Hogwarts: Library
Sixth Year, nearly a week after agreeing to share with Malfoy
POV: Hermione
I stare into the main study room and frown at what I discover. I'd purposely chosen tonight, after Slughorn's dinner to come to the library. Alone.
Blast, him!
Though his back is to the doorway, I'd know that peculiar shade of blond anywhere.
He is here.
Of course, he would be! He would remember the day we'd be given the book back. Of course, he'd beat me here so he could hog the book that I found first.
Irritating Slytherin!
It had been his fault that Mdm. Pince had nearly ripped the book from my hands on the day I allowed him to look at it with me. And he was the one who started the shouting match! I roll my eyes at the memory of his high and mighty claim that he should be given first opportunity to study it.
The memory catches flight in my mind's eye. I grind my teeth at the unwanted recall of how I'd noticed that his blond hair was uncharacteristically untidy that afternoon. It fell onto his face, tapping his forehead with each of his angry retorts. I had stopped listening to his words, almost mesmerized at the sight of his hair askew. Then I'd begun wondering if he'd been running his long fingers through his hair to set the locks free. If so, then, what was causing his worry? Such a nervous habit is typical Harry, not Malfoy-esque in the least!
My anger at myself for caring even a smidgen about the dark circles under his eyes had me taking my fury out on him, by loudly calling him a bigoted, righteous bastard. And it was his sharp intake of breath that made me aware of Mdm. Pince sweeping down on us and plucking the book from my hands with a firm reprimand.
Disgusted with myself all over again, I try to shake off the offensive thoughts, upset that I can't stop my curiosity about him.
Stupid, arrogant, unusually well-coiffed ... ugh!
I set my jaw and stride over to the lone figure at the study table at the far end of the library.
"Malfoy, it's my turn."
"Go away, Granger." His voice is again that unfamiliar quiet command. Malfoy's aforementioned fingers quickly cover the notes on his parchment, hiding whatever he's got written from my eyes. I narrow my gaze at his pointed face.
"If you've gotten that far down in your notes, it is now my turn!" I say through clenched teeth. Then I stomp over to the other side of the study table. In utter frustration, I nearly throw my book bag on top of it. To my horror, my bag flips open, everything is sliding around on the table top, and most of my bag's contents spill out over Malfoy's work area.
"GRA-nger!" Malfoy very nearly shouts the first syllable, but mid-outburst seems to realize that the book could be taken away again, so, lowers his tone to a gravelly snarl. "What in bloody hell are you doing!?"
I don't bother to answer his question because I'm frantically trying to stuff everything back into my bag.
Of all the days to carry the file around!
In slow motion, I watch the gormless rat, reach out and pick up the very thing I do not wish for anyone, much less him, to see. Before I can even make myself reach for it, the picture of the pretty, smiling, blonde girl is upheld, pinched between his thumb and index finger.
"Who is this, Granger?"
I launch myself over the table, my arm outstretched trying to snag the upheld photograph away from him. His quick Quidditch reflexes, however, have me falling over the table onto my half-empty bag and, thankfully, the hospital file.
"Your girlfriend?" His grey eyes hold a malicious twinkle.
"Give it back, Malfoy," I demand.
His self-satisfied smile makes me want to slap him. He takes a look at it again and his eyebrows knit together. Then he shakes it. Peers at it. Frowns, then, shakes it again.
"What's wrong with it? Why isn't she moving?"
"It's not a magical picture," I say, shoving the file into my bag while he is preoccupied with the photo.
"It's a Muggle photograph?" The ferret seems genuinely intrigued. "She's pretty," he murmurs. "Who is she?"
"A pen pal in Muggle England," I mumble, unable to meet his eye. His immediate assessment of her hurts a little and I'm afraid to examine why.
"You're lying," he accuses. His watchful eyes see the tell-tale signs of my lame attempt at deception.
Blast my utter lack of practice at attaining sneaky Slytherin cunning!
I notice that my hand, which has been busily pulling items into the bag, has miraculously fallen onto his parchment. I grasp onto it, a triumphant smile on my face. He sees the change in my expression and his eyes widen. He seems as horrified at my possession of his notes as I am of his hold on my photo.
"Give it back, Granger!"
His words are spoken with a low growl.
"Only after I get the picture back," I respond tartly. I can't help but glance at his notes. I am impressed by his precise handwriting. He's listed the following names: Slytherin, Gaunt, Peverell, Riddle, Harry Potter? As I examine his parchment, Malfoy seems to notice something on the back of the photo, momentarily forgetting my possession of his notes.
"Emmanuelle Senguis Mustelidae," he mutters, his eyes whipping around to meet mine to see if my face will give away any answers.
I pretend not to hear and instead propose we swap on three. He looks at me quizzically at what is apparently a foreign Muggle saying to him. I stop to explain how we count to three together and trade the items we have in our hands when we say three.
He stares at his parchment in my hand, which I continue to look at, trying to figure out the connection between the names.
He looks at my photo as if trying to memorize the name on the back of it.
Then, he nods.
We move within arm's length of each other.
"One-" we whisper, our eyes meet.
"Two-" our free hands reach out to the other's filled one.
"Three-" with itchy fingers we each grab hold of the desired items in the other's hand.
Neither one of us lets go. We tug against the other. Our eyes haven't wandered and there remains a tense challenge between us, our teeth visible in near identical snarls.
"Let go!" We each snap the demand through gnashing teeth, not wanting to attract Pince's attention, but determined to let each other know we mean serious business.
With quiet frustration, we simultaneously tighten our hold on the items still in the hand of the other. The movement has his fingers grasping mine which have encircled his rolled-up parchment. At the same time, my hand closes around his fingers still holding onto the picture.
I gasp at the shock of electricity that shoots through me as I feel the strength of his hands in and around mine.
I am immensely gratified to see the look of alarm cross his face at my touch, indicating that he isn't unmoved by the sudden physical awareness either.
Suddenly, it is imperative that I allow him to take the parchment. I let go as I feel his hold release on the photo.
As we reclaim our items, we continue to stare at each other, unsettled. This time there is clear curiosity intermingled with the usual animosity in his eyes. His gaze is penetrating.
"Why do you need the book, Granger?"
"I should ask you the same, Malfoy."
We are silent again.
Within this stretch of time, we take our respective seats across the table from one another. The still-open book is between us. Neither one of us attempts to move toward it. I look at him again and there is an exchange of what I can only label as wary, yet weary looks.
I catch some frustration in his exhausted expression. I understand these feelings. They reflect the very ones that have kept me awake since that fateful summer day. The darkness under his eyes indicates to me that he's not getting much beauty sleep either.
I catch a glimpse of lonely vulnerability flicker in his eyes. His look touches something deep inside me.
Making my decision, I open my mouth to speak...
Mustelidae household: Master Bedroom
Summer of Sixth Year, June 20, 1996
Leopold holds his wife's icy hand in his. A tear threatens to fall from the corner of his eye as he watches his wife rest after her last bout of chemotherapy. He sees her eyes flutter open and a weak smile graces her lips. Her brown curls gone, a shiny pate left in its place. He runs his palm against her scalp. He hears her murmur at his touch.
"What is it, darling?" he asks her quietly. "What can I get you?"
"I think it's time to tell you, sweetheart," her whisper barely audible. "There are things I've kept from you. Secrets you must know now so you can safeguard our granddaughter."
"Emma?"
Their granddaughter's name hangs in the medicine-scented air. It holds a confused question.
Catherine uses what little energy she has left to shake her head, no.
"Leopold, forgive me for this." she breathes, closing her eyes.
"Anything. There is nothing I can not forgive you." He gently takes her hand, willing beyond hope to hold her to this time and space.
"Emma is not Aiden's daughter, Leo." She watches her husband register the shock of the news.
Leo's hand tightens in hers, signaling that he's ready to hear the rest.
"There is another. Our real granddaughter. Find her. Tell her. Protect her from harm."
Hogwarts: Ravenclaw Tower
Sixth Year, while Hermione and Draco are fighting in the library
Unable to concentrate on their studying, Cho Chang and Marietta Edgecombe sit in their Common room staring again at the familiar portrait of the 7th year Ravenclaw. The girls sigh at the sight of him. They look at each other and giggle as the boy in the painting draws hearts in the air and pretends to blow the hearts at them.
His brown eyes twinkle. His smile produces a deep dimple in his right cheek. Through what every Ravenclaw surmises is a curse, the boy in the picture is rendered mute, only able to silently mouth his words. This is always as it has been. The theory is, an angry 7th year studying for the O.W.L.S. became extremely frustrated with his suggestive words that the student hexed the portrait so no sound could ever be made by the effigy of the unknown Ravenclaw.
Regardless the reason for his silencing, it seems that the no-named painted boy races around within his confines looking for ways to communicate, but to no avail. Mostly, though, he just stares back at the Ravenclaw girls who decided they want to spend their study time gazing at him.
A right flirt that handsome boy must've been, Cho thinks to herself.
Only in Ravenclaw could such a distracting portrait of a gorgeous upperclassman be on display where most of the girls in the house do their studying. Upon closer thought, however, perhaps the crowd of females in the Common room isn't such a coincidence after all.
Though it's only their second week, Cho and Marietta are swamped with homework. They know they have to get it done, but as in previous years, their eyes keep straying to the picture. The brass plate that should have been hanging on the frame to identify the boy had long been missing. The only evidence that one even existed were two neatly placed holes where the nails would have been to hold such a nameplate down. His identity continued to be a bothersome puzzle in a house full of curious minds.
"Has anyone figured out his name yet?" Marietta gestures toward the portrait. She loudly directs her question to the group of First and Second Years mulling around. It was sort of a tradition in the tower to give the younger students the task of discovering the name of the mystery Ravenclaw. No one, at least since Cho and Marietta had been First Years burdened with the same task, has had any luck.
Cho clucks at her best friend, but her gaze softens again as her eyes return to the boy in the portrait.
"His wild hair reminds me of Cedric," she whispers, brushing the end of her quill against her cheek, adding, "but it's a little darker, like Harry's."
Marietta bites off a smile. She's tremendously glad to see her best friend healing. She'd experienced so much heartache this past year.
Suddenly, the entrance to the tower burst open as Marcus Belby strides in, apparently just back from the Slughorn Dinner Party.
"I don't think I made the Slug Club," Marcus announces, unnaturally cheery, "but I do think I managed to piece together the name of the bloke in the painting."
Puffing out his chest, he says,"His name is. . ." Marcus waits until all eyes are on him, "Aiden Mustelidae."
Out of the corner of her eye, Cho sees the boy in the portrait perk at the sound of the name.