Essays Chapter 2: Fifth and Sixth Year, a harry potter fanfic

Disclaimer: I only own the plot, characters belong to J.K. Rowling

Essays (Part Two)

xXx

Grandmother Rose is the sweetest woman I've ever known in my whole life, though not the most eye-catching. She's actually quite short and slightly frumpy. Her dull brown hair, speckled with grey, told me that she was of elder age, but her bubbly personality insisted she was of another. When I first saw Professor Umbridge, I wanted shout out, "Grandmother!" Good thing I didn't, else I be placed in one of those horrendous detentions of hers.

I learned quickly that she was nothing at all like Grandmother Rose. The unpleasant woman also had a certain prejudice against me. It wasn't at all calming to the mind to have a Ministry official, a few professors, and the Slytherin House plotting my demise.

Another proverbial, yet somehow, seemingly literal thorn in my side, was the Inquisitorial Squad. They took an especially unnatural, sadistic glee in tormenting the students, but essentially me, Harry, and Ron. Not ones to sit back and be tortured like little ragdolls, we came up with the concept for Dumbledore's Army and put it into action, frustrating those against us, to our sadistic glee.

It was strange though, to see Malfoy so pitted against us. I had long since discovered that outside our annual library meetings, he was a completely different person. Each time we had those strange meetings, he seemed almost friendly. However, when we weren't in our alternated atmosphere, Malfoy treated me with a mere, cold indifference, though he always seemed to soften a bit immediately following each rendezvous.

Whatever. Malfoy was nothing other than another episode that we would live through in our lives. I never would've imagined how important he would become to us later.

At the time, however, Malfoy largely ignored me. Throughout the entire year, I clutched onto my metaphorical shield, ready for any malicious attacks, but I received none too badly; it almost surprised me. Each time I walked into the library, I braced myself for the usual blond head that popped out from behind bookshelves, come to torment me; my preparations were for nothing.

There was only one time that I faced confrontation with him in the library, and even then, the missiles we sent at each other had little impact.

It was a few days after Fred and George had put on their last-day-of-school celebration show. The professors (specifically only Umbridge and Filch) were still hell-bent on figuring out how to get rid of the Portable Swamp Fred and George had merrily deposited in the corridor of the fifth floor, and the school was in chaos. Kids everywhere had taken Fred and George's initiative, and now, students were intent on making life a living nightmare for the Headmistress. I decided to take a trip to the library to study without all the noise and commotion, for all people did in the Gryffindor common room nowadays was babble on and on about the Weasley twins' great escape.

I had just touched the tip of my quill to the parchment when I heard the familiar snide drawl I'd been hearing for the past five years of my life.

"Mudblood."

"Ferret."

"Creative."

"Same to you."

He gave a slight scoff. "Why is it that I always find you in the library? Don't you ever think of other places to go, people to see?"

"As much as I've love to be off breaking the rules just for you to take off another fifty points from Gryffindor, I have better things to do."

"Do you, really?"

"What do you want, Malfoy? To take off more points because I'm a Mudblood?"

"That's actually an excellent idea. Ten points from Gryffindor, for being an incorrigible know-it-all and being of bad blood."

I glowered at him. Maybe the brat wasn't going to be nicer to me like he usually was.

"Fuck you."

He quirked an eyebrow and the corner of his mouth followed the same suit. That bastard. If it hadn't gone against his pristine ideals to be calm and composed at all times, he probably would've been jumping around and clapping his hands cheerfully for being able to elicit a crude, uncouth response from me, something I rarely let happen except when my temper was unusually volatile. This disposition seemed to happen often around him.

"I never thought you'd be one with a particularly dirty mouth, Granger."

"Go find someone else to bother; I'm in no mood for this."

"Oh, but the others aren't as fun to provoke as you."

I wanted to stand up and deck him; anything to wipe that smug little grin off of his face. "Why don't you just go find one of those girls who always flock to you?"

His grin turned into a haughty smirk. "You mean those Slytherins who bend to my every whim and will? Those only come at night." He gave me a suggestive wink. "Would you like a try?"

I told myself that he would dock at least a hundred points if I hexed his nose off. "Thanks, but I'd rather not be a Slutherin."

He gave a scornful snort. "Clever."

I chose this opportunity to return to my essay.

The Colour Change charm (of which the incantation is 'convocumbra' followed by the name of the colour the object is intended to be changed into in Latin terms) is known for its comical uses, such as—

I stopped and glanced up to see his grey eyes watching me attentively.

It was creepy.

"Do I happen to have an ink stain on face, or have you suddenly gone blind and not noticed you're staring at a Mudblood?"

"If you didn't frown so much all the time, you could be relatively attractive, Granger."

I wisely chose not respond, as I had no idea what to respond with.

"First compliment you've been given? Not too surprising."

"At least I don't give myself compliments all the time; better yet, I don't charm my mirror into giving me compliments."

He ignored my scathing remark. "It must be a natural beauty, seeing as you don't spend time with all that paint those girls glob on their faces. What do you do in your spare time, Granger?"

"Read. Write. Imagine different scenarios in which I could lure you to the lake and have the giant squid drag you to the depths."

He gave me a wide smile that reminded me of the Cheshire Cat's. It wasn't comforting in the least. "Really? I would've thought you were arranging the deaths of Umbridge and Filch."

I paused before answering. There was something suspicious about the tone he was using. "Perhaps."

Leaning forward, he cupped his chin and tapped a finger against his lips. "You know, I'm getting sick of Umbridge myself. She's always bossing us around. And she refused to give us a raise for our duties in the Inquisitorial Squad." At this he wrinkled his noise and scowled.

"You already have enough money as it is, Malfoy. Don't be a greedy, needy prat."

"It doesn't matter anymore. That woman is irking me, and I'm starting to get this sense of detestation towards her."

"Join the club." I turned back to my paper, but not before I caught a strange look in his eyes.

"If only I could," he remarked nonchalantly.

My quill froze before touching the paper once more. Did he…? Was he…?

Oh, that bastard. That sneaky, manipulative, sycophantic, no good, two-faced, scheming, ferret-faced bastard. He was trying to trick me (albeit in an unsubtle and not very skillfully way) into giving away information about Dumbledore's Army. Well, I'd give him information, all right.

"Well, it's too bad there isn't any, though I'd gladly make one," I said carefully. "No, I'm a bit too preoccupied with something else than plotting Umbridge's demise."

"Don't tell me you're on some secret spy mission, Granger."

I gave him a saccharine smile. "Of course not. Spy missions require overseas travel. My traveling only consists of walking back and forth from the castle to the Forbidden Forest." For show, I gasped and clapped my hand over my mouth dramatically. "Oh no. You're not allowed to tell anyone that, Malfoy."

He leaned back in his chair and gave me a satisfied smirk. "Oh, but, Granger, if it's illegal contact between you and Dumbledore, I'm afraid I'm going to have to report you to the Ministry."

I reached to grasp his hand, but changed my mind as he would probably shake me and my Mudblood germs off. Instead, I clasped my hands together and looked at him pleadingly. "Malfoy, I'm not contacting Dumbledore. I'm only building a secret weapon for him in the depths of the Forbidden Forest that I'm going to use against the Ministry."

His excitement was hardly contained. That is, until the recognition of my sarcasm hit him.

His triumphant smirk was interchanged with a contemptuous look. "You must think you're hilarious, Granger," he said scornfully.

"I sure like to." With that, I returned my attention to my essay. Educing a long sigh, I rummaged through my bag and dragged out my worn blue eraser. It was no longer as bright as it used to be and looked just as defeated as I did.

"I'll have you know that I'm going to find you and your little group, and when I do, it's not going to be pretty."

I gave him a leveling gaze. "I hardly believe that's going to happen anytime soon."

How wrong I was.

However, neither of us knew that at the time, so Malfoy only stood up, rolled his eyes at me, and sniffed superciliously. He then proceeded to turn on his heel, his cape flaring out for dramatic effect behind him. This succeeded in knocking over a cart of books, and right on cue, Madam Pince materialized, armed with stern looks and scolding words.

My mouth twitched into a slight smile, and I silently thanked her for being here, unlike the past two years. This time, my grin widened when my gaze descended onto my parchment, and I only gave a few half-hearted strokes of the eraser against the parchment.

As he closed the doors behind him, the blond fervently hoped that the brunette within the confines of the library would take his advice on how to deal with Headmistress Umbridge, for he had not been lying when he had said he was getting annoyed with old woman.

A few days later, a shriek was heard echoing through the distant halls of Hogwarts. Students congregated outside, looking for the source of distress. Giggles and murmurs erupted throughout the crowd as a furious Headmistress stalked down the hall, her hair a mixture of shockingly bright pink and vivid lime green. It was rumored that Colin Creevey made a fortune out of selling his photos of Umbridge.

xXx

The next year…

Merlin, I can barely speak about the next year without either pathetic tears welling up in my eyes or breaking an expensive object nearby. It was a shock to everyone, except perhaps Harry, when the realization of Malfoy's betrayal hit us. For some bizarre reason, I felt an especially deep tug in my heart at the news. Perhaps it touched me to see such a formerly stoic, cold being have to suffer through such emotional stress. Perhaps I had grown attached to our peculiar encounters.

I had done quite a number of essays that year, and each time, I waited to hear the usual patronizing salutation, the typical interruption that came with no regard for my work; none occurred, and I felt a pang of disappointment each time.

It was June 3rd when the day finally came. I was in the library, working (lo and behold) on another essay. I hadn't written anything substantial down but part of my heading, which read:

Hemone Gangr

May 3—

I had been quite distracted that day. It had to do with the previous day. Harry, Ron, and I had been talking, and they boys had been arguing about the dark tattoos or whatnot, when abruptly, the conversation had veered towards the topic of Eileen Prince.

Prince. The name left an awful taste on my tongue. The spells, the effects, the twisted mind of the author; they all held an ominous and ill-boding quality. It didn't comfort me in the slightest that Harry had nearly killed Draco Malfoy with one of the spells from the book.

But that deviates from my point. I was sitting at the usual table I had tacitly asserted to be mine since first year, completely out of focus, when suddenly, I felt a presence beside me. He had slipped in so soundlessly that I had almost neglected seeing him.

"Hello," came the quiet greeting.

I turned slowly to him and blinked three times to make sure he was who I thought he was. His usually well-kept sheen blond hair was now stringy and lifeless. The already pale colour of his skin was an even more sickly pallid shade. His alabaster eyes had lost their normal flash of ire and haughtiness and instead held a vacant, resigned look akin to my deceased Grandfather Jack's. He looked so frail and lean that I wondered if he had eaten at all within the past month. My concern for his health and current state shoved the suspicions Harry and Ron had implemented into me back to the furthest corner of my mind, and I asked him what was wrong.

He only shook his head and stared down at his hands. Finally, he caught my gaze and I strained my ears to hear his barely audible whisper. "I'm sorry for what will happen."

Bewildered, I opened my mouth to respond, but he shook his head once more. That brought my indignation up a notch. I absolutely detest it when people cut me off before they know what I'm going to say, and I voiced these thoughts to him.

The corner of his mouth quirked up the very slightest bit, giving a ghost of a smile. This alarmed me even more.

"Malfoy…"

"Granger…" he countered in a sarcastic manner, but his mocking tone had lost its usual biting edge.

"I'm serious. I know we haven't been the best of friends…" He scoffed at this, and I shot him a cross look. "But, if there's anything you need to talk about, I'm here to listen."

"Thanks for the offer, but I don't know if I could handle any of your psychological bullshit right now, Granger."

My eyes flickered angrily, and I felt the standard blossom of heat in my cheeks that always appeared when I got worked up about something. In this case, it was Malfoy. Why was it always Malfoy?

"Malfoy," I interjected irritably, "I know you're going through some trouble right now, but you have no right to act so disrespectful, especially when I'm trying to help you."

He met my heated gaze. "I don't want your help."

He always knew how to infuriate me further, didn't he? "Then why the bloody hell did you walk in here looking like a mess? Something like that expects help, doesn't it?"

Shrugging dispassionately, he turned to look at a nearby bookcase. "Perhaps I felt that we needed to give our yearly tradition one last go."

I snorted. "Yearly tradition? What do we accomplish out of these? I don't seem to get anything except a spoiled essay, it appears."

He raised an eyebrow. "Do you, now? How odd. What a coincidence it is that whenever I show up, your essays seem to digress from their intended topic."

"Coincidence, indeed. Tell me, Malfoy, why do you come here, every year? Do you get some kind of satisfaction out of tormenting me even more?"

He looked thoughtfully at the stack of books I had laid on the table. "I do. It seems that you're the only other person in this joke of a school that's up to par for verbal sparring."

I stared at him. "As flattered as I am that you think so highly of my intellect, I fail to see what purpose that holds. Go argue with yourself in the mirror; it should give the same effect."

"Fine, Granger. You want a purpose? Give me a purpose to be here."

I pondered this for a few seconds. "Will you answer something for me?"

"Depends on the question," he said wryly.

"Are you behind whatever's been happening this year?"

His eyes darkened, and he stayed silent for a few moments. "There are some things that should be left unsaid," he finally answered. "Ignorance is bliss, isn't it?"

"Not if it's hurting others," I retorted, dropping my quill, my essay completely forgotten.

"You don't know anything, Granger."

"And here you were just seconds ago praising my aptitude. I'm not thick like those goons you call your friends, Malfoy. I know you're doing something, though I don't know what. Whatever it is, you've got to stop; working for Voldemort isn't going end well. You're nothing more than a disposable pawn in his warped game for utter domination."

He visibly flinched at the name. "Don't say his name. He punishes those who speak it brazenly."

"Stop being a coward." I grasped his arm and stared at him steadily. He looked down at his left arm in shock, and I suddenly felt a tingle, the realization dawning on me that I could potentially be holding an arm marked with the Dark Mark.

His eyes shot up to mine, and he wrenched his arm away from my grip. "You don't know anything," he hissed angrily. "Don't call me a coward when you don't know the slightest bit about what you're talking about. You may know everything about Charms, about Transfiguration, and about Potions, but you've no idea of what goes on in the real world, do you? In the real world, it's life or death. Once you pick a side, you're stuck there, no matter the cost. Loyalty is your lifeline; the second you stand with a wavering decision, you'll be Avada'd faster than you can blink. Wake up and smell the fucking roses, Granger, and you'll see that they have thorns rimmed all down the stem. This is reality, not another one of your fantasies where everything is perfect and things turn out the way they're supposed to."

For once in my life, I was struck absolutely speechless.

He continued harshly, "I've been given a task, and I have to complete it. Go ahead and tell Potter. It won't make any difference. It's no longer my life on the line, and I have to think about the one person in my life who's ever had an inkling of care for me." His eyes had lost their fire and had once again taken on an anxious, fearful look. "Please, Hermione. I just need to tell you that I'm sorry. I'm sorry for everything I ever did. I was stupid, foolish, and ignorant to the world. I never thought my life would spiral so much out of control as it did, and now I'm paying for my mistakes. I'm sorry."

He repeated the mantra over and over again, and it reverberated indistinctly in my ears until I finally snapped out of my stupor. My hand rose and whipped right across his cheek, cutting him off. He froze and turned back to me slowly, taken aback.

"Don't you dare," I ground out through clenched teeth, "assume I don't know what reality is like. If you hadn't noticed, I've been through more shit than you could ever imagine the past five years of my life. I've battled a giant troll, led my best friend to near death innumerable times, been petrified trying to save the school, gone back in time to save an innocent man at the risk of unraveling the very fabric of time, helped Harry attempt to win the most dangerous game on this Earth, fought against full-fledged adult Death Eaters, including your own father, and seen my best friend's godfather die, Malfoy. I saw him die. I can see the damned Thestrals that pull the carriages from the train to Hogwarts."

It dimly occurred to me that if I didn't lower my voice soon, Madam Pince would show up and kick us out.

"And you think I can't?" He stared at me through dull eyes. "Do you know how many people I've seen tortured and killed this past summer?"

"I'm not going to play this sick game of who's-seen-more-people-die with you, Malfoy. It's bad enough that we're only sixteen and caught in this perverse war without sharing horror stories."

"Then you should understand me. In this fucked up world, there's only been one person who's been there for me this entire time, Granger, and the Dark Lord is threatening to kill her if I don't comply. My mother has already atoned for my father's sins, and I hate it. She makes it seem so terminal, that she doesn't have enough faith in me."

I stared at him in disbelief. "You're doing this because you think your dearest Mummy doesn't have enough faith in you?"

His eyes went icy, and his tone plunged down a few degrees as well. "My mother," he said coolly, "is about to die, and you think I'm doing this to prove something to her?"

I instantly regretted my words. "Malfoy—"

"If there's one thing that will come out of this meeting, Granger," he interposed, "it's my vow that I will do whatever it takes for my mother to stay alive and die old, safe, and happy, whether or not I will be with her. She's done nothing wrong but marry into the right family at the wrong time, and I'm not about to let her die because of me or my father."

A tense silence engulfed the air, and my gaze reverted back to the parchment. I wasn't sure what to say, and I was a bit afraid that if I said the wrong thing, he would blow up on me. It would do no good for destruction of private property to be placed on his list of life-long misdeeds; that is, unless he'd already committed that crime.

The harsh reality bit me as I distinctly became aware that a fellow student, a fellow student I knew, was very much a Death Eater and would soon be embarking on missions to murder innocent people. The simple fact that Malfoy could actually follow through on his threats to harm Harry and Ron made my blood run cold.

"Look, Granger," he said in a brusque, but dejected manner, "I didn't come here asking for a didactic therapist. There's nothing you can do to help me, all right?"

"That's what you may think, Malfoy." I sighed wearily. "But you and I, we're a lot more alike than we'd like to think. We operate on the same mindset. I can't change your decision, but I can tell you that the proverbial door's always open. The more people we have to help us, the faster this will go down."

He looked at me seriously. "If that time ever comes, I hope you hold your end of the deal."

Stillness permeated the air once more, and I stared at a book propped open, trying to remember what the essay I was writing was supposed to be about. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him slowly rise from his seat.

"Your name's misspelled and it's June," he pointed out quietly. He turned swiftly and slipped out of the library.

When my eyes had traced back to my parchment, I saw that instead of the usual antagonizing words that were written in my typical scrawl after each "meeting", an extremely foreboding message stared solemnly right back up to me in neat, fine handwriting.

I'm very regretful about the events that will soon come to place. Find it in your heart to forgive me.

As an added bonus, my name and heading had been corrected. I frowned and picked up the paper, reading the words over and over again. This couldn't be good…

It wasn't. The next day, all hell broke loose. Harry had rushed to us, thrust the Felix Felicis at our faces, and quickly told us what to expect that night. Death Eaters streamed through the halls of Hogwarts, attacking bewildered students and frantic professors. The lot of us followed Snape as he rushed to the Astronomy Tower, but were hindered by the masses of Death Eaters.

In the middle of throwing a hex, I suddenly felt someone pull me into an alcove. I whipped my arm around to toss a jinx at my attacker, but he caught my wrist before I could. I heard a soft murmuring of, "Remember what I wrote, Granger," and then he was gone.

I stared numbly at the empty space that he had stood, the indistinct awareness that he had been the one who had let the Death Eaters in, and he had been the one who had caused this pandemonium slowly dawning on me. And there I was, just yesterday, pleading with him to turn his back on all those Death Eaters…

Dumbledore's funeral came three days later. In the middle of the ceremony, I realized that Malfoy had confirmed that it was, indeed, him who had tampered with my essays.

xXx

And that's Part Two, summarizing the Fifth and Sixth Years.

Thanks for the reviews last time, guys. Sorry about the slow update. I was away on vacation.

Once again, Read&&Review!

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