop. It couldn't be...
But no. Merlin.
She was a young blonde, with long hair tied up in a high ponytail. For a moment she had thought that... But no, her mind had played a trick on her. Malfoy was present in her subconscious because of the fight with her friends, because he was Nott's friend, because he was also a Slytherin, because he was the first person who came to her mind when she was accused of dating a Slytherin...
But she couldn't be so unlucky to run into Malfoy in that state, almost on the verge of tears. She was already getting paranoid. Okay, yes, she was running into Malfoy everywhere lately... But that didn't mean her bad luck applied to all situations. But itwas Thursday afternoon, and many students took advantage of that day to go to the Library to do homework and be free on the weekend. Would Malfoy be one of those who would have decided to do that? She knew that, to her own surprise, the boy frequented the Library, as — ever since she had appreciated his presence more easily — she had seen him on a few occasions from a distance, usually in the company of Nott or Zabini. Apparently, although he often missed class, he did bother to do the homework that was ordered.
Well, other times she had seen him there but they hadn't looked at each other. And that didn't have to change. She would go into the Library and go to a corner, to calm down. On her own.
When she was several meters away from reaching the doors, a new ash-yellow reflection caught her eye.
Wait a moment…
This time she stopped abruptly.
It couldn't be true. It was him.
Draco Malfoy's striking white-blond hair, along with the rest of his tall, lean frame, was emerging from the double doors of the Library at that moment, backpack slung over his shoulder, looking self-absorbed.
No. Absolutely not.
The young woman turned as if by reflex, without hesitating. She felt her breathing quicken. She wasn't going to let Malfoy see her in that situation, covered in tears, dishevelled, and with her hands full of study utensils. She wasn't going to make it so easy for his cruel humour. She wasn't going to put up with his insults.
She had to find another place as a refuge, at least for a while. She wasn't going to cross Malfoy to get into the Library, it was too risky. She started walking, retracing her steps. She could take a detour to the hallway and…
After she had barely taken three strides, a blurry figure rushed at her from the hallway to her right, making a strange, unnatural jingle as it collided with her.
The figure caused Hermione to lose her balance, tangling her feet and falling to the ground on her face. All the things she was carrying scattered on the floor around her, including the ink bottle, which broke, spilling its content all over her books and essays, and also a… broken bottle?
"Oh, hic! Excuse me, young man!" an ethereal, slightly hoarse voice exclaimed instantly. Hermione looked up in a daze, to find herself face to face with Professor Trelawney, who had fallen on top of her and was now struggling to her feet and to throw off the shawls that covered her head.
"Professor — ?" Hermione was astonished, her voice a little unsteady. Her elbows and chest ached, the parts of her body that had cushioned her fall. A pair of students Hermione didn't know, a Hufflepuff boy and a Ravenclaw girl, came over and pulled the teacher to her feet. They seemed to consider that Hermione was fit to get up on her own, unlike the drunken teacher. Other people who were around stopped their walk but did not approach, they limited themselves to contemplating the situation.
"It's just that I was in a hurry, and — Hic! — I wasn't looking where I was —" Trelawney argued, swaying and staring, her big eyes magnified behind her thick glasses, at a point a foot from Hermione's face. "I'm going to see Doble — Hic! — dore — I mean Dable — the Headmaster! — Hic! — And I'm in a hurry — Hey you, young lady!" she suddenly yelled at someone behind Hermione. "Help this young man — Hic! — to pick up his things! I have to go —"
The woman turned jauntily, nearly slipping on one of her long necklaces, and stalked down the hall with an unsteady gait. The students who had helped her to her feet watched her leave without really knowing what to do with her in her condition. The rest soon continued on their way, commenting on what had happened. It was rare to see the professor hanging around the corridors, since she rarely left her tower. All the students knew that their Divination teacher had unresolved alcohol problems ever since Professor Umbridge had tried to fire her a couple of years ago. And though she had held the position when Umbridge left, she still seemed to drink on rare occasions. Hermione vaguely wondered what had happened to her teacher to have succumbed to alcohol, and what she was going to tell Dumbledore.
But she didn't have much time to think about it.
"Hey, I'm not a woman!" exclaimed a voice, indeed male, and also indignant, behind Hermione, tearing her out of her thoughts.
Hermione, still lying on the floor, surrounded by her utensils, gave a start.
"That voice..." said a small voice in the girl's mind.
She made as if to turn her head, but it was not necessary, since the owner of the voice had positioned himself in front of her, standing full length. Hermione's gaze slid from expensive, shiny black shoes to pants of the same colour and cost, a white shirt with a grey sleeveless jumper covering it, a green and silver tie, neatly untied, and an open black tunic that covered the whole. And, ending the tour of the Slytherin House uniform, Draco Malfoy's face sneered from his mighty height.
"Merlin, why me?" she thought, barely containing a desperate groan.
"Fuck, that stinks of alcohol," Malfoy muttered, wrinkling his nose and looking at the girl's personal belongings, onto which the half-empty bottle of whisky the professor was carrying had spilt. "What your stuff was missing, Granger. Muggle smell, and now alcohol."
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment.
"Maybe when I count three he'll be gone… One, two… Nope," she wailed in her depressed mind.
The Hufflepuff boy and the Ravenclaw girl looked at Malfoy with slight suspicion. They didn't seem to know who he was; they were from some lower year. Despite hearing the words he dedicated to the girl, they seemed to consider that, seeing him approach to talk to her after Trelawney's order, he must know her, and she was in good hands. So they just walked away discreetly.
"Shut up, Malfoy," Hermione replied, her voice firm, though not half as strong as she had intended to use. She sat on her knees, in a position she considered less humiliating. "And, if you're not going to help me, I'd appreciate it if you'd get the hell out of here. I don't need spectators."
Hermione looked at her things, scattered around her, and felt her chest tighten. Everything was soaked and stained with ink and whisky. The discussion she had had with Harry and Ron a few minutes before came to her mind... and she felt herself collapsing. Could things turn out worse? She forced herself not to have such negative thoughts; to tell herself that it wasn't that serious, that everything had a solution... but the lump in her throat grew. Suddenly, under Malfoy's cold, mocking gaze, sitting awkwardly in the middle of the hall, she felt tremendously alone. People around her were passing by without helping her, and the only thing Malfoy would do, no doubt, was insult her.
She clenched her lips and teeth to hold back a strangled sob. She convulsed slightly, unable to quite suppress it at all, but took a deep breath and rubbed the back of her ink-smeared hand across her nose. The last thing in the world she wanted at that moment was to cry in front of Malfoy… but the lump in her throat seemed to tell her that she wouldn't have any luck with that either. She tried to start the arduous task of collecting all her utensils, despite the sudden shaking of her hands.
Draco hadn't taken his eyes off her, and his smirk turned into almost a wince. His eyes were fixed on Granger's face, half-hidden by the tousled brown hair. Her nose was flushed, and her eyes were brimming with tears. She was shaking.
"She is crying..."
Draco felt goosebumps rise on his arms. And a sudden and uncomfortable heat took over the back of his neck. He didn't remember seeing Granger in such a state ever. So... heartbroken. So unexpectedly fragile. He was taken aback by the fact that she wasn't the same grumpy, haughty girl as always, the fact that she didn't seem in any condition to have a verbal fight with him. The only thing they were both used to. But that paradigm shift dislodged him. Leaving him paralyzed and mute for a long moment. Too long.
He had to react. He had to say something.
And he knew what. There was nothing to think about. What else was he going to say?
"C'mon! Are you crying?" he scoffed, and then let out a laugh. But he himself was surprised at how forced it sounded. "Merlin, Granger, only a nerd like you could cry for having soiled her books with —"
Hermione interrupted him with a loud noise that almost sounded like a scream of frustration. Or a sob. No. She wasn't going to put up with one more taunt from a malicious jerk like Malfoy. She had enough with everything Harry and Ron had told her. She didn't want to take another hurtful comment. It was enough.
She staggered to her feet, her hands picking precariously all her stained personal belongings. The crystals from the broken bottle were the only thing that remained on the ground.
She raised her face shamelessly and met Malfoy's now bewildered gaze. Enraged.
"GO TO HELL!" she screamed at him, with such rage, and in such a loud voice, that she managed to startle the boy.
A couple of people who were passing by them at that moment were equally startled and turned to her, alarmed. Hermione turned and hurried into the Library, her strides long and determined, her head held high.
Draco, with his eyes slightly wider than normal, could only blink in bewilderment at the girl's outburst. What's gotten into that crazy woman? What was all that about? He suddenly realized, feeling somewhat stupid for realizing too late, that she obviously wasn't crying over what had happened to her books. It had to be for another reason. Granger, despite being an insufferable bookworm, was not childish. She wouldn't be affected by something she could fix with a wave of her wand. No, something else had happened to her...
He realized that his smirk was gone, and he had to consciously contract the muscles in his cheeks to bring it back. She looked very affected... What could have happened to her? Draco found himself racking his brain thinking of options. The last time he saw her in such a state was on Hallowe'en, and not even on that day...
That day she looked furious. Now she looked heartbroken. At least until he had opened his mouth...
The muscles in his cheeks ached from the effort he was making to smirk. He stopped doing it, surrounded by strangers walking down the hall, resentful of himself. It was impossible, he was not happy. He felt curious. Intrigued. And he didn't quite like that feeling. He had to be enjoying the suffering of that Mudblood. Apart from being curious about what was happening to her, he had to be satisfied with it.
He often provoked her to hurt her. Why, now that he wasn't directly responsible, couldn't he just rejoice, turn around and walk down the hall? Why was he still staring at the Library door through which she had entered, like a complete idiot?
He felt his breathing quicken. Suddenly, he felt terrified. A dread that was becoming more and more familiar. The same dread that he felt in the bathroom on the first floor, after what had happened with that stupid and horrible plant. The same dread that he felt after the first Defence Against the Dark Arts class after Christmas, when, already in the solitude of his room, he was able to coldly analyze what happened in the fight against Weasley. Realizing that he hadn't attacked him, hadn't defended himself, simply because she had looked at him that way.
He was terrified that he was not in control of himself, that he did not feel in control of his thoughts and reactions.
And that couldn't stay like that. No way. He hadn't been able to fix the previous situations, but he was going to fix this one. He was going to feel normal.
Without thinking twice, he strode forward and pushed open the double doors with one hand, entering the silent room he had just left.
It was considerably full of students, doing their weekend homework, studying for an exam, or returning a book before the term was up and Madam Pince banned them from the Library for life. At a table in the back of the room, out of sight, he knew was Zabini, with whom Draco had been studying until it was time to leave for his Quidditch practice, precisely where he had been headed when he had bumped into Granger. He was in a bit of a hurry, in fact, but he figured talking to Granger again wouldn't slow him down for long. It would only be two minutes. He had to get rid of doubts.
Draco stepped between the tall bookshelves, his footsteps echoing throughout the cathedral-sized space. He entered several corridors, but he wasn't quite sure about it. Where could she have gone? She was crying, so logic dictated that she would have moved as far away from the entrance as possible, to try not to let anyone see her. An unusual scent suddenly filled his nostrils, making him wrinkle his nose. Then he smiled. Solved. Granger was going to lead him to her without even meaning to. Or rather, Professor Trelawney's Firewhisky would be the one to guide him.
He followed the pungent smell of alcohol that Granger's belongings had left behind through the Library, until he finally turned a corner and found her. She was in front of a bookshelf, wand in hand, cleaning all her belongings one by one. Her backpack and her books, soaked in ink and alcohol, were on a table, next to the girl. Her back was to him, and he couldn't see her face.
Again, he forced himself to stretch the muscles of his cheeks with effort to return to outline a mischievous smile. He approached the girl, almost gliding, silently. Being behind her, he brought his face close to the thick hair of the busy young woman, with the intention of whispering something hurtful in her ear and giving her the scare of her life; but he did not manage to say anything. The girl's fluffy hair suddenly gave off a pleasant, aromatic scent that he was unable to identify, but it managed to numb his nostrils, sending a shiver down his spine that gave him goosebumps. Smell of shampoo. Smell of clean.
"Does Granger smell good? Why?" he wondered foolishly in his dazed mind.
Blinking in surprise at that revelation, and breathing hard from his own shock, he shook his head slightly and resumed his plan without hesitation.
"Calmer, Mudblood?" he whispered mischievously in her ear, so close that the young woman's fragrant, frizzy hair tickled his nose. Perhaps he could have waited a little longer before saying anything to alert her to his presence…
Hermione gave such a start that the book she was holding slipped from her fingers. Fortunately, she managed to catch it before it hit the shelf or the floor. Madam Pince could hear and recognize the sound of a book falling miles away. Hermione spun around in terror, clutching the book and wand to her chest, and found herself face to face with Malfoy, who was watching her with a wicked smirk on his face. When had he gotten there? Why had he followed her? Why was he so close?
She took a breath, recovering from the shock, and raised her chin smugly.
"What the hell do you want now, Malfoy?" she snapped, with all the rage she could muster. Her throat was still tight with disgust, but she had calmed down a bit. Although, as Malfoy could see from that distance, her cheeks still showed a couple of thin trails of almost dried tears. And her nose was stained with ink.
Draco had to redouble his efforts to keep the smirk on his face before answering:
"You told me to go to hell, so I came to see you," his smile widened with an effort and he crossed his arms, looking at the girl with satisfaction. Hermione looked at him for a second more, with deep boredom, and then turned her back on him, to continue cleaning her belongings.
"How ingenious. I'm cracking myself up. There, you've already got the joke of the year. Now get out of here," she snapped, running her wand over the spine of one of the books, wiping it clean. But, of course, he wasn't going to listen to her, and she knew it. He had come to lash her out with his insults, and he wouldn't leave until he did.
Without erasing that little smile that threatened to end the girl's patience, Malfoy leaned with his elbow on the shelf, next to her, so he could see her in profile.
"I'll be leaving soon, don't worry," he assured, mocking. "I have no intention of catching anything you can infect me with. Just a humble question —"
"Humble? You don't know what that means," Hermione interrupted unsympathetically, placing a clean book on its proper pile and picking up one of the stained parchments.
"Could you tell me who did something to you so —" He exaggeratedly elongated the 'o', "— horrible as to make you shed filthy Muggle tears? I've created a fan club against Hermione busybody Granger, and I'd like to invite them to join."
Hermione, despite his words, couldn't help but let out a scathing laugh.
"Believe me, you wouldn't want them in your club…" she replied without thinking, bitterly, feeling a pang of pain again as she remembered what had happened in the Common Room. How could Harry and Ron have treated her like this...?
Malfoy chuckled, satisfied.
"Wow, enlightening answer. So it was Potty and the Weasel, huh?"
Hermione blinked, surprised by his quick thinking, and turned her face to look at him. He still hadn't erased that sly smile from his angular face, and his eyes revealed amusement at the girl's puzzlement.
"Don't jump to conclusions. It wasn't them," Hermione lied firmly, mortified at the confidence Malfoy was showing. He laughed again.
"Please, Granger, don't insult my intelligence. You fight with those two fools every now and then. The whole Hogwarts knows that," he replied calmly, arching a blond eyebrow. Hermione looked away, humiliated, and that was better than a confession. "Enlighten me, what was this time? Has the Weasel spoken with his mouth full? Has Scarhead talked about himself more than the statutory five hundred times a day?"
Hermione clenched her jaw in fury, holding herself back from yelling anything offensive at him. She couldn't make a fuss in the Library, and Malfoy knew that. Surely that's why he had decided to follow her to such an ideal place to mortify her.
"I'm not going to tell you anything, so do me a favour and get out of here," Hermione muttered hastily, gritting her teeth. Malfoy was getting what he surely wanted: by forcing her to bring up the subject of Harry and Ron, he was making her eyes water again. Her best friends didn't trust her... They had prejudices too; they also differed between muggle-borns and pure-bloods... They also saw her differently...
"Oh, come on, Granger, don't beg for it," the blond scoffed, unaware of the young woman's state of mind. "The Slytherin Common Room is very boring these days, we need new anecdotes…"
"I told you to leave me alone!" Hermione exclaimed, struggling not to raise her voice. New sobs piled up in her throat, and she could barely speak understandably. Crying had invaded her suddenly, taking her by surprise. Her, and Malfoy. "For once in your life, get off me, leave me alone — !"
She tried to continue railing against him, but the crying had reached a point where she couldn't articulate anything coherent. Tears had begun to slide uncontrollably down her face. She dropped the book in her hands on the lower part of the shelf and hastily wiped her face with them, coughing, sniffling, and trying in vain to stop crying so painfully. Please! She was an emotionally mature and thoughtful person. How could she lose her manners like that?
Now, in addition to the frustration she felt against her friends, she had to add the shame that invaded her. She had just given Malfoy humiliation material enough for half a century. Cool.
Draco, for his part, was static. He just stared at her with what he knew must be the biggest jerk face he'd made in a long time. He didn't remember seeing Granger so heartbroken ever. It was new to him. And disconcerting. She always seemed so proud, with her head held high, so determined… so Granger. It seemed that nothing could bring her down, nor defeat her. No one could bring down that proud big head. Seeing her suddenly so vulnerable, so different from how she used to be, had broken his schemes; he did not know how to behave. A little voice in his head told him that he should continue to torment her, crush her, without remorse. But he was not able. In fact, he was unable to do anything.
The girl, lately, was always so aware of the problems that Malfoy himself caused, that the young man had not thought until then that she also had her own difficulties. That she had feelings. Complex feelings, like a… normal person. Like him.
And that realization came to him completely unexpectedly and overwhelmingly, almost painfully, as he felt a powerful twist in his stomach. And that made him extremely angry.
He clenched his fists. He was wrong. People, wizards, had feelings, and Muggles weren't wizards; were something less. He couldn't consider her as an equal of any kind. Because they weren't.
Hermione swallowed hard. She took as deep a breath as she could before picking up the book she had left on the shelf and turning to walk past Malfoy, intending to grab her things and walk away. Her chin up. She didn't want to look at him. She didn't want to see the smile that, she was sure, lit up her pale face at having seen her fall apart. She didn't want to see Malfoy again for the rest of her life.
She hadn't yet reached her things, however, when Malfoy turned in her direction and gripped her arm hard at the elbow, holding her down. Hermione was forced to turn her body towards Malfoy at the abruptness with which he stopped her. She ran out of breath, as much from his unexpected gesture as from his facial expression. There was not a trace of a smile on the blond's angular face. Just poise, and something the girl was unable to decipher, but that left her breathless. Suddenly, the boy seemed much bigger than he really was, and made her feel tiny next to him.
Hermione looked down at Malfoy's hand, clinging to her arm, and met his eyes again. Unlike the scene in the Quidditch Changing Rooms, he made no move to release her.
"What are you doing?" Hermione stammered, panting. She still had tears in her eyes, and a runny nose, but she tried to speak as firmly as she could muster. "L-let go of me immediately..."
But Malfoy didn't let her go. He didn't even listen to her. He couldn't do anything but hold her arm tightly, keeping her still, while he looked at her, barely breathing. He didn't know what he was doing, all he knew was that he couldn't let Granger's arm go. He couldn't let her go like this. He hadn't achieved what he'd set out to do when he went in there, which was to enjoy the girl's suffering, and he feared for a moment that he wouldn't. But he had to try. A last chance.
"Could you —" Malfoy began, his voice completely deadpan, causing the girl to look at him with almost terrified expectation, "— stop being so disgusting? Are you seriously putting on all this show because you've had a fight with those two worthless? Are you kidding me?"
Ah, the mockery. That powerful friend, a great help to frustrated and desperate people. How Draco was at the time. He needed to buy time to think about what else to say. To justify the fact of keeping her there.
Hermione took a slow breath, so she could completely calm down, and wiped her mucus-covered upper lip with the sleeve of her free arm. Malfoy's hand was still firmly wrapped around her other arm, above her school robes, and the girl couldn't help but wonder why he didn't let go. But she didn't ask him aloud again. To her bewilderment, it didn't look like he was going to do anything bad to her. Except for making fun of her, of course.
"Shouldn't arguing with my best friends affect me?" Hermione snapped icily, defensively, wiping away the tears that were still running down her cheeks, which were covered in little red spots, with the palm of her hand. At least she had regained her full lung capacity now. "Oh, Merlin, what can all this matter to you?" she despaired, frustrated. "Will you please —"
"I don't give a bat's ass. But you're embarrassing yourself," he snapped, hardly thinking about what he was saying. Just making an effort to dedicate all the insults his mind managed to formulate. "How can you react like that for fighting with those two? They're idiots, Granger, face it. And, you, you are being stupid. You are besties, and you will continue to be for centuries to come, sadly for all of us... And you are the best student of our promotion? Don't fuck with me, Granger. I didn't think you could inspire me more pity, but I was wrong. You always manage to exceed my expectations..."
Hermione opened her mouth, ready to face him, but her jaw dropped, unable to speak. She had just noticed something that made her feel surprised and confused. Malfoy wasn't making fun of her, although that was clearly his intention. In his strange and peculiar mischievous way, he was giving her advice. Most likely, without even realizing it.
"And… and may I ask why should you care?" Hermione repeated, realizing that it was the only thing she felt capable of saying. The force with which he was gripping her arm was cutting off the circulation in her hand. "Finish laughing at me as soon as possible and just let me go," she added, her voice somewhat firmer. "I don't have time to waste with you..."
"That's exactly what I want, genius, but I can't," Draco thought impatiently.
"I repeat, I don't give a Hippogriff's ass," the boy snapped jadedly, speaking slowly as if the girl were slow-witted. "But I find it incredibly annoying that you are suffering like that for nothing. Whatever they did, you know full well that you three are fucking inseparable. You do not even separate to go to the bathroom. And because of a stupid argument you think it's the end of the world? Could you be more ridiculous? Whatever it may be, you'll fix it, c'mon..."
Hermione hushed, realizing that he was absolutely right. They were inseparable. Their friendship wasn't going to change in the slightest after what had just happened. They would fix it. Of course they will. Why then had she been so upset? It was, in truth, nonsense after all they had lived through...
"I'm not ridiculous," she protested, suddenly regaining her poise. "They have distrusted me and it has hurt me, I have the right to feel this way... I will not allow them to treat me like this. I know that all they wanted was to take care of me, in their own way, but that's not why they have the right to judge me as they have."
Why had she just opened up to Draco Malfoy? No fucking idea, but she'd be martyred herself later. Now she had to shut him up. But her heart trembled as she realized her own words. Harry and Ron just wanted to take care of her. It was the truth... They didn't do it right, but that was their intention...
Draco clicked his tongue. Bringing her back to reality.
"Of course you can cry all you want and more, Granger, stop it already... But, excuse me, they 'distrusted you'? What nonsense. And what a shitty friendship... Potter and Weasley are less worthwhile than I imagined. What do you want them for?" Draco snapped back, with mocking scorn. "Although I admit that your stupidities intrigue me... What have they done to make you hate them like that?"
Hermione snorted and wiped away with her palm the trail of dried tears that were still on her cheeks. Suddenly she realized that Malfoy had let go of her arm, but she couldn't remember when he had. Despite being free now, she made no move to leave.
"They have been told a false gossip about me and they have believed it," the girl admitted without thinking too much, looking away. She felt like kicking herself, embarrassed, realizing how stupid it sounded to say it out loud.
She swallowed uncertainly, suddenly realizing what she was doing. Was she really telling Malfoy? Malfoy?
Draco, for his part, let out a disbelieving laugh.
"Gossip? About you? Oh, c'mon, you're not that interesting, Granger," he sneered nonchalantly, leaning his shoulder on the bookshelf and crossing his arms.
She met Draco's eyes, and his renewed smile faltered slightly. There was something in her dark gaze that he didn't like one bit. As if Granger, in her mind, knew that what she was going to say next wouldn't please Draco one bit. As if she knew things that Draco didn't.
"Some classmates have told them the gossip that there is something between Theodore Nott and me."
It took the boy two seconds to assimilate such a statement. His smile was completely erased.
"Excuse me?" he finally snapped, in a serious tone, narrowing his pale eyes. Apparently, the name of his friend renewed the boy's interest in her problem. And it gave it another perspective.
"It's false, of course," Hermione hastened to clarify, almost feeling the need to do so, for some incomprehensible reason. "I have already clarified that there is nothing between us. It's absurd that they've come to that conclusion... Since people have seen us talk together in Arithmancy, well, they've thought that... Anyway, nonsense," she hastened to finish, looking away again, feeling that she had messed things up. Draco just stared at her, his silver gaze slightly unfocused but fierce at the same time. "It was just… It is foolish. Merlin, don't tell Nott anything," she begged suddenly, realizing the consequences of what she had revealed. "Please, I don't want to worry him. It was nonsense, it's already clarified. It's not important."
Hermione cursed herself internally. She felt heat on her face, a product of embarrassment. Why had she opened her mouth? What did Malfoy care about her problems? Nothing, dammit, nothing. Shit, she had opened up to him as if he were a friend, as if he could give her advice...
No. She had decided to do it because the rumour affected his friend, that was all. Her mind, without letting her assimilate it, had considered that he had the right to know... Or something like that she forced herself to believe. Because it sounded reasonable. And so she justified what, deep down she knew, had been a terrible mistake.
"I'm not sure it's clarified," the boy replied, still looking at her as if he were seeing her for the first time, apparently annoyed. He felt slightly groggy. And very angry.
Was Nott a friend of Granger's? A friend of Granger's? To the point that there were already rumours going around the castle that they were hanging out together? Had the Gryffindors noticed?
Draco felt his heart pound heavily and hard. He felt that the situation was getting out of hand. He felt fear.
How could Nott have been so reckless? How could he be making it so clear that he disowned the Dark Lord? Making it clear what his ideals truly were, that he no longer despised that Mudbloods rabble...
"If I tell you it's clarified, it's clarified," Hermione insisted angrily, emphatically, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Geez, you never agree with anything I say," she commented in frustration, shaking her head. "It almost seems like you're doing it on purpose."
"Ten points to Gryffindor for that remark," he replied nonchalantly, struggling to get back into the conversation with her. "What a discovery that you and I do not agree on anything..."
"Might be considered worthy of study," Hermione commented with heavy resignation. "I find it even interesting how tangentially different two points of view can be..."
"It's annoying. Period," Draco replied, narrowing his grey eyes. "Not interesting, or anything...
"Oh, you're doing it on purpose," Hermione complained, looking at him accusingly.
"I am not."
"You're impossible!" she exclaimed, frustrated. She turned around, shivering, and went over to her belongings — a little drier but just as stinky — to start gathering them up. For a moment she thought Malfoy was going to grab her arm again, and she wasn't sure she was relieved or disappointed when he didn't.
"Am I impossible because I don't think like you, you smug woman?" Malfoy complained angrily behind her. "Oh, for God's... Look, screw you, I don't know why I'm putting up with you. I thought you'd have a more interesting reason to be like that, but you've disappointed me, Granger. You bore me," he snapped, turning and striding down the corridor with long strides. Actually, he needed to get out of there to try and calm down. The girl's words had seriously worried him
Hermione, despite the anger, also felt an emptiness inside when she heard him walk away. She turned her face to look at him over her shoulder. She realized that, in her heart, she wished he hadn't left yet. She didn't want to be alone with her thoughts. Which was quite worrying. Malfoy's company couldn't be better than her thoughts, depressing as they were.
Suddenly, she remembered something that made her heart skip a beat.
"Malfoy! Wait!" Hermione called hastily, not moving from where she was. He stopped and turned only his head, looking grumpy. "Could you do me a favour?"
Malfoy stared at her for a moment, in silence, flabbergasted.
"Of course not," he snapped, abruptly, starting to walk again.
"Wait! Just give this to Nott, okay?" Hermione asked, picking up the New Theory of Numerology copy that had remained thankfully clean. "It belongs to him. He left it to me a few days ago. Given that we were talking about him..."
A strange twinkle that concealed unpleasant surprise shone in the boy's eyes.
"Has Nott left it to you?" he inquired, without moving, his voice strangely impersonal.
"Yes," Hermione murmured, somewhat taken aback by his grave expression. "His version is different from mine, and he let me copy some things..."
Malfoy stared at her for a few more seconds, and then seemed to regain his composure. He clucked his tongue impatiently, retracing his steps to snatch the thick copy from the girl's hands once he was in front of her. He didn't look at her face, unlike her, who was staring into his eyes. Muttering under his breath, Malfoy turned and continued on his way, when the young woman's voice again broke the silence of the Library:
"Malfoy…"
"And now, what?" he muttered impatiently, stopping again and glancing over his shoulder.
Hermione was staring at him, standing in the middle of the aisle between the shelves, still with her things thrown on the table. Her hands were clasped behind her back, and her brown eyes, brighter than usual from recent crying, were fixed on his. Her nose was still stained with ink. Suddenly, the girl seemed to him the same strong and energetic person as always, despite the aura of fragility that enveloped her from being alone in that wide corridor.
"Nothing," she said simply, her voice clear, still looking at him. "Thanks. I guess. For... returning the book to Nott."
Malfoy looked at her for a moment longer, as if he was having trouble looking away. But, finally, he turned and walked out of that hallway, with long, determined strides.
Hermione watched him walk away, unmoving. She felt how a kind of warm gust coming from her inside comforted her limbs. Strangely, she no longer felt like crying. Perhaps she had used up all her remaining tears because of Malfoy. Or thanks to him.
"Malfoy is very complicated. With every day that goes by, I understand him less," she thought, clutching her arm at the elbow, trying to simulate how the boy had held her minutes before.
"Get out of my way, brat!"
The second-year boy from Ravenclaw House pressed his body against the wall, terrified, leaving more than enough room for Malfoy to get past. When the young man was really angry the tone of his voice could become really intimidating. And his eyes were even more so.
Malfoy was coming down the steps that led to the dungeons with astonishing speed. He seemed to be in a great hurry, although in reality he had no destination. But he needed to go at that speed. He needed to unwind. To get rid of the burning sensation that invaded him.
He didn't plan on going to training. He was too angry, too enraged. If he had a broom in his hands, he would bang it against a wall until it splintered. His steps were almost at the same speed as his thoughts.
"You're an asshole!" a voice cried in his mind, with every reason in the world. "Why on earth did you start listening to that Mudblood? You're not her fucking school counsellor!"
He gave a frustrated growl and mercilessly ran over a couple of girls who were coming across the corner. They barely had time to open their mouths to complain about his abruptness before he was out of sight. His jaws felt like they were going to break from the pressure they exerted against each other. His hands, clenched into firm fists, trembled.
Why had he taken an interest in her bloody problems? He already had his, and infinitely more serious, thank you. Why had he asked her anything? Why hadn't he been able to laugh at her, as he had for as long as he'd known her? Because she was crying? And what did it matter? Now that he was away from the teary Mudblood, everything he had felt, all his worries and his efforts to behave normally, seemed ridiculous and bewildering. He hadn't been reasonable. Nothing he had done or felt was justified.
He could barely get air. He felt overwhelmed after the argument with Grang... No, enough, he shouldn't think about her anymore. Lately, he was thinking more about that Mudblood than was healthy. He had to get her out of his mind as it may. He needed it.
Feeling his face so hot that he thought he was going to blow smoke out of his nose at any moment, he turned the last corner to finally head down the corridor to his Common Room. Instantly, he collided face-first into something smaller and softer than himself. But just as blond. Both, his sudden obstacle and himself, staggered, but they managed to keep their balance, holding on to each other by inertia. It barely took him two seconds to recognize who was in front of him.
"Greengrass?" he stammered, still feeling somewhat groggy from the shock. He took a step away from her, awkwardly. Her blonde classmate raised her green gaze, also looking confused.
"Draco," Daphne greeted, flashing a smile in recognition, tucking behind her ear an unruly, straight lock of hair that had been dancing before her eyes. "Hi… Are you in a hurry?"
"No," he said frankly, mechanically smoothing his robe without needing to. He would have liked to lie to her and get out of there, but his heart was still beating like a drum and he didn't react in time. For lack of anything better, he forced himself to concentrate on the conversation with his classmate. "Why?"
"Nothing... Just because you seemed to be trying to fly without a broom," the young woman teased with a friendly smile. Draco, in turn, forced himself to grimace, which actually made him look like he had a stomach ache. But the girl continued without commenting on the matter, "Pansy was looking for you a while ago. I think she has spoken with Snape and wants to tell you something about Prefect tasks... She hasn't specified about what."
"Okay... I'll look for her now, thanks," he murmured distractedly, not paying much attention to her. He had more important things on his mind than Pansy at the moment... Oh, shit. Since when was arguing with Granger more important than Pansy?
"Please, stop it already…" he pleaded desperately to his mind.
"By the way, haven't you seen Theodore by any chance?" asked the young woman, whose smile turned somewhat shy. "He told me he was going to help me with next week's Herbology essay, and I wanted to ask him if he had time now… Or when he can, actually. When he has… time," she said awkwardly, suddenly looking rushed.
Draco, unaware of the girl's embarrassed tone, made a deep effort to make his brain work on something and to remember if he had seen him; but, after several seconds of complete lack of any similar memory, he shook his head.
"No, I haven't seen him today," he admitted. At that time, he didn't even remember what he had for breakfast. Arguing with Granger had the side effect of giving him a slight amnesia.
When the image of the Mudblood, standing in the middle of the lonely Library, surrounded by a handful of books, stained with ink and alcohol, flashed into his mind, he realized that he was looking for Nott, too. He looked at his left hand, with which he was holding the book New Theory of Numerology that he had to return to him. He felt the fury invade him from head to toe...
How had Nott been such an asshole to leave a book to that Mudblood? How had he allowed them to be seen together? Didn't he have the slightest scruples? How could he get along with her?
It was the last straw, the straw that broke the camel's back. He had to talk to him very seriously, and make a couple of things clear to him about what it meant to be a Pureblood.