Eight.
There was nothing Malfoy hated more then mysteries. He liked to know everything there was to know about people; their friends, their interests, and especially their families. It wasn't because he was nosey, but because he was curious. Where, he wondered, did these people come from? What talents did they possess? Who did they choose to surround themselves with? All of these questions danced across his brow when in the presence of someone he hardly knew; one person being Rita Skeeter.
Everyone knew who she was and what she was infamous for. But nothing beyond that. Unlike most females he had come into contact with, she had no interest in him whatsoever. Amelia Bones had pent up sexual aggression toward him – he could feel it. But with Rita, there was nothing. At least, that's what he thought before it was revealed to him that Rita had an obsession with his family and lifestyle. While it should have flattered him – and let's be honest, it did – it posed even more questions about the already secretive Skeeter.
Normally, Malfoy wouldn't have thought at all about the gossip but when she approached him in the corridor just as he was about to enter the Great Hall for dinner, the aforementioned thoughts entered his mind.
"Mr. Malfoy." Rita said as she strutted toward him.
Malfoy looked her over, unsure of what to say. The group of Slytherins he was walking with exchanged looks of confusion but eventually turned to Malfoy, awaiting a reply.
"Was there something you wanted?" he asked, a bit agitated.
"Yes." She nodded, unfazed by his rudeness. "Might I have a word with you? Alone?"
Taken aback by her request, he nodded to his friends to go on – Narcissa pouted subtlety and departed behind Alecto. Malfoy folded his arms across his chest, waiting for Rita to get on with her reason for stopping him. When it didn't come, he stated,
"I'm wasting valuable time, Skeeter."
"Of course. Lots of studying to do after dinner." She smirked. Malfoy ignored the irony; while he did plan on meeting Amelia later on in the evening, it did not concern Rita who undoubtedly knew nothing about it. It was a coincidence, something Rita surely thrived on. Though he wondered for a moment if Amelia, being in the same house as the blonde, had let something slip. He quickly shook the thought away. Just because Amelia didn't like Malfoy didn't mean she would betray him. For reasons he didn't care to think about, he trusted her.
"You needed to talk to me about something?" he prompted.
In all honesty, Rita had no intention of asking him anything. She was merely waiting for visual provocation on a pressing matter. In all of her sixteen years, the last six being surrounded by scandal, she had never imagined what may or may not be taking place. She grinned at the very thought, but dare not speak it aloud – she would not jinx this.
Just as Rita was about to open her mouth, she spotted behind Malfoy a group of students; among them Edgar, Nathalia, Elliot, Cordelia, Emmeline, Amos, Kingsley and Amelia.
Malfoy caught Rita's sudden change in attitude and followed her line of sight to the Ravenclaws, Hufflepuff and Gryffindor. His eyes were instantly drawn to Amelia, not because she seemed to be at the center of the group, but because he knew her the best. She was familiar, or becoming so, and there was solace in that. He watched briefly as Kingsley unconsciously wrapped his arm around her waist. There was a slight discomfort that came over Malfoy. Not because he saw Amelia as something other then a tutor, but because that was all he saw her as. When he saw her with her friends, and Kingsley, it was an entirely different side. He had never seen her smile until now, he thought suddenly. Her entire face had changed. It was almost remarkable.
Then, Malfoy reached a harrowing conclusion; the reason he had never seen those positive emotions evoked from Amelia was because when she was around him, she had no reason to express them. Merlin, he thought bitterly. Did being around him make her so miserable?
As Amelia and her entourage entered the Great Hall for dinner, Malfoy turned back to Rita, who smirked.
"What did you want?" he asked, now more agitated then before.
"Oh," Rita said knowingly, "I think I just got it." She concluded, tapping him on the shoulder before entering the Great Hall herself, leaving him both puzzled and annoyed.
When Malfoy took his seat beside Narcissa at the Slytherin table, a knot hit him right in the stomach. It wasn't the meal consisting of chicken in frog sauce with goat cheese, nor was it the sounds and suggestive comments that made up most of Alecto Carrow and Walden MacNair's conversation. It was the vision that fell into Malfoy's line of sight. Sitting sideways facing the front of the hall sat the same person Rita Skeeter had just caught him looking at. But he digressed. None of that meant anything. He merely glanced at a schoolmate; what Rita did with that was none of his business.
Amelia Bones. He thought to himself as he took a sip of his pumpkin juice. He knew what the blonde haired Ravenclaw was thinking and she was wrong.
For Malfoy to have an interest in any female there were certain requirements – requirements that the seventeen year old was positive Amelia didn't meet. He recounted the small list of three in his head, just as his father had done not so long ago. One; she must know her place in the Wizarding World – behind her husband. Two; she must have the face of an angel with a heart twice as dark – any woman that could commit a crime and get out of it with a smile was a woman worthy of a Malfoy. And three; she must, of course, have pure blood running through her veins.
Amelia Bones. Malfoy thought again. She met only one of these and not by her own choosing, but by happenstance.
"What are you staring at, love?" Narcissa Black cooed from Malfoy's left.
"Nothing." He said calmly, turning his attention back to his dinner.
"Say," the beauty noted, "Isn't that the girl that fell a few weeks ago? What was her name? Something morbid …" she trailed off. "Bones, was it?" she said, more to herself than to him.
"Yes." He nodded, clearly not wanting to press the subject further. It was not so much talking about Amelia that bothered him. But talking about her with Narcissa was slowly becoming a conflict of interest.
"Fell right into your arms, did she?"
Malfoy knew Narcissa well enough to recognize jealousy coated in her voice even when there was nothing to be envious of. Even though she was a Slytherin, green was not the middle Black daughter's color.
"I wouldn't want a death that could have been prevented on my résumé would I?" he asked absently, cutting his meat on the plate.
"No." she agreed. "But look who we're talking about. A-"
"Pureblood." He finished, setting his utensils down, casting another look at the Ravenclaw table. "Just like you."
"Please, love," she rolled her eyes, "don't insult me."
Malfoy clenched his jaw shut, biting his tongue. The one thing he respected least about his other half who was more like a third at times, was her inability to realize when to stop. She had a very uncanny knack for getting the last word in. She did not like to be trumped by anyone, and at times took things to far. But she had forgotten who she was talking to when she made her last comment; a comment that should not have affected him the way it did. Turning in is seat, Malfoy brought his lips to her ear in an affectionate gesture.
"Better you," he whispered suggestively, "than her."
Rising from his seat, Malfoy straightened his tie and began heading toward the door. Lucky for him, Narcissa did not understand his meaning. What he had said had been a reply to her remark. She however, took it to be a seductive murmur and nothing more. Her ignorance was his fortune sometimes.
Though there was still a solid forty-five minutes left of dinner, Malfoy headed to the Room of Requirement to wait for Amelia who would soon be joining him. He knew this only because during their time together he honed a certain skill for feeling her eyes on him. And as he exited the Great Hall, her gaze bore into his back.
He could have gone to the Slytherin Common Room to kill his stolen time, or even to the lake. Both were logical places to clear ones mind. But neither offered what Malfoy wanted. He wanted to be alone with his thoughts in the one place that he knew carried the essence of the one person he wanted to think about.
–––––––––––––
He was looking at her.
His cold, grey eyes were watching her every move. How she read, how she wrote, how she breathed. And while she should have been paranoid, and maybe even disgusted, she was enjoying it.
Now that they were finally sitting in close proximity to each other, the thought of being so near to someone so undeniably handsome was enough to drive her mad. The smug look on his face whenever she stood near him, his cool laugh when a humorous thought crossed his mind, the demeaning way he looked her over from head to toe as if she were a mere object, it was repulsive.
But then something happened. The wave of animosity has lessened, mainly due to the fact that they rarely spoke to each other; if they didn't communicate, they couldn't fight. One skill that had they each learned to hone was that of conveying messages with facial expressions. Amelia could look at Malfoy and know almost instantly what he was thinking. It was this type of confidence in their partnership that gave Amelia some incentive to relocate her position in the room. She had decided that for all intents and purposes, a more productive way of aiding Malfoy would be to sit beside him. It made sense, after all. How was she supposed to help him if she wasn't close to him?
Malfoy, however, was focusing on more than the assessment she had given him to work on. A mere six inches beside him and he could still smell her; a mixture of ivory and spring – fresh and inviting. Before her change in location, he never really noticed her features. It was as if he were seeing her for the first time. The fullness of her eyelashes, the unusual color of blue that made up her eyes, the cupid's bow of her lips, the sweep of her chocolate tresses around her shoulders. He was not ashamed to say that he found her attractive, but he was, however, a bit abashed to just notice these things.
Glancing back down at his paper, he scanned the sheet of questions written in her sharp and almost sloppy handwriting – so different from his own fluid calligraphy. The questions were not hard, but this was an assessment and, he thought with an inward grin, she was there to help him, which was why he began tapping the end of his quill on the side of the desk, hoping to grab her attention.
Amelia had been going over an essay for Transfiguration on the differences between transfiguring animals and objects when she picked up his annoying tactic. Any time he needed assistance, which wasn't very often, he did it subtly – he never came right out and asked. She supposed that it hurt his pride too much. Sometimes he'd clear this throat, other times he'd pace around the room. Each action would ensue until she finally looked up and asked what was wrong. At the first sound of tapping, she raised her head.
"Yes?" she asked calmly, setting down her own quill.
"Your handwriting is … " he trailed off, glancing down at the marks on the page.
"Atrocious," she nodded with a small smirk, "go ahead, you can say it."
"I was going to say difficult to understand, but that's fair." He concluded, feeling himself grin at her admittance. "What was it you were trying to say here?" he asked, indicating a section of the parchment while clearly pulling the page closer to himself.
Amelia leaned in to look over the paper in an attempt to clarify any clouded information. She scanned the parchment from top to bottom, rereading her own work, looking for any errors but was unable to find any. It was when she turned her head up to look at Malfoy that she realized how close to him she really was. A near breath away from his marble skin, she said softly,
"I can't find any mistake."
Malfoy let his eyes rest upon her own. The look upon her face was both awe and shock. He felt both flattered and discouraged. Amelia Bones looked at the Slytherin with the expression of a doe caught in headlights.
Up until this moment, Amelia had been shockingly good at masking her fear of Malfoy. In his presence, and in general, she had crafted a façade that boldly stated that he did not intimidate her. While that was true for the most part, there was a bit of real fear that she harbored in her heart for the most ill-tempered man in Hogwarts. Looking at him with his careless smirk and porcelain face, Amelia felt a faint glimmer of fear dance across her features. That and another emotion. An emotion that Amelia would never admit to aloud – longing.
"Maybe you're not looking hard enough." He said with an arched eyebrow.
Amelia bit her lip in uncertainty for a moment before sitting up straight. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she shook her head.
"Maybe I should just write them out again." She stated. "Let me get my quill." Amelia began rummaging through papers on the desk, looking for her writing utensil. "I just had it." She mumbled.
Malfoy absently began scanning the desk in an attempt to help her. He watched her delicately lift the parchment and books that covered the tabletop. She was precise, intricate, certain. The more he witnessed of her incessant need for order, the more he wanted to intervene and throw her plans off kilter.
Spotting her quill out of the corner of her eye, Amelia reached for the feather pen, grasping it at precisely the same moment as Malfoy wrapped his fingertips around her own, having spotted the quill as well.
If Amelia had been a fool, she would have let her heart jump a beat and look at Malfoy with a needy expression. She may have even gone as far as to let herself feel a sort of attraction to him and maybe even tilt her head as to invite him to lean in closer.
Thank Merlin that Amelia was not a fool.
Quickly dropping the quill and pulling her hand back to her chest, Amelia rose from her seat.
"Maybe it would be better to start over with a new assessment entirely." She said quickly, more to make herself feel better than to make conversation.
"What ever you feel is best." He nodded cheekily, folding his arms across his chest while leaning back in his chair.
Clearly shaken, Amelia made her way over to the ladder that scaled the bookshelf. Climbing to the fifth shelf of the extensive library that the room possessed, she appeared to be searching for a book but her mind was, indeed, racing. Surely, she thought, he was trying to make her go mad. There was no other explanation as to why he would look at her as if he knew something she didn't or pretend to help her only to hold her hand.
The Malfoy she knew would not do such a thing.
The better part of Malfoy knew that playing with the mind of a naïve Ravenclaw was wrong, that leading her on for his own enjoyment would only result in a debacle, and that his faithfulness to Narcissa Black should not be tested.
But it was not the better part of him in control.
He rose from his seat and shoved his hands into his pockets. It wasn't so much that he had never looked at Amelia before, just not so deeply. He was a man after all, and when something caught his eye, he inspected it thoroughly.
Amelia had chosen an interesting escape, in his personal opinion. She shied away from his touch, and yet decided to climb a ladder, giving him a very adequate view of certain assets she possessed. But he was not a pig, which was why he positioned himself a full four feet away from the base of the ladder giving her both privacy and reassurance that she was not being violated.
She had been so preoccupied thinking about Malfoy that she had forgotten her original plan – she had stepped onto the ground with no text in hand, something the Slytherin did not hesitate to comment on.
"Forgetting something, Bonesie?" he said playfully.
Amelia was about to chastise him for the very childish nickname he had fashioned for her when she looked down at her empty hands.
"Actually," she said matter of factly, having to think on her toes, "I thought we might try something from this book." Amelia reached behind him and pulled a rather heavy textbook off the shelf and thrust it into his hands.
"This?" he said skeptically.
"Yes." Amelia said rolling her eyes.
"You want to use this book?" he asked again, giving her a chance for redemption.
"I didn't stutter." Amelia said agitated.
"This is a book on Transfiguration." He said carefully, showing her the spine of the book which had the words Changing Species written on the side.
"I know." Amelia said after a moment, despite the fact that she was lying through her teeth. "I don't see the harm in bringing in other subjects every once in a while, do you?" she challenged.
Mind, Amelia was not mad at Malfoy, per se. She was angrier with herself, but the reasons were clouded. For letting him get under her skin, for being so quick with remarks, for being so damn attractive.
"I'll tell you what I think about this, Bones." He said taking a bold step closer to her, heaving the book across the room where it landed with a thud. Amelia felt her heart rate spike at the sudden feeling of his breath against her cheek. She wondered for a moment where this was going when she caught sight of his wand out of her peripheral vision. Soundlessly, he transformed the lifeless book into a sleek, black piano. Amelia hardly had time to process what was happening. In the dimly lit space she could see their reflection in the instrument. She was ashamed for even thinking that their silhouette was beautiful.
"Go ahead, professor." He said smoothly.
Amelia, mesmerized by how effortlessly he had managed to bring her favorite pastime to the Room of Requirement, was brought back to reality by the word 'professor.' At the end of each week, she turned in progress reports to the tiny charms teacher. They had yet to meet face to face on the matter. She had agreed to meet with Professor Flitwick at the end of one month's lessons to discuss any further tutoring. She had promised to meet with him after dinner. A look of shock on her face, she turned back to Malfoy.
"I have to meet with Professor Flitwick." She said heading for the door. "I completely forgot – I'm late."
"That's alright." He said, tucking his wand back into his vest pocket. "I can wait."
Amelia would have been otherwise bothered by his snide remark but she had other things on her mind.
–––––––––––––
Professor Flitwick sat in his office at his desk, two large stacks of books on either side of him. He was grading papers and tests his had given his fifth years students in order to prepare them for their OWLs. While Amelia did not want to disturb him, she promised to speak with him about Malfoy – something she was not looking forward to. She rapped lightly on the door that stood ajar.
"Professor Flitwick?" she called as his ears perked up at the sound of her voice.
"Come in, Amelia, come in!" he said cheerily, setting his papers aside.
"Good evening, sir." She said politely, taking a seat on a stack of books – one thing that the small man had never invested in were chairs for his students to sit on.
"Good evening, dear. How are you? Can I get you something?" he said indicating his own beverage, cherry syrup with soda pop.
"No thank you, sir. I'm well, and yourself?" she nodded.
"Fantastic!" he grinned. "So, what can I do for you?" he asked, clapping his hands together.
"Oh, right," she said, tucking her hair behind her ear. "I'm here about Mal – er, Mr. Malfoy."
"Mr. Malfoy? Ah! Yes!" he remembered. "It's been a month already, has it?"
"Yes, it has." She confirmed.
"Well, then, let me see." He said reaching for a folder on his desk and flipping through the pages. Every once in a while he paused and nodded, grinning from time to time. It appeared to be the reports Amelia had given him, complete with homework assignments, tests scores and observations. Snapping the folder shut and sitting it atop one of his many book stacks, he took of his glasses. "It seems to me that Mr. Malfoy has gotten his priorities in order. He's excelling in all of his classes from what I can gather, mine included. He's prompt to class and your meetings and completes his work. I've yet to see any behavioral problems." He said happily. "Miss Bones, I believe you've done your job well."
"Thank you, sir." Of course Amelia was proud, she had worked hard structuring lesson plans and exams. If anything, she should have felt relieved to have her life back. But there was a part of her that felt a bit confused.
"I see no reason why you should have to give up your free time." He nodded. "As far as I'm concerned, you are no longer obligated to tutor Mr. Malfoy."
Amelia felt a pit in her stomach. It had only been a month, a mere four weeks. She had noticed the seventeen year olds progress but there was more work to be done – there had to be.
"You think so?' she asked.
"I'm sure of it."
"You're positive? Because if you have any doubts, I'd be happy to continue helping him. It's not a problem." She offered.
Professor Flitwick looked at Amelia curiously. He had been teaching at Hogwarts for nearly thirty years and knew all the tricks in the book. He had also known Lucius Malfoy for his entire career as a student, and with that the knowledge of the Slytherin's reputation. Professor Flitwick did not judge his students but that didn't mean he never heard petty gossip about them. He was aware of Malfoy's demeanor and how well, or rather, unwell he behaved with other students. While he did not show it four weeks ago, he had a hunch that the bargain struck between Amelia and Malfoy had been almost entirely the boy's doing. The only reason Professor Flitwick neglected to interrupt was because Amelia was one of his best students and willing to help. But he still assumed that the inevitable animosity would get the better of them. That is, until now.
If anything, he would have thought that Amelia would be happy about her newfound freedom; no longer bound to the Slytherin. And yet she insisted that Malfoy needed more help, and not from another student, but herself.
Clearly, she had another motive.
"Amelia," he said with a small smile, "We both know that Mr. Malfoy is capable of the seventh year workload now that you've helped him to get back on track." He said as Amelia nodded. "He has proven his dedication and commitment to the subject of Charms."
Amelia let out a small sigh and bowed her head. She could not say for sure why she was advocating meeting Malfoy even when she knew it was not necessary. It was just a feeling.
"He doesn't need anymore tutoring." She stated.
"Oh, well," Professor Flitwick said happily, "I know that, and you know that. But Mr. Malfoy on the other hand doesn't." he winked, causing Amelia to feel a lot happier than she should.
–––––––––––––
While he waited, Malfoy decided it wouldn't hurt to finish the rest of the exam, which took him but ten minutes. It was never a question of whether or not he could read them – he could. But he just wanted her that much closer.
With the transfiguration of the piano, it gave the room much more life. He hadn't realized how boring the room was before. It made the room look elegant, and inviting.
Most wouldn't have guessed it but Malfoy was a highly skilled pianist. His father used it as a tool to teach good balance, a keen ear and most of all, common interest – "who doesn't love music?" Arabaxtus would say. It was that quote that ran through Malfoy's mind when he transfigured the book. It was a way to prove to Amelia Bones that he was human.
During the Christmas feast two years ago, Amelia was asked to play. She and her brother's were all taught to play as children much like Malfoy. Amelia, though, took more pride in the skill than her brother's as they thought it was geared more toward females. Malfoy understood their reservations about the instrument. He himself kept it a secret, until now.
Amelia walked through the door exactly thirty minutes later. She had almost forgotten about the piano but it was hard to miss.
"I never had a problem with transfiguration." He explained, leaning against the structure.
There were many things that Amelia loved and playing the piano was one of them. It was an escape for her and one of her deepest passions. She did not keep such information a secret, but still wondered why Malfoy had turned the book into this particular item.
"We still have some work to do." She said, halfheartedly meaning it.
"It can wait." He said, nodding toward the piano. "I was hoping you'd play."
His request made Amelia feel as though her face was on fire. She could not tell if it was embarrassment or desire. Nevertheless, she sat down on the abnormally large bench and set her hands to the cold and familiar keys.
"What song?" she asked, eyes closed.
"Your favorite." He said simply, folding his arms behind his back, standing behind her.
The black and white keys stared back at Amelia, almost requesting to be played. Even if he hasn't asked her to, she would have ended up playing anyway. Running several songs through her mind, Amelia settled on one that reminded her most of Malfoy and began to slowly play Beethoven's 'Moonlight Sonata.'
Amelia closed her eyes in concentration, letting the music float through the room, consuming her. Her hands moved slowly, stroking each key with purpose and consistency. The song indeed reminded her of Malfoy. His grey eyes and deep voice, the way he seemed to look at her unlike anyone else. The mystery and the intrigue had her attention. But she did not, and would not, let herself feel any attraction. She had Kingsley, and that was enough – it just had to be. Amelia had been so caught up in her thoughts that she didn't notice Malfoy sit down beside her, although she could smell him, that familiar mixture of peppermint and rain, cold and seductive.
Four weeks ago, Amelia refused to sit on the same side of the room with him, and now she found herself closer to him than she ever expected, but she didn't mind.
It was when he laid his hands on her shoulder that she became aware of just how close their bodies were. He rested his head on her shoulder, near her neck, waiting for a reaction. When she didn't move or waver the symphony, he moved his hands lower over her forearms, wrists and finally hands were he followed her pattern, playing the music along with her.
It was a symphony of sound. Passion was evoked with the strike of each cord. Their hearts beat in tune with the song – their eyes closed, the moment standing still.
Without even knowing it, Amelia had leaned her head against his chest, shifting her position so that she was almost fully leaning on him. Malfoy felt the brush of her hair against his cheek and underneath his chin along with the blue ribbon she wore, a symbol, he took it, of her virtue.
The tune flowed beneath their fingers, slow and enchanting. There had been a barrier between them not so very long ago and somewhere between now and then it had disappeared. The scowls and the sneers had been traded for stolen glances and a longing to be near the other. Why else would Malfoy ask her questions he already knew the answers to if not just to hear the sound of her voice? Likewise, why else but to spend time with Malfoy would Amelia try to convince Professor Flitwick that he needed more help.
There were stories written about unrequited love. But that's all they were – stories. Up until this point, neither Amelia nor Malfoy believed them. They had a plan for their futures, and they did not see each other in that plan.
But as the song came to it's end, they both realized something funny about the future; it can change.
Amelia opened her eyes to look at Malfoy, who followed suit. He was too close to someone he did not see himself with in the future but at the same time, he could not make himself move.
"You don't need anymore tutoring." Amelia said softly. "You're free to go."
Malfoy knew hat all too well, but the remorse in her voice was what stung him. It was almost as if she regretted this news, he thought. For the first time, Malfoy had seen a flicker of true desire run across her delicate features; desire that was directed at him. He would not admit to feeling something for Amelia Bones, but he did feel his heart tug at the prospect of her feeling something for him nonetheless. Leaning just a breath closer, he said,
"Then I'll be seeing you after dinner tomorrow, Amelia."
Amelia looked taken aback. All she had ever been to him was Bones. The calling, or rather, spitting, of surnames was part of their relationship. She didn't even think in her own mind anything but Malfoy. Hearing her first name on his tongue sounded foreign, but also comforting.
"Lucius." She said, using the very name he had demanded she never use six weeks ago. When he didn't chastise her, she continued. "Surely you know that everyone calls me Lia."
"Yes." He nodded. "But 'Lia' is not your name."
And with that, Lucius placed his lips to her hair before standing, gathering his books and departing, leaving Amelia feeling short of breath.
Go Mad by Caleb Kane
Moonlight Sonata (Piano Sonata No. 14) by Beethoven