Bossy girl was standing at a table ordering around Harry and Ron. They scurried around subserviently, pulling manuscripts down from the walls. Harry seemed to be genuinely looking, searching indices and tables of contents. Ron looked in pain (probably hungry, I reminded myself, from the lunch hour he was missing) and was opening books at random, commenting aloud to his friends the facts he was stumbling upon. And Hermione, the know-it-all queen, was hovering over both of them, and apparently rejecting each book. I watched them for a moment. The turning to get books; the comment of something possible; Hermione shaking her head angrily… and the cycle would begin again.
I approached them and stood tentatively over Harry's shoulder, looking at the book he was reading about archaic summoning spells.
"You aren't going to be any help just standing there," the Know-It-All Queen snapped without looking up. "No, Ronald," she continued in the same breath. "Floo Powder has nothing to do with this."
The red haired boy slumped dejectedly off, and I swear I heard his stomach growl.
"Me, help?" I repeated cautiously, trying to keep the words from sounding sarcastic.
"We're trying to find what spell Malfoy used to bring you here so we can reverse it."
"That anxious to get rid of me, are you?" I retorted, plopping down in the chair next to Harry. He turned to look at me, his green eyes surprisingly keen.
"Of course not," he replied. "Malfoy's just… done something to you."
"And it clearly isn't right," Hermione interrupted harshly.
"Who says you can be the judge of that?" I snapped.
The Know-It-All Queen stared at me coolly for a second, and then stood very slowly. I rolled my eyes at her.
"You're doing this wrong," I said, trying to keep the nasty note out of my voice.
"I think we know what we're doing a little more than you," the evil queen snapped. I glared at her.
I saw Harry turn his head to her – apparently he gave her some look, because she whirled angrily and stomped deeper into the library in the same direction that Ron had gone.
"If you think that you can help another way, feel free," Harry murmured once she was out of earshot.
"Gee thanks," I sarcastically replied. He gave me a confused look, as though I wasn't being completely grateful for his wonderful bequest. "It's not like this is about me or anything…"
I rose angrily, rubbing my arms to keep them warm. I didn't feel quite cold, just a sort of uneasy feeling that crept along my bare skin. And I think Harry understood that I was being snarky just to hide those feelings – he gave me a kind look, one that said that he would be there for me, and then turned back to his reading.
I slowly made my way through the maze-like library to the front desk.
"Hi," I whispered quietly to the librarian. She turned angrily at the noise, but then realized I was talking to her, and her somewhat predatory birdlike face softened. "I was wondering if you could help me find some information."
"Books are organized by the number system set down by Merlin," she said sternly. "It's very straightforward, of course, except the volumes on transfiguration, which Merlin considered one of the charms arts…" She trailed off, pointing in the far corner of the library.
"Actually," I whispered back, trying to sound friendly, "I was hoping you could give me some more specific information that can't be found in a book."
"All information can be found in a book," she replied, drawing herself up angrily.
"Well," I said quickly, "I was actually looking for a specific book and I'm not quite sure the title. You see, my boyfriend, Draco Malfoy, said that he found a wonderful book here, and I'm wondering if you could tell me the title. He said that he returned it earlier today."
It was a gamble, assuming he returned it, but it was worth it. More than that, it was a gamble assuming that she would believe my lie, that witches and wizards couldn't see through a falsehood as easily as they could transfigure rabbits out of hats. But apparently, the clear devotion in my voice as I slowly spoke his name removed any doubt; she sniffed through her beak-like nose, but did not ask any more questions.
Instead, the librarian hawk lady opened a small journal that had been hidden somewhere in her robes and glanced down the row suspiciously. I peeked over her shoulder and noticed that the list was updating currently, new lines being added in ink as though someone was constantly writing in it.
"Killinger's Curses, volume three," she replied haughtily. "It's not the most up-to-date Defense Against the Dark Arts book, but I find it's passable."
"May I?" I asked gently. She glared at me, raised a wand, and was suddenly handing me an old volume.
It took me less than five minutes to find the correct entry, and then after that, less than sixty seconds to read through it. It was like a sudden cold breeze. That shiveriness again, wrapping my arms around my body, hugging myself. A twitchiness that originated in my core and seemed to seep out through my shaking fingers.
I rushed towards the windows, towards the outlet, where I could forget what I had just read. As I reached the source of hazy green light, I found a door. A few moments later and I was standing on the balcony, trying to feel the whipping, cold air across my face that was stinging my cheeks. But somehow, it just didn't feel real – it felt remote, detached, like I was somebody else hearing about my own self.
I had been holding the book, but I had dropped it. It fell behind me, still open to that same page. I couldn't bring myself to turn.
There was a slight whooshing noise that made me turn, and I saw what looked like a large green bird swoop onto the balcony. I didn't have time to duck, and even if I had, I wouldn't have been able to. My body was numb and immobile, like it had become stone on that cold patio.
It took me a few moments to focus on the object and discover that it wasn't some gigantic, green hawk, but rather Draco Malfoy wearing green robes. I surveyed him coldly from below my drawn eyebrows.
"Having fun with Potty and his friends?" he athe sked teasingly.
"Less than," I allowed, my tone chilly. Somehow, though, I felt the muscles of my scowl slacken, as though his mere presence usurped my brain in its important circuit, as though he, instead, sent the electrical pulses throughout my body to control me like a puppet. And somehow that didn't terrifying me at all. It was the sudden realization that I wasn't scared, though, that sent the warning alarms off in the back of my head.
"Care for an escape?"
I realized now that he was astride a broomstick. At least, this instrument vaguely resembled one – it had a handle, made of shiny, smooth wood, and a bristly end that poked out of the back of Draco's robes as though some obscene tail. But it was clear that his broom had never actually swept a floor – the sticks at the end were smooth and looked more like a freshly-bought paintbrush than an instrument used by janitors. There was something strangely beautiful about it. Maybe it was just because it seemed like it was one with Draco, but there was something elegant and graceful about it as well.
He was holding out a hand, and I couldn't help but accept. It was that gravity, something tangible that was tugging me firmly towards him, never slackening. A sort of sick need, forcing my eyes to lock on him until everything else around fell out of focus.
He guided me so that I was standing in front of him, and I gingerly sat down on the broom as he was. I was pleasantly surprised – it didn't feel like a broom at all, but rather like a bicycle seat. In fact, I could almost feel the contours of a sort of squishy material that was holding me on the broom comfortably.
Draco reached around me so that his hands met the handle (I can only assume that's how they steered). We waddled somewhat awkwardly to the edge of the balcony and paused.
"Are you ready?" he asked. I turned to look at him, craning my neck. His face was alight, as though adrenalin was lighting his veins on fire.
"You didn't read the fine print, did you?" I asked quietly. The thrill-happy look left his face; his smile drooped somewhat.
"Hold on tight" was all he said, and he turned the handle of the broomstick downwards.
And suddenly we were falling.
It was as though I had left my lungs somewhere behind me, or the fall was forcing all the air out of my lungs. I could feel my hair being ripped around in the wind, and I could feel my mouth open to scream, but the air just wasn't there. I closed my eyes and pushed myself backwards into his strong chest, my hands somehow finding his and gripping tightly.
And my feet were touching something, gently. I peeked open my eyes. Grass. My toes were running through long blades of grass. My heart suddenly caught up with me, pounding quickly to make up for all the lost beats. I could suddenly breathe once more, and my lungs pushed out the air in slightly hysterical gasps. After a few moments I realized I was laughing.
He was too, except his chuckles had air behind them, and his silvery eyes were gleaming contentedly, powerfully.
"That was fun," he murmured. I realized that he was somehow holding me hand. I felt slap-happy, giggling crazily, a rush of adrenalin startling me into giddiness. His warm fingers were carefully intertwined in mine. I realized now that I was freezing, dressed so scantily. He was so warm, with layers of green robes that cushioned me invitingly as I snuggled backwards into his somewhat awkward, accidental embrace. His warm hand tightened about my freezing fingers.
I quickly jerked my hand back, and he sobered, remembering my comment.
One look from me and he knew I wouldn't drop it; instead, he slowly lifted the handle of the broom so that we were zooming back towards the school. We wove through towers and over battlements. This was a gentler, slower ride, where the wind buffeted me with the intensity of a convertible car ride and not a wind tunnel. It was almost enjoyable, or could have been had I not had that nagging sense of something wrong tugging at the back of my mind.
When the broom stopped, we were standing on some almost-flat roof. I staggered stiffly off the broom. He slid off competently, and turned to face the mirroring surface of the dark water below.
"The Black Lake," he pointed out sadly. Somehow this made his inner arm hurt again; he rubbed it, as before, looking down as though ashamed.
I sat down, trying to remain silent so he would explain.
"No," he finally said, sitting beside me, still staring off at the steely surface of the lake. "I didn't read the fine print until I had already… and then you were already…"
He sighed.
"So I guess that explains it," I replied, trying not to look at him and failing miserably. It was getting worse. It was like I couldn't keep from looking at him, like his name was suddenly springing up in every thought. But even worse than the longing, the horrible need, the feeling of nausea that I felt happily every time he moved closer to me, was the sad, sick reality that my mind was chanting sadistically.
"But does it?" he asked, leaning in towards me. His face was only inches from mine. I could see every eyelash on those silvery sweet eyes. Those pink lips were parted, and I could feel the warm breath reach my face. He was leaning in slowly, almost as though that gravity-pull I had been feeling was reciprocated somehow. A slight shiver of heat snuck down my spine.
I drew away quickly.
"Please take me back," I said quickly before I could stop myself. He looked hurt, and then angry, and then almost relieved. I watched as everything I was feeling played across his face, a mirror to mine.
"Back to those idiots?" he almost snarled.
"They have answers," I gently reminded him, but that wasn't the truth. Somehow I couldn't help but be completely honest with him: "And I don't have to be afraid of what's real with them."
He seemed angry – I watched his strong fists clench and unclench – but didn't say anything.
"So this explains it." Hermione was waiting for me on the balcony as Draco angrily helped me off the broom and then soared off without saying anything more.
I glared at her. She looked positively thrilled. Harry looked at me as though legitimately concerned, and he must have noticed my wind-whipped cheeks and chattering teeth that even I hadn't noticed while I was with Draco (although they were painfully apparent now that he was gone) – he turned and we all trooped inside.
"It's a sort of summoning spell," Hermione excitedly explained as we hurried down the hall. Ron was ecstatic: we were finally headed to lunch. "Malfoy only read the title so he thought that he was summoning a family member, but he didn't read the fine print."
"Which was?" Harry prompted.
"The spell is designed to conjure a sort of… loved one, but what Malfoy didn't realize was that the spell doesn't find and bring a loved one to you, it makes one." The Know-It-All Queen just needed a little evil crown for her little evil epiphanies; she was making due instead with an evil little grin, a triumphant expression that made me want to punch her in the teeth.
"So you're saying…" Harry began yet again.
"I'm saying, Harry," Hermione said, wheeling to face the two of us as we strode down the hallway, "that the spell functions as a sort of Accio charm while retaining all the qualities of Amortentia!"
Ron, hurrying a little bit faster a few paces ahead, called back, "What's that?"
"Honestly, Ronald," grouched the know-it-all, smiling at the fact that she knew everything and her stupid friends remained ignorant, "it's the most powerful love potion."
"So that's why—" Harry began, lightbulb lighting above his head, ready to bring it together finally. Hermione was having none of this, she wanted the credit and couldn't stand the idea that someone else actually had a few IQ points, so she interrupted rudely, "That's why they both care about each other so much. Amortentia creates a feeling of infatuation or obsession. I've read all about it."
Hermione now turned to look at me keenly. "And it's getting worse," she announced matter-of-factly. "The spell that Malfoy used isn't quite like the potion – it acts gradually, growing rather than waning over time. And it's reciprocated evenly."
She was saying so many important things that I should have been worrying about, and the only thing that I could think was that Draco felt exactly the same way for me that I did for him. A small part of my mind was panicking, trying in vain to convince the rest of me that all this was a lie, that this wasn't real… but I was having none of it, fantasy images of Draco filtering through my consciousness with a speed that frightened the comparatively small section of my sane mind.
"Dumbledore knew," Harry murmured, more puzzle-pieces clicking into place like gears turning first slowly and then more rapidly as our footsteps sped down the corridor.
"What?" asked Ron.
"Dumbledore knew," Harry replied, now sounding awed. "He said that she could remain here as a guest. As Malfoy's guest. He knew that he could be trusted."
"And," Hermione added triumphantly, "he knew it wouldn't be a problem much longer."
"What?" the rest of us chorused. The two boys sounded thrilled. I could tell that I sounded appalled.
"The spell only lasts for twenty-four hours," she stated smugly. "After that, she goes home, no more magic-impermeability, no more random displacement, no more Draco Malfoy."
I actually felt my heart stop. No more Draco Malfoy.
"I don't think you should say that to her," Harry said slowly. Everyone turned to me. I knew my face was white as a sheet, but I couldn't do anything. I could barely even breathe.
"Don't worry," Hermione said soothingly. "You don't really like him, and he doesn't really like you anyway."
What a total bitch.
Ron finally got his lunch, but my stomach felt queasy. Half of me was disgusted that I had these fake feelings, parts of me that weren't parts of me at all. The other half was panicking that I wouldn't be able to see him much longer, that Draco Malfoy would disappear. They would probably even erase my memory to keep their little magical secret. And a third half of me that should not even exist and was just crowding the already-full corners of my mind was just confused about being confused about feelings and not trusting any thought that ran through my extremely-crowded skull.
"That's why you were able to accept all this magic stuff so easily," Hermione explained, more thrilled by the minute now that all this was coming together now. "It's a part of Malfoy – a really big part – and the spell gave you a sort of… obsession with everything about him. And the same about you, and you being a Muggle. Malfoy hates Muggles, but this spell made him love everything about you!"
She smiled triumphantly, as though she had just solved a Rubik's cube. That's all I was to her. Some puzzle. Some mystery.
"Get up." I didn't have to be told twice, and I most certainly didn't need to turn to see who owned that velvety, sultry, snarling voice.
"You don't own her, Malfoy," snapped Hermione. I couldn't see her face because my body had turned without any command to face him. But I could imagine her stalwart expression, that little pout she made when she was right.
"Actually," he smiled with overly, falsely saccharine sweetness, "I do own her. At least for another thirteen and a half hours."
His arm was somehow around my waist, leading me away from Harry's table towards his own. We looped around the long banquet tables in silence, and our lips remained sealed as he waited politely for me to sit first.
"You're hungry," he told me, and suddenly I was. Without breakfast, and with the time change (with all these British accents, I realized vaguely, I must be out of the United States, thus that feeling of over-sleeping that morning), I found myself ravenous. Draco began kindly heaping my plate with roast chicken and mashed potatoes and green beans that had appeared somewhere in golden tureens and golden platters and golden dishes. I lifted my golden fork and knife and gingerly began eating, fearing gold flecks in my food.
We were silent as we ate, but that wasn't a good enough excuse.
"Thirteen and a half hours?" I asked gingerly. A part of my mind was embarrassed by the tremor in my voice, by the way that my eyes were prickling with tears, and suddenly his hand was underneath my chin, smoothing my hair back from my neck comfortingly.
It took us a moment to regain our sanity, and both of us drew back hurriedly.
"We can't go on like this," I muttered, pushing away my half-eaten meal.
"Wait," Draco said, grabbing my hand to keep me there – as though I could have possibly willed myself to leave his side at this point. Dangerous, very dangerous. I glanced up at him slowly, and I saw him lose his train of thought for a moment, then regain it.
"Do you remember what you thought when you first saw me?" he asked. I groaned. Was this what we sounded like? A bad soap opera? A teen vampire novel? Usually our little moments of infatuation synced up, the way Hermione described it as equal reciprocation, but now I was confidently not-obsessed, a fact I could clearly state by the way I could keep my eyes off of him.
"No, I don't mean that," Draco continued, catching on to my scorn. "I mean, before the spell kicked in."
"How do we even know if the spell is working?" I asked, pursing my lips angrily. He glared at me.
"Please just try to not be so rational for once," he begged, rolling his eyes very attractively at me.
"Fine. I thought… that you were really annoying." I smiled, fondly recalling the tapping. Oh goodness, I was reminiscing on something that had happened that morning.
"Is that all?" Draco sounded disappointed, breaking the overly-romantic dialogue.
"And you just thought I was something that would get you expelled," I pointed out, trying to delicately eat my green beans despite the sudden complains from my starving stomach.
His brows drew together quickly.
"No I didn't," he bluntly remarked, confused by my incorrect intuition.
"But you were so mad, especially when I thought you were crazy, and the way you were glaring at me lying on your bed…"
I broke off, suddenly realizing what I was saying.
"You thought I was hot!" I laughed, punching him again playfully.
"Not anymore," he lamented jokingly, unable to keep a wry smile off his beautiful face. "You keep hitting me."
We both broke off for a moment in confusion, where I pushed the remainder of my food around with golden utensils.
"Maybe…" began Draco, his silvery eyes softening.
"No," I quickly interjected, shuddering at the thought - a thought that I was able to guess with surprising speed. "A relationship has to exist on trust."
"Fine then, let's be rational," he replied, a frustrated edge creeping into his voice.
"Alright," I agreed happily. "Assumption 1: We can't trust ourselves and therefore cannot trust each other."
"Assumption 2," countered Draco quickly, "we cannot trust anything for another thirteen hours and therefore comparatively we can trust ourselves and each other just as much as we can trust any scientifically proven fact." I glared at him; he was smirking attractively. And he was right.
"Fine then," I snapped. "Assumption 3: We cannot make any judgments as all our feelings are compromised and must therefore trust ourselves to our friends."
"Thus, Assumption 4," Draco grinned, "we can only trust each others' judgments as only we can understand our predicament."
"So what's your solution," I interrupted angrily, forsaking our little epistemological debate-gone-flirtation.
"Why fight it," he murmured, leaning in towards me, closing the scant space between us, the way that a loud part of my mind had been shouting for me to do this entire conversation.
"That's absurd," I tried to laugh it off, tried to keep the lie out of my voice. It was like he was emanating waves of heat that brushed down my spine and made me shiver happily. I could see how it would all play out, feel his sheets across my bare knees, smell the musky scent of his cologne. He was leaning in towards me, in all likelihood imagining the same scene.
A part of my mind was yelling that this wasn't real, that he wasn't real, that what made my heart race and stutter was just some sort of magicked lie. But as he leaned in still closer, his very proximity crushed that complaining voice in my mind, and for once my mind was silent and clear as I gave in to the my senses – the heat he radiated, the smell of his soap, the perfect planes of his face. Every inch of my skin seemed to sparkle with feeling as he leaned in closer, still closer, as though waiting for contact. My eyelids slowly fluttered shut, my mind still and calm and without words, filled instead with an electric energy that soared along my skin. The world shrunk. Only we existed.