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CHAPTER 6
Arrogance
The sun was high in the sky, bathing the grounds in a pleasant, bright autumn light. The windows of the castle were glittering with diamond-like sparkles, and the white clouds floating above the highest towers added a special beauty to the landscape.
It was mid-autumn, and the leaf fall seemed to be accelerating by the minute. The Hogwarts grounds were orange and copper-coloured, and few of the trees still had any leaves left. Leaves that, as a result, adorned the ground like a crisp blanket.
"I tell yeh honestly, you're coachin' the Gryffindor Quidditch team wonderfully, Harry," Hagrid commented, busily raking away the leaves that littered the ground of his nearly empty pumpkin patch. The Halloween party had forced the gamekeeper to use most of his beloved vegetables to decorate the Great Hall.
"Thank you, Hagrid," Harry smiled, leaning against the wall of the half-giant's hut with Ron as they watched him work. "If my training helps us beat Slytherin tomorrow, then that's fine by me. Besides, there was a trip to Hogsmeade today, and all of us on the team decided not to go so that we could train. They're very aware..."
"You're goin' ter win fer sure. You're tryin' really hard," Hagrid assured him, turning and grinning at him under his tangled beard. "Hermione can tell yeh, don' they play great?"
"Of course they do," agreed the girl nobly, sitting on the steps of the gamekeeper's porch as she fiddled with a dry, yellow leaf between her fingers. "Your technique is almost impeccable, and all the players are very good at their positions. You've made good choices."
"We're not all good," muttered a depressed voice. Harry, Hagrid and Hermione looked impatiently at a dejected Ron, who was staring at his big shoes in a dejected mood.
"Yes, you are," Hermione protested, covering her mouth with the scarf she wore around her neck to protect herself from the dry wind. "Your only problem is nerves. If you control that, you've got the match in the bag."
"I can't control my nerves, that's the problem!" the red-haired boy protested in despair. "And on top of that, those stupid Slytherins are trying to make me even more nervous!"
"They're doing it on purpose, and you know it, you shouldn't make a big deal out of it. Don't take them seriously," Hermione shrugged. "Ignore them. Like water off a duck's back."
"Sure, like it's that easy," Ron snorted impatiently. "I'm sure that stupid ferret Malfoy's already got some trick up his sleeve to bring me down..."
"Is Malfoy goin' ter play tomorrow?" Hagrid asked, putting the rake aside, leaning against the fence, and picking up the small sack full of pumpkin seeds Harry was holding for him.
"Yes, of course," Harry was surprised. "Well, I think so, at least. I haven't heard otherwise. Why do you say that?"
"No, no, nothin' specific. Bu' I thought they'd have sanctioned him or somethin'. He's had several detentions from different teachers lately, an' the year has jus' started," Hagrid revealed, beginning to plant the seeds.
"Malfoy, grounded?" Ron repeated, exchanging an excited glance with Harry. "Why is that?"
"I think it's because he doesn' do the homework they send yeh. Some writin' tha' he hasn' handed in, and also a few fierce fight… No big deal," Hagrid commented, not giving it much thought. Both Ron and Harry deflated. They seemed to be expecting a more serious and interesting reason from their nemesis. "Tha' boy certainly doesn' look stupid, but if he doesn' work hard at his subjects, an' also gets into trouble, no wonder he's gettin' detention."
"Malfoy misses half his lessons, that's true," Ron corroborated, grimacing. "He hangs around with his mates all day, doesn't he?"
"Yeah," Harry corroborated, crossing his arms. Malfoy's been more rebellious than usual lately. Including the Ancient Runes thing," he looked at his friend empathetically. She just looked at him with a resigned expression. "Maybe there's something wrong with him."
"Maybe my prayers have been answered, he's got some terminal illness and wants to do as much damage as possible before he dies," Ron muttered, smiling dreamily.
"Ron!" Hermione was instantly shocked. "How could you say such a horrible thing?"
"Oh, come on, Malfoy will wish us worse, I assure you," the red-haired boy snorted, frowning. "It's just that you're too kind. But you can't deny that the school would be a hell of a lot better off without Malfoy... And without Snape it would be glory."
Hermione pursed her lips and looked away, refusing to answer him. Goosebumps had risen on her skin under the thick coat she wore. She remembered Malfoy's voice with startling clarity, as if he were standing next to her...
'I'll kill you, Mudblood.'
She closed her eyes, trying to suppress the icy chill that had come over her, and tried to catch her breath. If only she could erase from her subconscious the horrible words that Malfoy had said to her days ago...
"Try not ter insult Snape in front o' me, Ron," Hagrid asked, looking up at him with a small smile under his bushy beard. "Remember, I'm a teacher."
"Yeah... Sorry, Hagrid."
"Okay, movin' away from the subject o' the Malfoy boy," the gamekeeper added with a shrug. "Why didn' yeh go ter Hogsmeade, Hermione? Harry an' Ron have ter train, but yeh could have gone, righ'?"
"I didn't feel like going on my own," she replied, relieved at the change of subject. "Ginny's training with the team, Neville's sick and staying in his room, and Luna's staying at the castle, too, so..."
"How could they put a trip to Hogsmeade in Quidditch season?" Ron complained, and then grunted, "I was looking forward to going out of the castle for a few hours..."
A loud bell from the Clock Tower caused all four of them to instinctively glance in the direction of the school.
"Four o'clock," Harry commented aloud, straightening up. "We should be heading to the pitch. Are you finally coming to watch the training, Hermione? What have you decided?"
"It's a bit chilly," she replied, smiling apologetically. She stood up and brushed off her skirt. "I'd rather go to the Library, if you don't mind."
"As you wish. See you later, then," Harry agreed, smiling, already walking up the hill. Ron swallowed loudly, starting to get nervous, and followed him. "You're coming to the match tomorrow, aren't you, Hagrid?" the dark-haired boy added, turning and walking backwards so that he could look at him.
"O' course I will. I'll be in the front row. I wish yeh the best o' luck, an' I hope yeh'll crush — I mean, have fun," he corrected himself, winking at them.
Not many people made a habit of going to the Hogwarts Library to do their homework, unless it was exam time and they had to study hard. They tended to prefer the Common Rooms. And even at exam time, the room didn't feel crowded. Though perhaps that was due to its spaciousness, and its innumerable corridors filled with shelves full of dusty volumes.
Be that as it may, there were few students there that autumn afternoon, for most had decided that they had the whole weekend ahead of them to study, and had preferred to enjoy the yellowing, parched leaves that covered the ground. And also the Hogsmeade trip that had been scheduled for that day, of course.
The few people there were grateful for the overwhelming silence of the room. Although, at times, it was no longer overwhelming when a loud, unplanned sneeze broke the quiet.
"Bless you," Draco mumbled, looking up from his near-blank parchment and giving Nott a wry glare. "Again."
"Thanks," the dark-haired boy whispered, though with his nasal congestion it sounded more or less like 'a'ks'. He pulled a more-than-used handkerchief from his pocket and blew his nose vigorously. After clearing his nostrils moderately, he muttered, "I'm going to have to go to the Hospital again. It's been three days now, and I'm getting worse and worse..."
"I've noticed something…" Draco joked, turning a page in the tattered reference book in front of him. He added more kindly, "You can go now. I don't mind being alone."
Nott shook his head and blew his nose again before answering.
"It doesn't matter. You have practice at seven when the Gryffindors finish, don't you?" Draco nodded curtly. "I'll go at that time, then. I'll survive until then," he muttered, and after a couple of quick inhalations, another sneeze made the table shake. "I think," he added in a strained voice, blowing his nose again.
"How could you catch a cold like that? You're such a wimp," Draco muttered, running his hand over the surface of his parchment a couple of times to wipe away the tiny droplets Nott had sprinkled it with.
"You've got a cold too, don't deny it," the dark-haired boy replied, looking up at him with arched eyebrows. "You infected me."
"My arse," Draco sneered, dismissively, sitting up cockily in his chair. "I have always had iron health. I've never been sick in my life."
"Of course not, you medical miracle," his friend conceded sarcastically, putting his damp handkerchief back into the pocket. Draco scowled menacingly at his mockery, but his friend didn't even look at him and simply changed the subject as if nothing had happened, "I'm glad I didn't go to Hogsmeade or I would have gotten even worse, it's freezing cold these days." Malfoy acquiesced, arching his eyebrows, nodding his head a couple of times, reluctantly agreeing with him. "Pansy did go, apparently, with Daphne and Tracey. I saw them out of uniform, going up to the Entrance Hall."
"You should have gone with them," said Draco, his sardonic tone returning. "And invited Daphne to Madam Puddifoot's Tea Shop, to give each other smooches, to hold hands..." he mocked, with a honeyed voice.
Nott could feel the heat in his own face rise uncontrollably, automatically. He bit down hard on his lower lip to stifle an amused smile and try to keep his face expressionless. Draco was always teasing him about his classmate Daphne Greengrass, because that bastard had known how much he liked her for years.
"Shut up, you arsehole," he replied in a hoarse, embarrassed voice, kicking him under the table. His friend chuckled. "Do you know if Zabini's gone?" he asked sharply, trying to steer the topic of conversation away from Daphne.
"I think so," Draco admitted, agreeing to leave him in peace, though he still wore a trace of a slightly mischievous grin. "With Crabbe and Goyle."
Nott gave him a shocked look.
"Are they still Beaters or did I miss something? Don't they train with you later?"
"Bah, they don't give a shit about Quidditch. They don't plan on going to training," Draco mumbled disdainfully. "They haven't gone for days. Too much effort for them, or I don't know. I still don't know how they're still on the team... Because they're my mates, I suppose," he hiccupped petulantly, as if he was someone very influential in the Quidditch team's decision making.
Nott grimaced indifferently, and leaned over his already well-developed Potions essay to continue. Draco, resigned to his friend's apathy, did not continue the conversation. But neither did he make any move to continue his essay. Instead, he set his quill down on the table and fiddled with his old silver Slytherin ring, thoughtfully twirling it around his ring finger.
"Maybe I will miss the training too," Draco admitted, quietly. He traced the raised 'S' shaped snake that adorned it with one finger, not looking at his friend. "I was thinking of pretending to be sick and not going to the match tomorrow either. I'm not really in the mood."
Nott stopped writing and looked up to watch his friend carefully.
"You don't really have to pretend anything, you're really sick," Nott corrected him nonchalantly. Draco glared at him from under his blond fringe.
"That's all you have to say?" he retorted, annoyed. Beginning to regret having spoken.
"No. I was also going to say that you should go. Montague won't forgive you if you skip, he doesn't have time to find another Seeker... And, if you lose the match against Gryffindor for something like that, you'll be murdered. Or worse, they'll never let you set foot in Slytherin again."
"Yeah," Draco muttered gruffly, taking off his ring and setting it down on the table, distractedly. He twirled it around a few times, as if it were a spinning top, then released it and rested his head on both hands, staring into the void. "I know that. But I guess I needed you to remind me."
Nott continued to stare at him. Scanning his friend's features. Looking for something in them.
"Is there something wrong with you? Is there something specific you don't feel like playing Quidditch for?" he questioned, in a lower but kinder tone. Draco shrugged, vaguely.
"Of course not. I just don't feel like it," he replied, more defensively, not looking him in the eye.
Nott gave him a grimace that resembled a half-smile.
"I think you should come with me to see Madam Pomfrey later. You're sick, too, and you know it."
Draco looked at him with deep contempt.
"Fuck off."
Nott smiled more eagerly and seemed to give it up as impossible. He focused back on his essay, leaving his friend in peace. Draco, on the other hand, snorted and didn't continue with his. He didn't feel like concentrating on reading the book in front of him. His brain felt sluggish and disconnected. Potions had become a bloody boring subject since old Slughorn had been teaching it. That stupid professor had Potter and his satellites in cotton wool. He was always praising him, no matter what he did. Oh, look, Potter, you used the knife on the correct side, one and a half million points to Gryffindor. Pathetic. And, as expected, the insufferable Granger was also the apple of his eye. But that wasn't news. She was the apple of the eye of half the faculty. She always knew everything. She always had a fucking instant answer to any question. He was wiggling his fingers to raise his hand, and she'd already answered. Possibly, just with the amount of answers she gave, he heard more of that girl's voice every day than any of his peers. And on top of that, she had to have that smug, repellent little voice. That insufferable know-it-all tone was getting on his nerves...
"Hello, Nott!" a voice in the real world suddenly greeted him, and it had exactly the same tone as the one echoing in Draco's head. He startled, wondering foolishly how he had managed to make his thoughts heard out loud.
Both friends looked up in time to see a pile of books and parchment, at least forty centimetres high, fall onto the table where Malfoy's hand had been just moments before. The two boys were startled by the avalanche of books, which made the table rumble. Behind the mountain of volumes, Granger's flushed face appeared, almost breathless. Draco instantly felt an annoying shiver of disgust run down his spine.
What the — ?
"I came to bring you the notes you asked for from yesterday's Arithmancy class, which you missed," Granger explained, panting faintly. As she spoke, she rummaged through the books and parchment she had left on the table, scattering them across the wooden surface as she searched for the right one. Placing her things on top of Draco's. And she hadn't even looked at him. "I've taken the liberty of marking for you the formulae Vector made it very clear would go into the exam, and the readings she recommended for the month ahead..."
"Gee, thanks, Granger, you didn't have to go to all that trouble..." the dark-haired boy assured her politely, though visibly uncomfortable. More aware than ever of Draco's presence in front of him. Resigning himself to hearing his friend implode at any moment.
Draco glared at the girl with an almost insane stare, as if he couldn't even conceive that she had approached them. Let alone that her things were invading his space. Draco seemed to be in sharp conflict with himself. Visibly determined to yell at her to get the hell out of there, or to cast some particularly nasty hex on her, preferably not visible to Madam Pince. In fact, he started to think about where he kept his wand. But, as he did so, he caught himself overhearing the conversation. The calmness with which Nott was responding to her. Her presence there seemed justified. She was talking to Nott. About classes. About Arithmancy. And Nott was responding kindly. And they were both ignoring him.
"Ah, look, here it is," Granger exclaimed, relieved, handing Nott a small bundle of parchment. "Don't worry, you've picked a good time to get sick, we're not giving too much syllabus these days, it's mostly exercises. You'll be coming to class on Monday, or would you prefer to rest? I don't mind taking your notes again..."
The dark-haired boy picked up the papers with a shy smile and tried to say something that started out sounding like 'I don't think it's necessary', but ended up turning into another loud sneeze.
"Bless you," Granger replied uneasily. "I see you still have a cold, don't you?"
"Oh, no, that's his way of saying thank you," Draco hissed, arching an eyebrow. Intervening for the first time. Deciding that enough was enough. That the scene didn't make any sense. "Curious, but effective. And it also serves as a goodbye. So, if you don't mind —"
"You should go to Hospital Wing, Nott, or you'll never get well. Everyone's falling ill these days," the young woman continued, smiling sympathetically, as if Malfoy's voice was no more than the almost inaudible buzzing of a fly. She didn't even show any sign of hearing him. The blond narrowed his light eyes. And flared his nostrils. She was ignoring him. She was blatantly ignoring him. That arrogant dared to ignore him. Him. This was unacceptable. Well, let her not expect anything else from him...
Draco bent over his essay again and pretended to be writing with unnatural concentration. As if Granger didn't exist. What goes around, comes around.
"I went yesterday, before the Arithmancy class I missed, and Madam Pomfrey gave me a Girding Potion," Nott commented, glancing sideways at his friend, who had begun to write like a maniac.
"And she didn't give you a Pepperup Potion?" Hermione wondered, ignoring a loud splash from where Draco was sitting. He had thrust the quill into the inkwell with an exaggeratedly flamboyant gesture and an uncharacteristic abruptness, as if he intended to murder it by drowning it. "She usually gives that. It is particularly indicated for —"
She was interrupted by several loud and annoying tinkling sounds. Both Nott and she looked back at Draco. He was looking as if he had never broken a dish in his life, moving his quill in rapid circles in the inkwell, stirring the ink as if it was essential for it to be well dissolved in order to write properly, causing it to tap against the glass with a continuous, loud clattering sound. Hermione looked directly at him for the first time, very stiff, her eyes narrowed in disapproval. Someone could be heard hissing in the distance, calling for silence. After several seconds, when Draco felt he had sufficiently ruffled her feathers, he took the quill out of the inkwell with an innocent languid movement, and continued writing without pause.
All this without looking either of the two people next to him in the face, of course.
"— curing colds and flus," Hermione finished, mumbling her words a lot as she tried to char the blond's forehead with the power of her gaze alone. Nott looked a little disoriented. "You should go again," she said, turning back to the dark-haired boy and smiling kindly at him.
"I was thinking of going now, as soon as... Draco left for his Quidditch training," Nott reported, his voice a little quieter, as if mentioning his friend's name was a dangerous thing to do. The blond felt a tingle on the back of his neck that indicated that the two people standing next to him were staring at him again, but he continued not to look up. That was what they wanted and he wasn't about to indulge them.
"Uh-huh," was all that came from Granger's lips. But that expression was laden with such coldness and indifference that it sent a rancorous pang through the pit of the blond's stomach. He felt a furious heat rise to his face, and hoped it didn't reflect on his skin. Damn pretentious. "Well, I'm leaving. I have things to do. Goodbye, Nott," she waved farewell, again cordially.
"Sure, bye," the dark-haired boy replied. "Thanks for the notes."
Draco, still staring at his parchment, quill moving swiftly back and forth, noticed how the unusual amount of books next to him disappeared from the table, making his own belongings visible again. It was a fitting occasion for him to look up. Granger had already turned and was walking away with her books in tow, her usual hurried gait, her thick hair and school skirt flapping in time with her steps.
"My goodness, what a look she gave you," Nott remarked, also watching the girl walk away. "Even more homicidal than usual. She even scared me. Have you two been... fighting lately? Apart from Ancient Runes, I mean..."
Draco blinked his eyes from following the exaggerated sway of her skirt. Even her stupid gait was presumptuous — couldn't she walk normally? Feeling he needed to clear his throat, he concentrated on his friend's question. A fight...? Well, he had plenty to choose from...
The memory of what had happened in the bathroom on the sixth floor on Hallowe'en suddenly came back to him. He had almost forgotten it.
'I'll kill you, Mudblood.'
That was why Granger hadn't looked him in the face for days, or even spoken to him to tell him off in Ancient Runes. The last few days she'd just kept her nose buried in some book while he and his friends made a fuss. Totally ignoring them. Which he couldn't help but find disturbing. Thinking that, of course, she was planning something. Granger wasn't going to stop. And he knew it.
Granger was a deluded fool. She had driven him out of his mind by telling him she wasn't reporting him to the Headmaster out of sympathy, and he had wanted to set her straight. Draco couldn't conceive that his words had really taken her by surprise. Everything he had said was the plain truth. All people were not equal, and anyone who denied it was lying to themselves. They had absolutely nothing to do with each other. He, Draco, was a thousand times above her in every way. When Lord Voldemort regained his power, the balance would be restored, and the Mudbloods would return to their place. And Granger, with her self-centredness and fanatical love of Harry Potter, was at the top of Draco's hit list.
He suddenly remembered, too, and could not help but frown as he did so, the tears that had welled in Granger's eyes at his words. The obvious raging emotion in her eyes puzzled him at the time, and still did days later. Had she really been on the verge of tears? Because he had told her he would kill her when the time came? Wasn't it obvious?
He didn't understand her, Merlin's beard, he didn't understand her at all. Granger definitely was weird.
He saw out of the corner of his eye that Nott was watching him for an answer, so he settled for a shrug and an indefinite grimace. He hoped that would be enough. He hadn't told him what had happened in the bathroom and had no intention of doing so. Besides, he had other things to talk to him about.
"Can you explain to me what this was all about, why you let Granger talk to you?" Draco asked in return, irritated.
"Well, she was bringing me some notes, you saw that," his friend admitted, shrugging his shoulders indifferently. "It's normal between classmates. We go to Arithmancy together, remember?"
Draco stared at him open-mouthed. Waiting for his friend to rectify the situation. Waiting for him to tell him he was pulling his leg.
"Marvellous. I'm so glad you've made a new friend," he cackled grumpily, realising he was serious. He shook his head in fierce disbelief. "But, what's wrong with you? And then you complain that the other Slytherins won't even come near you? You're bringing this on yourself... What's the point of getting involved with that Mudblood?"
"What are you talking about?" Nott replied, letting out a chuckle that made Draco even more annoyed. "The other Slytherins won't even look me in the face, what do they care who I hang out with? Whether I get along with her or not, no one cares."
Draco closed his eyes, summoning a patience he didn't possess.
"Nott, for fuck's sake, use the couple of brain cells you've got left alive, will you? I can... understand what you're feeling right now, okay? I know the Dark Lord has let you down," he added in a much quieter voice. "But that's no way to behave. You're a pure-blood, and you're going to get into serious trouble. Don't go looking for trouble so gratuitously, dammit. Especially not over someone like Granger."
"'Don't go looking for trouble so gratuitously?'" Nott scoffed, making light of his words. "Need I remind you that McGonagall grounded you yesterday, again, for hexing Andrew Kirke at break time? Not to mention that you're still messing around in Ancient Runes..."
Draco drummed his fingers on the closed book beside him. Wondering if hitting his friend with it would solve the problem.
"Don't let it get out of hand, do you understand me?" he ordered, impatiently. His friend looked him in the eyes, no longer mocking, but lowered them to his writing again almost immediately. Without replying.
Draco, resigned, also tried to return his attention to the essay he was writting about the Elixir to Induce Euphoria. Instead, however, he felt an emptiness in his stomach as he realised that his parchment was filled with lines and meaningless scribbles that he himself had traced while pretending to write. What little he had written about the Elixir was now useless. With a snort, he pulled a new blank piece of parchment from his bag to copy what little he had written.
And all because of Granger. Merlin, how he loathed her.