A/N: I am sincerely sorry for the delay!! Thanks for being patient, I have made it a decent chapter to make up for it. Well, I hope it's decent. I could roll out a few excuses, but I guess it doesn't really matter now. :P
Just to re-cap, Malfoy has just stormed out of the Slytherin change room, after Hermione manages, only just, to make contact with him before the game. And what fun contact it was! hehehe. And so it continues... Enjoy!
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A flustered Hermione sat alone, confused, overcome with anger and lust, on the benches in the Slytherin change room, wondering what the hell had come over Malfoy. Of all the possible reactions, he thought that she was out to sabotage him. It was just incomprehensible.
She felt deflated, and highly strung, her hormones were going haywire. If Malfoy thought he was struggling, well, he'd definitely had left her feeling displeased.
The sabotage was on her.
The sound of cheering signalled that the game had started. Inhaling deeply to re-engage her thoughts, she stood up, straightening her clothes and walked out toward the Gryffindor section of the stands. Not once did she look up at the players.
"Hermione!" Lavender waved as she shouted to grab her attention. Hermione smiled in acknowledgement and made her way over.
"Hi Lavender," she called out over the cheering crowd. "Have I missed anything?"
"Slytherin scored, or should I say, Blaise scored," she lowered her voice for Hermione's ears only. Hermione instantly looked up, spotting the dark haired wizard near the goal posts, and smiled slightly. She felt an elbow dig into her ribs.
"Ouch! What was that for?" she moaned, rubbing her side as she turned to Lavender, the culprit.
"Malfoy and Harry look like they're arguing about something," Lavender pointed to Hermione's far right. She searched the air and spotted Malfoy's trademark hair. Surely enough, Hermione could see Harry and Malfoy circling each other threateningly, their faces angry and heated, Malfoy's expression aggressive and snide, while Harry appeared to be reacting to something.
"What do you think is going on? Malfoy and Harry always ignore each other during matches, they're so bloody focused." Hermione could only guess as the crowd cheered around them in reaction to Gryffindor's score. She did not like the look on Malfoy's face one bit.
"Probably just egging each other on," she reasoned, but other people in the crowd were taking notice and pointing toward the two seekers. Yet, just as soon as it started, it was over as the two seekers averted their attention to the flutter of golden wings nearby and raced after it. Cheers erupted as the seekers battled for the ultimate deal breaker: victory.
Hermione, relieved that they were both still focused enough to give the game priority over their airborne exchange, grabbed onto Lavender's arm involuntarily, as the crowd watched the seekers carry out their chase. Hermione found herself in a battle of emotions. Her heart filled with excitement at Harry's dominance, yet the moment Malfoy swerved to take the lead, she felt a burst of pride shoot through her, to the point that her grip on Lavender caused her friend to yelp.
"Relax, Hermione, Harry is going to catch it," Lavender mistook her tension as fear that Slytherin would win. Hermione shook her head groaning inwardly, thankful that her true emotions were so far removed from ever being considered by a fellow Gryffindor. She felt instant reproach for her uninvited reactions, for momentarily wishing defeat on her own house. Even at such a great distance she was not inoculate to the phenomenon that had matured between herself and the Head boy.
The two seekers had disappeared from the naked eye of the spectators; Hermione averted her eyes to rest of the players in time to see Blaise score for his team. Once again, a wave of excitement passed over her, and even though it was only slight in comparison, she felt encumbered with guilt and closed her eyes, letting go of Lavender as she sat down to escape it. Lavender did not seem to notice as she screamed out and clapped her hands at the swift retaliation of Gryffindor.
Malfoy was right. She shouldn't have come to watch the game.
The stands were shaking beneath her as everyone jumped excitedly. Hermione looked up and caught sight of two figures growing in the distance. It was Harry and Malfoy, yet this time, they were not racing but idly making their way back to the field. Was it over?
She stood up holding her breath. She felt something akin to disappointment as she noticed Malfoy's shoulders slumped slightly. It was so subtle but as he neared, she could sense his defeat. His inscrutable expression said it all, his lips pursed as he landed away from the crowds. Her feelings were immediately quashed as Harry released the snitch from his hand. She clapped excitedly, her smile not quite reaching her eyes. Lavender was squealing next to her. They had won, marginally, given the high scores of the Slytherin team.
"Told you Harry would catch it," Lavender turned to Hermione, laughing, slight relief sneaking upon her face. Hermione nodded in agreement, returning a smile.
"Let's head down to the field," Hermione prompted. They made their way down with the rest of the mob, getting lost in the crowd.
"Harry!" she cried as she caught sight of him before he was swallowed by a sea of red and gold. She scanned around and caught sight of Ron, rushing over to hug him "Well done, Ron!"
"Thanks Hermione," he grinned, his elation apparent. He led them through the masses to Harry.
"Harry!" he grabbed his attention. "Well done, mate! Or, should I say, Captain."
"It was close, Malfoy nearly had it," he shook his head, catching Hermione's eye.
"Oh Harry, I'm so proud of you!" Hermione hugged him tightly, holding on a little longer to reaffirm her happiness for him. He stood back and smiled at her, but there was something in his eyes.
"Thanks," he simply said. Hermione stood back, trying to make sense of his short response. He must have seen the confusion in her eye and only gave her more reason to feel that whatever had transpired between Harry and Malfoy during the game, somehow involved her. He simply turned away without saying another word, reacting to the congratulations of others.
Hermione felt her stomach plummet to the pit of her insides. What on earth had happened up there? Even though she was standing in the middle of a raucous Gryffindor student body, She suddenly felt alone. They had dissolved around her as she was consumed by a sudden panic.
Had it finally caught up with her?
She had isolated herself and it was her own fault.
"Hermione!" someone called out. Blinking once, twice, she realised Ron was trying to get her attention. She made eye contact. "We're heading up to the Gryffindor tower, come on!" he urged, brandishing his arm to goad her along with the rest of the crowd. Hermione nodded. She turned her head toward the Slytherin change rooms and could see Blaise, and a few others chatting idly outside. He seemed completely unaffected by their loss. It made her smile as she walked back to the castle.
Hermione sat in the decorated common room, butterbeer in hand, beneath as bundle of streamers that had fallen loose and were resting on her shoulder. She had not said another word to Harry all afternoon; it was not the time for confrontations or explanations, but she thought it best to avoid him anyway. To wish, even momentarily, defeat on her best friend was traitorous. The guilt was overwhelming.
Ron came over and sat next to her, putting his arm around her and pulling down the streamers along with him, so that they fell on his head. She laughed, he grinned. He was drunk. "Hermione," he managed to say her name, although it was rather slurred. "You're the best," he leaned over, and kissed her bang smack on the lips. Hermione's eyes were wide open with shock, as Ron, pulled back, swaying slightly, grinning madly at her.
"Thanks Ron," she replied uncertainly, as he leaned back on the couch, pulling her back with him, and took another swig of his drink. She suddenly felt very aware of her surroundings, but did not want to make a big deal about it to remove herself from Ron's hold. He was her best friend after all.
"You played well today, Ron, see, a few nerves are nothing to worry about," she tried to make general chit chat to help her relax.
"Hermione, when are you ever wrong? I haven't seen you much lately, I forget how reliable you are. I miss you," he was all seriousness suddenly. Hermione nodded, her lips pressed together. Did he miss her because he could rely on her, or did he miss her for some other reason? Her former schoolgirl crush on him had dissipated a long time ago. Are least Ron still thought she was the same Hermione as always. Harry on the other hand, well, it was all rather dubious.
"You know I used to have such a crush on you," he announced suddenly. Whatever he was drinking was certainly helping with the verbal diarrhoea. She didn't know what to say.
"Me too," she heard herself respond, blushing slightly to be having this conversation. "What happened?" She took the last sip of her drink and set the bottle down on the couch beside her.
He seemed genuinely surprised, and shrugged reflectively. "I suppose, I wasn't really sure if you wanted to go there. I didn't want to ruin our friendship, make it complicated. Maybe I was just too scared to do anything about it," his voice lowering. He pulled her in close, "I'll always have a soft spot for you though, Hermione," bringing his other arm around her, hugging her tightly. She felt so comfortable in his arms, she couldn't even recall the last time he had ever hugged her like this, drunk or not.
"Thanks, Ron," she murmured, her lips muffled by his t-shirt as she nestled her head into his chest. It was nice to be hugged by her best friend, she needed it. "Even if you are drunk, I appreciate it," she smiled into his chest, hearing his breathing settle. He had passed out. But, not before making her feel better. Hermione unravelled herself from his hold, with a new found determination.
She slipped out of the common room quietly, which wasn't so difficult given the circumstances. Her high spirited housemates were going to be up all night. Hermione made her way back to her head digs; she needed to settle a few things.
It was all about timing, after all.
The common room was dark, save for the flickering fire setting a glow about the room.
"Come to gloat?" She heard the familiar, surly voice of the Head Boy. He was lying flat on his back on the couch, staring at the ceiling in fixation. He didn't look her way. She stopped, wondering whether to speak to him or not, or perhaps interrogate him about what he had said to Harry.
"About what exactly?" she tested.
"About what exactly," he parroted dully, his statement loaded. He went silent, his expression changing to one of agony. He looked unusually pale. Hermione frowned, not sure if it was the shadow being cast on him from the fire.
Malfoy looked ill.
Then again, it wasn't her problem.
She turned and walked to her room, shutting herself in, leaning against the door in slight mental disarray. For an instant, Hermione actually felt concerned for him. She breathed deeply trying to dismiss it. Her eyes caught sight of her book bag on her desk and she recalled the text she had checked out of the library only yesterday.
Wow, yesterday. That would be before playing devil's advocate and contracting with the enemy, jumping the enemy, possibly ruining a friendship, and finding out another could have become something more. Amongst all the chaos, Hermione had forgotten all about blue blood. She rushed over and pulled the book out of its confines, reading over its title, Bloodthirsty Concoctions: the calamities of the live potion. Who would even need to refer to this at Hogwarts?
She sat on the floor, leaning against her bed, and opened the text to scan over the contents. She searched for elves, and for any mention of pureblood, knowing that searching for blue blood would procure no result. She spotted mention of house elves and flipped to the page.
House elves, the cornerstone in the indictment of Wizarding servitude, are bound to their master, serving pureblood families for generations. Known to possess a unique strain of magical abilities, it has been said that the ties of master and servant are strengthened through generations. This is particularly notable in the great houses of purebloods.
Bound by secrecy, little is known about the use of the blood of house elves within pureblood families, but the blood of a servant is often a counterpart of dark magic, binding spells, and lifelong curses.
Few free house elves exist to partake in healer research. The only known research conducted was that of Professor Horace Travis in 1876 who freed his own house elf in an act of retaliation against pureblood family traditions. He conducted studies which analysed the blood of all magical creature, and wizards. His results were never published, never having the opportunity, but extracts from his diaries, recovered in 1896, reveal some rather interesting accounts and results.
"It is as I expected, the ominous ink colour of house elf blood is a visual warning, for it is poisonous, unless neutralised […]."
Hermione eagerly read on, a feeling of dread escalating.
"[…] I cut myself with a shard of glass, and my blood contaminated the sample I was working on. I moved to throw it out, but thought the better of it. I set it aside to investigate later […] Illness has kept me away from my laboratory for days. Upon my return I immediately attended to the accidental sample I had collected. To my utter surprise it had changed colour, a bright blue, like the colour of sapphire. I am not sure if it is simply due to the combination of house elf and wizard blood, or if it extends beyond the mixture of blood to a deeper link forged between a pureblood and his former servant. […] I fed it to the rat, it was violently ill, although it did not die. Dosage seems to have an effect. […] I took the plunge and digested a drop with my tea; it was my blood after all, albeit mixed. I was overcome with a mild wave of euphoria, a feeling of confidence and self-awareness dominating my disposition before I fall into a sense of dissatisfaction."
"I have taken to habitual consumption of the concoction. I cannot explain it. I feel rather restless, incomplete without it. Although the dissatisfaction lingers for greater periods, I no longer care for the consequences […] I am poisoning myself."
Hermione stopped reading.
The professor had stumbled across what would become the essential combination of blue blood. The final ingredient, ground ragweed, must have been added to draw out and heighten the favourable elements.
Hermione stood up and walked to her book bag. She pulled out the parchment with the ingredient list Blaise had given her, casting the spell to reveal it. She read down to the final ingredient of l'etat d'esprit. Mandrake puss: the neutraliser. Hermione dropped the parchment as she recalled Blaise's comment.
He had added the mandrake puss a day too late.
Something was wrong with Malfoy, she hadn't been imagining it.
Hermione rushed out the common room, to the occupied couch. Malfoy was lying half asleep. His appearance was unsettling; an expression of discomfort on his face, his breathing slightly laboured.
"Malfoy?" He stirred, groaning slightly. She kneeled, outstretching an arm to tap him on the shoulder. The contact made her stomach flip, but she ignored it.
"Malfoy, I need you to listen to me. Did you stop taking the potion? Nod once." She waited for him to respond, his head moving slightly in acquiescence. She sat back on her knees. This was not good. How could she have known that going cold turkey would draw out the negative effects? The amount he had consumed, together with Blaise's error, was evidence enough to support the probability that Malfoy had poisoned himself. How badly, she had no idea, but it was not sitting well with his abrupt termination of its consumption.
She was beginning to panic. "Malfoy?" she directed, "I need you to wake up." He groaned, mumbling something incoherent. Hermione pursed her lips, noticing the droplets of perspiration around his brow, his hair matted against his face. He was heating up, a red glow spreading over his bare skin. Pulling out her wand, Hermione cast a cooling charm over him, as he had once directed her to do.
"Malfoy," she commanded with more urgency.
"Granger," he mumbled groggily, his eyes still closed. "It hurts…like pins…everywhere." Hermione struggled to make sense of what he was saying, he wasn't moving. Her heart was beating rapidly, her blood coursing through her, reverberating in her eardrums.
"Please, Malfoy, you have to tell me where," she could hear the pleading tone in her voice, as she tentatively reached over and touch his bare forearm. He immediately shot up, grabbing her arm and jerking it away, crying out in agony. Hermione fell back, horrified by his reaction. He was rubbing his arm frantically.
He turned to catch her eye, his eyes were bloodshot, and his breaths short. He rubbed his face with his hands, as if to mentally compose himself and his senses.
"Fuck," he groaned out loud. "What the fuck is happening to me? What are you doing here?" he threatened, his blood shot eyes, sharp and looming. Hermione stood up, cowering slightly.
"You were heating up, I placed a cooling charm on you, you were almost unconscious," she explained. His hard stare immediately fell as he looked around the room disorientated.
"I feel like shit," he grumbled.
"Can you move?" she felled compelled to ask.
"Barely," he replied bleakly.
"I have a pepper up potion in my room, do you want it?" she found herself asking. He considered her offer, perplexity written on his face, before nodding. Who knew why she was helping him. She walked back to her room, into her bathroom and retrieved it.
"Here," she handed it to him, careful that their skin did not touch. She didn't want any repeat of his previous reaction.
He drank it, she watched.
They were silent.
"You've being poisoning yourself," she suddenly blurted. He turned to her sharply, unperturbed by her statement.
"I figured as much. I am attracted to you, after all." Hermione felt her blood boil, and her eyes narrow. Even in his state, he still managed to be an obnoxious, intolerable git. Oh, how she wanted to shout at the top of her lungs.
That Slytherin sitting before her actually had the audacity to laugh. It was a strenuous, exhausted laugh, but he still managed to humiliate her, and make her feel about two inches tall.
"What is your problem!" she shouted. He shook his head, smiling, setting the bottle beside him and slowly lifting his body around, placing his feet on the carpet and standing up carefully. "You were teetering on the precipice of death, and you want to make a joke of it!" she continued, her fists clenched.
"I was only doing what we agreed to. I said I would stop taking the potion and I did. I'll deal with the consequences, Granger," he replied tersely, his voice drained as he moved toward the direction of his bedroom.
"Blaise added the mandrake puss a day too late. That was the batch we both took. You have been drinking a potion that was not properly neutralised for a prolonged period of time. I think you should be a little more concerned for your well being," she retorted.
He froze, his back towards her, visibly stiffening as he took great effort to run a hand through his hair, a habit she now associated with his moments of deep thought. "I'll deal with Blaise," he replied ominously. Hermione didn't like the sound of his words in the slightest.
She followed him as he entered his bedroom. "Granger, it's not a good idea for you to be in here," he stated frankly as he head into his bathroom over to the vanity basin, running the tap and washing his face. She stood at the doorway of his bathroom watching him, deliberating her choice of words.
It dawned on her, the fact that she had come to his rescue, so to speak, was not boding well with the Head boy. In a way, they were similar, for she hadn't sought any assistance with her problems until she was desperately crying in Lavender and Pavarti's room. He straightened up, catching her eye in the mirror, his expression slightly bewildered.
"Can't you take a hint, Granger? I don't want to be around anyone at the moment, especially a Gryffindor!" he spat, reaching for the towel nearby and drying his face.
"Don't be such a proud git Malfoy, you should be thankful I came into the common room when I did, that I had happened to discover something in time to realise you weren't well. We agreed I would help you, anyway. So deal with it!" she defended.
He walked up to her, staring at her for a moment, before brushing past her back into his room. She followed, recalling the last time she was in there. He walked to his wardrobe and took off his jumper, and tie, and began to unbutton his shirt. His ignorance of her presence was grating on her nerves.
"Malfoy!" she snapped.
"Granger, get out. Playing Healer is over, no need to stay for observation," he mocked.
She harrumphed irately. "This is not fun and games, Malfoy, when is it going to sink in that you have been consuming poison."
"I am well aware of it, Granger!" he suddenly bellowed. She shut her mouth, realising he was trying to dismiss it for his own sake.
He walked over and sat on his bed, his shirt half buttoned revealing his bare chest. She inhaled, looking away. This was not the time for that.
"Well, I'm waiting to hear it, Granger, what do you suppose I do?" he looked up at her snidely. She bit her lip, trying to work out how best to have him cooperate.
"We need to find an antidote. Just because you've stopped drinking it, doesn't mean that it hasn't had a permanent effect. I need to write down every reaction, change, feeling you have experienced since taking it." She nodded for self-assurance.
Malfoy brandished his arms in defeat. She turned to go to her room to retrieve parchment and a quill. "Now you're leaving?" he thundered.
"I'm going to get parchment, Malfoy." He looked at her like she was completely clueless.
"I have parchment, Granger," he replied, slowly, articulating his words as he indicated to his desk with a nod of his head.
"Oh, right." He smirked. She stood there, waiting for him to get it.
"Anytime, Granger, we have all night," he scoffed.
"Oh, forgive my ignorance, a Malfoy allowing a person of my blood to touch his things, how could I not have known," her sarcasm setting of a glint of amusement in his eye as he shrugged nonchalantly. She walked over to his desk.
"I give you permission to sit, Granger," he directed, the amusement still apparent. She was glad someone was finding this funny.
"How kind of you," she tilted her head in spurious gratitude. Hermione sat at his desk, turning her chair to the side so that she could see him. It was a strange feeling being in his room with permission. She inwardly laughed, taking a piece of parchment from the nearby pile and picking up a quill.
She shifted slightly in her chair. "Uhm, well, I suppose we should start at the most recent reaction you've suffered," she started. She signalled his silence as acquiescence. "Right, what was the last thing that happened before you took the pepper up potion?"
He shook his head, "You cast a cooling charm on me?" he guessed dismissively. The prat was not co-operating. She drew a line down the middle of the page, writing 'physiological' on one side and 'psychological' on the other. Under the first she wrote, 'extreme body heat (subsided with cooling charm, no. of repetitions: one?)'
"How many times have you used a cooling charm on yourself?" she asked, not looking up from the parchment.
"Twice."
She corrected the parchment before looking up. "When was the first experience?"
His expression thoughtful, he seemed to hesitate to respond. She raised her brow to urge him to speak. He looked away before answering, "After you left me in the classroom, that day." Hermione felt her face redden. Of course it had to be then. He averted his eyes to her once again, catching her blush. The air was filled with a sudden awkward tension.
"Ok," was all she could manage, for, his response triggered her memory of his reaction earlier when she had touched him and he had woken up.
"Why did you scream in pain when I touched your arm?" she blurted. He seemed to have no recollection of it occurring as he frowned at her question.
"When you woke up, it was because you had reacted to my touch, you mentioned you were in pain, like pins…" she tried to assist his memory. He involuntary rubbed his arm where she had touched him.
"It felt like all my nerves were active all at once," he replied suddenly. She pursed her lips, wondering if it was simply a side-effect from his overheated body. She wrote 'hypersensitivity' on the parchment.
"Do you think it's related to the fact that I have it in my system?" she questioned. He ran his fingers through his fine tresses in thought, shrugging and exhaling loudly.
"I think the fact that you aren't the owner of the blood in the potion changes things for you, and maybe me," he said pensively. Hermione had not thought of that variable, the fact that her blood was not one of the ingredients in the potion, or the fact that she was not a pureblood. Blaise had taken it, but not the same improperly brewed batch, and he was a pureblood. There were no means for comparison. It was likely that a muggleborn had never drunk l'etat d'esprit. Hermione expression turned sombre, she was exhausted by the possibilities.
"Should we check whether you might still react that way if I touch you?" she felt stupid asking but it was for the purpose of research and deduction. He looked at her strangely, almost as if he were thinking the same thing.
"I suppose we should," he replied. They both hesitated to move, Hermione was unsure of what to do next. Suddenly feeling timid, consumed with worry about how he might react and how she would handle it in light of their previous encounters. If only her brain would just stop thinking!
Since she had recommended it, she decided to make the first move, standing up and walking over to him. She stood in front of him, uncertain. Should she sit? Or, just get it over with and touch his arm? Malfoy was eyeing her with vague curiosity, she decided to stand, and make it quick. She would reach out, touch him with a finger and pull back. The whole scenario was ludicrous.
Tentatively, she outstretched her arm, pointed her finger and leant over to touch him. She closed her eyes, as if in anticipation of his cry of agony and immediate retraction, but when none availed she opened them. His expression was unreadable as he stared up at her. She was suddenly greeted with a heightened sense of touch and felt herself begin to caress his forearm, her fingers brushing over his smooth, muscular skin.
It was almost hypnotic.
He moved his arm away, taking hold of hers, securely gripping her wrist.
"What are you doing?" she asked carefully.
"I'm upholding your end of the bargain," he growled before he pulled her down onto the bed so that she was next to him, leant over her so that she fell onto her back, and kissed her.
A/N: I know, I know! The wait won't be long, I promise! Lmk what you think might happen? hehehe