A/N: Well, the aftermath awaits. A few revelations...Enjoy! :p
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It had been a painful week since the incident. Hermione was functioning mechanically, her mind detached from the execution of her routine. She found it exhausting. Harry, being the friend who noticed her change of demeanour, had questioned her stability at one point during Charms.
"Hermione, you've had this dazed look about you all week. I'm sick of asking, but what is going on?" he asked pleadingly.
Hermione sighed. "Harry, it's not something I can really talk about in class."
"Fine, Hermione, but I'm not asking again. You want to talk about it, I'm here, but I feel like I'm talking to a petrified version of you."
Hermione, feeling guilty, on top of everything else, gave him a thankful look and returned to her thoughts. She couldn't exactly come out and say that she was the object of a twisted triangle of who knows what, between two Slytherins, who also happened to be greatly disliked by Harry, and who happened to be his quidditch opponents in the upcoming game. Perhaps if she did tell him, his drive to beat the silver the green house would take precedence over his sex life with Ginny. In any case, her sex life seemed to have suddenly been initiated by the fucking head boy of all people.
She could not stop thinking about him.
But, her mind would then avert its attention to Blaise, who had completely avoided her all week, and even failed to show up to their last potions class. She wondered whether he would show tomorrow, or perhaps she should take it as a hint that it was her turn not to make an appearance to Snape's practical. At least Malfoy was smart enough to schedule his monthly meeting with the headmaster during the last class.
To top it off, Dean was still shooting her the occasional death stare, and her vengeful tactic had backfired slightly, with all the Gryffindor boys fearing her more than ever. She was so sick of them feeling intimidated by her, it was almost refreshing that Malfoy had pulled a move like that in the classroom.
The thought of his hands on her made her face flush to the roots of her hair. How was it that, of all the guys in the school, Malfoy admittedly turned her on? He had so little to offer, with his conceited attitude, definitive prat status, Slytherin outlook and arrogant derision. She was certain that his state of mind had been severely tampered with, for him to look at her in that way, something was seriously wrong.
And yet, she was so torn by her actions of doing such things with Malfoy in the same classroom she had been led into by Blaise, his best friend, who had kissed her and admitted an interest that was certainly more genuine than Malfoy's. She wanted to tear her hair out to relieve the agony of her thoughts.
Her faculties were fatigued.
She felt Harry nudge her hard. "What?" she said, rather too loudly. His eyes gestured toward the front of the room. Malfoy was standing there, next to Professor Flitwick. She almost gasped at the sight of him, but her sudden washboard stature did cause Harry did not go unnoticed by Harry who watched her with interest.
"Miss Granger, this is the third time I called your name!" Hermione stole a glance at Malfoy, enough time to notice the strange smirk on his face.
"Sorry, Professor," she muttered.
"Yes, well, anyway, Mr Malfoy here requests that you attend to some head duties, you are excused from class," the Professor spoke with slight irritation at the interruption.
"Thankyou, Professor." Hermione hastily packed her things and followed Malfoy, who had already walked out.
Malfoy was leaning against the wall outside the classroom. She faltered in her step a few feet from him, not daring herself to move any closer. She narrowed her eyes at him as he stared back at her with a determined purpose.
"So, what's so important Malfoy?"
"Well, it's not related to Head duties per se, it is more about the Heads," he drawled vaguely before pushing off the wall with his foot.
"Malfoy," she warned. "Couldn't it wait?" She was nervous being around him.
"Actually, no," he walked over to her and grabbed her hand, much to her surprise, and led her down the corridor.
"Malfoy!" she repeated through gritted teeth, shocked at his behaviour. She was being pulled toward the library. He let go of her hand as they reached the entrance and walked in, holding the door open for her to follow. She stood in the doorway defiantly.
"This better be good Malfoy, I'm so sick of you," she sighed. He seemed slightly affronted and turned on his heel, letting go of the heavy door as she stepped through. It almost hit her in the nose had her foot not stopped it. Impatiently, she followed him down an aisle of stacks to the back of the library where a few study carrels were situated. He stopped, waiting for her to approach, before summoning her into one of them. He shut the door. Hermione was rather perplexed by this elaborate arrangement.
"Malfoy, is this really necessary?" she was feeling a little uneasy in the small space, but masked it with an air of irritation, dropping her bag onto the table.
"Granger, you've been avoiding me all week," he started, flicking his wand with his fingers. He was eyeing her very carefully, watching her every reaction to his statement. She frowned in realisation.
"You can't be serious, Malfoy," she resisted, brandishing her arms out at her sides.
"I've never been more serious, Granger." His eyes bore into hers. "What happened, it was a mistake, you cannot tell Blaise," he stated with a rehearsed conviction. Hermione was taken aback. On the one hand, she agreed wholeheartedly, yet, there was a small part of her that felt…disappointed.
"What did happen, Malfoy?" she asked, crossing her arms protectively because she was treading across uncharted territory. "As I recall, you came on to me!"
He watched her silently.
"It was the potion," he replied.
"How do you know it was the potion?" she asked hesitantly. Malfoy stopped twirling his wand and looked at her like she had just grown a second head.
"Because… you're the only girl I know who has taken it, and…that reaction…it's only occurred with you." She could sense his disdain in explaining this to her, like he was revealing a very personal emotional detail on a matter that gave him extreme displeasure. His revulsion was evident, and yet, where she would normally respond with indifference, she felt deceived. After all, could such an experience be purely the result of a physiological reaction only?
Hermione frowned at his reasoning. There was perhaps some truth to his statement, especially since Blaise's revelation about the batch they had taken, but what frightened Hermione most was the underlying possibility that it was not entirely attributable to l'etat d'esprit. Her throat was clamping with anxiety. The idea alone was disturbing.
"Malfoy, that is just one variable," she managed to utter. He looked down at her, unease apparent on his face.
"I don't want to think about it, I kissed you after you had kissed Blaise."
"That's not all you did, Malfoy!" she replied hotly. She uncrossed her hands, focusing her gaze on her hands as she fiddled with the sleeves of her school jumper.
"Just promise me you won't tell Blaise," he repeated with a slight urgency.
Hermione snapped her head up, "You brought me all the way here to make sure I won't tell Blaise? What do you take me for? There is no way I would tell anyone, let alone your best friend, what happened. Its bad enough he already hates me after what you told him. Besides, I haven't even seen him."
He combed his fingers through his hear in the tell tale sign of anguish. Hermione thought it the perfect opportunity to ask him a question.
"Malfoy, what is blue blood?" she asked. His hand froze at the back of his head.
"How do you know about that?" He narrowed his eyes accusingly.
"Get a clue Malfoy, how do you think Blaise and I even started talking outside of potions? I know all about your notorious etat d'esprit and competitive streak. He's actually worried about you." Hermione admitted in exasperation.
"I don't need looking after," he defended, a hint of anger apparent.
"Actually Malfoy, you have no idea what you're meddling with. You are addicted to a highly volatile and unpredictable potion."
"What do you care?"
"I don't! But since I happened to have taken it in a moment of stupidity, I am actually concerned for myself! It is not an act of altruism, Malfoy!" Her fists were clenched at her sides now.
"I'm not addicted," he bit out.
"So, then why the hell do you take it Malfoy? Do you even know why any more?"
"You don't get it, Granger," he dismissed.
"Fine, whatever, but I have a right to know, for my own concerns. Are you going to tell me or do I have to find out for myself? And, I will find out. You know I will," she asserted with new found confidence. It was about time she faced him about the whole affair.
Malfoy pulled out a chair and sat, leaning forward with his elbows on the desk and head in his hands. He finally sat back, looking at her, the signs of defeat, wariness, and exhaustion apparent.
"You're not going to like what I'm about to tell you, so you better take a seat." He had never used this tone with her. It was slightly apologetic, slightly nervous. She pulled out the chair opposite him, and sat, leaning back tentatively.
Minutes passed.
He breathed out heavily.
"Blue blood is not just an ingredient. It is a potion in itself. An ancestor of mine stole the recipe, rather stupidly, from a secret society and led a rather restricted life afterward in fear of being killed. Long story short, the potion can only really be made by a pureblood because it requires the following: blood of an heir, blood of an heir's servant, and ground ragweed that has been dried for one lunar month."
Hermione was still processing the part about actual blood, her eyes wide in horror. She swallowed loudly as she lubricated her dry mouth.
"When you say blood –"
"Yes, I mean real blood," he interjected, "Mine, and that of the family house-elf whose ancestor has served the family. Three drops of each."
"House elves!" Hermione had never felt nauseated. "How?"
"Granger, they have to give it to me if I ask, they're house elves!" he retorted condescendingly.
Hermione turned her head so she couldn't look at him. She had drunk a potion that contained Malfoy's blood and a house-elf's! She could not contain her rage or her revulsion. No wonder it was causing so many problems. Anyone who drank the blood of anything was bound to carry a burden of risk.
"If it's any consolation, I only add two drops of blue blood to the etat d'esprit. So it only makes up a nominal part of the total potion." Her facial expression must have been one of utter disgust for Malfoy to feel obliged to console her with a rationale.
"Nominal, but not negligible, Malfoy," she yelled. "I can't believe I drank your blood!" she cried out.
"Granger, don't take this the wrong way, but you're the one with the dirty blood."
Hermione shot out of her chair and walked round to stand in front of the head boy, her eyes shooting him daggers. "You just don't get it do you?" she bit out, her voice so angry it was barely audible. "I drank it once and who knows what's happening to me. I'm going around kissing Slytherin prats, having all sorts of mood swings, breaking into bedrooms, casting vindictive hexes on my own housemates, lying to my friends, and to top it all off, I am admitting it to you, of all people!"
Hermione had enough. He was not even worthy of the opportunity to respond. She turned and stormed out.
Her mind was clouded with such heated emotion she could not even focus properly as she walked through the stacks to the front of the library. She had to stop. Leaning against the bookshelves she hunched over, feeling the need to dry retch, as she clutched her stomach in search of comfort. The pressure in her head left her disorientated and dizzy. She extended her hands to grasp the bookshelves on either side for support, but it wasn't enough. Hermione felt herself falling, her legs quivering beneath her as her fingers slipped from the supporting hold. In defeat, she let herself plummet to the floor, her knees bent and her head crouched over them as she wrapped her hands around her legs and released the sob she had been fighting so hard to contain.
The tears fell.
Hard.
Until she saw heard her book bag drop at her feet and a body sit down next to her, their back hitting the bookshelf as their knees came up and a pair of forearms rested on them.
Hermione silenced herself. "Just go away, Malfoy."
"You left your bag behind." Confused, she looked up, her tear stained face bewildered by the intruder's comment.
"Blaise?" she whispered. He looked over at her, and smiled meekly, shrugging. "What…what are you doing here?" she staggered.
"I've got a free, was going to finish my essay for history. I've left it kinda last minute." Hermione nodded, wiping her drying tears from her face to regain some dignity. They sat silently, next to each other, Hermione's mind reeling with a thousand different ways to start an apology.
"I'm sorry," they both uttered in unison. Hermione let out a nervous laugh, just as Blaise did.
"Draco causing you trouble, again, I see?" Blaise continued.
"You have no idea," she replied, her voice husky from her emotional outburst.
"Actually I do," he replied, shifting next to her and nudging her shoulder. Hermione smiled.
"How could I forget," she lamented.
A thoughtful silence overcame them again, as they stared at the book spines on the opposite shelves. They happened to be sitting in the potions sections. Blaise let out a small laugh.
"I know," she replied, assuming he was thinking about the irony of it all as she scanned over the titles. Her eyes halted on one. She sat up on her knees and moved over to read the title more carefully.
Bloodthirsty Concoctions: the calamities of the live potion
She pulled it out.
"What is it?" Blaise asked half heartedly. She lifted the face of the book for him to read. He cocked an eyebrow questioningly.
A/N: I debated whether Blaise should have come back into the picture, I had originally written it as Malfoy bringing her stuff, but I could't just let him go! I think it worke out better this way. Juicy develpments...What will the two discover? Will Malfoy ever stop being predictable?