Chapter Twenty-seven
Quidditch Practice, Part 2
Harry sat in the guestroom, looking over his notes for his exams. Harry couldn't concentrate; studying was much less productive without Hermione there to keep him on track and help him, and he was quite worried about her out there on the pitch, supervised by a teacher or not.
He set his notes down, his eyes blurry. He had slept reasonably well the night before, but that didn't make up for two days of near sleeplessness. He hadn't exactly been the most well-rested person in the world over the past few years, but he'd been gradually getting more sleep since Voldemort's demise, and he'd started to forget what it was like to go days without a good night's rest.
Harry's head dropped to his chest and he fell into a light doze. Within a few moments, he was dreaming.
A pleasant feeling filled him, a feminine hand trailing down his chest. His arms were around a girl, and from what he could tell, she was naked, or close to it; he could feel bare, soft skin beneath his fingers, but he kept his eyes closed. It was more fun that way.
Harry's hand glided up the girl's back… and then his fingers collided with an arm, an arm that couldn't be hers; it was too large, too masculine, and in the wrong position to logically be attached to her shoulder. Harry's eyes snapped open, saw the bushy hair that could only belong to Hermione… and behind her was Draco. Harry could only see Draco's arm, face and part of his chest, but all were bare. He shot a horrified look at Hermione, who grinned back at him and pressed her lips against his softly; then she turned to Draco, lifting her head up towards his. Their mouths were soon close enough to kiss…
Harry woke up screaming.
Hermione gripped the broom tightly, now mentally berating herself for her fear and for actually clinging to Draco Malfoy for comfort, and berating Oliver for being so into Quidditch that he'd completely forgotten his promise to keep by her side. He was still conversing with the Slytherin Keeper; apparently he missed Quidditch too much to care if he was affecting Gryffindor's chances at the Cup.
"Who came up with this dumb sport," Hermione muttered to herself. If Draco heard her, he didn't acknowledge her. She wondered if he'd forgotten her presence; Harry, Ron, Ginny, and several other people she knew were prone to doing that when it came to Quidditch.
The Snitch was proving hard to find, apparently. He occasionally moved around, going slowly, probably not wanting to have the crap hugged out of him again. She swore to herself that she would keep her cool the next time he put on a burst of speed, feeling more confident every time he slowly moved aimlessly to another location… and then he saw the Snitch again.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHH!"
Hermione's thoughts flew right off the broom, along with her resolve to keep cool, and she flung her arms around Draco from behind again, hanging on as tightly as she could. Draco was torn between his determination to finally catch the Snitch and his determination to get her off of him; he kept one hand on the broom and tried to use the other to pry her arms away, but she would have none of it. The broom began to swerve dangerously, increasing Hermione's panic; the Nimbus 2001 was much faster than thestrals, hippogriffs or school brooms, even at half-speed, and the swerving was a lot like a car skidding out of control while going eighty miles an hour. Closing her eyes, Hermione screamed gibberish about Harry and Ron and going into the light and going home while Draco screamed gibberish about Mudbloods and murder and psycho girls and cheese.
A particularly jarring turn of the broom jolted Hermione's eyes open, and suddenly she stopped screaming; right in front of her was the tiny Golden Snitch. She'd never seen it up close before, and she couldn't remember the last time she'd seen anything half as interesting. It seemed to glisten, its golden form catching the light from the stadium's magical illumination, its silvery wings bringing angels to mind. Without thinking, Hermione sat up, releasing Draco and gingerly taking hold of the Snitch.
"It's so beautiful," Hermione breathed, wondering how her friends could go on and on about the "finer points of Quidditch" and never once mention how gorgeous the Snitch looked up close.
Draco, who was startled by Hermione's abrupt withdrawal, turned to see what she was doing—and felt his jaw drop at the sight of her sitting there, staring at the Snitch, which was held carefully between her thumb and forefinger. "Give me that!" he yelled, grabbing at it as best he could from his position.
"NO!" Hermione jerked her arm away from him, clutching the Snitch to her chest and looking like Sméagol coveting his Precious. Draco carefully turned and began to yank at her arm; Hermione used her free hand to smack at him and started yelling for Oliver, who was too far away to hear. The broom began to sink, Draco tugging harder at her wrist and Hermione slapping at him like crazy.
"So is it true Hermione has to share a bed with Malfoy?" asked one of Ginny's roommates, a girl that reminded Ginny of Parvati and Lavender. Ginny sighed inwardly. She had decided to catch up on her gossip and take a break from the Hermione-Draco insanity, and that meant hanging out with her roommates, some of her only other friends—well, close acquaintances, really. Hermione, Neville, Luna Lovegood and Colin Creevey were all closer to Ginny than her roommates, but Ginny did her best to get along well with them, in an effort to keep her dorm life from becoming a living hell.
"No, it's not true," Ginny said, shaking her head at the strange sort of things people speculated on. She'd been hoping to hear about what was going on in the rest of the school—hear who was mad at who (that was always useful to know in a prank war) and stuff like that—but her roommates were far more interested in hearing about Hermione, Draco, Harry, and Ron. She knew from experience that they wouldn't quit for a good long while; people often saw Ginny's ties to Harry, Ron and Hermione as a good way to get dirt on the three most famous people in Hogwarts, and Ginny had become accustomed to staving off rumors about her brother and his two best friends.
"Orla Quirke said they have to share a bed," another of Ginny's roommates said doubtfully.
"Orla Quirke is a Ravenclaw fourth-year," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "She's never been in Gryffindor Tower, let alone in Hermione's room. I have. They have separate beds."
Her roommates all looked disappointed and turned to another topic. "Is it true that Hermione dumped Ron for Harry?" someone asked.
Ginny fought off a groan. Why did people always start questions about rumors with "is it true?" It was rare that anyone would believe the truth anyway. "No, she didn't," Ginny told her. "Hermione and Harry are just friends."
"What's up with her having a tattoo?"
"I don't know," Ginny said wearily, "I—"
"AH HA!"
Ginny spun around at the yell, drawing her wand on reflex (like Harry, Ron and Hermione, she was still prone to jumpiness after the war with Voldemort). She lowered her wand, however, at the sight of Harry rushing towards her, his hair messier than usual, his glasses slightly askew and his face flushed and sweaty.
"Found you!" he gasped. "FINALLY!"
"Harry, what—HEY!"
Harry seized her arm and bodily dragged her down the hall away from her roommates. "No time, tell you later," he said. "Must hurry, must hurry—"
Ginny spluttered at his odd behavior, waving good-bye to her surprised roommates, who had already started whispering, no doubt starting a new rumor already. "Harry, what is going on?" she demanded as soon as they were out of earshot. "Is it Hermione? Did Malfoy do something? Where are we going?"
"Library," Harry panted. "Ron won't talk to me, Hermione's at the Quidditch pitch, I need someone to help me research."
"Research WHAT?" Ginny asked, but Harry didn't answer. He pulled her all the way to the library and through the doors, then straight to the section on psychic abilities and psychometry; seven years of being friends with Hermione had forced him to memorize the library's layout. "Harry, I'll help you look up whatever you're searching for, but I need to know what's going on," Ginny told him.
"I need a spell to block psychic visions," Harry said. During his mad dash through the school to find Ginny, he'd run through all the possibilities, and remembered with horror that Snape had said something about psychic visions being a side effect of the Cheese Spirit's bite. "Ignore any strange dreams for the next week or so," he'd said, but Harry didn't want to ignore them. He wanted to stop them, and somehow he doubted that Occlumency would work; it blocked psychic attacks, not freaky dreams induced by dairy demons. He presumed this was some sort of psychic vision, but he really didn't give a damn; he just wanted to make the visions cease and then make sure they didn't come true. Of course they wouldn't come true, that wouldn't happen, not ever, that was ridiculous… him and Hermione and MALFOY together… EW! Of course not…
"You had a vision?" Ginny gasped. Harry didn't have those; he'd had a connection to Voldemort, but he'd never actually had a vision, he'd just sort of read Voldemort's mind.
"Yes," Harry said shortly. "And I'm never having one again." He dropped the book he was looking at and grabbed her by the upper arms, staring into her eyes with a hunted look. "You have to help me, Ginny. We're friends. We've saved each other's lives. We play Quidditch together. You have to help me, please, help me make it stop, if you care about me at all—"
"Harry, calm down, before the urge to run screaming away from you gets any stronger. I'll help you, don't worry." Harry breathed a sigh of relief and a mischievous grin came over Ginny's features. "But first…"
"Yeah?" Harry said.
"Well," Ginny said innocently, "I'll need to know what the visions are about."
"If you stay over to the right, then you won't have a CHANCE if they move in from the left. If you stay to the center, though, you're going to be able to react to both fake-outs and actual shots and force the Chasers to go left or right and—"
"Hey, look at Draco!" Crabbe called, interrupting Oliver's rant to the Slytherin Keeper.
"Shit!" Oliver swore, turning to look and cursing himself for forgetting Hermione. It took him a second to find them; they weren't on eye-level, but rather twenty feet off the ground and still going lower, having a bizarre slapping fight, which they somehow managed while sitting one in front of the other on a four-foot-long piece of wood.
Oliver groaned and started to make his way over to them… then glanced at the Quidditch players. God, he missed Quidditch… and Hermione was fine, she could handle Malfoy… they weren't even far enough of the ground to break anything now… she'd be all right…
Oliver turned back to the Keeper. "As I was saying…"
Hermione wondered briefly what would happen if she shoved Draco off the broom. He'd probably scream like a girl again, so that would be a good thing… but then his abrupt departure would probably cause the broom to shoot back up, and she didn't want to even begin to try to steer a top-notch broom… and oh, yeah, she was tied to his wrist, so that might cause a problem, not unlike when Harry had blown up Draco's head…
"GIVE IT TO ME!"
"NO! I caught it!"
"GIVE IT HERE!"
Hermione glared at him furiously. One of his hands was latched onto her forearm, pulling as hard as he could without leaning back (which was too dangerous) for leverage, while the other hand tried to fend off her repeated attacks. He glowered back, a mixture of rage, frustration and determination on his still slightly-discolored face (which was slowly changing from pink to the hue of white cheese). Something about his expression, his glare and the tilt of his head at a funny angle from turning around to face her, his usually well-groomed hair all messed up and whipping in the wind… somehow, it struck her as adorable.
God, she thought, I've GOT to get this chain off…
Draco was having similar thoughts. She was so infuriating, always had been, but he couldn't deny that she looked hot. She was especially pretty when she was angry—and as he made it a habit to piss her off, he'd noticed that several times over the years. If only she hadn't been some Muggle-born lackey of Harry's, maybe…
Don't think like that! Draco yelled at himself. He groaned mentally. Note to self: look up the success rate in chewing off your own arm and having it reattached…
Hermione glanced around for some means of escape; she wasn't sure how long she could fend him off without shoving him off the broom, and she wasn't too happy about the direction her thoughts were taking. Then she noticed with a start that the broom was only maybe two meters off the ground. She could jump that, no problem…
Hermione would later realize how stupid it was, but she wasn't exactly thinking straight. She'd had a rough day—a rough WEEK, really—and the spurts of adrenaline entering and leaving her system were taking their toll. She was also VERY eager to get back on the ground. Whatever her reason—or lack of it—she jumped off the broom.
…And naturally, Draco was forced to come with her.
Oliver heard a loud scream and whipped around to look at where he'd last seen Draco and Hermione. Draco was flat on his stomach, broom clutched in one hand, and Hermione was standing nearby nervously, clutching the Snitch to her chest. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened.
Oliver burst out laughing.
"Come on, Harry! Just a hint?"
"No."
"Are we all going to die or something?"
"No. Not this time, anyway."
"…Could you tell me instead why Snape's exams for today were rescheduled and why he's going to be holding class in a different room for the next few days?"
"…No."
"Was the vision about Hermione or something?"
"I. Am. Not. Telling."
"HA! So it was!"
"NO!"
"I've got you now, Potter. You didn't say 'no,' you said, 'I'm not telling,' and then you denied it too quickly! What's the vision about? Her and Ron? Why would that… oh, god, it was something about her and Malfoy, wasn't it?"
"NO!"
"Ha! It was! What about her and Malfoy has you so spooked, eh, Harry? Does she kill him?"
"Ginny…"
"No, eh? She doesn't kill him."
"Hey, I didn't say she doesn't—"
"You didn't say 'no,' because you think I think no means yes!"
"Your logic is a little off, you know—"
"So, if she doesn't kill him, then what… oh, my god. Surely it wasn't… was… was it THAT sort of vision?"
"Gin…"
"Oh, GOD! It was, wasn't it?! Oh, she's gonna freak when I—"
"You tell her and I'll kill you! I did NOT have a vision about what you're thinking—"
"Oh, yeah? How do you know what am I thinking, then?"
"…"
"If only you could see how hard you're blushing…"
"Oh, shut up."
Draco just had time to let go of her and grab the broom handle to prevent the broom from getting blown away as he was yanked sideways and down. He at first marveled at her abrupt decision to jump off the broom, thinking something along the lines of She must REALLY hate flying… and then he was screaming, mentally cursing Hermione as he fell. Hermione landed in a shaky crouch and quickly stood, leaping out of his way as he landed hard face-down, his landing cushioned only slightly by the snow.
Hermione's first instinct was to run, because a) Draco wanted the Snitch and b) Draco would not be happy once he remembered how to move. However, his fall had reminded her that she couldn't go anywhere without him being a few feet behind. So she stayed put, as far from his still form as she could, tensed to run and vaguely wondering just why he wasn't moving.
Draco didn't have the energy to get up. For one thing, he'd just had a very trying day; for another, he'd been injured quite a lot in the past few hours—Hermione crashing into him in the potions classroom, the antics of the Cheese Spirit, the Hermione-inflicted bite on his arm, bumping into various things in the Gryffindor common room, the unsuccessful kick-off, Hermione whacking him for a good fifteen minutes as they struggled over the Snitch, and now a ten-foot fall from broom to snow. Why me? he whined to himself, feeling his body ache and a new rush of hatred for Hermione. This was all her fault, somehow, he was sure of it—everything was her fault. It was her fault his skin kept turning colors, it was her fault he'd spent weeks with people saying "Nice underwear!" to him in the hallways, it was her fault his favorite teacher had betrayed him, and it had to be her fault that he was chained to her, bruised in places he didn't know he had, sharing a room with her and Harry, his fellow Slytherins now convinced that she'd tried to bite off his "major appendage" and wondering if she and Draco secretly liked each other, and his seventh year almost completely ruined. It was all her fault.
Hermione watched him warily, waiting for him to spring up at any moment and wondering if she'd seriously injured or even killed him. "Malfoy?" she said finally, edging a little closer cautiously. "Are you okay?" He didn't move, and she tentatively stepped up to him and nudged him in the side with her foot.
Draco felt her kick him and suddenly the rage rushed to the surface like shrapnel exploding from a landmine. "I'm gonna KILL YOU!" he roared, jumping to his feet so fast that he might have been yanked up by the hand of some god.
Hermione yelped and fell backward, her arms flailing as she hit the ground, an image of Draco burned into her mind's eye as he rose from the snow like some angry boogeyman, like a drunken horror movie producer's idea of a yeti, with snow and water covering him and his Nimbus 2001 held in his hands like a sword. As soon as she hit the ground she rolled back to her feet and took off, still clutching the Snitch to her, terrified of what might happen should Draco catch her. She headed for the edge of the pitch, intent upon making a beeline for the castle where a teacher who wasn't a Quidditch freak could help her.
Hermione shifted the Snitch to her left hand, flicking her right wrist to bring her wand shooting from the specialized arm cuff she'd bought during the start of the prank war. Forty feet from the exit… thirty… twenty… and then suddenly she went flying; Draco had leaped forward and grabbed her around the knees. She spun as she fell and landed on her back, Draco picking himself up and jumping on top of her. Draco dug his knees into the snow, kneeling over her, his hands reaching for her neck. Hermione raised her wand, pressing it to his throat. Draco stopped, glaring down at her, both of their eyes flashing warnings and loathing.
At last, Draco dropped his hands and sat back on her hips, still glaring but obviously reluctantly admitting a draw. Hermione lowered the wand slightly, but knew better than to let her guard down. They took to staring at each other, both breathing heavily… and suddenly the tension became a completely different type. She saw something flicker in his eyes, and his gaze became distance, pensive, almost wistful. His head tilted to the side and his eyes moved lower… was he looking at her mouth? Of course not. Probably not. No. No way. Just… at her chin or something. For no… apparent… reason.
A surge of confused, panicked emotions coursed through her; was he thinking about kissing her? Why the hell was he thinking about that? Surely he wasn't. Six of his friends were in the air above them, along with an ex-Gryffindor teacher… who was probably lovingly caressing the Gryffindor goal hoops and chattering absently with the Slytherins about memories of his glory days, come to think of it.
Hermione didn't know what to do, what to say; Draco was looking back into her eyes now, still angry, but she could tell he was thinking about something else now, too. She was suddenly terrified that he would kiss her, terrified and excited, horrified and anxious and damn it why wouldn't he get off of her?
Draco started leaning down towards her, so slowly that it took her a second to realize he was moving, his eyes looking at her lips and then back up to meet her gaze as though daring her to stop him. She didn't move, scared stiff, part of her telling him to hurry up and do it and the other part running over a list of curses she could use if he tried. Draco closed his eyes, but Hermione kept hers open, certain this had to all be a trick, of course it was a trick, he wasn't going to kiss her, what would she do if he kissed her?
Just when Hermione had made up her mind to close her eyes, see what happened, and then curse him into oblivion regardless of what he did, Draco went flying off of her, landing about three feet away in the snow, and Hermione looked up to see a red-faced Harry standing above her. Her panic increased; Harry had seen Draco about to kiss her! He was going to kill Draco—well, that didn't sound too bad, not really—and then he was going to demand to know what she was doing, not trying to stop Draco…
No. No, Harry hadn't even noticed the almost-sort-of-possibly-would-have-been-a-kiss; he barely gave Draco a second glance before dropping to his knees beside Hermione. He looked nervous and jumpy; Hermione wondered briefly if there was something wrong, something about the Order or the Death Eaters, but she couldn't seem to start her brain going in any direction that didn't include Draco and the almost-sort-of-possibly-would-have-been-a-kiss.
"Hermione! You've got to help me! I need you to help me research psychic vision blocking, I had a dream like Snape said I might, and I don't know what to do! Snape said to ignore it but no, oh, no, I can't IGNORE that, I have to KILL that, it's got to go away; we have to find a way! I can't find it and Ginny won't help me look because I won't tell her what my vision was about and she won't accept that she does NOT want to know, and I don't think Occlumency will work because that's for when people try to attack your mind and no one's trying to attack it, it's all about cheese, damn it, why cheese, I hate cheese, you have to help me!"
Hermione blinked, Harry's rant penetrating the haze of confusion and emotion that had settled over her since Draco's tackle maneuver. Research. Yes, research, books, the library. Places where almost-sort-of-possibly-would-have-been-kisses did not exist. Normal stuff. Yes, normal stuff like books and… psychic visionary dreams that led to a new hatred of cheese… yeah, normalcy.
Hermione sat up. The other six Quidditch players were landing near Draco, and Oliver was walking towards her slowly, having trouble moving due to how hard he was laughing, leaning on his Firebolt 2 like an old man with a cane. Hermione took a deep breath and looked over at Draco.
"You okay, Draco?" Goyle asked, the Bludger held tightly under one of his massive arms.
Draco groaned, his eyes not quite focusing. "Practice is over now," he said, closing his eyes, looking quite disappointed.
Hermione smiled in satisfaction. She didn't know what that almost-sort-of-possibly-would-have-been-a-kiss had meant, but she did now that whatever happened, Draco was still her least favorite student at Hogwarts, and nothing was going to change that.
She turned to Harry and held out her left hand, which was still tightly holding the tiny golden ball. "Guess what, Harry," she said, grinning her head off. She opened her hand a little to show him. "I caught the Snitch!"