A/N: I am back! Finally!! Hope you all had a happy christmas/festive season/yuletide. Many many apologies for my delay. It took a bit of effort to get back into the swing of things. Was it worth it? I certainly hope this chappie revitalises your following of the story. :p
Hermione traipsed through the hallways with trepidation, her heart rate increasing as she turned every corner. She had been avoiding all Slytherins since the classroom incident two days ago. As for Harry, he seemed to be keeping his distance.
She turned toward the library, relieved to find the corridor empty. She was a Gryffindor on a mission, to resolve this whole l'etat d'esprit debacle and get on with her life. Things had gone too far.
As for Malfoy, his abrupt exit from the classroom had spread like wildfire, and only fuelled the rumours that he was suffering from the rare condition of wizard's delirium, especially given his prior behaviour in the Great Hall. Things only escalated after he had gone off at the Slytherin Quidditch team at practice that very afternoon. No one dared to cross his path. Not even Hermione.
For the last few days, Hermione had risen early, rushed out of the Head digs, and returned late, choosing to spend most of her free time nestled in her hideaway, which she mindfully ensured was always sealed from intruders. At meal times, she had hurriedly grabbed a pile of food, mumbling something about being busy to the quizzical Gryffindors and removed herself from the Great Hall. Harry ignored her every time, and Ron had noticed the friction between them. Her constant flustered state was due to the disparaging flux of emotion that signalled Malfoy's presence every time he was in the vicinity, and it took all her attention not to act on it. She had to avoid him at all costs. Occasionally, she'd caught him staring as she walked out of the Great Hall, the intensity of his gaze was enough to set her insides on fire.
Hermione entered the library and approached Madam Pince to request a study carrel.
"Afternoon, Hermione," the librarian looked out over the rim of her glasses and smiled.
"Hello Madam Pince, I was hoping to use a study carrel?"
"Hmmm, I'm afraid most have already been reserved for the afternoon. Fifth year preliminary OWLS are already upon us. My, how the year is progressing! How long did you want it for, dear?"
"The whole afternoon, preferably." She should have just gone to the fourth floor, but even her hideaway was distracting. The contract, the puzzling tapestry: it was all tainted with Malfoy, just like everything else.
"Just a minute, dear, I'll go check the books," she wandered off, leaving Hermione to peruse at the new titles that had just arrived and were piled up on Madame Pince's desk.
"Thought I'd find you here," a somewhat amused male voice disrupted her train of thought. She whipped around to see one rugged Theodore Nott staring at her, smiling, eyebrows raised, and books in hand.
"What are you doing here?" she snapped.
His smile faltered to a frown as he pressed at the nose of his glasses to readjust them. "Uhm, you were going to help me with Transfiguration, remember?"
Shit!
"Oh. Right," she shifted her weight looking anywhere but at him. Just then, Madam Pince returned holding a set of keys. She looked from Hermione, to Theo, and back, probably sensing the sudden tension in the vicinity. Hermione smiled, a little over cheerily to soften the atmosphere.
"Well dear, you can have use of room 5; just don't mention I didn't make you reserve it in advance."
"Thank you," Hermione gratefully took the keys. Madam Pince nodded assessing Theo over the rim of her glasses before smiling at Hermione and walking away to tend to some returns.
"I guess there are perks to being in here all the time," Theo started. Hermione looked at him, unimpressed and walked toward the carrels, knowing he would follow. He caught up to her. "Look, if you've changed your mind, that's fine, I was just trying to be friendly."
"I've had enough of friendly Slytherins," she mumbled, more for her own ears as she unlocked the door to the carrel.
"What was that?" The mirth in his voice was still apparent.
"Don't feel obliged to be friendly," she looked up at him before walking in. She could see that he was thoroughly perplexed by her behaviour. Setting her bag on the table, she sat down. He sat opposite her, leaning forward as he opened his book and pulled out some parchment and his quill. She watched him silently.
"Why exactly did you want my help again?" she asked suddenly, ready to test the waters. He played with the feather of his quill, before straightening his glasses again and sitting back. He certainly didn't look like he needed a tutor. Why was it that all Slytherins who seemed to cross her path possessed such a streamlined air of confidence?
"I thought we covered this last week? I need a tutor, you came highly recommended, Slytherins don't tend to ask fellow Slytherins to tutor them, and so on and so forth."
"So this has nothing to do with anything else?" Hermione pursed her lips at the stupidity of her question.
The Slytherin's eyes narrowed, a well deserved expression crossing his face as he questioned her sanity. "I have no idea what you're asking me," he finally let out.
"Never mind," her muttering signalled her resignation. They were both silent for a moment, Theo leaned forward expectantly in one fluid motion, bringing her back to reality.
"Right," Hermione chirped, "What topic do you want to revise?"
"How about the theory of the animagus? That's definitely going to be on the written NEWT."
"Animagus?" Hemrione gulped, unable to shrug off the reminder of Malfoy's ancestor, the culpable Albatros Mabruxy. She nodded quickly, before she turned into a dithering idiot. "Okay." He leant over to his bag and pulled out a small moss leather bound book, its pages edged in gold. He placed it on the table and slid it her direction. She grazed her fingers over the scaly skin before looking up at him expectantly.
"I didn't take any notes on this topic -," he paused at Hermione's reprimanding stare and shrugged, "- so I needed a reference book. I found this in the Nott library." He gestured toward the object before her. "This is the cause of my failure on the last test. Apparently, it contradicts everything we've been taught. I believe McGonagall exact comments were 'inaccurate cult hyperbole', and that I should seek to consult a classmate's notes instead since they're more reliably sourced." He let out a chuckle.
Hermione's curiosity had been piqued and she lifted the cover. The parchment of each page was so unusually fine, each sheet was almost translucent. She carefully turned to the title: The mechanics of the animagus: a historical influence. "So, what exactly does this book base it's theories on?" she questioned, silently revelling at the fact that she was perusing a rare book from the library of a pureblood legacy.
"According to Hugo Fontagnue, the transformation of becoming an animagus does not require all those years of supposed hard work and commitment. All some witches and wizards need to do is to trigger the ability to transform. He goes on to say that this is predominant where the family history includes a long line of animagi."
Hermione let out a breath. "No wonder Professor McGonnagall failed you." She flicked through the pages, scanning over the text. The focus was clearly on pureblood families, and rather narcissistic.
"Page two-fifty six," he prompted. Hermione looked up at Theo. His polka face was unnerving and she could only oblige. She flipped to the page and read quietly.
'The purity of blood serves to nullify the requirement to prepare the body for transformation. The animagus represents the most extraordinary magic, and the prominence of animagi amongst pureblood lines reaffirms the undeniable link between blood and strong magic.'
Hermione groaned out loud. "Theo, why exactly did you choose to show me this?" The bloody prat had an agenda.
"I think you know the answer to that." Hermione glared at him before continuing.
'There exists a catalyst where the bloodline exhibits a history of animagi dating back three or more generations...although, it has a tendency to skip a generation. The link between master and servant is acknowledged in the process, and the form of animagus remains consistent within bloodlines...'
Hermione stopped reading, her eyes widening in realisation. She looked up at Theo; he was watching her reaction silently, his lips curling into a knowing smirk as he adjusted his glasses with an air of authority.
"Why don't I give you my notes," she suggested, dismissing the underlying reason for his choice of topic as she reached into her bag to retrieve them.
"Sure. I thought you would appreciate this little gem, despite it's questionable accuracy," he remarked, as he took her notes.
Yeah right. He knew exaclty why she was interested.
"Same time next week?" he asked innocently.
She opened her mouth to respond but was unable to formulate an audible response.
"You might want to hold onto that in the meantime," he added. Hermione nodded, pursing her lips. He stood up, collecting his things.
She didn't even notice the Slytherin leave.
Hermione entered her room, dropping her bag at the foot of her bed before walking straight into her bathroom. She sat on the edge of the bathtub watching the running water fill the tub, half dazed. The more she inquired into the whole affair, the more convoluted it became. Theo had just added another piece to the puzzle.
She loosened the bubble bath tap, and watched the creamy liquid dilute into the tepid water, foam forming as the scent of cinammon and vanilla fillied her nostrils. Mechanically, she undressed and stepped into the soothing pod of mental escape and shut her eyes as her head rested against the end and her toes curled beneath the layer of white froth.
Of all the people involved, Malfoy was playing her for a fool. It was all too much. What angered her most, was this ridiculous new found theory that purebloods did not even have to endure the years of training to become an animagus. But she couldn't exaclty dismiss it, knowing what she did about the Malfoy bloodline.
The sound of her bedroom door shutting diverted her attention back to reality. Her eyes snapped open as she looked toward the doorway. Malfoy stood, watching her, his uniform dishevelled, tie loose, shirt hanging out. Hermione was muted with shock.
"You have a habit of leaving doors open, Granger."
"Get out, Malfoy," she bit back, relieved that the bubbles were concealing her naked form from his prying eyes. His smarmy grin was worse than his usual smirk; he knew she was feeling his presence. He leaned against the bathroom door frame, watching her like a hawk.
"You can't keep avoiding me," he drawled. Hermione subconsciously crossed her arms over her chest, glaring back at him defiantly. Even though she was covered by a thick layer of bubbles, she could never be too sure in the company of a Malfoy.
"I have and I will continue to do so. What happened was a big mistake," she replied tersely, the freshness of the egotistical author and his pureblood dogma dominating her state of emotions. She stared up at the ceiling, trying to ignore his presence. Too bad he walked over and sat on the edge of the bathtub. Hermione automatically retreated, sidling herself as close to the wall as possible.
The prat had the audacity to dip his fingers into the water and wade through the foam, breaking the protective layer.
"Hey!" she shouted in defence. Malfoy looked over at her, his lips curling into a smirk.
"Not like I haven't seen it before," she could see his eyes darkening, the same look of untameable desire materializing. She had to stop herself from reacting.
"Malfoy, this is the last time I will say it. Get out. This is not what we want. I'm trying to retain some control of the circumstances, you should too." She could see that he did not treat her comment lightly as frustration flickered across his face.
"Control, Granger?" he bit out. "After your classroom antics with Blaise, don't preach what you can't practice," he spat, standing up. "You made me look like a blithering idiot. The whole fucking school thinks I've gone off the wall!"
"You only have yourself to thank for that, Malfoy," she retorted.
"You can't make the rules, Granger. You told Potter, any fool can see that the chosen one wants to get in your pants and you made a pass at Blaise, knowing full well my reactions, which mind you, is upheld by a contract."
Hermione was boggled by his remarks. And, what was that about Harry? The Slytherin was pacing about her bathroom, grating on her nerves. It suddenly dawned on her.
"Are you... jealous, Malfoy?" she let out slowly. He stopped, frozen in place, his back facing her.
"Granger, don't be absurd. Like you said, we are trying to control the uncontrollable."
She chose to ignore his comment. "Malfoy, I can't believe I'm saying this, but can you pass me my bath robe from behind the door?" She suddenly felt cold. Malfoy could rant on all he wanted about the uncontrollable, but it was a mere unforeseeable effect of a very deliberate plan.
And, once again, it took another Slytherin to make her aware of it.
The Head boy hesitated before reaching for the bathrobe. The only thing was, if he handed it to her, it would surely get wet.
"Hang it to the left here, and then turn around," she instructed.
"Hmmm, I think we'll do this my way, Granger," an air of defiance and amusement apparent in his disposition. She narrowed her eyes as he held out the robe, ready for her to slide into it.
"You can't make me do anything, Malfoy. In fact, as I originally suggested. Get out."
"You and I both know that's not going to happen," he stated matter-of-factly. He waved the robe slightly, goading her acquiescence. In a huff, Hermione turned around, stood up, baring herself to him and quickly slid her arms into the robe, grabbing it from his grasp as she tied it in place.
She turned around and glared at the smug Slytherin and stepped out of the tub. He had moved to the side, propping himself up on the vanity.
There was only one way to deal with him.
Nothing like the element of surprise.
"Malfoy, you scoundrel, all this time I believed your petty excuses, when, in reality, you're trying to become an animagus," she stated with a sickly saccharine note in her voice.
He blinked, confusion written all over his face.
"Excuse me?" his voice level yet, threatening.
"You know exactly what I'm talking about. Quidditch was just a ruse for your efforts. A clever one, at that. After all, l'etat d'esprit serves multiple purposes does it not? Why not involve your fellow Slytherin rat pack while testing the very boundaries of your worthy pureblood status. Are you worthy enough Malfoy? Is the ability to become an animagus ingrained into your blood line?" she tested.
Malfoy stood tall and stiff, his eyes boring into hers with utmost distaste. "Are you out of your mind Granger? Where the fuck do you get off mocking me like that?" he thundered.
Hermione frowned, puzzled by his reaction. What was Theo playing at? Had she jumped to conclusions too soon?
She remained quiet. He approached her with determination, grabbing her arm.
Big mistake.
Her attention instantly diverted to the sensations of his touch. She almost whimpered under his hold. It was one thing to control their attraction at arm's length, but there were no boundaries once either of them crossed the line. "I'm sorry, there's been a misunderstanding," she managed, avoiding his gaze.
"Explain yourself, Granger," he demanded, his voice husky and strained. Hermione shook her head. There was no holding back; the haze hanging over her was too domineering.
She felt the tie on her bathrobe loosen. Malfoy, while still holding her arm, had moved to undo it as he guided her back toward the vanity. He pulled it open and grabbed a hold of her hip with his free hand. She was utterly exposed before him.
"Answer my question, Granger." His hand roughly ran up along her waist, to her breast. His thumb grazed over her nipple unapologetically. She groaned at the contact as her toyed with her.
"It's...nothing. For...get...it," she breathed, closing her eyes. The Slytherin released his hold on her arm, and she felt him grip her waist as he pushed her against the vanity, his body flush against her bare skin.
"That's not good enough," he ground out, bringing his mouth over hers, before pressing his lips down with demanding finality. She opened her mouth willingly, as his hands roamed over her body.
He was retaliating by attacking her with the one thing she was trying to control.
Her reaction to him.