A Picture is Worth A Thousand Words
POV: Leo Muestildae
"We will have to retrieve Emmanuelle, of course," Dumbledore speaks as if to himself but loud enough for my magically-painted image to hear.
"You're bloody right we'll retrieve her!" I shout, infuriated at not being able to see the headmaster, having been presented only with the haughty rigidity of the blond sitting in front me.
"But, Professor, we cannot simply walk into the Manor and demand she be returned," young Malfoy says in commanding, clipped tones. Gone was the confused boy who had stared into the frame only minutes earlier.
"Indeed," agrees Dumbledore. "If she is being kept there, we have to plan an extraction. Your role, Mr. Malfoy, is now pivotal. Your grasp of the skills taught to you by Professor Snape, and Mr. Weasley here, must now be put to a test—the first of many, I am afraid."
"What are you thinking of having me do, Headmaster?" Draco replies coolly.
"Visit your mother, Draco, and while you are there, learn of where they might be keeping Emmanuelle."
I watch Malfoy stiffen at this. He's clearly reluctant. Watching him increases the fear I have for the only granddaughter I have known and this new young woman, Hermione Granger, who I have yet to lay eyes on.
"He doesn't seem prepared for any such thing," I interject, watching the slight rise of chin and clenching of jaw in the young man. This Draco lad appears clearly insulted by my observations.
"I'd like to accompany Draco, Sir," the red-headed boy offers instantly. I watch Ron Weasley cast a quick look my way.
Malfoy scoffs at his friend's earnestness.
"You will only be killed, Weasley," the blond sneers. "His Lordship will recognize you instantly as the blood traitor you are. To him, you have no redeeming qualities whatsoever." I startle at the young man's use of a title for He Who Must Not Be Named.
"Perhaps it might be a good idea that you both accompany Snape," Dumbledore says decisively. A swift intake of breath seems to come from behind my picture frame. "Severus, Mr. Weasley will be the first to utilize your new and improved Polyjuice potion."
A look of alarm crosses the other young man's face, but he quickly masks his disquiet. Appearing unperturbed, almost scholarly at the declaration Mr. Malfoy says to the men in the room, "I had heard, Professor, that you were working on prolonging the effects of the potion. I imagine that such a thing could come in quite handy."
"That would depend on who might be in disguise," Snape replies. The blond nods, scowling, obviously remembering something rather uncomfortable. I hear Mr. Weasley smothering a laugh.
"Shut it, Weasley."
"But it was hilarious, Ferret." Draco sends Ron another searing look and the redhead sounds instantly contrite, "Right. Sorry... Sorry."
"It would seem, Draco," Snape's voice interrupts, "we have much to do before the weekend to prepare you. Your mother and aunt both indicate you are required at the mansion since your condition is much improved."
"FOUR DAYS!" I roar. "Any number of atrocities can befall Emmanuelle in that much time! Even one more minute in the clutches of those vile beings is far too long!"
"If I may offer you some comfort, Sir, should the girl be at the Manor," Snape says meaningfully, "Narcissa Malfoy will look after her. She will experience discomfort, yes, but not cruelty while under Mrs. Malfoy's watch. Your granddaughter's legacy, or at least the appearance of her being the Slytherin heir, is enough to protect her... for now."
"And the other Order Members will be sent to scour the countryside and will discover her if she is anywhere else."
The look in young Malfoy's face is one of abject disbelief at the Professor's silky words.
"I beg to differ, Professor, I happen to agree with Mr. Muestildae," there is an urgency in young Malfoy's voice that I admire. "We must enact a plan immediately. This Muggle girl is in grave danger. My mother does not have the power to protect her."
"Your mother is much changed, Draco, be calm," Snape replies, "Understand that we must consider everything before going forth. The Dark Lord is insane, yes, but his madness does not preclude his intelligence and cunning. We must be prepared in all ways before moving in to save this girl."
"And what of the other tasks set before me?" the blond asks. "What am I to do about those? Simply forget about them?"
"After this, we must continue waiting for the Dark Lord and his minions to contact you about opening the cabinet to Hogwarts," Snape drily announces.
Malfoy stares at him.
"I will not kill the Headmaster," the young man says meaningfully. "I have no stomach for it."
POV: Draco
"We have already decided that Professor Snape will do the deed," Dumbledore chuckles at my impertinence. Ron and I send one another alarmed looks. The most powerful member of The Order seems madder than Looney Lovegood and Trelawney combined.
A loud gasp comes from the man in the portrait. His frantic movements draw my eyes toward him and I turn the frame to face the Headmaster and Snape.
"Do not fear, lads," the headmaster says jovially. "There is a reason for everything under heaven. And, young Mr. Malfoy," he adds, "I will not have you shatter your soul to fulfill Riddle's dream. There, however, still remains the quandary that is Miss Granger... hmmm... rather, Miss Muestilde. She must, of course, continue to be watched and protected."
His bright blue eyes brighten with high expectations as he focuses his attention on me. His unwavering stare sends alarm bells clanging in my head. "Mr. Malfoy, have you been trying to open the box?"
"The box, Sir?"
"Surely by now you've nearly discovered the secret of the puzzle box?"
"No, Sir, only one side," I reluctantly admit. "The others are still intact. Sir, might you simply tell me what I must do? What the code is?"
"I'm afraid that unlocking the puzzle requires the new owner to discover the code himself. You have been researching Muggle vows, yes?"
"Not in-depth, Sir."
"I am disappointed in your lack of effort, Mr. Malfoy." There is a note of mild disapproval in his voice.
"I will strive to do better, Headmaster," I reply humbly, belying my secret thoughts. What difference would the damnable box make in the scope of things?
"Take the portrait, Draco," the man within the frame demands. "I'll try to help you with the research." The tone in Muestildae's grandfatherly voice brooks no argument and indicates to me that he, too, believes the Headmaster is as barmy as a loon.
The three men in the room look on approvingly as I trepidatiously reach out and curl my fingers around the top of the gold-gilted frame. I try to hide my disdainful sneer, already knowing the closed, dark place in my dorm that will hold the image of Granger's grandfather.
The next morning...
This morning, I sit waiting at the Slytherin table to catch sight of the sneaky, lying witch before classes start for the day. Last night, Ron and I left the office heavy-hearted. I hurriedly put the portrait of Mustildae in one of the deep pockets of my cloak, but before I did, I managed to give it a glance only to discover his image absent from the frame. Ron and I parted, hissing at each other that neither one of us was to tell Hermione what had happened to Emmanuelle. I secretly doubted Weasley could keep anything from the Bookworm. My only hope was the knowledge that we both equally feared what she would try to do to save the girl.
This lie of omission hardly seems wrong considering I am still smarting after last evening's revelations about Hermione's Slytherin self.
I sit seething as I watch a shadow fall over the threshold of the Great Hall. To my utter shock and disgust, she enters the Great Hall sandwiched between Scarhead and Ron.
The Golden Trio, back together again.
I watch her gaze surreptitiously slide to the Slytherin side of the room. She takes survey of my table and her sights land on me. Despite my fury at her deception, a wild rush of pleasure flows through me at the knowledge that she seeks the sight of me just as much as I do her. A secret smile touches her lips just before she turns away from me back to the conversation she's having with Potter. Ron, on the other hand, has watched this silent regard pass between the two of us and he turns to stare squarely at me, attempting to send me a warning of sorts.
So, he hasn't told her that I know her little secret.
Well, that is interesting. Perhaps even Ron's great Gryffindor courage has its bounds. I also wonder at his restraint to keep the information of Emmanuelle's kidnapping a secret. It was fortunate we both agreed that telling Hermione would result in disastrous consequences.
I watch the three head to their table, and with an inner snarl, I notice the usual space between Hermione and Potter has closed. I feel a rise of temper as Potter takes a seat beside her. Ron is across from them; his eyes do not stray from mine. Deciding to ignore him, I am the first to break the stare. Avoiding Ron's gaze, I zone in on Potter's hand brushing at Hermione's shoulder as he speaks to her. His mouth moves to her ear and I still myself, straining every muscle to keep from launching wand-first at him. I hear the bright twinkle of her laugh from across the room and it sets my teeth on edge.
"Draco, you'll be there, too, right?" Goyle's face is suddenly in mine. "Oi, Draco, what are you staring at over there at the Gryffindor table?"
"I was doing no such thing, Greg," I grouch with a scowl, my mood darkening with every caress I spy Potter bestow on Hermione. "I was simply amusing myself with thoughts about how nice it is not to have to work with the Mudblood anymore."
No longer a mudblood, apparently, I seethe to myself. Goyle laughs heartily and I cringe inside at how easy it is to wrap myself up in the comfort of my old behavioral patterns.
Hurt and betrayal seem to do wonders for my attitude.
"You will be there, then?" Pansy inquires lightly. For the life of me, I cannot wrap my head around exactly where there is we're supposed to be. On a sigh, I say offhandedly, "And, where is it that we are expected to be, pray tell?"
I watch a bemused look cross Pansy's face. She twitters at my confusion.
"Have you been turning away your mother's owl again, Draco?" she scolds teasingly. "Why, we're expected at Malfoy Manor in two weeks time, of course. I expected that you'd be called away this weekend to help prepare the Manor. The lot of us have been invited by your mother and your Aunt Bellatrix. They must be receiving orders from The Da—"
I send her a silencing glare that immediately does its job. Inside, my blood runs ice cold at the thought of returning to the Manor.
"Whatever for?" I wonder, puzzled why so many things have been kept secret from me. Besides last night, this is the first I had heard of any such a thing.
"The Dark Lord summons us," Crabbe whispers excitedly over his porridge. Apparently, I had spoken aloud.
"We're finally going to receive our Marks, Draco!" Goyle announces gleefully to the loud shushing of the others at the table.
Before the primal scream in my head reaches my lips, I rise abruptly from my place at the bench, sending the wooden legs scraping in loud protest against the stone floor. Heads turn. I feel Hermione's curious stare on me.
"I... I just realized I have an early meeting with Snape about detentions," I manage to splutter. I leave the Great Hall and the confused stares of my housemates behind.
That night, after staying out of sight most of the day...
"You've been avoiding me, Draco."
We share prefect duty tonight. I forgot she had traded with the Ravenclaw prefect so we could complete rounds together and perhaps train afterwards. I watch Hermione's seductive approach. Seems she enjoyed our kisses as much as I did. Her saucy little smile makes me want to forget what I learned about her in the headmaster's office, but this thought has me recalling the humiliation of enduring the incredulous stares of the four others who wondered how I had gotten so close to this girl, even performed Legilimency on her, without discovering her truths.
How? Indeed.
No, she could not just waltz up to me as though she had not committed the most heinous of crimes. Her hand reaches for mine and I balk at her touch. Her eyebrows knit together in consternation.
"Do not touch me." I snarl scornfully at her startled gasp and pull away from the hand she offers. I turn and stride down the hallway with no particular destination... just away. Away from the tempting sight of her. Away from the innocent, hurt look she gives me, the one that begs me to listen to her reasons and forgive her just as swiftly as she offers her excuses.
"What have I done to make you behave this way?" she cries softly into the darkened hall, heedless of witnesses. "Please, Draco, tell me, so I can make it better."
I hear her running. The apricot scent of her wafts around me. She is too close. Her frantic actions to slow my gait has the softness of her flyaway hair teasing my face, touching my robes, and falling against the back of my hands as the strands fly around her. The memory of her kiss slams into me as I feel her suddenly wrap her arms around me from behind. Her touch drives me insane and I turn to blindly grab at her. She steps back to welcome my receptive movement and then rushes toward me, expecting an embrace.
Instead, I catch her shoulders in my hands and slam her up against the wall of the deserted corridor. I close in. My face is inches from hers and I see the alarm in her eyes at my rough handling. I grab at my wand and Alohamora! the nearest classroom door open. I forcefully shove her inside, following closely behind. She trips over herself and I grasp her elbow before she crashes headlong onto the floor. I catch her up against me, but only for a moment. I turn her swiftly, pushing her back against the closed entry. My fingers grip her upper arms. At last understanding this is not some sort of kinky foreplay, her feet start to kick at me. I trap her legs between mine before she can do any severe damage.
"You have been lying to me, Hermione!" I roar angrily in her face, my grip on her tightening. "Only me! Why is that?"
Her eyes widen. She still seems confused and that infuriates me even more. She whimpers and I snarl at her.
"I know you are the Slytherin heir!" I seethe, menace lacing my words.
Her mouth forms into a silent O, her large eyes now comprehending my fury. She loses her fight. I let her feet drop to the floor. She sags and I ignore the desire to pull her against me. I keep her at arm's length, pushing her upright against the classroom door.
"You have known who you are and where you came from since I found you in the library back in September! Why did I only find out the truth about you last night?" I growl my disapproval through gritted teeth. "How was it that the others knew while I, whom you have spent a far longer time with this term, had no inkling? How does Ron know? And Snape? And Dumbledore? Have you told Potter as well?" Spittle flies from my mouth as I bite out this last name.
She looks even more confused and scared than ever. Truth is, I, too, am a bit frightened by this uncontrollable rage, but I cannot seem to stop myself from behaving with such impassioned fury. She remains silent, tears well up in her dark brown eyes. I begin to shake her, intent on loosening her tongue and allowing myself to give way to some of my previously pent-up frustration. She braces herself by placing her hands on my chest. Her fingers grip my robe and I recall another time, a sweeter time, when I welcomed this touch from her. My grip again tightens around her arms as I try to wipe the memory of our most delectable moment together from my resistant mind.
I know my reaction to the truth about her is irrational. With a mere mention of her Slytherin legacy, my parents would heartily approve of my infatuation with Hermione, but this is not my primary concern. I simply cannot make myself listen to my own internal and desperate call for calm.
"Stop it! Stop it! Draco! You're hurting me!" she cries and the sound of her pleas has me instantly dropping my hands to my sides. Somewhere in my head I realize she has no wand for protection and she is much smaller than me. She is quivering and her crying has dissolved into soft mewls. I do so desperately want to reach out and comfort her, but I don't know how. I am on the brink, too. And as if sensing a change in my roiling emotions, she turns to take measure of me. She sniffs daintily, pulling herself together enough to begin coaxing me back from where I teeter on the edge of reason.
"Draco," she says soothingly. "Please, Draco. Calm down. Let me explain."
Her hands reach for me, but I brush her aside. Suddenly exhausted, I turn to discover our setting for this melodrama is Binn's classroom. I wearily take the nearest seat and drop my elbows to my knees. I shove my fingers in my hair, avoiding her eyes. It would be too easy to search for her truth now.
"Please, let me explain," she whispers. She sinks to her knees in front of me in complete supplication. Her face looks up at me beseechingly, her fingers knit together as if in prayer. "I only told Ron, Draco! I swear it. I made him promise not to tell another soul. Not that he agreed. I only told him because ..."
I shut my eyes, not wanting to know if she still cares for him more than she does me. Before befriending Ron, I had been lightly curious about the unbelievable attraction she had for him. After spending time with the redhead, I know now that he is an honorable bloke, endearing even. I can understand why she cares so deeply for him, but this knowledge does nothing to keep the uncomfortable jealousy at bay.
"... because?" I whip my glare back in her direction. She shrinks under my scrutiny.
"Somehow I knew he wouldn't judge me," she admits quietly. "I suppose I've always known that no matter what, Ron will love me despite my ... blood."
I wince. I do not want to think of this. I cannot. It rips me apart to know she trusts him more. I ache with the knowledge that I have given her precious little to allow her to trust me with the truth of her blood status. Her words reopen old wounds because I know that Weasley is growing into a far more respectable man for her than I. And though she kept me from her truths and caused me this unwanted coil of confusing emotions, I know deep down Hermione has a heart of gold. She is still good personified and she deserves someone who is her equal in at least that.
"Admit that you have been lying to me from the very start," I sneer acidly, not sure if I want to keep her for myself or send her flying back into Weasley's arms. At least that would eliminate Potter. "Only if you can do that, then can you begin beating your lengthy path back to my favor!" I add decidedly.
"That's rich, Malfoy, coming from you!" she retorts angrily, finished at last with her cowering. "You lie like a rug and you do it so smoothly that no one is ever the wiser. I don't think you even know when you are lying! How dare you accuse me of dishonesty when you wear the crown for performing such treachery?"
I smile ruefully at her, pleased that she decided to fight, only because I know now how to disarm her.
"Since the night I told you of the prophecy I have been completely honest with you," I spar with dangerous softness. My voice masks my anger and despair. My mind rakes through all of our previous altercations and I come to a startling realization. "In fact, Hermione, I have never lied to you. I may have been cruel and insufferable, a downright ... miscreant, I believe you once called me, but I have not actively lied to you. And if I kept you from the truth, it was only to keep you safe, as I vowed to do ... under oath."
She stills at this. I can almost see the wheels whirring in her head. I watch her curiously, her intelligent eyes searching mine. Her head bows and she acquiesces, defeated. "Draco, I have been lying to you from the beginning, but for the same reasons that you had for keeping the secret of the cabinet and your tasks from me."
"I told the truth about that to everyone in Dumbledore's office!" I bark angrily. "Yet, you did not bother to reveal the truth about who you are, even then! You only told Ron the truth!"
"Yes! I admitted to that already!"
"You trusted him with the truth," I complain loudly again. Somehow this burned me up inside more than the bulk of her deception. "And you didn't trust me, even after I trusted you."
"I had to keep the truth from you."
"Why?"
"Because as long as I didn't tell you, I could keep on lying to myself."
"That excuse is a tired one, Hermione," I seethe, rubbing at my temples.
"That might be so, but it's honest, Draco," she insists, her eyes dark and fathomless. "The truth of where I come from frightens me. It frightens me to death."
"You? Afraid of the truth?" I query incredulously.
"I'm not a true Gryffindor, remember? Maybe my Slytherin blood is manifesting itself in me this way," her empty tone gives me pause. "Draco, what if, no matter what I do to try to save Harry, I will end up helping Voldemort and hurting, maybe even killing, my best friend? What if I can't change the prophecy? What if you—"
Her hesitation causes a light to flash in my head. I turn to look at her with derision, recognizing now her line of thinking.
"—what if I knew the truth of your role in the prophecy and I used this knowledge to undermine all of your pathetic attempts to save Potter?" I charge aggressively. "Is that it? You were worried that if you told me the truth that I'd use it to save my own hide and that of my parents? Is that what you were going to say, Granger? Or whatever the bloody hell your name is now!"
"No, Draco!"
But, the flicker in her eyes that she cannot hide claims otherwise. She does not trust me.
"No! You're wrong! I just knew that if I told you, you'd have to face that dreadful choice. I didn't want you to have to choose, me or them." Shrouding her face from me, she also admits softly, "I didn't want to know how easily you'd be able to discard your feelings for me when given the choice to save yourself or your parents."
"So instead you pretended martyrdom. You toyed with me, kept me up most nights with my worry for you and your possible insanity!" I accuse hotly. "You hid the truth of who you are from me, Hermione, and by doing that, you robbed me of my ability to choose."
"I was afraid you weren't yet able to love me enough to help me fight against a Lord you'd been bred to serve. And honestly, I still don't think you care enough for me and this cause to truly stand by me," she stubbornly admits. "I don't judge you for this, Draco. I've come to simply accept the truth of your position.
"How could I ask you to willingly join me in my fate to save Harry?" she continues, proceeding in the tone of one of her know-it-all lectures. "There's no love lost between the two of you. Why would I tell you about what I am, knowing of your past and what you'd once accepted as your future? I knew the choice was too much of a burden to place on you."
I scoff at her audacity to feed me such drivel. "And yet, you were fine with me being there to present you to the Dark Lord."
She narrows her gaze as I sneer Voldemort's self-proclaimed title, one Snape forces me to use when referencing the maniacal half-blood.
"I didn't expect you to do anything more than confirm my identity as the female Slytherin heir," she points out.
I wait for her to continue, because it seems like she might have more to say.
"The truth and bottom line is," she sighs almost shamefully, "...it's that I didn't want to lose you, Draco. I was afraid you wouldn't or couldn't choose me if I told you the truth. At least this way you could elect to be only a small part of the plan, or not, without the added burden of knowing my fate."
I stare at her, speechless.
Too spent to even shake my head, I get up to go to the door. I feel her gaze bore into my back. As I grasp the handle, I hear her cry out, insisting I stay and listen to her.
"But, Draco, I love you!" Her words fly from her mouth to find a home in my battered heart. I receive this token from her with immense gratitude, but I otherwise firmly close myself off from her other appeals. Shutting my eyes, I place my forehead on the hard wooden door for a moment. In that stolen instant, my mind at last clears. I turn to her again and from my place on the threshold I speak the truth as I see it.
"I imagine you do, Hermione," I say coolly, "but the love you claim tonight is a selfish one. You want to grasp onto this one-sided love you have for me, but you are not willing to allow me the freedom to return it. Very Slytherin of you, actually, I would offer you my congratulations, but ..."
I can hear her crying openly now, yet I brutally continue. I know my words hurt me more than they could possibly hurt her.
"I am being honest with you, Miss Muestilde, and sometimes the truth hurts," as I speak, icy cold fingers grip my chest. Even I can almost see the growing chasm between the girl on the floor and me at the door. "I do not know how to feel about you any longer because tonight, Hermione, you have shown me that I truly do not know you."
In the darkness I see she has turned away from me, huddled against the chair I had been slumped in, her face hidden in her arms.
"I regret that I cannot speak the words you want to hear from me after such a heart-felt declaration," I say more kindly, though the sentiment is laced with disappointment. "What I do know, Hermione, is regardless how strongly you might feel, you simply do not love me enough to trust that I will make a decision that would suit. You do not love me enough to respect the man I am trying to become. So, despite your attempts to keep me, now we lose each other. I suppose now we will never know how I would have fared had you trusted me enough to give me the choices I was due."
I hear her strangled sob as I make my way out the door.
The Shrieking Shack
Along with what seems like 99 bottles of misappropriated mead
"This is a bloody fantastic hideout, Red," I announce approvingly, my stride less than steady as I wander into the dilapidated room. "Why haven't you brought me here before? It's bloody fantastic!"
"You didn't give me a choice, Malfoy. I had to bring you here. You were going to sing the castle down with your shite-faced bellowing of that Christmas carol. What is wrong with you? My Silencio couldn't even hamper your terrible voice," Ron curses under his breath, hauling the crateful of mead into the room. The last time I'd asked him to join me for a stolen drink was after I witnessed Snape's Crucio of Hermione. Unlike then, Ron is still sober at the news that is driving me to drink. Though I watched him toss back just as much as me in the Room of Requirement, I notice the ginger-haired giant seems relatively unaffected by the buzz-inducing alcohol. "Bugger, Malfoy, how did you get your hands on all of this? All four houses could have a right party with the amount of mead you made me drag in."
I slump down on the filthy floor and reach for the bounty within the crate. With my mouth at the lip of my newly opened bottle, I absently pull Dumbledore's blasted cube from my pocket. Ron, still annoyingly attentive, notices my actions and blatantly stares at the object in my hand. I frown at it and then at him.
"What is it?" he asks, cocking his head curiously.
"An ickle safe... damn coded lock," I reply, my voice slurs. "Blasted thing is shut more tightly than the Lestrange vault at Gringotts."
"Give it here," Ron demands reaching for it. My levitation skills, seriously impaired from my drinking has me tossing the cube, muggle-style, to the Weasel.
"What have you got so far?"
"P-R-O-T-E-C-T, on the side with the W in the middle," I say punctiliously, my head clearing for a moment and then, thankfully, quickly fogging over again.
I watch him seek the side I described, his fingers working deftly despite his brawny hand. A sudden flash of light and a sweet sound flash throughout the cube and fill the room.
"Bloody hell, Malfoy," he gasps, nearly fumbling the cube in his shock at the jaw-slackening result of his letter-pushing. "Warn a bloke next time!"
I chuckle, ducking my head to nurse at the bottle of mead, comforting myself again for my inability to break Dumbledore's ridiculous locking spell.
"So, are you ever going to tell me why you're drinking yourself daft?" Ron inquires, turning the glowing cube round and round in his big freckled hands.
I laugh uncontrollably at his concern. Then, I turn to him. "Your best friend, that bushy brown-haired bint failed to have the decency to tell me the truth about her relations to the founder of my house and her blood status, Weasel," I snarl, taking another angry swig from the bottle in my hand. "She can damn well take her good intentions to P-R-O-T-E-C-T me and shove it down her pert little—"
"Malfoy!"
Even in my alcohol induced haze, I hear the clear warning in Ron's voice. I grumpily mutter the rest of my sentence under my breath.
"As to why we are here, Weasel, I have ... I have decided to throw myself a brilliant pity party with you as my sole guest," I declare almost imperiously, my drunken tongue-tripping taking away most of the regal the effect. "Count yourself among the blessed few who I can trust to see me so unMalfoy-esque."
The big redhead shakes his head at me. "Pathetic, Malfoy."
"Call me Draco. I would rather not hear my father's name right now," I force myself to enunciate this, purposefully staring at him, wondering exactly when I, too, discovered my trust in the Gryffindor before me. My thoughts splinter as does the image of his overly-concerned, freckled face. I choose to ignore the obvious worry I see in his blue gaze.
"It occurred to me," I say disjointedly, "right before I left her in that dark classroom last night ... that all I ever really wanted from Granger ... errr ... Muestielde ... hmmmm ... Herm-whatever the bloody hell her name is now! All I ever really wanted from the daft bint was a little R-E-S-P-E-C-T."
"Hermione's not a daft bint, Draco," Ron admonishes, absently fondling the glowing cube as he listens to my rambling. "R-E-S-P-E-C-T. Funny, that's a muggle song Harry sings sometimes in the shower."
"Too much bloody information, Weasel," I moan, cradling my head.
I watch him play with the cube. His fingers touch some unknown sequence of letters and I squint to see what he is doing from across the room.
"What are you doing, Weasley?"
"It's Ron, Draco," he replies, his fingers still moving carefully, his mouth sounding out letters. "If you're going to make me call you by your first name, you're bloody well going to follow suit."
Suddenly another blinding light emits from the cube in his hands. Ron calls out in surprise. The sound of sweet music, this time several notes longer, fills the air between us. My mouth falls open. Ron unlocked another side!
He unlocked another side!
"Ron! The center letter! What's the center letter?"
The light that bathes the room offers me sobriety as a sudden and welcome gift. I jump to my feet and launch myself at Red and the blasted cube.
"Y" he breathes.
"Because I need to know!" I shout exasperatedly, "Otherwise I'll forget the side your word unlocks!"
"No, Draco, the letter Y is in the middle!" he laughs, then laughs some more, mirthful at his unintended joke.
"Your word, Ron?" I grouch impatiently.
"R-E-S-P-E-C-T, of course," he replies matter-of-factly.
Of course, now, why had I not thought of that?