A/N: So, I wasn't planning on posting a chapter today... My Percy Jackson FanFic is being neglected and needs my attention! T.T I'm also extremely exhausted, like so exhausted that I became mood-swingy and delirious. My flute teacher literally stopped our lessons within the first twenty minutes because of it and seriously thought I was high. And I keep leaving out letters and words ( andsometimes whole sentences!) while writing. But alas! My mind has too many brainstorms going on, too many stories to write, and too many sketches to draw to allow sleep, so excuse me while I make myself more coffee to finish this story with. I thought about this specific FanFic aaalll day, and I found a new band that reminded me of Draco, inspiring me to write more tonight.
On another note... I know I say, "ooh, Dramione moment coming up!" a lot, and it never really turns out to be a real Dramione moment, but within the next few chapters, I promise there will be some bonding between them. I mean, they obviously don't love each other yet, and they wouldn't even consider a relationship, because that would be unrealistic. I admit that eventually, I'll end up bending to the rules of realism (?) and speed up the Dramione-ness as to not bore you guys (or me). Expect some cute bonding though. :3
They left us for dead,
Forgot what we said,
From the start, we knew we were broken,
This life is a glitch, something we should fix,
From the start, we were ghosts in the machine.
~Ghosts in the Machine by Ghost Town
Several seconds passed. Hermione waited, her eyes boring into Malfoy's tensed back.
"No," he finally said. "No way am I accepting help from a-"
"-Mudblood," Hermione finished, rolling her eyes. "Yeah, I get it, Mr. High-and-Mighty-Pureblood. You've made it clear that you're far too prideful to accept help from a lowlife like myself. But think about it, Malfoy. What choice do you have? You know that your mother doesn't have much time until the curse becomes irreversible. I know where to find information about the curse. I can help."
"That's what the experts and doctors that I hire say, too," he snorted. "How are you any different from them? And why would you want to help me?"
Because I lost my parents too. Because I know what it's like to have nobody to run to anymore. "Because," Hermione cleared her throat. Stupid cold or something, clogging her lungs and making her voice catch like that. "The war's been hard on everyone. I figure we're all tired of seeing each other suffer... Even if the sufferer is a traitor and a ferret. Besides, I know what it's like to lose family. And I'm good at solving problems. You need all the help you can get with this, Malfoy, so why don't you accept mine?"
Hermione expected him to get angry, to kick her out of the hospital room, to sneer in her face. Why would he ever accept her help, anyway? Placing his mother's life in the hands of his enemy? The Slytherin boy finally stood up and turned to her, a cautiously skeptical look on his face. Hermione was reminded suddenly of a similar situation 7 years ago, offering her help to a scar-faced, dark-haired, glasses-rimmed boy who bore a similar expression as the one Malfoy now wore. A boy who wasn't quite fond of Hermione Granger. A boy who grew up to become her best friend.
Malfoy seemed hesitant. He opened his mouth, then closed it again. He looked at Hermione, then at his mother's unconscious figure.
There it was again. That look in his eyes.
"Tell anyone what you're doing for me," he growled, his voice laced with poorly hidden desperation and strain, "and you're dead. Got it?"
"Got it," Hermione replied solemnly, a small smile of triumph on her face.
"I want to see your progress every once in awhile," Malfoy demanded, "and where you're getting your information."
"Well then," she said, excitement clouding her mind and clogging her ears, misinterpreting his words, "let's go find out what we can about this curse, shall we?"
And with that, the bookworm grabbed the mysterious Slytherin boy's arm and set off to the school once more.
By the time the two had returned to Hogwarts, it was a lot later than Draco had realized. Granger checked her watch and sighed. "Time for me to patrol. I suppose you could meet me in the forbidden section of the library-"
Draco shook his head and stepped back. "I know I'm irresistible, Granger, but really-"
Hermione glowered at him. "To research about the curse, you stuck up git!"
"Who said we were researching about this together?" Draco exclaimed, mortified. "Don't you think I've already tried to find what I can over the summer? There's absolutely nothing, Granger, not even my most qualified researchers have been able to find anything. To think that a school's library would possess more knowledge than a highly expensive, well-trained team..."
"Well, have you tried the library yet?" Granger asked, crossing her arms and resting on one hip. She looked up at him, her eyebrows raised. "We'll accomplish more working together than we ever will alone, you and I both know that. Time is precious, and we need all the information we can get our hands on."
Draco didn't like the way she said 'we'. The mudblood was actually proposing that they worked together.
But she had a point. Narcissa didn't have much time left, and despite how confident he had acted in his team, the only thing they had really managed to accomplish was a major dent in the family funds.
"Hurry with your patrol, then," he snapped. "I'll meet you in the library."
He turned and briskly began to his journey down the quiet hallway. It was 8:00; not nearly curfew time, yet most students spent these hours hopping between common rooms: the few that still lingered in the hallways were couples in need of a dark, secluded room for their unfinished business. Draco smirked to himself- he would know all about that.
Draco's mind rolled back to the problem at hand- Accepting help from his worst enemy's best friend was a record low for the Malfoy heir, and that worried him more than anything. Worse than portraying emotions, accepting help from a Gryffindor exposed his desperation and pitiful weakness. His father would be absolutely horrified if he ever discovered; with dread, Draco realized that the news would most result in a horrendously bloody beating beyond any he had received before. But, then again, if his father knew that Narcissa was being safely harbored in St. Mungo's, his reaction wouldn't be quite so pleasant to begin with.
Yes, accepting Hermione Granger's assistance was a dangerous card for Draco to play. It was trusting-the-Order kind of dangerous, betraying-the-Dark-Lord kind of dangerous. It was stepping a little too far out of his comfort zone; far enough so that he could no longer see where the edge would give away and allow Draco plummet to his death.
But it was worth it, to see his mother's eyes open once again.
Once his mother would be cured, Draco's life would finally settle into a much-deserved peace. He could take his mother and leave, his name less recognizable with every mile he put between himself and Hogwarts and the Ministry. Every mile leading closer to a new start. That thought alone would give him the strength to put up with the Golden Trio Girl.
Draco slipped inside the abandoned library, shutting himself in the forbidden section. Quickly and efficiently, he set a number of charms to both soundproof the section and warn him of approaching professors. He shuffled through the yellowing books, pausing only to throw a few onto the single nearby study table. Finally, Granger returned, and after chastening him on the harmful affects of violently tossing old, delicate, and rare pieces of literature (to which Draco rudely commented on her nerdiness), they set to work quietly.
The minute hand on the library clock crept on, painfully and gradually overlapping the hour hand: the only thing in the room that actually made progress of any sort. One hour passed, then another, and another, and neither the Gryffindor or the Slytherin had even found a mention of Gloria Mortem. Hardly a word was exchanged in the process, besides an occasional complaint of Granger's desk-hogging, but for the most part, both were too immersed in their studies to acknowledge the other's presence. It was a rare sight indeed, to see the long-time enemies working on near-friendly terms. They were dedicated and heavily set on their task, and would have raptly kept on their intense search for Merlin knows how long, if not for the grumbling that came from Granger's stomach.
For the first few times, Draco ignored it, too focused on the umpteenth book he had just picked from the stack. But Granger's stomach refused to be ignored, wearing at Draco's already thin patience. "Would you bloody quit it with that noise!" He snapped the hardcover shut, nearly ripping the fragile yellow pages and making the Gryffindor jump. "Don't damage it!" she cried in annoyance, snatching the book and glaring at Draco. "Stop with that sound," Draco repeated, agitated. Granger looked bewildered and mildly annoyed at the comment, but before she could ask, her stomach replied for her. She jumped a little, then quickly reddened. "I was concentrating so hard on the curse, I didn't realize I was hungry...," she said, more to herself than Draco. "I forgot that I skipped dinner, and it's already past curfew."
Draco was thoroughly annoyed and hungry himself- he hadn't slept the night before and was still experiencing a bit of a hangover, and he skipped dinner as well. He was far too exhausted to put up an argument, let alone deal with Granger's inconsiderately loud stomach. "You owe me big time, Granger," he grumbled. Before she could question him, he snapped his fingers. The feeble Twinky appeared before him. "Yes, Master Draco?" she asked.
At least she hadn't called him Malfoy. "Twinky, fetch me two plates of red pesto from the restaurant on the corner of Diagon Alley. And a cup of earl gray tea. Make it fast."
"Yes, Master Draco," Twinky squeaked, bowing before vanishing again. Draco didn't bother to glance up at the mudblood whom he was treating to a meal, he only sighed and grumbled, "Shut your mouth, Granger. You look like an idiot."
She cleared her throat and blushed. "I, um, didn't peg you as a tea drinker, Malfoy." She said, obviously trying to make up for her embarrassment.
He gave her a skeptical look. "In case you didn't notice, Granger, this London."
"Right," she mumbled. She began to clear away the stack that had grown on the table, obviously unhappy about the idea of eating near her precious, faded, outdated books.
Twinky reappeared with the two steaming plates and a mug, and set them before the witch and the wizard. "Is there anything else Twinky may be able to do for Master Draco?" she asked. Draco waved her away again.
"Pesto," the Gryffindor said, twirling the pasta on her fork. "You like Italian."
Draco swallowed his mouthful. "Why the sudden interest, Granger?" he flashed a smirk that he knew never failed to annoy her. "Finally couldn't resist my impeccable good looks?"
Granger snorted rather unattractively. "Please, ferret. Only an idiot would fall for you." She took a bite of her own pasta.
"That explains why half of the female population kiss the ground I walk on," Draco replied.
"Yes, actually, it does." Granger glowered at her plate. "Like I said, idiots. And I imagine they kiss far more than the ground. For their sakes, I hope they haven't caught any diseases you surely have from the amount of tramps you find on the side of the road."
One hour of hardcore bickering later, Draco waved his wand and sent the empty plates and mug back to the restaurant from which they came. Draco stacked the books back upon their respective shelves, whilst Granger wrote down the titles of the books in which they had already thoroughly scavenged through, as a reminder not go through it again. By the time he had stacked them all, it was a mere 12:15 am.
"You see, Granger, I told you the library wouldn't..." It was then he was surprised to find that he had wasted his breath, for the stupid mudblood had fallen asleep where she sat.
"Granger." He shook her, but she was unresponsive. "Granger." He shook her roughly. The bloody Gryffindor slept like a rock.
That left only one option...
No way. No bloody way was he going to carry her.
But what choice did he have? She wouldn't wake up. If the librarian found her here in the morning, she was sure to tell the headmistress everything: his mother, the curse, his working with a mudblood... He couldn't risk that.
He was going to carry the mudblood, the girl in the Golden Trio, his enemy, to her bed.
"You better be right about being able to find that fucking cure, Granger," he grumbled, glaring helplessly at her. Sighing and shaking his head, he lifted her from her chair. Compared to Draco, she was rather short and very light, so he found it easier to carry her bride-style, with her legs dangling from his arms. He made the journey down the hallways as quickly as possible, every passing second increasing his chances of being seen... or Granger awakening. Finally, he stumbled into their own common room, and awkwardly carried her to her room, setting her on the plush bed.
He rushed to the door, praying karma won't turn on him yet again and allowing her to wake. As he turned the knob to leave, he glanced back at her tiny, unconscious body.
His enemy.
A Gryffindor.
Someone who wanted to help him find his mother's cure.
"Impossibly confusing mudbloods," he murmured, before slipping away.