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CHAPTER 11
Mimbulus Mimbletonia
Following in the footsteps of a person as immense as Rubeus Hagrid is not exactly easy, and even less so if you have skinny legs and skinny ankles like Hermione Granger had. And it becomes a particularly Herculean task if you also have your arms loaded with heavy books and a bag full to the brim slung over one shoulder. But the young woman did not complain, and followed the gamekeeper's wide strides down the second-floor corridor at a trot.
The decorations in the castle were especially beautiful this Christmas, and Hermione regretted that so few students were able to enjoy them. The ceilings of many of the corridors were covered in fine, glittering stalactites, as were the banisters of the staircases, and cheerful garlands twined around the thick stone columns. They had also placed wreaths made of fir boughs on the helmets of the armour, which rubbed their heads in discomfort, their visors rising as they snorted in frustration. Despite the fact that the Christmas holidays would be over in a few days, the Christmas mood still hung in the air.
"Well, I think yeh've bin very noble, Hermione," Hagrid commented warmly, giving her a fatherly look as they walked. "That lout doesn' deserve ter be helped by someone as kind as yeh. I don' like ter say this, but Malfoy is a bad kid, a bad kid…"
Hermione merely forced a smile, without saying anything, and continued walking at a trot, trying to keep up with her friend. She had just told Hagrid that several days ago, on Christmas Day, she had run to Madam Pomfrey when she had found Malfoy in bad health in the Owlery. The woman had agreed to go with her to the tower and, once there, had levitated an uncooperative Malfoy to the Hospital. Hermione guessed that the young man had been there for several days, as she hadn't seen him since. Not even in the Great Hall.
Obviously, with both Pomfrey and Hagrid, Hermione had been spared details such as their conversation before the boy fell ill. She didn't feel strong enough to tell anyone about it, not even Hagrid, as she wasn't sure the half-giant would understand. She trusted him completely, but she sensed that his reaction would be much the same as Harry and Ron's if they found out, so she refrained from saying anything to him. She didn't want to worry any of her friends.
The fewer people who knew about her encounters with Malfoy, the better.
"Malfoy has always bin a healthy boy. But lately he's bin lookin' bad, I've bin noticin' at lunch —" Hagrid continued, only to be abruptly interrupted by gasps and very fast footsteps from the next corridor. After a second, Neville appeared, skidding around the corner and stumbling to a halt when he saw Hagrid and Hermione. They were surprised to see him looking very unkempt, his clothes dishevelled, several thick books in his hands and, also in his hands, his big, nasty Mimbulus Mimbletonia plant.
"Hermione!" gasped Neville, whose face lit up at the sight of the girl. "You don't know how good it is to see you!"
"Hi, Neville... I was looking for you earlier so we could go to the Library together, but I couldn't find you, where did you come from?" she wanted to know, scrutinising him with her eyes in surprise.
"I've been in the greenhouses... But I just remembered that I was supposed to return these books to the Library before the holidays," Neville groaned, pointing to the books with his head in utter desperation. "So I'm rushing off to do it now."
"How lon' ago?" Hagrid was astonished. "Madam Pince is goin' ter kill yeh, Neville..."
"I know!" the young man stammered, almost on the verge of tears. Without warning, he walked over to Hermione and placed the huge pot of Mimbulus Mimbletonia in her hands. "Please, Hermione, look after my Mimbulus Mimbletonia, I can't run to the Library with it..."
"Me?" the girl was alarmed, struggling to hold it because of all the books she was already carrying. Hagrid slipped the girl's bag off her shoulder and held it for her, intending to take some of the weight off. "What do I do with it? Why do you have it outside the dormitory?"
"It looks bad, and I took it to Professor Sprout, so she could have a look at it. She said it's probably just the cold," he explained hurriedly, out of breath. "Take it... take it to the Common Room, will you? Can you?" he hurriedly added, and then ran down the corridor at full speed, without waiting for an answer. "Thank you, Hermione!"
"My God, poor boy," Hagrid lamented ruefully, watching him walk away. "Seein' how strict Madam Pince is, she's goin' ter murder him and use his skin ter line books…" He clucked and gave Hermione a knowing look. "I'm goin' with him, see if I can make him get his punishment reduced a bit, alrigh'?"
"Sure, good idea," Hermione agreed, smiling at him. "I'm going to take this… lovely little plant to the Common Room."
"I'll see yeh at dinner," Hagrid said goodbye, smiling, patting her on the shoulder, almost knocking her to the ground, and walking quickly, with his heavy gait, in Neville's footsteps.
Hermione sighed and shifted the weight of the Mimbulus Mimbletonia to the other arm, as her left was starting to fall asleep. The books trembled precariously in her arms, but she managed to hold on to them. She continued her way down the corridor in the opposite direction to her friends, this time in solitude. When she reached the end, she hesitated over whether to take the stairs to the left, which had a couple of vanishing steps, leading to the floor above and by which she would reach Gryffindor Tower sooner; or the stairs leading down to the first floor, which would be longer, but also safer given the amount of items she was carrying. She decided to continue down the stairs, not wanting to risk getting stuck on a step, laden with books and a plant that looked like a diseased organ full of boils, which spat out a disgusting dark green liquid at the slightest touch.
She took a first step down the spiral staircase, craning her neck trying to see over the thick plant. She went down for a second and staggered slightly, but managed to recover. She kept going down, feeling the tranquillity take hold of her as she reached the bottom of the narrow staircase. She was almost there, a couple more steps and all she had to do was push aside the tapestry on the other side to access the corridor. She was already at the bottom, she was already there... She only had to stretch out her arm...
But it couldn't be that simple, of course. Murphy's Law had warned: 'Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong'. Sure enough, the tapestry opened automatically before the girl could reach it, and Draco Malfoy stepped through without hesitation, striding across it with a distracted expression.
No — no — NO!
Hermione let out a gasp, clutching the Mimbulus Mimbletonia to her chest as if she could avert the impending disaster.
Without success.
Malfoy's eyes widened in surprise, but he failed to stop himself in time. He collided head-on with the young woman, knocking her off balance and causing the books she was clutching precariously under her arm to fall to the floor with a thud. The blond's hands reached up reflexively to avoid the inescapable collision, and one of them rested hopelessly in the middle of one of the nasty plant's boils. Time seemed to stand still for a horrifying instant, and immediately, thick streams of greenish, dung-scented liquid shot out of the plant, drenching Hermione, Malfoy, the books, and the corridor.
Fantastic.
Even when the plant stopped spewing liquid, the youths didn't move. They remained immobile for several more cautious seconds, in the same postures, totally paralysed by what had happened. Hermione had shut her eyes tightly a second before the spitting began, and once the plant stopped defending itself, she tried to open them. Her eyelids were covered in the viscous liquid, though, and in between rapid blinks, she couldn't see anything around her clearly. But she did see Malfoy, right in front of her. His arms were raised in the same position in which he had tried to stop the crash, his face, hair and the front of his clothes dripping with green fluid. His eyes were tightly closed, and it seemed to the girl that a muscle in his jaw was throbbing.
Okay, she was officially dead. Dead.
And buried.
"Sh-shit," Hermione couldn't help but stammer, bending down to set the plant on the ground with trembling hands and brushing her sticky fringe out of her eyes. "Malfoy?"
The boy didn't answer immediately. He moved his hands slowly and wiped away the liquid covering his eyelids with the index and middle fingers of each hand, then cleaned his fingers with a languid shake of his hands. At last he managed to open his eyes, which emitted silvery flashes of anger.
"Fuck, Granger," was the first thing he said, his voice dangerously shaky, as he pushed his blond — now green — fringes out of his eyes as well. "Fuck."
"I'm — I'm so sorry," the girl mumbled, looking around and staring in shock at the mess they'd made. The walls and stairs were now green. Bloody hell. "Don't... don't be mad, please... It wasn't on purpose, you've seen it yourself. It was an accident —"
"I just got out of the damn Hospital you sent me to, and I can't believe I just walked out and ran into you," he slurred, looking like a bomb waiting to explode. There was no doubt about it now; a vein was throbbing in his forehead. "I'm definitely a jinx, no doubt about it. If I'm not, I don't understand why I'm meeting you in every bloody corner of this bloody castle, every bloody hour of the day," the blond chuckled, still unable to move or lower his arms. That wasn't technically true, since they hadn't seen each other for several days, due to him being in the Hospital as he had pointed out, but the girl got the point and didn't even think to reply. "Are you planning on finishing me off? What's this? It smells like... like... crap."
She looked at him with an irrepressible annoyance at his words, but took a breath so as not to say anything too rude back. She felt quite guilty about the mess.
"Cut it out, will you? I'll clean it all up right now. Give me a minute, just don't move," Hermione asked patiently, trying to stay calm. She began to rummage through her pockets hastily, and look for her bag with her eyes. "I just have to — find the wand and — and — Damn it!"
It was at that moment that it dawned on her that she didn't have her bag with her. Dammit. Hagrid had taken it when he went after Neville, with her wand inside. Oh, come on, and what else. Could she have worse luck? It was all starting to get surreal.
She turned to the blond, looking tempted to grab the plant again and hide behind it.
"Do you have your wand here?" she asked cautiously.
Draco's eye twitched.
"Don't you think —" he asked, his voice disturbingly soft. Dangerously sarcastic, "— that if I had my wand I would have cleaned myself up by now, Granger? Do you think they let you have a wand in the Hospital?"
Indeed, he didn't have a bag. And no warm clothes either. It seemed to be true that, as he said, he had just left the Hospital. What were the chances of meeting up, of coinciding in one of the many corridors and passages of the castle? Minimal. Almost nil.
And yet, there they were.
"Merlin, what bad luck," Hermione wailed, almost musing aloud. She stared at the books in frustration and bit her lower lip out of inertia. She instantly regretted it, though, as it was covered in the fluid the now-innocent plant had spewed out. "Ugh! Yuck…" She stuck out her tongue and coughed and spat a little as gracefully as she could, under the icy gaze of an undaunted Malfoy. When the girl managed to control her nausea, she swallowed hard and added desperately, "Okay, all right, let's keep calm. The corridor... has no solution." She looked around, still in disbelief at the mess around them. "I'll be back later to clean it up with magic, unless Filch sees it first. But we can't go around the castle looking like this... There's a bathroom on this floor nearby, we'll clean up as best we can there," she said, taking the Mimbulus Mimbletonia carefully in one hand and the rest of her books in the other.
She stepped around a motionless Malfoy, pushed the stained tapestry aside with one shoulder, and without waiting for a response from the boy, preceded him down the corridor. Malfoy did not move immediately, and it was not clear that he ever would.
"I loathe you, Granger," he mumbled, closing his eyes for a long moment, as if the last thing he wanted in his life was to go after her. He finally realised that she was right: he couldn't go through the castle looking like that. Despite the fact that there were only a few students left, it was clear to him that, with his bad luck, he would run into all of them before he reached his dormitory. Even that old fuddy-duddy Dumbledore, he was convinced of it. After hesitating for two more desperate seconds, as if he expected the liquid to magically disappear from his body, he ended up turning to follow her. Walking strangely, trying not to touch the liquid that was already all over him. "I really loathe you."
After several seconds of brisk walking down the corridor, Hermione several metres ahead of Malfoy, the girl opened the door to one of the first floor bathrooms, pulling down the handle with her elbow, trying not to stain the door too much. Once inside the deserted, brightly torchlit bathroom, the girl set all her items, including the plant, on the floor, while Malfoy, for his part, strided straight to one of the sinks and turned the tap on full blast. He began frantically wiping his hands, looking as disgusted as he would have if he were covered in corrosive acid.
The girl decided that, with all the pain in her heart, she would clean the books later with magic. With water and toilet paper it could be a catastrophe. She would clean herself first, as well as the boy. She walked over to one of the urinals to grab several pieces of toilet paper and then walked over to the blond, positioning herself at another sink, leaving one in the middle to keep some distance. She felt deeply unsettled, and didn't know what to say or how to behave. She had never thought she would find herself in such a circumstance, let alone with Malfoy involved.
The only thing that was absolutely clear to her was that she was in the most uncomfortable situation of her life. She tried to console herself, thinking that it could be worse...
Okay, now she couldn't think how, but it could be.
She looked at herself in the mirror as she turned on the tap and almost felt like laughing at the way she looked. Merlin, she looked a mess. Her entire jumper was damp and covered in the thick liquid, as was the front of her hair, and her fringes. Some of the liquid on her face had slid down her jumper under its own weight.
If she hadn't been so disoriented and shocked, she would have cracked up.
And Malfoy didn't look much better. He didn't look like he was in any mood to laugh, though.
"It's just... stinky liquid, it's no big deal," Hermione commented, trying to force a conciliatory smile as she filled her palms with water and brought them up to her face to rinse it off. The truth was that the liquid emitted an unpleasant smell of rotting dung. "I could swear it's not poisonous."
"You better," the blond snapped sharply. "But, poisonous or not, it's still gross."
He looked at himself in the mirror, analysing his appearance while still rubbing his hands together, and, with an angry snort, pulled the thick black jumper he was wearing, now covered in green pus, over his head. Underneath the jumper he wore a thinner grey shirt, which was almost clean of the liquid. Only the lapels, peeking out from the round neckline of the jumper, had been dirtied. Hermione, who was watching Draco as he spoke, witnessed, almost in slow motion, the way the boy pulled the jumper over his head in one quick, impatient movement, then dipped it in the tap water in an attempt to clean it. His fine blond hair, now sticky, was dishevelled by the gesture, giving him an unexpectedly... wild air. Different from how it used to look, relatively straight and well groomed. He didn't bother to arrange it, as his hands were busy with his jumper, and stained, and he didn't even seem to care. But Hermione did. And she felt a sudden nervous tightness in her chest.
Realising that she had stopped blinking, she felt an unpleasant heat rush to her cheeks.
Oh, come on, watching Draco Malfoy take off a jumper couldn't have seemed… sensual to her. No way.
She hastily returned her attention to her own cleanliness. What kind of nonsense was she fixating on now? How inappropriate. She shouldn't even be looking at him so intently, it wasn't polite. She focused on her own clothes. The Mrs. Weasley's Christmas jumper she was wearing was sticky, but she couldn't take it off. She wasn't wearing anything underneath, apart from her bra. She would have to try to clean it later.
"You're right," the girl admitted curtly, trying to speak normally, though her voice sounded slightly shaky. She was trying to break the silence, and to forget the heat on her face that Malfoy's stupid, innocent gesture had provoked. And which was not subsiding. "It's a plant called Mimbulus Mimbletonia, native to Asia. It expels a green liquid as a defence mechanism —"
"Seriously? Tell me more," Malfoy interrupted her, sarcastically, with no hint of empathy for the girl's attempts at civilised conversation.
She gave up, with a snort. She then felt even more stupid for having considered that the boy's way of taking off his jumper had been somehow attractive. It had been complete stupidity on her body's part. He was still a complete jerk, without, evidently, any kind of attractiveness whatsoever. Biting her lip to contain her frustration at herself, she watched out of the corner of her eye as Draco dipped his face in the water, and scrubbed it eagerly. Cleaning his sticky fringes as best he could, too. He raised his head again when he was as clean as possible and tried to wipe off the excess water with his hands. But it was then that Hermione saw him close his eyes tightly. And start rubbing his eyelids with his knuckles frantically.
"Shit..." he commented, in a whisper. Hermione turned her face to look at him more directly, leaving her own cleanliness. The boy was still rubbing his eyes, his expression uneasy and almost pained.
"Did it get in your eyes?" Hermione questioned, cautiously. With sudden empathy. She felt responsible for what had happened, even though it was true that it had been an accident. Trying to quiet her conscience, she picked up one of the pieces of toilet paper she was saving for herself and approached him. "Wait, take this..."
She put a hand on his shoulder, just for a moment, to let him know she was beside him so as not to startle him. She took the hand from the boy with which he was still rubbing his eyes and placed the toilet paper over his closed eyelids herself. Her intention had been to give him the paper so he could clean himself, thinking he would take it, but the boy remained still, not touching it. Waiting. Possibly it was the surprise of the girl's sudden approach. She wasn't sure. But then she was at a loss as to what to do. And the situation didn't leave her much time to think either. It was... dumb, really. It had no real importance. So, without thinking too much about it, she began to run the paper over his eyelids herself. Wanting to get the discomfort out of his eyes as soon as possible instinctively. It would only take a moment...
Draco, for his part, was just focusing on not dying from ocular pain. He took a deep breath, grateful to feel the stinging in his eyes subside. The discomfort was killing him. And not seeing his surroundings only increased his anger. He forced himself to calm down and not give vent to the frustration that was gnawing at him. Damn Granger, she always had to manage to ruin his day...
The girl continued to caress his eyelids with the paper. Three seconds of total silence. Four seconds. Five. And, by the sixth second, Draco felt a convulsion in his stomach as he realised what he was doing. Granger was touching him. He was allowing her to touch him. He was allowing a Mudblood, a Gryffindor, to lay her impure hands on him. And that was unforgivable. Disgraceful. Inconceivable. The unbearable stinging of his eyes, and the lack of vision, had robbed him of his rational capacity. He felt like beating himself up for the lack of sanity he was demonstrating. Maybe he would do it later. But, well, first he had to sort out what was going on. Now that he had regained a normal state of mind, all he had to do was push her away. Give her a good shove. And shouting an insult at her wouldn't hurt either. But first he had to push her away.
Push her away now.
Now.
"Push her the fuck away!" his indignant mind cried out.
Nothing. He couldn't. He couldn't move. Suddenly, all his muscles seemed to be out of his control, and all his nerve endings had bunched up in his face, specifically in the area her hands were touching.
"I'm truly sorry," he heard Granger say, bringing him halfway back to reality. With his eyes closed, it was harder to keep all his other senses from being heightened. He was startled to feel her voice so close. They had never spoken from such a close distance. "Believe it or not, I didn't mean to annoy you. The plant is Neville's, he asked me to take it to the Common Room, and I knew he reacted like that when someone touched it... But I didn't expect to run into anyone..."
He didn't answer. He didn't know what to say. He didn't even understand what she had said to him. As he heard the words, he forgot them. Something about Longbottom being a plant. Or something like that. His brain refused to process coherent information. He felt his own breath leave his nose and collide with her palm. It was a very strange sensation. He realised that he wasn't breathing naturally.
But before he could fully analyse his own reactions, they were halted by the abrupt break in contact between her body and his. He did not see her, but he felt her move away from him. Her hand pulled away from his face.
"Better?" he heard the girl ask him.
"No," he thought automatically. And then he told himself that he hadn't even opened his eyes to check.
He did, and discovered, to his indifferent amazement, that he was no longer itchy, but also that he still couldn't breathe normally. He felt as if he had left the earthly world for a few moments. But with the gift of vision came the shock of reality. He was still in that bath, still in Granger's company. And he was still soaked in that stinking liquid.
What had happened to him?
Apparently the girl didn't expect an answer from him, for she walked away in the direction of the urinals. Draco watched as she threw the paper she had used to wipe his eyes into a toilet and picked up a few clean pieces. He didn't hear the sound of the roll as the pieces broke. He felt uncomfortably deaf. And he was still pathetically immobile by the sink, in the same position in which the girl had left him when she separated from him. He turned to the mirror as soon as he noticed it and looked at his face in it. He felt so out of place that he almost expected to see a stranger staring back at him. But no, it was him. A completely flushed version of him.
"Why the fuck did I blush?" he asked himself in his mind, almost panicked.
"How do you feel?" Granger wanted to know suddenly, turning back to her own washbasin and looking at him sideways. Draco flinched, convinced that the girl had noticed what was going through his mind. Shit. "At first glance you seem to be feeling better. The days in Hospital have done you good. Forgive me for saying so, but the other day you looked awful, to be honest. But, well, Madam Pomfrey is obviously an expert at curing the flu. See how you had to go to the Hospital?"
The boy stifled a sigh of relief with all his might. She was just trying to make polite conversation again. As if they could have such a thing. But she hadn't noticed any of the curious reactions he was being involuntarily subjected to, for which he was very grateful. Nor had she noticed his blushing.
"That's something," he thought, resigned and upset in equal parts.
Now all that was left was for him to understand.
"I would have gotten over it without going to the Hospital," Draco protested, raising his voice higher than the context required, as he still felt a ringing in his ears. "It was just a drop in blood pressure," he lied blatantly, grimacing.
Hermione looked at him blankly and held back a snort. The look on her face could be summed up as 'that's what you say, love'.
"Malfoy, I know flu symptoms when I see them," she said simply, shaking her head at the same time, as if the boy's immaturity was wearing her down.
Draco felt the anger return to him as he listened to her speak to him as if he were a small child. "Bloody smug," he thought.
"Don't be such a know-it-all — it's your fault we're here with this disgusting green mash all over us," Draco spat, again in an excessively loud voice. He looked at his body in the mirror and again felt a surge of fury at the sight of his smeary clothes. "Bloody hell, Granger, do you know how much this shirt costs?"
Hermione looked at him in deep boredom, not bothering to hide it.
"No, I don't, and I don't care. But I suppose it's fair of me to try and clean it for you," she admitted, with another weary sigh, laden with resignation. "The jumper can't be fixed without magic, I guess."
She roughly picked up the pieces of toilet paper again, and walked over to him. Draco felt an immediate hollowness in his chest as he watched her approach. He was unable to part his jaws to say anything. The young woman positioned herself in front of him, pinched the collar of his previously spotless grey shirt, and began to rub it with her other hand.
And Draco found himself consciously activating the muscles at the back of his body. Because the girl was tugging at his shirt, wanting to pull it closer to her and her piece of paper. To clean it better. Tugging at him.
And Draco didn't want to get close. Under any circumstances.
He was forced to swallow saliva urgently, though he held it back as long as he could, uncomfortable having her so close to his throat. His vocal cords had gone on holiday, apparently. Why couldn't he speak? He'd never had any trouble telling Granger to back off. On the contrary, doing so was almost a moral obligation. Well, without the 'almost'. He didn't want her anywhere near him. He didn't want her touching him. And, now that she was, he couldn't say anything to her.
"Everything all right in there, mate?" he called to himself, incredulous. "Are you alive? Then do something!"
He started by trying to breathe calmly, but he didn't even manage to do that. It was shallow, as if he could mark distance between them if his torso didn't show a few quick inhalations. He was starting to get angry. But — shit — she was so close. Barely an inch away. Possibly earlier, too, as she dried his eyes. But his eyes were closed before. What if he closed them again?
"Don't even think about it, arsehole. She's going to think you're nuts..."
She was just touching his shirt. That was why his brain didn't see the need to ask her to move away now. She was doing what she had to do, cleaning up the mess. That was it. Nothing was happening. She wasn't touching him. Not like she had before. Feeling slightly more in control of himself, and still trying to breathe more calmly, Draco allowed himself to sweep his gaze over her face. Intrigued. He had never seen her so closely before. From this distance he was able to take in every detail of her face. The tiny droplets of water that still glistened on her skin, mingling with the occasional tiny mole. He watched as her brow furrowed slightly, at the same time as her round, bright brown eyes narrowed in concentration, rubbing his shirt harder, clumsily. Her eyelashes were quite long. She wore no make-up. He appreciated then how her tongue was pushing its way between her tight lips, frustrated. Draco guessed she wasn't managing to clean it.
A drop of water slid from Draco's soaked fringes, down his forehead, straight into his right eye. And he didn't lift a finger to wipe it away either. He couldn't.
Granger then let out a deep sigh that hit the boy's throat in the form of hot air. Hot air that managed to seep between the skin of his back and his shirt. Staying there. And Draco's eyes caught how her chest, sheathed in a thick, wide woollen turtleneck jumper, with a huge blue H in the centre, and still stained with that greenish substance, rose and fell abruptly, making visible that sigh. It had to be the hardest stain in the world. Her hands then rubbed more vigorously, drawing his distracted gaze. Almost desperate for a distraction. They were small and white, and short-nailed. Practical and nimble, like her.
"You could try taking the jumper to the laundry," Granger suggested, not taking her eyes off her task. Her eyebrows twitched as she gestured, and Draco ran his eyes over the movement. "I'm sure the house-elves can remove the stain. Not that I support you giving the poor elves more work to do, but anyway..."
Draco didn't answer. Because he knew he still couldn't speak, and he didn't even try. He could only see her wet lips moving, contracting, curving, articulating words that he couldn't assimilate. His heart was beating like a drum. And he wanted to stop it. Because it wasn't justified. He felt uncomfortable, upset and almost scared, and he didn't know why. She was just trying to clean up the mess she'd made, as was her duty. Which wasn't reason enough for him to be staring dumbfounded at Granger's lips. Granger's. Granger's, Merlin's beard! Not only could he not push her away, nor order her to do so, but he was now bothering to look at her. He couldn't help himself — was it justifiable that he couldn't? He had known her since they were children, but they had never been so close. Was it reasonable that he would be curious to look at her? To observe that face he had so often insulted. To observe it closely, analysing her features, seeing her for the first time. Or so he felt.
No. She was a Mudblood. What the hell would he want to see her for? He shouldn't even be in the same room as her. She didn't deserve the slightest bit of his attention. She didn't deserve anything.
But he couldn't take his eyes off her.
"It won't come off, you'll have to —" Hermione looked up and instantly interrupted herself. Her eyes boring into his. Draco felt her gasp against his jaw again. And he saw her eyes go wide. Seeing the discomposed expression she made, Draco was left in no doubt that the girl had seen something in his eyes. Something he didn't even know he was showing. Something he wasn't in control of. And that paralysed him even more. He waited, unmoving, for her to turn away, to hit him; he almost wished it. So that he could get out of that horrible trance, that horrible dazed state he was in. But she did nothing. Nor did she move. She simply stared at him with her round, wide-open eyes. Shocked, bewildered, frightened.
And at that precise moment, the bathroom door opened without any delicacy.
Both Draco and Hermione took a synchronised step backwards, violently breaking the closeness of their bodies. The electric current was extinguished. The spell that kept them locked in each other's eyes broke completely suddenly and they were forced back to the stark, sultry reality. They trembled with sheer shock.
In the doorway frame stood the twin Hufflepuff boys, who stared in faint surprise at the two people standing in front of the sinks. They were probably puzzled by the identical expressions of shock with which they looked at them. The twins were wearing warm clothes, and looked as if they had come from the grounds, for they had snow on their hats. They seemed puzzled at the sight of the unfamiliar greenish substance partially covering them both, but apparently decided not to comment.
"This is the boys' bathroom," said one of them, looking at Hermione and tilting his head to one side. It didn't sound like an accusation, but a simple fact.
"I'm sorry," Hermione slurred, between wheezes. Draco looked at her out of the corner of his eye; she was suffocated, and very flushed, and her stomach was rising and falling with her rapid inhalations. "I was — we were just cleaning ourselves. I was just leaving," she added, stopping herself from looking at Malfoy under any circumstances. She didn't dare look him in the eye again.
"Indeed, it's all right. Don't worry," the other boy hastened to say cordially, dismissing the matter with a gesture. The twins approached a pair of urinals, ignoring the girl's presence.
Hermione didn't wait any longer. With the still-wet toilet paper clutched compulsively in her hands, she strided over to the slimy pile that was her personal belongings and scooped them up with lightning speed. Then she was out the door like a gale, without a backward glance and with the feeling that her face could have lit up any dark tunnel.
Malfoy remained motionless, still in front of the sinks, stiff as a post, his eyes fixed on a distant point in the room. He felt as if a black hole was slowly sucking him in. His brain refused to obey any command, no matter how simple, like, for example, to start moving his legs towards the door and get out. He simply couldn't. He felt as if he had swallowed a Bludger, judging by the weight that was lodged in his stomach. He didn't want to think, because that meant finding answers to what had happened; but that was the only thing he could do standing there in the silence: think.
He felt psychically strange, as if he were occupying someone else's body. He was surprised and disgusted at himself, at his reaction when Granger innocently provoked the closeness of their bodies. He should have turned away from her undisguisedly, turned his back on her, or even insulted her; but he hadn't. He felt he had done the exact opposite. And that made him feel disappointed in himself. Bewildered. Dirty. Disbelieving.
"Hey, man," one of the twins called out to him. Draco used all his willpower to turn his neck and fix his gaze on him. He was looking over his shoulder as he urinated in one of the toilets, "What's that green shit you and your friend have on yourselves?"
The anger at himself that bubbled in Draco's chest seemed to reach boiling point. He felt the blood rush to his face in less than a second. His fingers twitched and he firmly considered ripping off the tap and throwing it at the gossiping Hufflepuff.
The only thing profitable about his sudden, inexplicable outburst of rage was that it gave him the will to turn his back on the twins, reach the door in two strides, and slam it behind him so hard that he managed to extinguish a couple of the torches that lit the bathroom.
"... and my mum gave me the jumper and socks I get every year," Ron finished resignedly, putting the aforementioned maroon socks back in his trunk, along with the rest of his Christmas presents.
"You can never have enough socks," Harry joked while sitting on his bed, examining the new dragon-skin wallet Hermione had given him, and putting some of the Galleons he had on hand in it. "Especially after having used several of them to catch the garden gnomes..."
"He's right. It's the most useful thing she could have given you," Hermione admitted with a laugh, as she read the back cover of a book on ancient magical monuments that Ron had bought her. She was sitting on the floor in her pyjamas at the foot of his bed. "I love my jumper, by the way. I wrote to your mum thanking her for it, but tell her for me," she added, lifting her face to look at Ron affectionately. "I had a little accident and it got dirty," she admitted, looking away helplessly. "But I'm in the process of cleaning it up."
"Sure, I'll tell her," his friend assured, picking up a few Licorice Snap from his bedside table and popping one into his mouth. "She really liked the jacket you bought her. She cried with emotion."
"I like the necklace your mum gave you," Harry commented, smiling at the delicate silver chain that glittered above Hermione's pyjamas. "Well, I like it for you, obviously. I wouldn't wear it, I don't like wearing jewellery," he joked.
"Don't pretend. I can lend it to you anytime," Hermione said, amused, giggling. Her friend mimicked her. Her smile faltered slightly as she added, "So it's been a quiet holiday, then?"
"Very much. Very relaxing. We even did the homework," Ron said, puffing out his chest proudly.
Harry laughed, but Hermione barely forced a smile before she added, still looking uneasy:
"Then, Harry," said she, hesitatingly, "tell me, did you not hear that mysterious voice calling you again, when you were at The Burrow? I would have asked you by letter, but it did not seem safe."
The dark-haired boy let out a sigh, becoming serious as well. Ron took another Licorice Snap and popped it in his mouth, staring at his friend as he replied.
"No, I haven't heard the voice all week. It's been strangely reassuring," he scratched his head, and pushed his round glasses properly onto the bridge of his nose.
"That's right, you haven't complained about it all week," Ron corroborated, perked up, once he'd swallowed the jelly bean.
"That's strange," Hermione admitted, musingly. "Or maybe not so much. If you only hear it at Hogwarts... it might have some sort of connection to the castle. It's an interesting clue."
"But a very weak one," Harry replied, shrugging his shoulders heavily. "If he doesn't communicate with me, let alone say anything other than my name, there's little we can find out. There are no leads to follow."
"I suppose," Hermione admitted, looking frustrated and still thoughtful. "But we need to keep an eye out. Let us know if he communicates again. Tell us where he does it, where in the castle, for how long, and how often. It may be important."
"He'll keep a diary with him at all times to keep track of it, I'll personally take care of it," Ron interjected, in a feignedly soothing and stern tone, speaking for Harry as if he were his father. Harry couldn't help but laugh. Ron recovered his amused tone to add, "Well, we've told you all the news. Now you know that the voices in Harry's head are asleep, and you know exactly how to kill a plague of garden gnomes," he remarked, lying face down on his bed. She looked at him with amused reproach, "Now you tell us, how did you and Neville get on with Draco I think of myself as royalty Malfoy?"
"With whom?" girl asked automatically, even though she understood him. "Ah, reasonably well, actually," she assured him, looking back down at the book she was holding in her hands.
"Have you had much trouble with him?" Harry asked, frowning. "You said in the letters that everything was fine, but well... If you tell me in person, I'll be more reassured."
"No, there's been no problem... The usual, I suppose..."
There was silence in the room. Harry and Ron stared at their friend, waiting for her to continue talking, but she stared at the book without another word, noticing how the blush rose to her face without any possible control. Not a fly could be heard.
"And…?" Ron asked suddenly, as if it were the most obvious thing in the world.
"And, what?" Hermione asked innocently, pretending not to understand.
"What do you mean 'and, what'? You and Neville spent Christmas almost alone with the world's most arrogant prat, Hermione," Ron was surprised. "Do you expect us to believe that he didn't do anything to you?"
"There really hasn't been much difference to how he normally is," Hermione replied, realising that she was speaking a little louder and higher pitched than usual but unable to help it. "I told you in my letters. We haven't even seen much of each other. Only in the Great Hall at mealtimes. What else do you want me to tell you? Do you think we've talked about anything? Please!" At this point, the girl was forced to look away, afraid of giving herself away with it. "We have so many things and hobbies in common to talk about..." the girl quipped, laughing shrilly. "Like, for example, our hobby of chasing and torturing Mudbloods on weekends…"
"Don't say that word," Ron growled, annoyed.
"Yeah, I know what you mean, but I don't know, I guess we were having trouble believing it," Harry insisted, hesitantly.
"Harry, I'm not going to bore you with all the details of our petty squabbles now," Hermione replied, measuring her words carefully. "It's Malfoy, you know what he's like. We mustn't listen to him. I told you in my letters: nothing worth mentioning has happened, really."
"Okay, okay, you're in charge," Ron resigned with a shrug, and ate a Bertie Bott's bean from the box on his bedside table, next to the Licorice Snaps. "I'm glad it turned out that way... What a surprise. Harry and I were convinced that he'd be a complete and utter bastard, taking advantage of the fact that there weren't many people here..." He settled back on the bed and added, "We were glad to hear about your Ancient Runes teacher coming back. Then she'll put Malfoy in his place and you'll be free of his nonsense altogether," he looked at his friend with a cheerful look, "You'll be happy, huh?"
Hermione gave a somewhat forced smile, indicating that she was, and got up to go over to the window to look at the weather, though it was just an excuse not to keep looking at her friends. They continued chatting about other subjects, something about Quidditch that the young girl didn't understand or pay much attention to. The sky was a dreary leaden grey, threatening rain, or perhaps snow. It was still very cold. Hermione closed her eyes and folded her arms. She felt frustrated for no obvious reason. And uneasy. She hadn't looked at Malfoy once in days, not since what had happened in the first floor bathroom. She felt like the situation was starting to get out of hand.
What happened in the bathroom...
She couldn't understand it. She couldn't quite understand Malfoy's behaviour, no matter how hard she tried to analyse it in her mind. It hadn't been rational. He hadn't been coherent. He hadn't behaved the way he had behaved for as long as she'd known him. The way he'd looked at her when she was cleaning his shirt... She'd seen something in his eyes. Something that wasn't hatred, or disgust. And, realising that it wasn't, she hadn't been able to identify it. It looked like... confusion. And, for some reason, Hermione was afraid of it. More afraid than when he was looking at her with contempt.
Realising that the girl was looking at him too, he hadn't even flinched. He had said nothing. They had stood looking into each other's eyes, not moving, not speaking. Why? Why had they suddenly behaved so differently from how they usually did? How could they have remained like that for seconds at a time? Silently, looking into each other's eyes, as if they could, as if they didn't have to be afraid in each other's company, as if they didn't hate each other, as if...
What would have happened if the Hufflepuff twins had never come in?
She hugged herself tighter. She didn't quite understand what had happened, she didn't understand their reactions or Malfoy's, but she didn't feel able to dwell on it any longer. She began to dread the possible answers that were jostling their way into her mind. Nothing had happened. She had to let it go. As she stared unseeing at the small droplets beginning to splatter on the windowpane, she couldn't help but feel apprehensive about tomorrow, when classes would begin again, and Slytherin and Gryffindor would attend their first class after the holidays.
Defence Against the Dark Arts.
"Does Montague really want to practice in this weather?" Blaise Zabini was surprised as he, Crabbe and Goyle walked up the wide staircase to the third floor, on their way to their first class in the morning, Defence Against the Dark Arts. "But it's snowing! You'll have to play on sledges rather than broomsticks..."
"And then you say that I'm the pessimist," Draco's voice suddenly wailed at the bottom of the stairs. He was taking the steps two at a time with his thankfully long legs, trying to catch up with them. "The first practice is this Friday, so it's possible that the weather will be better by then."
"I don't think so," Zabini opined, waiting with the others at the top of the steps to meet him. "Where are you coming from? You didn't come for breakfast," he asked when Draco reached them, seeing him looking a little hot and out of breath.
"I overslept," he replied half-heartedly, as they walked on. "Thanks for not waking me, by the way."
"You're always the last to get up, that's why we left you there. We thought you'd be up later," Crabbe replied with a shrug.
Draco shook his head heavily, resigned to the lack of attention from those two gorillas. He'd slept so badly that night, he'd had such a hard time getting any sleep at all. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about Granger for hours, and how he would behave in front of her when he saw her. He hadn't seen her anywhere for several days, not since the awkward moment in the first floor bathroom, but he was sure that they would meet in class. Granger had never, as far as he could remember, missed a single class. He wasn't sure what to do. Whether he should look at her with disdain, whether he should ignore her, whether he should start a fight with some insult to assure her that everything was as before and nothing had changed between them... If that needed to be assured. Was there any doubt about it? Draco was in a bad mood just thinking about it. Of course there wasn't. Nothing had happened.
In the end, despite much thought, he came to no conclusion that convinced him one hundred per cent, and he ended up falling asleep. That morning, as he hurriedly got dressed, he decided that the matter was not so serious, and that he was being stupid to make a big deal out of it. He was going to watch the situation carefully, but do nothing. Let Granger make the first move.
Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini and Malfoy were the first students from their House to arrive at the door of the Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Most of the Gryffindor students were already there, waiting in the corridor for the bell to ring.
As they walked among the lions, Draco spotted a thick brown hair, which he quickly identified, facing him. He also saw Potter and Weasley standing next to her, both with their backs to him, facing the girl. As if she felt his gaze on her, Hermione turned her eyes and locked them on his. Despite the distance, the boy was able to notice her inhale sharply, then look away with a haughty frown. A scornful grimace blurred Draco's lips. What an arrogant woman. Such a reaction was to be expected from her. At that moment, all his worries seemed ridiculous. Everything was the same as it had always been. As was only logical.
As Draco and his men immediately passed in front of the Potter group, they heard Ron's voice distinctly, saying, "These socks my mum made me itch like hell," the boy complained, shaking his feet inside his shoes. "I don't know why..."
"Maybe because you don't have enough money to buy wool," Draco said too loudly, grinning mischievously. Ron turned around instantly, murdering the blond with his eyes. Harry looked at him defensively as well, but put a hand on his friend's shoulder to restrain him. Hermione's eyes fell on him again. "All bets are on, people. I say they're made of red ants..." he added, glancing at the rest of the people in the corridor, who were now giving them their undivided attention.
His peers burst out laughing. The Gryffindors looked angry, though no one intervened. Ron was bright red, and he was shaking with anger as he looked at Draco as if he wanted more than anything in the world to cut him into tiny little pieces.
"Didn't your parents teach you any manners? Don't listen to other people's conversations, Malfoy. Mind your own business," Harry snapped, cutting him off, holding an irate Ron by the robe to stop him from lunging at the blond.
"Here comes the Gryffindor cavalry," sneered Malfoy, rolling his eyes. "What's wrong, doesn't Weasley know how to defend himself? As far as I know, although his parents didn't give him enough to eat, they did give him a mouth, didn't they?"
"DON'T MESS WITH MY FAMILY!" Ron shouted, putting a hand to his robes, and pulling out his wand.
Everyone in the corridor gasped, except for Malfoy's cronies, who laughed loudly again. Draco arched his eyebrows in amusement and drew his wand in a lazy motion as well.
"Ron, Harry, stop it," Hermione hastened to whisper, taking a step towards them. Her heart was hammering hard against her ribs. "Don't listen to him... He's just trying to provoke you."
"At least he has friends to defend him," Harry countered, ignoring Hermione and holding Ron's wrist so he wouldn't attack. "You don't have that. You only have bodyguards to lick your arse."
"Some of us know how to defend ourselves," Draco replied in a falsely sweet voice, extending both arms as if daring him to attack him. "C'mon, Weasley, prove that you've got what it takes..."
Ron, with an angry grimace contorting his features, raised his wand and pointed it directly at Draco's face. Draco raised his wand as well, smirking maliciously. They both stared at each other. There was the distant sound of the bell announcing the start of classes.
"Stop it, both of you, that's enough!" Hermione exclaimed, tugging unsuccessfully at Ron's robes. She turned her face towards Draco, red with indignation, "Malfoy, stop it, don't you dare cast a spell on him!"
It happened in the space of a heartbeat. Malfoy's eyes rolled slightly to the right, as if by inertia at the sound of his name, and met Hermione's anguished, raging brown orbs. Glowing like two bonfires. The scene came to a standstill in Draco's eyes. The boy's mischievous grin faltered imperceptibly, as did the hand with which he held his wand.
"DEPULSO!"
Ron's shouted spell hit the blond in the middle of his chest, and he was thrown backwards amidst the screaming of the other students. Draco's back collided with Crabbe, who acted as a wall and managed to stop and hold him.
Hermione inhaled, startled, and almost felt the corridor go upside down. Her eyes widened wildly. She was tempted to back away.
"Malfoy didn't attack. He could have hexed Ron. But he stopped... because I asked him to?" she wondered in her mind, puzzled.
"Draco!" a voice at the head of the corridor called out. Nott had just arrived, alone — but followed several feet behind by the rest of the Slytherin students — and he was almost running towards them at the sight of the grisly scene.
Malfoy straightened up panting, his blond hair disheveled, and raised his wand, pointing it directly at Ron, ready to strike back. He looked genuinely furious and embarrassed. Harry raised his as well, determined to defend his friend no matter what, amidst equal parts shouts and jeers from his classmates, lions and snakes respectively.
"ENOUGH!" a loud voice shouted, immediately silencing everyone.
Everyone's faces turned to see that the classroom door had opened and Severus Snape's sallow face stood in the doorway. The Professor took a couple of steps forward, billowing his long robes, and stopped in front of those causing the commotion.
"Put down your wands immediately and explain to me what is going on here," he demanded in a tone that brooked no reply.
Harry and Ron opened their mouths instantly, ready to explain, but Snape pointed a long yellow finger at Draco.
"Explain."
"Weasley attacked me, sir," Draco mumbled, finally pushing his blond fringes out of his eyes.
"You insulted him first!" Seamus Finnigan exclaimed, nobly.
"Five points from Gryffindor for speaking when not asked, Mr. Finnigan," Snape snapped, silencing the young man. "And another ten from Gryffindor, Mr. Weasley, for attacking a classmate."
Ron's mouth opened wide.
"But I —"
"Would you prefer twenty? Everyone in," Snape said in his gravelly voice, gesturing to the classroom door with a nod of his head.
The students began to walk slowly towards the classroom once the fight was over. Ron grimaced angrily, and then looked at Harry and Hermione, looking apologetic. Hermione looked back at him helplessly. Harry sighed and shrugged his shoulders in resignation at Snape's obvious predilection, then preceded his friends to the door. Malfoy entered immediately in front of them, and turned his face to give them a mocking half-smirk. Though Hermione didn't miss the detail as his grey eyes focused on Harry and Ron and he averted his gaze from her.
She didn't know how to interpret this gesture. Everything was happening too fast. She couldn't think straight.
When all the students were inside, Snape slammed the door shut. They all sat down in their usual places and arranged their things, amidst total silence. The scuffle at the classroom door still hung in the air.
"Open your books to page two hundred and six," Snape ordered, as he walked to the front of the class with silent steps. "Now."
The students hurried to obey, as they were pierced by their teacher's jet-black gaze. When silence returned and the sound of the last page being turned was no longer audible, Snape continued speaking:
"Take out everything you need to write and copy this introduction to the psychology of duel," Snape demanded, barely flicking his wand and causing the words to appear written on the board. "Then you will copy the theoretical approach. You have one minute."
Hermione was the first in the class to start copying the introduction, and the first to finish. As she did so, she looked up and glanced slyly towards the row of tables on the right, careful not to let Ron, who was writing next to her looking listless, notice. Her gaze focused on Malfoy, sitting next to Zabini, writing without any enthusiasm, looking serious and calm. The girl remained like that for several seconds, just staring at him, not thinking about anything. Realising that there was no reason to be watching him, she lowered her eyes back to her parchment, feeling slightly guilty that she was paying the slightest bit of attention to the stupid boy who had just minutes before insulted her friends. But she felt she had a good reason to keep an eye on him.
Why had Malfoy hesitated when she had asked him to? Why hadn't he attacked Ron? What was going on?
"Professor Binns has told me that your behaviour has been excellent, so I have nothing to reproach you for, except to apologise for my absence during these weeks," said old Professor Bathsheba Babbling, in her slow voice, standing behind her desk, facing her students. "If you have continued with the syllabus I left you with, it won't take long to get back into the rhythm of the class. I will briefly review the last point of the subject we covered: the Elder Futhark. Does anyone remember what the meaning of the Dagaz rune was?"
Several hands went up, but, for once, Hermione's was not one of them. She knew the answer, but, for once, she didn't feel like answering. She was so happy that she couldn't stop smiling. All the students were properly seated, books open, hands raised... and at that moment she thought it was the most beautiful image on the planet. Still, even if the Ancient Runes teacher hadn't noticed, it was perfectly obvious to her how half of the students had expressions of sadness and disappointment on their faces, clearly deflated to see that they were once again using these classes to study instead of having a good time.
"Now that the professor is back, it's all sorted out. We're back to normal," Hermione thought, satisfied and happy. "It's all over, at last."
Something gave her a noticeable tap on her calf, sneaking through her robes. Startled, she looked down discreetly and reached out a hand in that direction. She touched the area, and felt something thin and delicate play with her hand, tickling her. She raised her hand again to place it on the table. A small piece of paper, folded like a magically flying phoenix, fluttered a little more in his palm before automatically spreading out, regaining the smooth shape of a piece of parchment, and revealing a few words on its surface. The writing was small and cramped, and somewhat difficult to read.
In the end, it seems that the problems of this class have been solved. Thank you for trying to stop Draco, and for standing up to him.
I apologise for not having been able to help you too much, my situation did not allow it. You have shown me that I can trust you, and I would like you to trust me, if you ever need it.
Thanks again.
Hermione had to read it several times. Although it was unsigned, there was no doubt in her mind who had written it. A faint, grateful smile came to her lips. Theodore Nott seemed, against all odds, a good person. At least, a person with more scruples and common sense than Malfoy, despite being his friend.
She turned her face over her shoulder and looked at Draco. He was sitting next to Nott in the back row, and while his dark-haired friend was writing down the answer one of the students had given to the teacher's question, Draco was staring out of the window, distracted, not showing the slightest interest in the class. Hermione felt a slight uneasiness inside her, like an inexplicable nervousness that twisted her gut.
Even though things in Ancient Runes had seemingly settled, she still felt uneasy.