COUNTERFEIT

V

Apparently, werewolves can't write.

Okay, fine, they can scrawl a bit.

Draco crinkled his brows as he stared at the piece of parchment the limping owl delivered him this morning, trying to make some sense out of it. He turned it upside down. Ah, there it was: a date and a time. Good. But as for the rest of the illegible letter…nah, it probably wasn't that important anyways.

Draco crunched the yellow parchment into a ball and threw it over his shoulder, not caring where or on whom it lands. He picked up his cloak by the collar and draped it over one shoulder. With a simple gesture, Zabini, Crabbe and Goyle stood and escorted him out of the Great Hall.

What girl wouldn't awe at his charisma and authority? Hermione found herself no longer immune. She stared after him, her breath caught in her throat. I guess these are the little things lovers and beloveds notice about one another that either drives them crazy or draws them closer together. Oh, sorry. I take that back. Our hero and heroine aren't lovers, not yet.

With that in mind, Hermione's defenses have been worn down. It took him four months, but he has achieved the impossible. Still, Hermione wasn't a quitter. Her rationality declared war on her sentimentality more than a month ago. Battles had been lost and won, the outcome of the war, however, is still as fogged as London on a mild day.

Harry was talking, whispering, something about a grey back. Hermione wasn't listening. She couldn't listen. Focusing on eating was already taxing enough. She sighed and put down her fork; her apple pie untouched.

"You gonna eat that?"

Hermione barely heard Ron. She turned to him. Not really registering what she was seeing, she nodded. Ron swooped down on her piece of apple pie like a hawk on a field mouse. It was gone within the minute.

Ron and her didn't talk to each other for half a month after that last Hogsmeade weekend. It was just too awkward between them. They're getting over it now, at least Ron was. Hermione was finding it harder and harder to treat him civilly. His crude mannerism and redundant pessimism are pissing her off more and more. Hermione stole a glance at him now: cheeks bulging with mashed potatoes and apple pie, with a chicken leg in his right hand, pumpkin juice in his left, and smiling widely.

Hermione shuddered. She quietly swung her bag over her shoulder, picked up her Arithmancy textbook and whispered a quiet good bye. Ginny gave a small wave of farewell, Harry looked up at her and nodded, but Ron, who was sitting the closest, was deaf and ignorant of her.

Hermione's jaw muscles tensed. She turned hastily and made her way toward the doors of the Hall. As she approached the exit a slight figure stole in front of her, blocking her way. Hermione looked up, startled.

"Nott," She nodded.

"Granger," Theodore Nott greeted in return. He stood unmoving, blockading her way. Hermione had no time for this. "Excuse me," she said quietly, going around him. He took a step sideward and stood in her way once again.

Hermione's patience for the day was in low supply. "I need to…go." She said, her voice trembled a bit more than she would have wished. Theodore nodded in understanding, yet he stood unmoving, playing with a strand of his hair. Hermione pulled herself up to her full height (which was still at least half a head shorter than Nott's), and puffed out her chest where her Head Girl badge gleamed. "Out of my way, Nott." She said as assertively as she could muster.

Theodore Nott smiled, his lightning-like eyes shone. "Sure," he said pleasantly, "as soon as we have our discussion."

Warning bells sounded in Hermione's ears. "What discussion?" She inquired suspiciously. Theodore smiled, "Oh, you know. The one about a certain Slytherin Prince who had taken interest of you recently."

Hermione stiffened; her heart skipped a beat. "What?"

Theodore smiled and with a swept of his hand, gestured her toward the stairs. "The library will have a quiet spot for us," he said and bowed. His cinnamon colored hair fell into his eyes.

---

The library was indeed quiet, due to the fact that it was very much deserted. Theodore directed Hermione to a small table hiding behind a thick stone column in the back corner of the library. They sat facing each other. Hermione readied herself for the twisted threats and blackmailing that she was expecting only to be thrown by his first question.

"Do you notice something different about him?" Theodore asked with a slight tilt of his head. Hermione blinked. What?

It took her several seconds to get her bearings straight. "What do you mean?"

"Well," Theodore crossed his legs under the table and leant back in his chair, staring at a spot behind Hermione's head, thinking. "Have you noticed anything out of the ordinary about him? The way he dresses, his attitude, behavioral-wise, personality, temperament…anything?"

Hermione frowned. What's this boy playing at here?

She wasn't sure if she should trust him – he is Slytherin after all. But it is wrong to discriminate. Besides, he's a loner. No one really likes him. He doesn't really have any friends…except for (gasp!)… Malfoy.

As if reading her mind, Theodore smiled at her and said, "This conversation will only be heard and known by the two of us, by the way." He assured convincingly.

Hermione looked straight into his electricity blue eyes. She believed him. His eyes told her to.

"Let me explain," He paused. "I first noticed a difference in his appearance."

Hermione stared. "His what?"

"His appearance – oh, don't mind me, I tend to notice the odd things…for a male." Theodore shrugged. He looked up, surprised by the look of confusion on Hermione's face. "Oh, sorry, didn't you know?"

"Know what?"

"I'll take that as a no," He suddenly smiled – warm and friendly. "Well…" He paused and shrugged, "um, I don't tell people this often, seeing how my housemates reacted to this…let's just say I have a slightly different sexual preference."

Hermione's eyes widened, "Really?"

Her astonishment caught him off guard. "Well…yeah. Why do you think I'm so isolated by the other members of my house?"

Hermione frowned, deep in thought. She bit her lip.

"Wait a minute…you…and Malfoy…are you two–"

"No! No, no, no." Theodore laughed. It sounded like bells tinkling. "You're getting the wrong idea. See…Draco was the only one who really looked past that little part of me. He treated me well. He's my friend" Theodore sighed, and added in an undertone, "…well, he was."

Hermione nodded, suddenly comprehending. The way the Slytherins look at Nott, whether if it was in the Great Hall during meal times or in class. The way they exclude him, talk about him behind his back, and the way they flit out of his way as he walks down the halls…it all makes sense. Theodore Nott is gay.

"Oh."

Hermione looked up at the ceiling as she thought.

"So…" she narrowed her eyes, "why do you want to talk with me about him?"

Theodore exhaled noisily. He leant forward in his chair and lowered his voice. "I have reasons to believe the Draco Malfoy we see before us today is an impostor – a counterfeit."

---

She didn't believe him. He didn't expect her to, and he told her as much. Saying Draco had all his memory swiped and replaced was already too far fetched, but a counterfeit? Impossible.

Hermione trudged through the first-years-packed hallway, deep in thought. She tried to focus her mind on the matter in hand – Draco Malfoy being a fraud, yet her mind keeps slipping.

Wait…you…and Malfoy…are you two–

No! No, no, no. You're getting the wrong idea. See…Draco was the only one who really looked past that little part of me. He treated me well. He's my friend…

Theodore's eyes adverted hers when he said that. Bitterness was clear in his voice. As subtle as he was in hiding it, Hermione still heard. Malfoy…and Nott: the possibilities were endless. Hermione shivered. The thought disturbed her, and so she brushed it out of her mind.

---

Later that afternoon, right before dinner, Hermione hid herself in the library. It made sense, now as she looks back upon the last few months in comparison to the last couple of years. As Theodore pointed out, Draco doesn't preen as he used to. Before this year he always tugged at his jumper, folded his collar, constantly picking invisible lint off his cloak, and combed his hair in the hallways. His voice, which Hermione liked to describe as a whiny, soprano clatter, used to drive her nuts. But this year, it was deeper and thicker, like honey. The tonal discrepancy in his voice was so different that it couldn't possible be a product of puberty.

Hermione pulled a thick volume off one of the top shelves. It was dusty and covered in cobwebs. Madam Pince was negligent indeed. Hermione blew the dust off the cover and read the title. Nope, no good. She re-placed it and reached for another one. Fine particles of sand rained down upon her. Hermione coughed.

She lowered her arm, wilting under the weight of the thick volume in her hand, and dropped the book onto her lap. She read the title on the leathery cover – Anomalous Magical Maladies and Cures, By Ptolemaeus. It'll have to do.

Hermione swung her schoolbag over one shoulder and trotted to the checkout counter. She'll read the book tomorrow, when she has the time. She needed to study for her Transfiguration Progress Assessment tonight, Hermione decided as she dropped Anomalous Magical Maladies and Cures into her bag and headed down to dinner.

---

It was half past eleven and way past Hermione's usual bedtime. When she would usually be fast asleep on any other night, Hermione was wide-awake and walking through the moonlit Hogwarts grounds.

The moon was beautiful, like an illuminated melon, having fallen into the dark folds of the night sky. Hermione's sneakered feet treaded silently on the frosty grassy ground, and her plaid skirt lifted above her knees as she walked. It was Astronomy class, and the high tower was packed full of seventh year students, of which she was the only female Gryffindor. All the available stargazing spots were taken, and Hermione was in a hurry to get back to her dorm. The quicker she was able to finish her chart, the quicker she would be able to get to bed, and the better she would be able to perform on that Progress Assessment tomorrow morning. So instead of waiting in the dragon-long queue for the prime stargazing spots, Hermione decided to sneak down to the school grounds to complete her chart. The very thought of committing this 'act of defiance' (as she called it) filled her with an overwhelming feeling of power.

Hermione decided to go for it. It's a first-and-last kind of thing. It's also one of those second-quick decisions that you eventually come to regret for the rest of your life – not that she knew at the time.

So here she was, heading towards the Quidditch fields, planning to get up on one of the towering viewing stands to set up her telescope. The darkness enveloped her and good ol' paranoia that is so common in humans when it comes to the night crept up upon her. Hermione broke into a slow jog, which was made difficult by the heavy (and expensive) telescope she carried in her arms.

Hermione's paranoia grew as she thought she heard quiet footfalls behind her. She ran faster.

"–Which way?"

Hermione halted. Body half turned, she looked behind her fearfully. What was that?

"The forest? Are you sure?"

Hermione began to sweat. Okay, somebody definitely just spoke.

"Well…nothing really."

It sounded like one side of a conversation. Hermione tiptoed under the cover of the castle wall on her left. The wall rounded off further ahead, it was one of the towers. Hermione set down her telescope and her chart. She slowly stole ahead to the curved wall and peeked around it.

Her head snapped back. Her eyes were widened in recognition. She could identify that mercurial hair anywhere. She sucked in a breath to calm herself. Curiosity replaced the shock on her face.

What was he doing here? Think; think…he said something about the forest, the Forbidden Forest, presumably. Hermione's brow arched as she mused.

When the silver head bobbled out from behind the curved wall and towards the Forbidden Forest, Hermione had already made up her mind. She followed him at a distance; her eyes were alert to every movement he made, like the way feline predators stalk their prey.

The problem came when they came upon the looming tree line of the forest. The moment Hermione's 'prey' stepped into the forest, its shadows swallowed him. The full moon's light was veiled from his (highly reflective) hair. Unlike many feline predators, however, Hermione's eyes were not suited to 'hunt' in the dark.

She refused to give up, and followed him in. He was up to something, and she planned to find out what.

Hermione crept from tree to tree, hiding behind the thick callous trunks, paranoid of him spotting her. She advanced slowly. Eventually, the silhouette of the Hogwarts castle was replaced by the twisted darkness that blanketed the Forbidden Forest. Her steps became quicker as she slipped through the shrubberies.

Hermione halted and sucked in a deep breath. There, in front of her, was something hair-like, bleached white by the moonlight. Hermione squinted and blinked, she could only make out its faint outlines. He seemed to be crouching.

He moved left. Hermione followed. She squinted her eyes again and frowned. Was he walking on his hands and knees? No, she must have seen wrong. It's hard to pinpoint his exact position and posture when he's moving so fast. Hermione had to break into a bit of a jog to keep up.

He turned right, faked left, went straight for a while then turned back, then right, right again, and left, like he was leading her through a dark maze of which he was the only one who knew where the right path lay. Hermione soon lost her sense of direction.

Out of breath she stopped, leaning against a tree. They stopped in front of a clearing. The moonlight spilled down and illuminated the ground like a spotlight. Hermione's 'prey' paced back and forth in the shadowy depth around the edges of the light. Hermione drew herself upright. Her eyes drilled a hole into the forest's shadows.

He's crouching again, she observed. And he's scratching his head…no wait…never mind, just a branch. Is that his hair? Wow, he has a big head, she never noticed before…or is that…? Hermione gasped silently. That's not his head, that's his back…he has a hairy back? No, Hermione shook her head at herself; she was seeing things again.

There was a small rustle in the undergrowth as the 'prey' moved towards the lit edges of the clearing…

Oh.

Fuck.

Two golden eyes glared back at Hermione.

She stepped back, stumbled and fell with a crash. The eyes narrowed. Hermione's throat clenched painfully.

Werewolf.

There it stood, finally fully lit by the moonlight. It slowly stalked towards her.

Hermione's breathing became ragged. She inched backwards, still on the ground. It came closer, and closer. Hermione's eyes locked onto its. She sat, paralyzed, her mind blank.

Suddenly, something wet and cold pressed against the back of her ear. Something warm and sponge-like brushed the undersides of her earlobe. Hermione slowly turned her head. Two yellow eyes stared back at her. The second wolf pulled back its lips and bared its teeth, as if leering at Hermione.

A violent scream gurgled from her opened mouth.

---

Draco stopped and turned. The scream's echo faded slowly.

"Who was that?" He whispered. The grey-cloaked wolf in front of him shook its head, its eyes rolled up to the heavens. Draco pulled out his wand nevertheless.

"Tell him I'm proceeding as I planned," he instructed the werewolf distractedly as he turned to leave. There was a nasty feeling in the pit of his stomach as his mind formed gruesome images of the source of the scream.

Draco followed the sounds of low snarls and short panicked shrieks. At first, he was trotting quickly over the knotted roots of the century of trees, and then he began to jog, ultimately, he began sprinting. He crashed through the layers of grasses, bushes and shrubbery, tripped over fallen logs and leapt over hidden gullies.

At last he came upon the scene.

Two wolves circled under the thick low branches of an elderly oak, growling and glaring up at a pair of black ankle boots, from where two pale legs extended up to a crumpled plaid shirt that had a tear along the side. Even as he was unable to see anything above that, Draco's fear had already been confirmed. Though he did find it a lot easier to breath to see her moderately safe from the werewolves' reach.

With a quick muttered word, Draco sent the wolves scattering amidst a shower of fire and sparks. He stumbled forward. Looking up from under the tree, Draco can pick out the pale terrified face of the Head Girl, stained with tears and dirt.

He held out his arms. "Come, jump. I'll catch you."

Hermione shook her head furiously, arms clasped around the trunk in a death grip. Draco sighed. "They're gone, and they won't be back," He lied. "Jump."

Once again Hermione refused.

"Get your ass down here NOW! …Okay, I'm sorry. Please come down, love."

An exasperated cry answered him.

Draco let out a deep sigh. He rolled his eyes at her and pocketed his wand. He stretched out his arms and leaped up. His hands grasped onto two of the lower branches. He lifted himself up.

Hermione peered down at him, her arms loosened around the tree trunk. She wiped the side of her face against the fabric of her cloak's shoulder. She looked down again.

He was gone.

Hermione's heart gave a thud. She craned her neck and looked down. She couldn't see him anywhere. Now her hands had let go of the trunk altogether. Instead, they clutched the branch she was sitting on.

An owl hooted somewhere above her, and she jumped. Anxiety and panic flooded through her.

Suddenly, her branch lurched. With a shriek, Hermione slipped off the branch and tumbled into the darkness beneath…

A/N:

I hope you enjoyed this chapter.

Thank you very much for reading and reviewing (and since I've already thanked you for reviewing you might as well just do it).

(P.S. I've started writing a very long oneshot about our beloved Voldemort. It's going to be pretty awesome. I'm planning to have it posted in a week or two – I'll tell you when I've posted it.)