Speak No Evil

Silenced
POV. Draco

Potter's fingers close over Granger's elbow as he eyes me suspiciously. I keep my own sights trained on the tightening of his fingers on her bare skin. It sets my teeth on edge, knowing that as her longtime friend, regardless how bad the row, Potty has the right to reach out and touch her this way.

I find myself waiting for Granger to pull away.

She doesn't, though, and the tension is thick.

"Hermione, I'd like to speak to you," The Bespectacled One casts a wayward glance my way, "... alone."

Granger hasn't looked at Potter directly, yet. I can still view her face in profile. Her lips tighten. She casts a stray, momentary look my way. There's no silent message in it. For reasons I have yet to determine, I stay rooted to my spot. So long as Granger doesn't move, I feel no need, or desire, to make myself scarce. This unusual discomfort between these two Gryffindors is far too intriguing. What's even more interesting is realizing that somehow I am the cause of all the upheaval.

"Leave, Malfoy," Potty snarls. I slit my eyes.

Well, that does it!

I'm staying!

Before I can voice my snide reply, Granger icily cuts in.

"Why don't you just say what you have to say, Harry? Or don't you remember? It doesn't matter to me who is in the audience." Her voice drips with sarcasm. She turns to fully face Potter at this point, adding sharply, "If memory serves, you seem to believe I don't mind having him watch. Perhaps, as you've claimed, whatever you've got to tell me will serve a greater academic purpose. So, by all means, proceed."

I send an appreciative, silent "Huzzah!" toward the bookworm's corner.

Granger, one.

Potter, zero.

I delight in witnessing The Boy Who Royally Pissed Off His Best Friend squirm and wince at Granger's indelicate reminder of his out-of-bounds remark that made her out to be nothing more than a common, even shameless, tart.

To my utter dismay, Potty appears sincerely repentant.

"Hermione, I'm sorry," he whispers, as if to hide from me his pitiful apology.

I roll my eyes skyward.

Potter glances toward me again, sizes up the situation, and gathers some of that legendary Gryffindork courage to speak his next words.

I, frankly, don't envy his position.

"Hermione, I was wrong to jump to conclusions about you and that..." he looks over her shoulder at me. Granger must have done something to silently show her displeasure because he quickly amends whatever epithet he was going to use and instead says, "about you and... Malfoy."

Shocked by the tremor of jealousy in his voice, I now feel compelled to crow about it. So, I clear my throat ready to interrupt this characteristic outpouring of Potter's ever-overflowing emotions. But as soon as I've finished my loud a-hem, I feel the familiar muting sensation of a non-verbal silencing charm shimmer over me. Caught completely off-guard, I whip my head about to discover the identity of the spell's caster, only to discover I am staring at the back of the culprit's head. My roaming gaze settles on Granger's hand, surreptitiously holding the handle of her vine wood wand against her right thigh. Its tip points directly at me.

Damn!

I watch her cast the Muffliato spell at Potter as she whips around to face me, her wand is discreetly aimed at an area of my body I instinctively move to protect. Though frustrated at my sudden inability to verbally communicate, I stand my ground and stare her down.

"You are not to speak," she commands, meeting my silent, infuriated stare. "I've grown tired of your lack of remorse for your role in this mess, Malfoy. Since you clearly would worsen this situation if given the opportunity, I've made it so you can't open that foul mouth of yours, at least not until my Silencio wears off. Do note, however, I have not made you immobile. Therefore, Ferret, it's your choice whether you stay or go. I sincerely don't care either way."

With that, she turns her back to me once again, lifting the Muffliato off of Potter, who looks as frustrated as I feel.

"What did you say to him, Hermione?"

"It's none of your concern, Harry. I simply needed to inform... him," she waves her hand behind herself, toward me. "of something. Do continue."

Bossy witch!

Potter hasn't stopped glaring at me, seemingly unaware I've been muted. I settle myself against the wall, leaning away and crossing my arms. I imagine I must appear as though I've pulled out of their conversation, but I've managed, still, to keep them both within earshot.

"Hermione, I'm sorry," he says softly, edging closer to her. I feel my temper rise with each centimeter he closes between them.

I hear a relieved breath softly explode from her previously scowling lips. I watch angrily as she appears to be holding back some water-producing emotion. I don't understand why tears coming from Granger threaten to enrage me, but they do, and I don't appreciate that Potter is the cause of them.

I feel my lips curl into a snarl.

For Merlin's sake, Granger! Have some dignity! Don't let him get away with this so easily! Words. That's all he's offered.

"I shouldn't have let my temper get the better of me. I was wrong, Hermione, to say such hurtful things to you, when I should have directed my anger to its rightful place," Potter then has the audacity to stare boldly at me.

This is the first time I am of the mind that it might, perhaps, be useful to know one, or two, rude Muggle gestures that would silently, but effectively articulate what I think Potter should go do with himself. But alas, I can only settle on a sneer.

"There's been a lot on my mind, Hermione, but thanks to Ron," Potter, The Repentant One, looks slightly uncomfortable at the mention of their redheaded friend, particularly in my close proximity, "Well, he gave me a talking to. He helped me understand that I've been a complete git to assume such terrible things about you. I should trust you and your judgements, even about the ferret. You've never been wrong before, Hermione. It's good for me to be reminded of that."

At the mention of the Weasel and the sight of Potty's annoyingly sheepish smile, Granger visibly relaxes.

I groan inwardly.

"It's been awful not being able to talk to you, to discuss our thoughts and each other's days. I miss you terribly, Hermione," he says softly, peering down at her and grabbing her hand. I don't like the visual he leaves me with, one of the two of them chatting, all cozied up to one another.

I'm already pinching myself in the crook of my elbow and crossing my ankles to purposely stop myself from stomping over there to grab her away from him.

"I can't live with the idea that I've pushed you away. I need you in my life, Hermione. You're too important and special for me not to risk the embarrassment of this. Even if it's only for the possibility of you accepting me back into your life again. I'm not above admitting to you ... in front of him," Potter sends me a scathing look, "that I am the one at fault for hurting you. This has been all my fault. Please, Hermione, forgive me. I'm so truly sorry for hurting you."

Effective, Potter, I must admit, but having to resort to begging!? Pathetic!

I try in vain to scoff, to make any sort of disgruntled sound, but I'm still unable to let out the smallest peep. To my even greater disgust, the other Gryffindor, Granger's date, approaches the duo of the Golden Trio and I unhappily watch Potter escort her to the dance floor.

I had noticed Granger frantically tugging at Potty's hand at her date's approach, though. This leaves me with the cold comfort of imagining her turning to Potter in a desperate measure to avoid getting groped by McLaggen.

I wonder, again, at how the Gryffindor brawn with little brain was able to remove the liquor bottle from my trunk.

Blasted, interfering, Gryffindors!

Now, I have to find a way to either retrieve the bottle from Slughorn, or somehow persuade him to give it to Dumbledore.

My scowling, morose stance does not escape the sharp eyes of my godfather who is currently whisking his robes my way, momentarily blocking Granger and Potter from my view. Losing sight of her increases my annoyance as Snape's large bat-like figure swiftly descends upon me.

"I'd like a word with you, Draco," Snape snaps, indicating the door.

Feeling the silencing spell beginning to lift, I gather myself up for this unexpected meeting and follow Snape's lead.

Ghostly Assistance
POV: Hermione

I'd just left the very grabby Cormac under the mistletoe, pulling an unsuspecting Ravenclaw in my place under the offensive weed as he closed his eyes to gather a kiss. It occurred to me halfway down the corridor that it wouldn't do for me to show up in the Gryffindor dorms and risk a run-in with the date I'd just ditched. Neither should I appear in my room so early, otherwise I'd have to hash out the evening's disastrous events with my nosy roommates.

McLaggen's arms wouldn't have captured me had it not been for Harry. After his heartfelt, winning apology that had him back in my good graces, enough for me to warn him about Romilda Vane's attempt to poison him with a love potion, Harry might as well have dumped me at Cormac's feet in his haste to follow Snape and Malfoy out of Slughorn's party.

I knew I'd felt the Invisibility Cloak in his pocket!

I tried to pull him back, warning him not to follow, but he, none to gently, pushed me away, back onto the floor and into Cormac.

So here I am, fuming as I turn to head toward the one place I know no one will bother me. I pull open the door to Moaning Mrytle's bathroom with the sole intent to have a good temper tantrum. After checking to ensure privacy, I storm into one of the stalls, and throw myself against the side wall to bury my face in my hands.

"Have you turned yourself into a cat again?" Moaning Myrtle's eerie whisper is at my ear and I let out a small, surprised gasp. "Oh, no, not a fuzzy cat tonight! And you're not cooking up potions, either, but youare crying! Just like me! And just like the poor boy with the icy blond hair! Poor boy! Poor you! Poor Myrtle! What have you got to cry about, Hermione? It better be good!"

I stop my sniffling instantly at the Myrtle's mention of the boy with ice-blond hair, and whip my face to meet her translucent glow.

"Do you mean, Malfoy? Draco Malfoy has been in here, too?"

"That might be him," she says with a funny, cryptic smile. "But let's talk about why you are crying Hermione? I can't remember the last time you were in here blubbering in a toilet stall! Is it because of a boy?! Is it because of your friend... Harry Potter?"

I turn away from her, but she glides over to peer into my face.

"It IS because of Harry! You know, he is a terribly selfish boy! I cried after him, too, you see! I helped him with a task once. He was just fine with using me for my brain, that he was. But he didn't really care a whit about me!"

My eyes go round at her, drawing comparisons between the two of us too easily tonight.

"So, he stopped coming 'round," she pouts and glides away. "He stopped as soon as I kindly offered him a place to stay should he not complete his task! I was being nice and he snubbed me. Terribly selfish!" Her frown intensifies as she recalls the incident. "Oh! I know! He doesn't like me because I'm poor, patheticMoaning Myrtle. That's why he hasn't been coming to visit! AHHHHHHHHHHH!"

"Do try to calm down, Myrtle. I assure you, we've all been too busy with schoolwork to come by for a visit. I'm terribly sorry about that."

I have no idea why I continue to defend Harry. Myrtle is right, he is being a selfish prat!

"But isn't the blond boy in your year? He comes to speak to me all the time. He's awfully lonely and sad. And while he does have a lot of things to do, he told me he's having an extremely difficult time accomplishing the tasks he has in front of him."

"How often do you see this boy, Myrtle?" I ask, my problems temporarily forgotten in my curiosity to discover whether she is indeed talking about Malfoy.

"Oh very often, indeed! And he is quite handsome, much better looking than, Harry, I think... though I haven't seen him without bubbles," she squeals, a pleased smile spreading across her face. "I suspect he might even come tonight!"

I send her a doubtful look, which she takes serious offense to.

"He does come! HE DOES!!" she shrieks. "I do have friends! I am better than the likes of you! After all, I'm not the one in here, alone, crying after a boy, am I?"

Astounded at her vehemence, I grow incredibly angry at her assumptions about me, ready to shout a retort. She turns to me too quickly, however, for me to formulate a proper reply.

"He is a bit late, though," she starts to wail, a worried look etched into her ghostly features, her hand comes to her mouth. "He does come, you know! He's just a bit late! OHHHH NOOOOOOOO!!! He's beginning to hate me, too! Just like Harry Potter! Who cares about Myrtle? No one! NOOOOOOO!! NOOOOOOO!!"

"I care about you, Myrtle," I say comfortingly, trying to ease her turmoil. I'd forgotten how sensitive she is. "I'm sure he's just... you know, held up."

"You don't believe me!" she screams at me, throwing her hands up in the air, and moving in what can only be described as ghostly, agitated pacing. She finally stops moving to fold her arms in front of her chest and pout. "You don't believe I can actually have a friend!"

"I-"

The door creaking open interrupts us and Myrtle shoots me a triumphant look, sticking out her tongue at me before putting a finger to her now widely grinning mouth. She motions me over to the stall door, allowing me to peek out. I spy the only tall platinum blond gracing the halls of Hogwarts enter the bathroom. His face is ashen and my worry for him begins anew.

Myrtle mouths, "I told you so!" and pantomimes for me to stay quiet as she goes to speak to her new beau.

Stuck, I decide to follow her instructions, though I do feel a bit guilty at my eavesdropping.

He's hunched over, speaking as though to the sink's drain. "I don't know what it is, Myrtle, but I feel like I'm being watched, all of the time. Paranoia. It's a horrible thing."

My heart sinks, knowing that Malfoy is far too aware for his own good. I knew it! Even though he can't see him, Malfoy can feel Harry's constant surveillance. I feel terribly bad for the additional stress this must place on him and promise myself to try to stop Harry.

"Tell me what's bothering you, Draco," Myrtle offers sweetly. "Maybe I can help."

After some time, a gasping sob comes from Malfoy. This desperate sound causes my heart leap to my throat.

"I don't want anyone involved in this more than they already are. Someone's bound to get hurt," he says between the heartbreaking sound of his whimpers. "I can't have people hurt because of my father's poor choices."

"But, you can let me help," Myrtle prompts. She appears to be holding back a wail as she utters words that surely must cost her, "I'm already dead! No one can hurt me."

I hear him expel a watery, appreciative laugh.

"I know Myrtle, and I offer you my eternal gratitude. You've been awfully good to listen to me."

Sneaking a peek at his downcast form, I can, from far across the room, see the full reflection of his face from where I am. Suddenly recalling my magical abilities, and my increased need for caution, I place myself under both a disillusionment and a silencing charm. Now safely undercover, I sympathetically watch Malfoy scrape the back of his hand against his face before he continues his stilted conversation with Myrtle.

"My godfather will die if I can't come up with a way to fix that cabinet. I've just come from telling him I didn't want his help. Merlin knows I need it, but I can't have him dead because of me! I had to convince Snape that I was too vain and too proud to give up any of the responsibility offered to me by that bastard, the dark lord. Snap'll be killed either way, I just know it. But, maybe if I take this all on myself, I can save Snape from an early demise at that evil spawn's wand. What I haven't figured out is how to get out of thiswithout help..."

His words sound as if they are being tortured from him. I can feel my own empathetic tears pricking at the back of my eyelids.

"I'll be killed and my mother tortured if I can't do what Riddle wants me to do. And I can't let Granger get more involved than she already is... She has no idea the gargantuan mess Snape's involved her in with his insane extra credit project. And as if that wasn't already bad enough, it gets even worse, Myrtle! It's so much worse! It looks like I might have to involve Granger a little more than I want to..."

I put a hand in front of my mouth forgetting I'd Silencio'd myself.

"Do you like this girl... this, Granger?" Myrtle's pouty inquiry reminds me of Lavender. "Do you care for her?"

No answer from the ferret.

"I've called off Crabbe and Goyle, too, you know."

Well, that's just grand! In Malfoy's eyes I am the equivalent of the two gormless oafs!

"You're a good friend, Draco," Myrtle commends. "These are all hard decisions to make. It's quite courageous of you to put yourself in the line of fire like this."

Malfoy huffs his disagreement.

"I'm no hero, Myrtle. I'm just trying to survive. Besides, there's no need for them to continue taking polyjuice for the nights I try to fix the cabinet alone. If they get any more detentions because of me, I'm sure I'll no longer have any allies in the Slytherin house."

There is silence for a long while as I hear Malfoy's ragged breathing and Myrtle crooning words of comfort.

"How can I make Granger understand that I don't want her to help anymore with the cabinet? It's just too dangerous! I can't tell her the truth!"

I watch his reflection in the mirror from the crack in the door. His eyes are widely searching the ghost girl's face for an answer.

"She probably wouldn't believe the truth if it came from me, anyway. Or, if by some miracle she did come to understand just how dangerous this all is, the stubborn twit will WANT to continue assisting!"

I scowl, realizing there is some truth to his statement.

"I know what it's like to be frantic and alone, Draco," Myrtle purrs from behind him. "Don't you think you should maybe tell another living soul about your troubles, if you won't let me help?"

"Snape wants to help. He'll die otherwise, you see. I doubt he'd care about my miserable life if he hadn't made that Unbreakable Vow with my mum. He thinks I'm going to fail! She thinks I'm going to fail! My own mother! Damn them both! And damn Voldemort! No one thinks I can succeed in this!"

Malfoy's broken out into sobs again and I ache to comfort him.

"What if I die, Myrtle? Is death such a terrible thing? Is it as bad as I think it is?"

I'm glad I've spelled myself silent because I'm crying out to him now. No matter how awful he's been to me, I don't wish him dead! Myrtle voices the agony I feel. Her howls at his questions about death are earsplitting in the echo chamber that is her bathroom.

"What about Dumbledore? Can't you go and talk to him?" Myrtle suggests after she'd finally calmed. I silently praise her practical Muggle upbringing. In Muggle schools we learn to ask for help from reliable adults when we're in over our heads! Thank goodness Myrtle remembers and is sensible enough to suggest the obvious!

"You have no idea, Myrtle, how many times I've thought to do just that," Malfoy shamefully admits, his head bowed as he fights off wracking coughs and wipes away his sniffles. "But what would that accomplish? A death wish for my mother and myself, maybe? Can you even imagine what will happen to my father while in Azkaban if word gets out that his only son turned traitor?! Voldemort can cast the Dementors on him and my father can't summon a Patronus!"

"Turning to Dumbledore would keep you safe, I think, Draco," she quietly insists. "And I bet your mother and Professor Snape could also be offered asylum if you do speak to Dumbledore about what's being planned."

"But what about my father?" he says so wretchedly that my tears for him start afresh. I watch him stare blankly at himself in the mirror. "He would be so ashamed of me, Myrtle. I couldn't do that to him. He can't die believing that I thought so little of him as to turn my back on him. And I can't let him suffer whatever torture might befall him because of my choices. I can be stronger than what people expect of me, I think. I can do this for my family, even if I no longer believe in it. The Dark Lord is strong, Myrtle. Who he is and what he's capable of frightens me."

"I'm sorry, Draco, that you have to suffer so," weeps Myrtle, who looks like she, too, is desperate to reach out and offer him peace. "I really am."

"I know, Myrtle," Malfoy whispers softly as he turns to go, offering her a tiny smile as he makes his way out the door. "It makes me feel better that someone cares, even if you are dead."

The door is out of my line of sight, I only hear the click and see Myrtle return to the stall I'm occupying. Her offended face fills my field of vision. She apparently had held back a terrorizing shriek of dismay at Malfoy's parting words. As soon as the high-pitched reverberating sound of her screams finally ebbs, Myrtle turns to stare me square in the eye.

"Hermione? Do you know this, Granger girl? Isn't that a fairly odd name? He's been talking this way about her for weeks now."

Just coming to the understanding that Myrtle doesn't known my last name, I mumble an unintelligible response, mentally excusing myself for the rudeness since my silencing charm hasn't completely worn off. As I attempt to avoid eye-to-eye contact, it occurs to me that Myrtle is a veritable font of information and it would be best to try to befriend her, so I purposefully turn back to face her.

"Why do you ask, Myrtle?"

"Oh, no reason, really," she says coyly gliding away. "It's just that Draco used to refer to this Granger girl only in anger, calling her a Mudblood... just like that horrid girl, Olive Hornby, used to call me. Horrid! I haunted her, you know. It was the best fun I'd ever had....But...."

"Yes?" I prompt, trying to quell the too enthusiastically quizzical note in my voice.

"I just can't help but wonder what this Granger person has done to change his Pureblood mind about Muggle-bornes. Draco seems very concerned about her safety, now," she makes to scratch her head, which I think must have been a habit she had when she was alive. "At first, when he spoke about her it seemed he just wanted to throttle her. But he's changed his tune an awful lot since then. Well, you saw how he was... he was actually quite nice to me, and I'd told him I was of Muggle blood on the first night he came into this bathroom, so distraught. That was months ago."

"I really wouldn't know what she's done to change his mind, Myrtle," I answer honestly, one of the very few truths that has left my mouth since coming back to Hogwarts.

She looks at me as though through a microscope, like she can't quite make out what I am.

"Aren't you Muggle-born, Hermione?" Myrtle inquires.

"As far as I know, I am," I say cryptically. "But, does it really matter, Myrtle?"

"No, not really, but I think you understand me better because you are. Besides, I think us magical Muggle girls ought to stick together."

I leave the bathroom holding onto the memory of one of Myrtle's rare, happy smiles.

I take my time making my way back to the Gryffindor common room, staying in the shadows to avoid any unwanted company. This gives me a great deal of time to think about what I'd witnessed in Myrtle's bathroom. It was shocking to discover this side of Malfoy, how he felt about his family... about me. I realize I hadn't honestly considered how he might feel until I watched him tonight, completely overcome with fear.

I know he didn't sport the Dark Mark. I'd seen him roll up his shirtsleeves enough times in the Room of Requirement to know that his skin on his forearms was still alabaster and unblemished. It, however, doesn't seem long before he'll be given that tattoo.

To see Malfoy so distraught about this was surprisingly comforting. Not that I wanted him to be so torn emotionally, but witnessing his breakdown allowed me see that there is some good in him. Having that glimmer now allows me to see that he isn't the completely cruel, heartless snake I'd always pegged him to be.

He wants to uphold his family name.

He wants to keep his mother safe.

He wants to keep his godfather, Professor Snape, safe.

He wants his father out of harm's way.

He wants to keep me uninvolved due to some unspeakable danger.

Moreover, he doesn't want to do whatever evil deed he is being called to do, all the while knowing that if does accomplish this mysterious dark task, he could, in one fell swoop, be given all that he wants.

He'd just have to...

sell his soul...

to Voldemort, I suppose.

Such a sacrifice seems so untypically Malfoy, it gives me pause.

I begin to second guess all of my assumptions about him.

How much of his sneering, cruel persona is a farce? How much of it is real? How much is his mask, carefully hewn to hide the fear he possess over a terrible sense of misplaced duty and pride?

The Malfoy I'd been accidentally introduced to tonight is an unfamiliar young man, willing to sacrifice his life for his family, not for his father's beliefs, but for his own desire to protect his mother and the other people in his life... including... me.

What is most stunning, however, is how, after peeling back the layers, I am able to recognize that Malfoy and Harry have more in common than either one of them would ever care to admit.