The Two Musicians
Chapter 6: Drifting
By Silver Chessboards
"Granger?"
"Yes?"
"What goes well with this?" he showed her his piece of parchment in which he had scribbled several notes on the bars.
It had been a week since the morning by the lake. The morning when she had first said his given name. The morning when they had come to an understanding. Ever since that fateful morning, almost every morning or evening, he would find her there studying or playing her beloved instrument. Or she would stumble across him, doing the same.
They were seated at the desk in the corner of the music room, bits of parchment and inkwells and books surrounding them. She had fallen asleep the night before whilst doing her homework and had found him in the music room doing his composition.
There had been several times when they had both retrieved their compositions and tried to help the other figure out a way to continue it. Evenings and mornings with her were spent in blissful silence with the exception of the occasional chat. She was a quiet companion, smart and good at holding a conversation. And that was something he found that he liked about her.
He never had known someone whom was clever enough to talk to without spouting nonsense. Many Slytherins couldn't even hold an intelligent conversation. Including Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy and all the other empty-headed twits.
He found that she had several habits, all of which he found rather amusing. She often fell asleep whilst studying and she liked a piping hot mug of hot chocolate an hour before bed. She would chew her lip when she was deep in thought and when writing her composition, she would unconsciously drum her fingernails on the table.
Plus, she talked in her sleep.
"Well, you could try a C or a G," she suggested, yawning.
He raised an eyebrow.
"Did you fall asleep late last night?"
She nodded, with a sheepish smile.
His brows furrowed slightly.
"It's bad for you,"
"I know, but I have to study," she said, twirling her quill in her hand.
The room fell silent and the only noise made was the scratching of quill on parchment. It was a while before the scratching stopped and he felt a sudden weight resting on his shoulder. He froze, dropping his quill. Her head was rested on his shoulder. Her chestnut curls were strewn all over, tickling his face. He could smell apples again, sweet like spring. Her eyes were closed and her breathing slow. He had never noticed the light sprinkling of freckles splattered over the bridge of her nose and her cheeks, not as much as Weasley's of course. Her porcelain skin seemed to glow in the bright morning light. He stood and gently lifted her up in his arms, careful not to drop her head.
She felt warm in his arms.
His blond locks fell across his eyes as he looked down at her. He walked over to the bed at the back of the music room. He had never transfigured it back after the first time he had to tuck the same girl into bed after she had lost consciousness. He slipped her under the covers and tucked a lock of her hair behind her ear.
He would help her complete her homework, whether she liked it or not. After all, she wouldn't have the time to do it once she awoke from the clutches of sleep.
She was tucked under a warm and comfortable duvet bit it certainly wasn't hers. She had a vague memory of waking up earlier in her own bed. Furrowing her brows slightly, she sat up and her eyes immediately landed on the wizard who was immersed in his own work.
"Good morning."
He looked up from his work and nodded, "Good morning, Granger."
She then remembered that she had been doing her work before she had probably drifted off to sleep. A smile lit her features; he had probably tucked her into bed. Again. She slid out of bed and walked over to the table and seated herself beside him. He turned to look at her and smirked. She didn't know it, but her hair was a mess.
"What?" she asked, confused by his evident amusement.
"Nothing," he replied smoothly, patting her on the head before averting his attention back to his work.
"Where's my work?" she asked, her eyes scanning the table. He paused in his writing and turned to look at her.
"I finished it." She frowned.
"Why?"
"You were tired, Granger. You probably wouldn't have been able to finish it when you woke up," he explained. She certainly looked exhausted; bags were starting to show underneath her eyes and her skin had become a shade paler.
"Here, drink," he tossed her a flask from his satchel.
"It's coffee," he said, watching as she opened the flask.
He averted his eyes back to his work. He had completed his essay and it was twenty minutes till class started. He slipped his writing materials into his satchel and got up, slinging the bag over his shoulder. Granger passed the flask back to him, having drunk some of its contents. Her eyes widened as he opened the flask and took a sip.
He had placed his lips right over the rim of the flask where she had placed hers just moments ago.
"What?" he asked with a raised eyebrow, after downing the coffee.
She blushed, "Nothing."
"Well, classes start in a bit. Come on, Granger."
Breakfast at the Gryffindor table was like any other. Cheerful. Hermione bit into her toast, Ron hadn't shown up again. Not that she wanted him to, of course. It felt much better without him around.
"Say, where's Ron?" Seamus asked Harry casually.
"He always has breakfast earlier than the rest of us," Harry shrugged. Oh, Hermione thought. Ron probably was avoiding her as well.
She preferred it that way.
She finished up quickly, grabbing her satchel and walking out of the Great Hall after hurried goodbyes to Harry and Ginny. The corridor she was using to get to her Charms classroom was a shortcut. It was vacant, as always. She walked with brisk steps, her books clutched tightly in her arms.
Someone grabbed her arm and pulled her aside rather forcefully. She let out a yelp of surprise. Said person, however, did not let go. She looked up to see blue eyes staring back at her.
It was Ron.
"What do you want?" she hissed, her eyes narrowing.
"I just want to explain," he replied, his eyes pleading.
"I don't want to listen!" she shouted, trying to pull her arm from his grasp. But his hold only tightened.
"Let me explain!" he shouted back, the tips of his ears reddening.
"Let go, Ronald," she said through gritted teeth, fuming. The nerve! How dare he cheat on her and come to her, expecting her to accept a ruddy apology.
"I-" Ron opened his mouth to speak but he was cut off.
"Let her go, Weasley," it was Malfoy. He had appeared as if out of nowhere, his blond locks tousled and his satchel slung over his shoulder. He spoke calmly, evidently not wanting to stir up a fight.
"Wha–"
"I told you to let her go." He repeated. "Or are you deaf?" He added, elegantly raising an eyebrow.
Ron's face was almost the same colour as his hair.
"Why y—
He released Hermione's arm, sneering as he strode towards the blond. "And since when did you care for her?" he spat menacingly.
"I don't. Ten points from Gryffindor for manhandling another student." He said shortly, side-stepping the other wizard and making his way towards Hermione.
"Are you alright?" Draco frowned, examining her arm. It was an angry shade of red, after being in a strong grip. She nodded, wincing as his fingers lightly brushed over the bruised skin. Ron had stormed away, leaving the two alone in the corridor. She blushed, aware of their sudden proximity. She could feel his heat radiating from him. The smell of his cologne wafted over to her and she could hear his even breathing.
"Weasley's a bastard," he said as he waved his wand over her arm, the redness faded away. He looked up and was surprised to see that she was smiling.
"Thank you."
And then she stood on her tiptoes and brushed her lips over his cheek.
His immediately tensed as her lips brushed over his cheek. It had felt good, that much he would admit. But he wasn't sure how she would want him to react. He wasn't used to such bold public displays of affection. He had grown up being taught that feelings like love were useless and weak.
He could still hear his father's voice ringing in the back of his head, telling him that it was foolish to feel such things. And he could still remember how he had nodded and accepted his words, believing everything he said. In fifth year, he had realised how he didn't want to serve Voldemort. He didn't want a cruel fate that his father had. Years of serving Voldemort had turned Lucius Malfoy into a shell of what he used to be.
As a child he had often heard his mother cry when she thought no one was around. Her heart-wrenching sobs were painful to hear, especially to a young eleven-year-old who wanted nothing more than to see his mother smile. He had never experienced the love of a parent as a child. Lucius had made sure that his mother showed no such emotions to him. The expensive sweets his mother had sent him at school were just for show.
Hermione froze and stepped back, knowing that she had done the wrong thing. He felt a twinge of guilt as she looked at him apologetically. Her eyes were a warm brown, searching his face for any emotion. But he kept a blank face. He didn't know how to respond to her little gesture; it felt awkward. Was he supposed to smile and say something nice like how all her friends did?
"I-I'm sorry," she stuttered nervously, chewing on her lip. He suddenly felt extremely uncomfortable.
"It's alright," he heard himself say in a flat tone. He inwardly cursed himself for being such an arse.
"I-I'm just used to doing that -"
"I know," he said abruptly, cutting her off.
"I think I'm late for Charms. I guess I'll, um, see you around." And she hurried off, not sparing him another glance.
He mentally chided himself as he watched the brunette walk away. It wasn't that he didn't like the way she showed her affection. Quite, the contrary actually. He never knew that things like simple kisses on the cheek could cause such happiness. But his momentary happiness had lasted only a while, for he had pushed her away with his words although he hadn't meant to. He didn't even allow himself to relish the moment, and now he could only appreciate the memory.
He didn't know what to do when it came to things like public displays of affection. Things like that were best left to Gryffindors.
He had put a barrier between them, something that had disappeared over the many weeks of September.
It had been three weeks. Well two and a half, actually.
She didn't visit the music room anymore. It was always dark and empty when he arrived in the evenings. And each time he visited, he would feel a pang of regret for pushing her away. The room felt empty without her laughter or just her comforting presence. He had ignored the feeling in his gut and continued whatever he was doing in the music room. He hated to admit it, but he rather ... missed her company. He missed the intellectual conversations they would have and the times when they would help the other with homework or the composition.
But he refused to approach her and make amends. After all, it wasn't him who had kissed her on the cheek. And every time he told himself this, there would always be a small voice in the back of his head telling him that it was he who pushed her away. He hated how it was right. The music that he played on the piano started to lean towards depressing.
He still saw her everyday, though. At lessons, mealtimes, and when they crossed paths in corridors. She would always be flanked by Gryffindors and he'd be with Blaise Zabini, a friend. No more than a glance was spared whenever he saw her and she, him. It felt as if the time they spent together in the music room had never existed. It was painful to know that she didn't want to spend any more time in his company.
Coming back for seventh year had been painful for him. He had been shoved to the side and spoken of behind his back. The whispers and glares directed at him had been inevitable. And many chose to ignore him. None of them, however, knew that he had helped the Order during the war and had defected after the death of Dumbledore.
He had visited Dumbledore a week before the day he was supposed to murder the man. At the time, he had become increasingly panicked as the days passed. He didn't want to kill, he couldn't do it. But to refuse, the penalty was death.
The old man had even offered him a lemon drop, which he had politely declined. He had listened in silence and hadn't looked the slightest bit surprised after Draco had finished. The headmaster had calmly explained that it had already been planned that Snape would do the deed. It amazed Draco, even up to this day, that Dumbledore would have so willingly given up his life to save someone else; someone who used to make extremely rude comments about him.
After the murder of Dumbledore, he had been escorted out of Hogwarts by the Death Eaters and Snape. His death had been feigned by careful planning on Snape's part and he was taken away to number twelve Grimmauld place. The older members of the Order had seemed to embrace the idea of him joining whilst the younger members, including Potter and Weasley, had ignored him.
All except for Hermione.
She had been civil and even friendly whilst he had stayed there. He remembered the days of hiding away in his room, refusing to come out except for meal times and toilet breaks. And she'd always be there, in the seat next to his usual one. Everyone ignored his presence, all but some of the older order members and Hermione. She had even gone as far as making small talk with him as they ate.
He had been in an unfamiliar place, where everyone treated him with disdain.
And she made him feel not so alone.
A memory
The light was dim in his room, but bright enough for reading. His eyes skimmed over the words, barely registering what it said. He had been reading the same sentence again and again but he couldn't concentrate. The laughter from downstairs could be heard through the wooden floorboards and it irked him to no end.
It was Christmas Eve.
Knock, knock.
He looked up from his book, frowning. It was probably the house elf who had taken a strange liking to him; after all, who would think of Draco Malfoy on Christmas Eve? He groaned; there was only one other person who had a warm enough heart to do that.
"May I come in?" a muffled voice was heard through the door.
"No," he said without hesitation, averting his attention back to his book. Maybe she would leave him alone. The door creaked open and she slipped in, fingering the edge of her jumper nervously. He looked up from his book, scowling.
"You should come down to the feast," she murmured, eyes darting around the room to avoid his penetrating gaze.
"No," he said bluntly, averting his attention to his book.
"Bu-"
"I said no, Granger," he repeated himself.
"Fine, I'll stay here with you then," she said in a tone that meant she wouldn't change her mind. She was unbelievably stubborn sometimes.
"Whatever."
She made her way over to him and sat at the edge of his bed. The bed sagged under her weight and he could feel her eyes on him. Merlin, didn't she understand that he just wanted to be left alone?
"What book are you reading?" she asked him curiously.
"A muggle book by this person named ... Wilham Saltshaker I think." he replied, still not looking at her.
"You mean William Shakespeare," she corrected. He rolled his eyes.
"Yes, of course Granger," he replied with the slightest hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"Which book is it?"
And the night had continued. Somehow they managed to carry on an interesting conversation that lasted until midnight.
Author's Note
I am so sorry that I took ages with this chapter! You see, my previous beta was too busy and resigned from the role. So I had to get a new beta reader and to those of you who write, you probably know how hard it is to get one. So thank you to 'When In Doubt Smile' for doing an excellent job of beta-ing this chapter which was pretty crappy before it reached her.
I know I've been absolute rubbish lately, but school's being a pain in the you-know-where and Writer's block is terrible. I hope you guys forgive me! To those of you who read Stained Glass, I'm having a terrible case of Writer's block for Chapter 15. I can't seem to find my knack for humour.
Here's a hug to everyone who reviewed. Thanks for reading and I'll try to update soon!
Silver Chessboards