Left Behind

Chapter Twelve

"Always forgive your enemies – nothing annoys them so much"
Oscar Wilde

Room of Requirement, Saturday, late afternoon

"Malfoy! – I'm sorry!" A quick Summoning Spell and she drew her first aid kit out of her bag. Charmed gauzes were applied with steady pressure on Draco's wounds. Her mind was running through possible complications.

" – Granger," the distinct purebred tone was still clear through his fading voice, "Not to insult your... alleged intelligence – " he spoke between gasps, "but you do... realise the point.. of duelling is causing bodily.. harm?"

She ignored him and Malfoy winced, but made no sound as she cut off the side of his shirt and applied an antiseptic poultice. Hermione gave him her left hand before using the free one to rub Burn Paste onto his skin. Experience told her to 'wait for it.. wait for it...'

Ah, there, his skin had begun knitting together slowly, muscle by muscle mending excruciatingly. It wasn't visible to the naked eye because of the glow emanating from the paste at work, but she could tell because of the crunch of her fingers while Malfoy's hold on her hand tightened. Remembering the searing heat while Poppy healed her wounds after the encounter at the Department of Ministries, Hermione could only apologise again and again.

"Granger," the sound from Malfoy was a cross between a wheeze and his usual disdainful snort. "One would think you've never duelled though I'm sure that in all your years with Potter, you must have at least once." His slackening grip hinted to Hermione that the pain in his side had eased. His smirk made her certain.

"I didn't know it was you. I thought – I thought you were the sparring dummy I had requested the room for."

Draco began laughing; she threw up her hands in defeat.

'Slytherins sure have a screwed up sense of humour.'It was too much for her nerves, really.

Running his bloodied hands through the platinum blonde mess, Draco closed his eyes and the padded mat beneath flowed into the usual royal blue carpeting the room offered them when they would read together. Their usual stock of tea and cookies appeared above the tables forming while shelves seemingly grew out of the walls, groaning under the weight of the many, many texts lining them. He chose, however, to continue their discussion on the floor, being rather hesitant to test his tender new tissues. Hermione avoided his gaze by focusing on repairing his shirt.

"Let me get this straight, Granger. You didn't know you were fighting the real me?"

She shook her head and steadfastly focused on remoulding the melted buttons of the white shirt.

"So that was technically you at your maximum."

His incredulous tone made her heart sink.

"Hmm... I'm guessing you've never had formal duelling lessons and the most training you've had is with Potter and Weasley." His aristocratic drawl emphasised her lack of training compared to his in very stark terms. Frankly, it stung. "Nonetheless, you were brilliant, Granger."

"Wait.. what?" Her head shot up. The shirt she was magically re-stitching began fraying mid-charm.

Malfoy shrugged. "Well, it was a challenging fight. You were a worthy opponent."

"Oh," the heat spread from her cheeks to the roots of hair, "thank you."

"Don't mention it. I'm still better than you." His speaking voice back at natural and thus, Hermione assumed, his muscles as well, Malfoy picked himself off the floor and stretched out his hand to help up Hermione who was fighting a losing battle not to laugh. "I had thought you'd prepared the place for us to duel. I'm out of practice, you know," he admitted, "but I think I could still teach you a thing or two. I daresay you could teach me as well."

Hermione wasn't listening to him with her full attention, however, because the adrenaline rush was certainly helping her think of things previously unnoticed. Until at least, five minutes ago.

'Be safe. I asked the Room to keep me safe.'

She looked the boy in the eyes, stopping short only of using Legilimens albeit the depth of her discovery making her itch to dig deeper into his mind. Why she hadn't thought of it earlier boggled her because Hermione, you see, had realised that the Room had not changed upon his entry, which meant that Draco Malfoy was inexplicably, undeniably, miraculously –

'Safe. He's safe.'

If only she could lure the Headmaster Snape and countless other individuals into the Room of Requirement to have it check them as well, but she was too happy in realising that Malfoy could be trusted to even care at that moment. He was not an enemy; he was friend. He was, she also realised, still waiting for her response.

"Oh... was that an offer, Malfoy?"

"Why, I think it was." He smirked and gestured to the door with exaggerated aplomb, "Shall we now go, milady?"

Hermione was puzzled but played along, "Where to, good Sir?"

"The Halloween Ball, woman." He cast a critical eye over her weekend jumper and loosest pair of slacks. It was unnerving how the Malfoys were ostensibly trained to exude condescension in even the simplest of actions. "You weren't planning on going at all, were you?"

"Afraid not." For the second time that afternoon, Hermione was apologising. "I really don't have a reason to go."

She couldn't read the look on his face, but caught a hint of arrogance in the arch of his eyebrow, which greatly contrasted with the understanding she saw in the tilt of his lips.

"Do you dance, Granger?"

"Not exactly - I learned ballroom for a time."

Malfoy was grinning. "Works for me, I'd always wanted a dance partner who could swing." His look became contemplative as he strove to make a reasonable excuse. "Granger, you should go. I mean, you're the only prefect I can trust not to let the underage pupils drink and also to fairly deduct points from the less behaved ones."

Hermione rolled her eyes, "Purely utilitarian request?"

"Purely." Malfoy opened the door to let them out. His moue of distaste at the notion of déclassé lower years who couldn't hold their drink told her a great deal.

"Well, I'll go freshen up then." Hermione turned to leave yet before she had completely crossed the threshold, Malfoy caught her arm.

"Perhaps you might consider calling me Draco?" He let her go. Aiming for a bit of his usual character, he added, "you have, after all, seen me with my shirt off."

It was logic she couldn't fault and Hermione grinned. "Only if you call me Hermione."

She watched the regal features visibly softened by a smile. "Very well then. Until later, Hermione." He turned on his heel to head towards the Great Hall; his dark blue robes billowed behind as if raised by an unfelt breeze.

Remembering a similar exit a certain professor had once made, Hermione walked in the opposite direction, thinking, 'It must be something they teach you in Slytherin.'

Outside the Great Hall, half past eight

Considering she wasn't expected to dance with a domineering but well-meaning Bulgarian seeker nor be in the company of the famed Boy-Who-Somehow-Kept-On-Living and his bilious redheaded partner, Hermione knew she wouldn't be of particular notice during the Halloween Ball. Good thing too because she hadn't planned on attending the event and had thus spent the pitiful better part of the last half hour rushing while the party was already in full swing.

She blamed Draco for setting a precedent since she had chosen a simple, flowing dress with a shade of cerulean close to his robes. It was her mother's, one of the few things she'd brought back here from home, and she had willed herself not to reminisce or cry as she hunted for the her best black outer robes and wrested her hair into the neatest twist she could manage, held together by her mother's pearl comb. Dabbing a bit of the Luscious Lips – she did think it was lucky in some way and would love to thank the Weasley twins next time she saw them – she still felt hesitant at the Great Hall's entrance. Parties made her queasy for reasons her peers could never possibly understand.

A push, a deep breath, and she was inside. The Great Hall was dimly lit, smaller tables and chairs lined the walls while floating trays brought about drinks and snacks. Tiny glowing pumpkins illumined the darkened hall, their numbers concentrated along the central dance floor where an upbeat quickstep was progressing. She could see Neville trying to strike a conversation with Ginny, Romilda Vane during her impression of a lamprey eel on a non-descript Ravenclaw chaser, and the Weird Sisters on a raised platform. The Head Table had been transfigured into a smaller one, displaced to the shadows at the side of its usual spot.

Her eyes having travelled the room, she felt a distinct sense of loss at where exactly to go. A familiar hand upon her shoulder had her turn to face its owner.

"Draco."

"You clean up nicely, Gra – Hermione."

"As do you, Draco." She couldn't believe she was relieved to see him of all people. "And isn't that supposed to be a lady's line?" she joked. Perhaps the teasing tone she adopted led him to believe she was implying more than she was for a hint of a blush rose in the normally pale cheeks. He pulled her towards the dance floor and offered his hand, "Touche. Perspicacious as always, Hermione. You will still let me lead, won't you?"

It was Hermione's turn to blush. Common experiences of vulnerability resulted apparently in some sort of trust from a Malfoy

"I'll take that as a yes," he quipped as he pulled her flush against him.

They swept into one of the few foxtrots interspersing the modern tunes performed by the musicians. Years of lessons in the sitting room with her mother seeped like instinct into her limbs and she matched each drag and step Draco made. So engrossed was she in the swell of the music that she didn't notice the admiring or jealous eyes observing their passage across the polished floor.

In the distance, a familiar pair of eyes was intently focused not on her but on her partner.

'What is Draco playing at?' Snape noted the sliding dip and the breathless female audience. Even when his godson wasn't – Snape shuddered at the memory of Lucius' apoplectic wrath because of Draco's first announcement and the resulting hushing of the whole issue – she wasn't his type. Nonetheless, the trademark Malfoy Charm was turned on at full blast tonight: it could attract all the women (yes, and even men) within a one mile radius. Snape would know; he'd walked with Lucius Malfoy on a mission along Knockturn Alley and it was a singularly heady experience.

Refocusing on the twirling couple, he noted the switch to a more sedate and stately Viennese Waltz. Few couples dared join the more challenging piece and he observed more teachers and older students on the floor for this one. He continued watching the pair... and did a double take.

To a less cultured observer, their flow was flawless. To the more discerning audience, himself included, Ms Granger was effectively leading Draco, with a cheeky grin to boot.

'She knows,' he snorted, 'Trust Ms Granger, of all people, to know.'

The sudden slight stroke of cold, caressing fingers swept across his left forearm and he stiffened in response. He'd long been promoted from the searing burn new recruits experienced. Enduring that was an incredible sign of loyalty - one that when successfully accomplished, the Dark Lord would reward in ways Dumbledore could only dream of using to manipulate people – and the opposite was not an option worth considering if one wanted to see the sun rise one more time. As the caresses became more insistent – dare he admit, more pleasurable – Severus strove not to react visibly and searched the crowd for the Carrows.

It seemed the Dark Lord was calling.

AN: I know it's been ages since the last post so I hope you guys haven't been put off by that O_o It's my first vacation since January for the next three days so I hope to get a few chapters in before it's back to the real world for me. To all those who reviewed the last couple of chapters, I'm sorry I haven't been able to respond - same excuse, I'm afraid. But, this fledgling, beta-less, rather lost writer appreciates your kind words ^^

By the way, happy youth day to all the young and young at heart. :) Hope you had a good one.