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CHAPTER 12
Firewhisky
"Is it 'Aguamenti' or 'Aquamenti'?" Ron asked aloud, after staring at his parchment for several seconds. He was rubbing his hair with his quill. "I wrote it with a 'g', but now it sounds strange..."
"Aguamenti," Hermione replied immediately, still writing with astonishing speed, sitting in the next chair. Her parchment, dangling from the edge of the armrest of her chair, was already reaching the floor.
"Thanks," Ron hurried to write it down, relieved. "Finally..."
He looked up from his writing, proud of the result, and looked at his friend with a smile. The smile faltered instantly when he saw the difference in length between the two scrolls. He watched the girl write without pause for a brief moment and then looked back down at his own work. He looked up a second time to look at her.
"Hermione…" he called softly.
"Hmm?" Hermione replied, not lifting her nose from the book on her lap that she was consulting.
"Can you remind me what Charms homework we're doing?"
"Explain in detail at least five charms related to the elements," Hermione recited in a monotone voice.
"Yeah," Ron agreed, looking back at his parchment again and then back at hers. "So, can you explain to me why my parchment —" he glanced quickly at Harry's writing, in the next armchair, "— and Harry's, are half as long as yours? What on earth are you writing?"
"Five charms related to the elements," Hermione repeated, not caring and not neglecting her task.
"I don't think so! I see at least eight written there," replied the boy, after a quick cursory glance at her parchment.
"There's your answer to why my scroll is longer," she said sarcastically. "Professor Flitwick said at least five. I'm not hurting anyone if I want to do eight."
"You're hurting us," Ron growled, looking away from her parchment and leaning back in his chair. "First he'll read your essay and think, 'Whoa, Granger has worked hard,' and then he'll read mine and say, 'Weasley should stick to feeding the Giant Squid'. You make us look bad. You're selfish."
"I am selfish?" Hermione repeated, with a laugh. "No one's stopping you from doing eight, too."
"Ron, don't try to dissuade Hermione from trying as hard as she can," Ginny interjected impatiently, sitting in front of the glowing fireplace, fiddling with Crookshanks and Arnold, her Pygmy Puff. She had already finished all her homework. "You won't make it."
"Uh-huh," Harry agreed simply, too used to his friends' petty arguments to make a big deal of them.
The red-haired boy snorted through his nose and looked down at his parchment, worthy of his pride a few minutes ago, dejectedly. It now looked like a piece of rubbish to him.
A duo of high-pitched giggles reached the ears of the boys, who looked up instinctively. All except Hermione, who was not so easily distracted from her duties. Crookshanks made a dangerous attempt to chase Arnold, who fled in terror and ducked under one of the armchairs, the one Harry was occupying. Ginny came to his aid.
Parvati and Lavender, firmly arm in arm and whispering things under their breath, had just descended the stairs to the dormitories and were undoubtedly coming straight for them.
"Here come the fowls," Ginny wailed in a whisper, still crouched low on the couch, looking for Arnold. Harry covered his face with the parchment so that he wouldn't be seen laughing.
"Hi, Hermione!" Parvati and Lavender exclaimed at the same time, with more joviality than the phrase required, as soon as they reached them. They had deliberately ignored the others.
She raised her head from her essay, looking somewhat disoriented at having been torn from her duties, and looked at them in genuine bewilderment.
"Hi…" she said slowly, suspiciously.
The girls giggled again, looking at each other knowingly. Hermione seriously wondered if she had grown donkey ears or something similar during the hours she hadn't looked in a mirror, because it wasn't normal for that pair of girls to look at her and giggle so happily.
"How are you?" Lavender asked, sweetly. Parvati giggled again.
"Er — fine?" Hermione replied, with very little conviction. At least she had been until they'd shown up.
"Yeah, yeah, we know you're fine," Parvati confirmed, grinning from ear to ear. "You have been keeping it to yourself, huh?! No wonder, though, it's understandable..."
"Is it?" Hermione replied, blinking. "What, exactly?"
They laughed again, conspiratorially. Hermione was beginning to grow impatient. And her friends' faces radiated the same feeling.
"Why didn't you tell us you had a boyfriend before, you naughty girl?" Lavender protested, pouting. They both laughed again for the umpteenth time. Hermione frowned and blinked, totally taken aback by that statement. Boyfriend? She? She? Were they serious? "Although, honestly, you could have chosen something else, girl. There are very decent ones in the castle, you could aim for something... at least a little better. And not Slytherin, woman!"
Her heart lurched. She felt herself turn pale. A Slytherin... Immediately, a more than familiar face popped into her mind. And Draco Malfoy sneered at her from the inside of her head, smiling cynically...
She had to restrain herself from closing her eyes in frustration and smacking her head. She felt hatred towards herself.
Why precisely had his face come to her mind? He wasn't the only Slytherin she knew, for heaven's sake...
A loud laugh brought her, thankfully, out of her stupor. She shuddered and, returning to the earthly world, searched with her eyes for the source of the laughter, to discover Ginny laughing her head off from the floor. Harry, sitting across from her, seemed to hesitate between joining in Ginny's laughter or just staring at them in confusion. And Ron, next to her, had red ears and didn't seem to find it at all amusing.
"But what are you two talking about?" Ginny scoffed, as soon as she managed to catch her breath and articulate, looking at Parvati and Lavender. They looked at her as if they had just noticed her. "Why are you two making up nonsense?"
They both exchanged a superior look, as if they knew something of the utmost importance that their listeners were unaware of, and looked back at the redhead with tender condescension.
"For your information, Weasley, we ran into Theodore Nott a little while ago… You know who he is, don't you? That lanky, rabbit-faced Slytherin boy who spends his life lonelier than a Hippogriff, and tends —"
"Merlin's beard, save the bibliographical facts and get to the point, Lavender," Ginny pleaded, exasperated at the high degree of gossip emanating from the young woman.
"Well, that's just it," the girl picked up the thread, annoyed by the interruption. "We met this Nott guy on the Marble Staircase, and he's asked us to tell Hermione, if we see her, if she can return the New Theory of Numerology book he lent her, because he needs it to do some work."
"Aha. And?" Hermione asked, making a mental to-do list to return the book, still looking at the girls in confusion.
"That's it," Parvati resolved, smiling. "How long have you two been together?"
Hermione blinked twice. Just two.
"Are you trying to tell me that just because a boy lent me a book, we're a couple?" Hermione repeated, trying to make sure she got the idea right.
"No, woman, no," Lavender replied, and they laughed again. "It's not just because of that," she added, pretending to get excited. "You've been seen leaving Arithmancy class many times with him, talking very animatedly... It's suspicious, don't you think?"
No, of course she didn't think so. Hermione snorted through her nose, sceptical. How could they be so utterly childish? Talking very animatedly… they must be referring to the conversations they'd had in an attempt to stop Malfoy, weeks ago. The time Nott had offered to retrieve her wand, and the time she'd asked him about Malfoy's weakness… Other than those rare occasions, she hadn't spoken to Nott much. Maybe they had exchanged a few kind words at the end of a class or two, but little else. And despite that, people were already starting to gossip. It was ridiculous.
"We're offended that you kept it from us, Hermione, we thought we were friends," Lavender continued, pretending to be insulted. "We sleep in the same room, or not? But we really understand you, honey. It is frowned upon for a Gryffindor to hang out with a Slytherin. People talk, you know? And not very nice things. So, if I were you, I'd reconsider going out with someone like that Nott... Besides, he's a really vulgar boy, it's not worth people talking bad about you for hanging out with someone like him, do you think? That's our advice as friends, of course."
Hermione felt her chest burn. She was so angry that she didn't know how to respond. How could they be so facile? And how long had they been 'friends'? They shared a dormitory and got along well. That was it. That wasn't friendship.
"Are you dating that guy?" asked an angry voice to her left.
Hermione turned her face abruptly and met Ron's blue eyes, narrowed and glinting distrustfully.
"Of course not!" the girl exclaimed, offended, recovering her voice. "How can you think that I'm dating someone behind your backs?"
"Then why have you kept it a secret from us that you're talking to him? Since when have you been talking to him?" he insisted, still grimacing with suspicion.
"Oh, for God's sake! I didn't think it was relevant," Hermione protested, her cheeks burning with indignation. "Nott goes to Arithmancy class with me, we've realised that we can have a cordial relationship —" As a result of trying to stop Malfoy together, "—and he left me a book that I needed, full stop. I don't think that's strange at all!"
"But how can you even talk to him?" Ron insisted, his ears flushing. "He's a Slytherin! And he's a friend of Malfoy's, what are you thinking?"
"And what does that matter?" she spat, furious. "He's a nice boy, and —"
"I'm sure it's some ploy of Malfoy's," Ron continued, as if he'd just seen the light. "I'm sure he's using Nott to get close to you and do something to you later. And you've fallen for it."
Hermione snorted, deeply indignant. She was beginning to feel very hot, and her hands were shaking. She couldn't believe her ears.
"How can you have that mentality? Can't he just appreciate my company? If he wants to be near me, is it so he can plan something behind my back and then cruelly betray me? Can't he just appreciate me?"
"Oh, come on, of course not," Ron spat, upset. "He's a fucking Slytherin. And you are a Muggle-born. If he suddenly wants your 'friendship' now, it's with some hidden agenda. And that's assuming he doesn't want something more..."
"But do you really think I'd end up dating the first person who comes up to talk to me, apart from you? Do you really think I have such poor judgement?" Hermione snapped, offended. "He's just a nice guy. And that's it. I don't care if he is a Slytherin —"
"Well, I do, and so does Harry!" shouted Ron.
"Hey, don't pass the buck to me," protested Harry, intervening after he had been listening to the conversation with a frown on his face.
"Do you also think that Nott is only being nice on Malfoy's orders?" Hermione wanted to know immediately, glaring at him fiercely. "Or that I'm sneaking around with him?"
Harry shifted in his seat, uncomfortable at the look on her face.
"It wouldn't be the first thing I would have thought of, Hermione. But I have to admit, I find it odd that a Slytherin would want to be friends with you, just like that. And — I don't know — I'm surprised that you trusted him at first and never told us about your friendship with him..."
"I don't think Hermione has to tell us all the time who she hangs out with," interjected an angry Ginny. She wasn't laughing anymore, and looked apparently annoyed by what she was hearing. "We don't own her. She can do whatever she wants with whomever she wants."
"I didn't say otherwise," Harry replied, blushing. "I'm just saying that, if she'd ever told us about him, we might have done a little digging to find out his intentions." Ginny snorted in disbelief, rolling her eyes. "Just to reassure us... Because I reckon it's strange, being a Slytherin —"
"Again!" Hermione snapped, leaping to her feet. The book on her lap fell to the carpet with a thud. "There you go again, you hypocrites! You complain about Ma-Malfoy's bigotry, but you're the same!" the young woman's voice broke off as she spoke his name, though only she was aware of it. The rest of them thought she was stammering with anger. "You judge people by the House they're in! You can't handle the fact that someone you don't even know wants to be friends with me! You are a — an immature — !"
She fell silent, glaring fiercely at them, her breath quickening and her fists clenched. Her eyes began to water rapidly. She turned away from her friends and covered her mouth with one hand, trying to contain the trembling of her jaw. She raised her head and blinked rapidly to hold back tears.
"Hermione…" Ginny's voice called softly behind her, though she ignored it.
Breathing heavily and deeply, Hermione faced them again and bent down to pick up her bag, to start stuffing all her books into it.
"What are you doing?" Ginny asked quickly, sitting up until she was on her knees on the floor. She scrutinised her friend's face intently, with concern. "Listen, don't go off like that, let's talk about this —"
"I'm going to the Library," Hermione replied, her voice hoarse but determined. "I don't want to listen to you anymore. At least no one will call me a traitor there. Or accuse me of 'fraternizing with the enemy', as happened with Viktor Krum. Or will you deny that's what you're thinking?"
"I —" began Harry, hesitantly. Ron just stared at her, his lips twitching in annoyance, and said nothing.
"Leave it, Harry, it doesn't matter," she cut him off.
Hermione slung her bag over her shoulder and scooped up the rest of the books, inkwell, quill and essay she still had on her chair. Once she had done so, she turned and strode across the thankfully almost deserted Common Room, and out the portrait hole like a gale. The few students who were there watched her pass with a truly uncomfortable curiosity and stare.
When she had gone, the people still standing around the fireplace looked at each other.
"Hooray, Ron," Ginny muttered angrily, grabbing a flustered Arnold, who had taken advantage of the silence to come out of his hiding place. "Just when it seems like you can't get any more of a prat, you go and outdo yourself."
"Oh, so now it's my fault?" the boy defended himself, furious.
"No, you're right about that," Ginny admitted, turning her head to glare at Parvati and Lavender, who had been watching the whole fight with their mouths hanging open. "Are you satisfied with what you've done?"
Parvati shook her head imperceptibly, staring at the carpet uncomfortably. Lavender, for her part, shrugged and pursed her lips in a mock embarrassed pout.
Damn Lavender, damn Parvati, damn Ron… Damn them all!
Hermione wasn't even aware of where in the castle she was walking. She had told her friends she was going to the Library, but it had just been a lame excuse. She had no fixed destination. She had gone up and down so many steps that she had lost count. All she wanted to do was walk and walk until she forgot everything that had happened. Or until the pain in her flank dulled the tightness in her chest.
Her thick hair partially hid her face, falling to either side, preventing her from seeing clearly where she was walking. But it also hid her from the prying eyes of everyone she passed. A couple of treacherous tears had overcome her self-control and were slowly slipping down her cheeks, but she found herself unable to wipe them away due to the sheer number of utensils in her hands.
How could they have doubted her — was there really so little trust in their friendship that they even questioned that she was dating a person behind their backs? Of course she hadn't explained anything, but what did she have to explain? She and Theodore Nott were classmates, and it could be said that they had begun to have a cordial relationship as a result of having the common goal of stopping Malfoy... And now she felt that they had tainted that friendship with their accusation, that they had sullied it. Why on earth couldn't Nott simply want a friendship, and did he have to have a hidden agenda behind it?
She walked up a narrow flight of stairs and reached the fourth floor, crowded with students. She recognised it because she could clearly make out the double doors leading to the Library. It seemed like a joke of fate. She walked through it with quick steps. She could lock herself in the Library, just as she had said she would. There at least she would find the peace and quiet she needed. She always found it there.
As she walked, a lighter colour, a pale blonde colour, caught her eye in the crowd of black-robed students. Her heart skipped a beat. She almost stopped. It couldn't be...
But no. Merlin.
She was a young blonde, with long hair pulled back in a high ponytail. For an instant she had thought that... But no, her mind had played a trick on her. Malfoy was present in her subconscious because of the fight with her friends, because he was Nott's friend, because he was also a Slytherin, because he was the first person that came to her mind when she was accused of dating a Slytherin...
But she couldn't be so unlucky to run into Malfoy in that state, almost on the verge of tears. She was already becoming paranoid. Okay, yes, she was running into Malfoy everywhere lately... But that didn't mean her bad luck applied to every situation. Of course, it was Thursday afternoon, and many students took the opportunity to go to the Library that day to catch up on work and be more free for the weekend. Would Malfoy be one of those who had decided to do so? She knew that, to her own surprise, the boy frequented the Library, as — ever since she had become more aware of his presence — she had seen him on a few occasions from afar, usually in the company of Nott or Zabini. Apparently, even though he often skipped class, he did bother to do the homework that was required.
Well, other times she'd seen him there, but they hadn't exchanged a glance. And that didn't have to change. She'd go into the Library and go to a corner, to calm down. On her own.
When she was several feet from reaching the doors, a new ash-yellow reflection caught her gaze.
Wait a minute...
This time she stopped her steps abruptly
It couldn't be true. It was him.
Draco Malfoy's striking platinum blond hair, along with the rest of his tall, slim figure, was currently emerging through the Library's double doors, bag slung over his shoulder, and a self-absorbed air.
No. Absolutely not.
The young woman turned around as if by reflex, without hesitation. She felt her breathing quicken. She had no intention of letting Malfoy see her in this state, covered in tears, dishevelled and with her hands full of study utensils. She didn't intend to make it so easy for his cruel humour. She would not put up with his insults.
She had to find another place of refuge, at least for a little while. She didn't plan to cross paths with Malfoy to get into the Library, it was too risky. She started walking, retracing her steps. She could go around the corridor and...
No more than three strides in, a blurry figure rushed at her from the corridor to her right, producing a strange, unnatural tinkling sound as it collided with her.
The figure caused Hermione to lose her balance, tangle with her feet and fall flat on her face. All the things in her arms scattered to the floor around her, including the ink bottle, which broke, spilling its contents all over her books and essays, and also a... broken bottle?
"Oh — Hic! — excuse me, young man!" exclaimed an ethereal, slightly hoarse voice in an instant. Hermione looked up, dazed, and found herself face to face with Professor Trelawney, who had fallen on top of her and was now struggling to get to her feet and remove the shawls covering her head.
"Professor — ?" Hermione was astonished, her voice a little shaky. Her elbows and chest ached, the parts of her body that had cushioned her fall. A couple of students Hermione didn't know, a Hufflepuff boy and a Ravenclaw girl, came over and pulled the teacher to her feet. They seemed to think that Hermione was well enough to stand up on her own, unlike the inebriated teacher. Other people around them stopped walking but did not approach, merely contemplating the situation.
"I was in a hurry, and — Hic! — I wasn't looking where I was going —" Trelawney argued, staggering and staring, with her large eyes magnified behind thick glasses, at a point thirty centimetres from Hermione's face. "I'm going to see Doble — Hic! — dore — I mean Dable — the Headmaster! — Hic! — And I'm in a hurry — Hey you, young lady!" she suddenly yelled at someone behind Hermione. "Help this young man — Hic! — to pick up his things! I must — go —"
The woman turned around jauntily, almost slipping as she stepped on one of her long necklaces, and walked off down the corridor with an unsteady gait. The students who had helped her to her feet watched her go, not quite knowing what to do with her in her condition. The rest soon moved on, commenting on what had happened. It was rare to see the teacher wandering the corridors, as she rarely left her tower. All the students knew that their Divination teacher had had unresolved problems with alcohol ever since Professor Umbridge had tried to fire her a couple of years ago. And, although she had kept her job when Umbridge left, she still seemed to take refuge in drink on rare occasions. Hermione wondered vaguely what had happened to her teacher to make her succumb to alcohol, and what she was going to tell Dumbledore.
But she didn't have long to think about it.
"Hey, I'm not a woman!" exclaimed a voice, indeed male, and also indignant, behind Hermione, snapping her out of her thoughts.
Hermione, still lying on the floor, surrounded by her utensils, was startled.
"That voice..." said a small voice in the girl's mind.
She made to turn her head, but there was no need, for the owner of the voice had positioned himself in front of her, standing as tall as he was. Hermione glanced from expensive, shiny black shoes, to trousers of the same colour and cost, to a white shirt with a sleeveless grey jumper covering it, to a green and silver tie, perfectly unknotted, and an open black robe covering the whole outfit. And, finishing the tour of the Slytherin House uniform, Draco Malfoy's face glared disdainfully down at her from his imposing height.
"Merlin, why me?" she thought, barely holding back a desperate groan.
"Fuck, what a stench of alcohol," Malfoy muttered, wrinkling his nose and looking at the girl's personal belongings, on which the half-empty bottle of whisky the teacher was carrying had been spilled. "Just what your things were missing, Granger. Muggle smell, and alcohol."
Hermione closed her eyes for a moment.
"Maybe, by the time I count to three, he'll be gone… One, two… Nope," she wailed in her mind, depressed.
The Hufflepuff boy and the Ravenclaw girl looked at Malfoy with slight suspicion. They didn't seem to know who he was, they were from some year below him. Despite hearing his words to the girl, they seemed to consider that, seeing that he was coming over to talk to her after Trelawney's order, he must know her, and she was in good hands, so they just walked away discreetly.
"Shut up, Malfoy," Hermione replied, her tone of voice firm, though not half as strong as the one she had intended to use. She sat down on her knees, in a position she found less humiliating. "And, if you're not going to help me, I'd appreciate it if you'd get the hell out of here. I don't need spectators."
Hermione looked at her things, scattered around her, and felt her chest tighten. Everything was soaked and stained with ink and whisky. The argument she'd had with Harry and Ron a few minutes ago came to mind... and she felt herself sinking. Could things get any worse for her? She forced herself not to think such negative thoughts, she told herself that it wasn't so bad, that everything had a solution... but the lump in her throat was growing. Suddenly, under Malfoy's cold, mocking gaze, sitting awkwardly in the middle of the corridor, she felt very lonely. People all around her were passing her by without helping her, and Malfoy would no doubt only insult her.
She clenched her lips and teeth to hold back a choked sob. She convulsed a little, not quite managing to keep the sob out, but she took a deep breath and rubbed her nose with the back of her ink-stained hand. The last thing she wanted in the world at that moment was to cry in front of Malfoy... but the lump in her throat seemed to be telling her that she wouldn't have any luck there either. She tried to begin the arduous task of gathering up all her utensils, despite the rough shaking of her hands.
Draco hadn't taken his eyes off her, and his smirk became almost a grimace. His eyes were locked on Granger's face, half-hidden by her tousled brown hair. Her nose was flushed, and her eyes watered with tears. She was trembling.
"She is crying..."
Draco felt goose bumps rise on his arms. And a sudden, uncomfortable heat rushed to the back of his neck. He couldn't remember ever seeing Granger in such a state. So... grief-stricken. So unexpectedly fragile. It threw him for a loop that she wasn't her usual snarling, haughty self, the fact that she didn't seem to be in any condition to have a verbal spar with him. The one thing they were both used to. But that paradigm shift threw him off. It left him paralysed and mute for a long moment. Too long.
He had to react. He had to say something.
And he knew what. There was nothing to think about. What else was he going to say?
"C'mon! Are you crying?" he mocked, then let out a laugh. But he was astonished himself at how forced it sounded. "Merlin, Granger, only a nerd like you would start crying about dirtying her books with —"
Hermione interrupted him with a loud sound that almost sounded like a cry of frustration. Or a sob. No. She wasn't going to take one more taunt from a malicious git like Malfoy. She'd had enough of everything Harry and Ron had said to her. She didn't want to take one more hurtful comment. Enough was enough.
She staggered to her feet, and grabbed precariously at all her stained personal belongings with her hands. The glass from the broken bottle was the only thing that remained on the floor.
She raised her face unashamedly and met Malfoy's now unsettled gaze. Enraged.
"GO TO HELL!" she shouted at him, so angrily, and in such a loud tone of voice, that she managed to startle the boy.
A couple of people walking past them at the time were equally startled and turned to her in alarm. Hermione turned and hurried into the Library, striding with wide, purposeful strides, her head held high.
Draco, his eyes slightly wider than usual, could only blink in bewilderment at the girl's outburst. What had gotten into that crazy woman? What was that all about? Suddenly he realised, feeling rather stupid at the late realisation, that she was clearly not crying because of what had happened to her books. It had to be for another reason. Granger, despite being an insufferable bookworm, was not puerile. She would not be affected by something she could fix with a wave of her wand. No, something else had happened to her...
He noticed that his smirk had disappeared, and he had to consciously contract the muscles in his cheeks to make it reappear. She looked very hurt... What could have happened to her? Draco surprised himself by racking his brain for options. The last time he'd seen her in such a state was on Hallowe'en, and not even that day...
That day she looked furious. Now she looked heartbroken. At least until he had opened his mouth...
The muscles in his cheeks ached from the effort he was making to smile mischievously. He stopped, surrounded by strangers walking down the corridor, resentful of himself. It was impossible, he was not happy. He was curious. Intrigued. And he didn't like the feeling. He had to be enjoying the suffering of that Mudblood. Apart from being curious about what was happening to her, he had to be pleased about it.
He himself had often teased her to hurt her. Why, now that he wasn't directly responsible, couldn't he just be glad, turn and walk away down the corridor? Why did he keep staring at the Library door through which she had entered, like a total git?
He felt his breathing quicken. Suddenly, he felt dread. A dread that was becoming more and more familiar. The same dread he felt in the bathroom on the first floor, after what happened with that stupid, horrible plant. The same dread he felt after the first Defence Against the Dark Arts class after Christmas, when, already in the solitude of his room, he was able to analyse coldly what had happened in the fight against Weasley. Realising that he hadn't attacked him, that he hadn't defended himself, simply because she had looked at him like that.
He dreaded not being in control of himself, not feeling in control of his thoughts and reactions.
And that couldn't stay that way. No way. He hadn't been able to fix the previous situations, but he was going to fix this one. He was going to feel normal.
Without a second thought, he strode forward with wide strides and pushed open the double doors with one hand, stepping into the quiet room he had just exited.
It was considerably crowded with students, doing homework for the weekend, studying for an exam, or returning a book before the deadline passed and Madam Pince banned them from the Library for life. At a table at the far end of the room, out of sight, he knew that there was Zabini, with whom Draco had been studying until it was time to leave for his Quidditch practice, precisely where he had been heading when he had bumped into Granger. He was in a bit of a hurry, but he figured that talking to Granger again wouldn't delay him too long. It would only take two minutes. He had to make up his mind.
Draco walked between the tall bookshelves as the echo of his footsteps echoed throughout the cathedral-sized place. He entered several aisles without a clue. Where could she have gone? She was crying, so logic dictated that she would have moved as far away from the entrance as possible, to try not to be seen. An unusual smell suddenly permeated his nostrils, making him wrinkle his nose. Then he smiled. Solved. Granger was going to lead him to her without even intending to. Or rather, Professor Trelawney's Firewhisky was going to lead him to her.
He followed the pungent smell of alcohol that Granger's belongings had left behind throughout the Library, until he finally rounded a corner and found her. She stood in front of a bookshelf, wand in hand, clearing out all of her belongings one by one. Her bag and her ink and alcohol soaked books were on a table, next to the girl. Her back was to him, and he couldn't see her face.
Again, he forced himself to stretch his cheek muscles with an effort, to once again smile a wicked grin. He approached the girl, almost slipping, silently. As he stood behind her, he brought his face close to her thick hair, intending to whisper something hurtful in her ear and give her the scare of her life; but he didn't get to say anything. The girl's fluffy hair suddenly gave off a pleasant, aromatic smell that he was unable to identify, but which managed to dull his nostrils, sending a shiver down his spine that gave him goose bumps. Smell of shampoo. Smell of clean.
"Does Granger smell good? Why?" he wondered dumbly, in his befuddled mind.
Blinking in surprise at that revelation, and breathing hard from his own startlement, he shook his head slightly and resumed his plan without hesitation.
"Calmer, Mudblood?" he whispered in her ear mischievously, so close that her fragrant, frizzy hair tickled his nose. Perhaps he could have waited a little longer before saying anything that would alert her to his presence...
Hermione jerked so hard that the book in her hands slipped from her fingers. Fortunately, she managed to catch it before it hit the bookshelf or the floor. Madam Pince could hear and recognise the sound of a book falling from miles away. Hermione spun around, terrified, clutching the book and wand to her chest, and found herself face to face with Malfoy, who was watching her with a wickedly satisfied grin on his face. When had he gotten there? Why had he followed her? Why was he so close?
She took a breath, recovering from the shock, and raised her chin smugly.
"What the hell do you want now, Malfoy?" she snapped, with all the rage she could muster. Her throat was still lumpy with disgust, but she had calmed down a little. Although, as Malfoy could see from that distance, her cheeks still showed a couple of thin streaks of almost dried tears. And her nose was smudged with ink.
Draco had to redouble his efforts to keep the sly smile on his face before replying:
"You told me to go to hell, so I came to see you," he effortlessly widened his smile and folded his arms, looking at the girl with satisfaction. Hermione looked at him for a second longer, deeply disgusted, and then turned her back to him, continuing to clean up her belongings.
"Very witty. I'm laughing my head off. There, you've got the joke of the year. Now get out of here," she snapped sullenly as she ran her wand along the spine of one of the books, wiping it clean. But of course he wasn't going to listen to her, and she knew it. He'd come here to whip her with his insults, and he wouldn't leave until he got it.
Without wiping away that little smile that was threatening to break the girl's patience, Malfoy leaned his elbow on the bookshelf next to her so that he could see her profile.
"I'll be off in a minute, don't worry," he assured her, mockingly. "I have no intention of catching anything you can pass on to me. Just a humble question —"
"Humble? You don't know the meaning of the word," Hermione interrupted, antipathetically, dropping a clean book in the appropriate pile and picking up one of the stained parchments.
"Could you tell me who did something to you so —" he exaggerated the 'o', "— horrible as to make you shed disgusting Muggle tears? I've started an anti-Hermione 'The Busybody' Granger fan club, and I'd like to invite anyone to join it."
Hermione, despite his words, couldn't help but let out a biting laugh.
"Believe me, you wouldn't want them in your club…" she replied without thinking, bitterly, again feeling a twinge of pain at the memory of what had happened in the Common Room. How could Harry and Ron treat her like that?
Malfoy chuckled, satisfied.
"Well, that's an enlightening answer. So it was Potty and the Weasel, huh?"
Hermione blinked, surprised by his quick thinking, and turned her face to look at him. He was still not removing that sly grin from his angular face, and his eyes revealed amusement at her bewilderment.
"Don't jump to conclusions. It wasn't them," Hermione lied firmly, mortified at the confidence Malfoy was currently displaying. He laughed again.
"Please, Granger, don't insult my intelligence. You fight with those two fools every now and then. The whole of Hogwarts knows about it," he replied calmly, arching a blond eyebrow. Hermione looked away, humiliated, and that was better than a confession. "Enlighten me, what was this time? Did the Weasel talk with his mouth full? Did Scarhead talk about himself more than the statutory five hundred times a day?"
Hermione clenched her jaws, furious, and restraining herself from shouting anything offensive at him. She couldn't make a fuss in the Library, and Malfoy knew that. That was probably why he had decided to follow her to such an ideal place to mortify her.
"I'm not going to tell you anything, so please just get out," Hermione mumbled hurriedly, gritting her teeth. Malfoy was getting what he wanted: forcing her to bring up the subject of Harry and Ron was making her eyes water again. Her best friends didn't trust her... They had prejudices too; they also differed between Muggle-borns and pure-bloods... They also saw her differently...
"Oh, come on, Granger, don't beg for it," the blond sneered, oblivious to her mood. "The Slytherin Common Room is very dull these days, we need some new topics..."
"I told you to leave me alone!" Hermione exclaimed, struggling not to raise her voice. New sobs were piling up in her throat, and she could barely speak intelligibly. The crying had suddenly come over her, taking her by surprise. Her, and Malfoy. "For once in your life, leave me in peace, leave me alone — !"
She tried to continue ranting at him, but the crying had reached a point where she couldn't articulate anything coherent. Tears had begun to slide uncontrollably down her face. She dropped the book in her hands onto the bottom shelf and hurriedly wiped her face with them, coughing, sniffling and trying futilely to stop crying so pitifully. Please! She was an emotionally mature and thoughtful person, how could she have lost her composure like that?
Now, on top of the frustration she felt against her friends, there was the added embarrassment that was overtaking her. She had just given Malfoy enough humiliation material to last half a century. Great.
Draco, for his part, was frozen in place. He just looked at her, staring at her with what he knew must be the biggest stupid face he'd made in a long time. He couldn't remember ever seeing Granger look so heartbroken. It was new to him. And unnerving. She'd always seemed so proud, her head held high, so determined... so Granger. It seemed that nothing could bring her down, nothing could defeat her. No one could bring that proud head down. Seeing her suddenly so vulnerable, so different from the way she used to be, had shattered him; he didn't know how to behave. A little voice in his head told him that he should continue to martyr her, to crush her, without remorse. But he wasn't capable. In fact, he wasn't capable of doing anything.
The girl, lately, had been so focused on the problems caused by Malfoy himself, that the young man hadn't thought until then that she had difficulties too. That she had feelings. Complex feelings, like a... a person. Like him.
And that conclusion came to him completely unexpectedly and overwhelmingly, almost painfully, as he felt a powerful pang in his stomach. And it infuriated him to no end.
He clenched his fists. He was wrong. People, wizards, had feelings, and Muggles weren't wizards; were something inferior. He couldn't consider her as an equal of any kind. Because they weren't.
Hermione swallowed hard. She took as deep a breath as she could to catch her breath, before picking up the book she'd left on the shelf and turning to walk past Malfoy, intending to grab her things and walk away. She didn't want to look at him. She didn't want to see the smile that, she was sure, lit up his pale face as he watched her sink. She didn't want to see Malfoy again for the rest of her life.
However, she had not yet reached for her things when Malfoy turned in her direction and clutched her arm tightly at the elbow, holding her down. Hermione was forced to turn her body towards Malfoy by the force with which he stopped her. She gasped, both at his unexpected gesture and his expression. There was no trace of a smile on the blond's angular face. Only poise, and something that the girl was unable to decipher, but which took her breath away. Suddenly, the boy seemed much taller than he actually was, and made her feel minuscule next to him.
Hermione looked down at Malfoy's hand on her arm and back up into his eyes. He, unlike the scene in the Quidditch Changing Rooms, made no attempt to let her go.
"What are you doing?" Hermione stammered, panting. She still had tears in her eyes, and a runny nose, but she tried to speak as firmly as she could muster. "L-let go of me immediately..."
But Malfoy wouldn't release her. He wouldn't even listen to her. He could do nothing but hold her arm tightly, keeping her still, while he stared at her almost out of breath. He didn't know what he was doing, all he knew was that he couldn't let go of Granger's arm. He couldn't let her go like that. He hadn't achieved what he'd set out to do when he'd gone in there, which was to enjoy her suffering, and he feared for a moment that he might not succeed. But he had to try. One last try.
"Could you —" Malfoy began, his voice utterly expressionless, causing the girl to look at him with almost terrified anticipation, "— stop being so disgusting? Are you seriously making a spectacle of yourself because you got into a fight with those two good-for-nothings? Are you kidding me?"
Ah, the mockery. That powerful friend, a great help to frustrated and desperate people. As Draco was at that moment. He needed to buy time to think of what else to say. To justify holding her there.
Hermione took a slow breath, so that she could finish calming down completely, and ran the sleeve of her free arm's robe over her mucous-covered upper lip. Malfoy's hand was still firmly wrapped around her other arm over her school robes, and the girl couldn't help but wonder why he wouldn't let it go. But she didn't ask him out loud again. To her bewilderment, it didn't seem like he was going to do anything bad to her. Except for taunting her, of course.
"Shouldn't I be affected by arguing with my best friends?" Hermione spat icily, defensively, wiping away the tears that still trickled down her cheeks, covered in tiny red streaks, with the palm of her hand. At least she had regained her full lung capacity. "Oh, Merlin, what can you possibly care about all this?" she despaired, frustrated. "Will you please —"
"I don't give a bat's arse. But you make me cringe," he snapped, hardly thinking about what he was saying. Just trying his best to throw as many insults at her as his mind managed to formulate, "How can you react like that for fighting with those two? They're idiots, Granger, deal with it. And, you, you're being stupid. You are besties, and you will continue to be for centuries to come, sadly for all of us... And you're the best student in our promotion? Don't fuck with me, Granger. I didn't think you could be any more pitiful, but I was wrong. You always manage to exceed my expectations..."
Hermione opened her mouth, ready to confront him, but her jaw dropped, unable to speak. She had just realised something that made her feel shocked and confused. Malfoy was not mocking her, though it was clear that was his intention. In his strange and peculiarly mischievous way, he was giving her advice. Most likely, without even realising it.
"And… and may I ask, what do you care?" Hermione repeated, realising that it was the only thing she felt capable of saying. The force with which he was gripping her arm was cutting off the circulation in her hand. "If you're going to laugh at me, as I know you are, do it as soon as possible and let me go," she added, her voice somewhat firmer. "I don't have time to waste with you..."
"That's exactly what I want, genius, but I can't," Draco thought impatiently.
"I'll tell you again, I don't give a Hippogriff's arse about you," the boy spat, jaded, speaking slowly as if the girl were short-witted. "But I find it incredibly annoying that you are suffering like that for nothing. Whatever they've done, you know damn well you two are inseparable. You don't even separate to go to the bathroom, and because of one stupid argument you think it's the end of the world? Can you get any more ridiculous? Whatever it may be, you'll fix it, c'mon..."
Hermione hushed, realizing that he was absolutely right. They were inseparable. Their friendship wasn't going to change in the slightest after what had just happened. They would fix it. Of course they will. Why then had she been so upset? It was silly, really, after all they had been through...
"I'm not ridiculous," she protested, suddenly regaining her poise. "I have been mistrusted, and it has hurt me, and I have the right to be hurt... I won't allow them to treat me like this. I know that all they really wanted was to look after me, in their own way, but that doesn't give them the right to judge me as they have done."
Why had she just opened up to Draco Malfoy? No fucking idea, but she'd be martyred herself later. Now she had to shut him up. But her heart trembled as she realised her own words. Harry and Ron only wanted to take care of her. It was the truth... They didn't do it right, but that was their intention...
Draco clicked his tongue. Bringing her back to reality again.
"Of course you can cry all you want and more, Granger, stop it already... But, excuse me, you have been 'mistrusted'? What nonsense. And what a shitty friendship... Potter and Weasley are less worthwhile than I imagined. What do you want them for?" Draco snapped back, with mocking disdain. "Though I must admit, I am intrigued by your drivel... What have they done to make you hate them like that?"
Hermione snorted and wiped away the trail of dried tears still on her cheeks with her palm. She suddenly realised that Malfoy had let go of her arm, but she couldn't remember when he had done it. Despite the fact that she was free now, she made no move to leave.
"They've been fed some false gossip about me and they've believed it," the girl admitted without thinking too much, averting her eyes. She felt like kicking herself in embarrassment, realising how stupid it sounded to say it out loud.
She swallowed, hesitantly, suddenly realising what she was doing — was she really telling Malfoy? Malfoy?
Draco, for his part, let out a disbelieving chuckle.
"Gossip? About you? Oh, c'mon, you're not that interesting, Granger," he scoffed, nonchalantly, leaning his shoulder against the bookshelf and folding his arms in boredom.
She looked Draco in the eye, and his renewed smile faltered slightly. There was something in her dark gaze that he didn't like one bit. As if Granger, in her mind, knew that what she was going to say next wouldn't please Draco one bit. As if she knew things Draco was unaware of.
"Some classmates have gone to them with the gossip that there's something going on between me and Theodore Nott."
It took the boy two seconds to assimilate such a statement. His smile faded completely.
"I beg your pardon?" he finally spat in a serious tone, narrowing his light eyes. Apparently his friend's name had renewed his interest in her problem. And it gave him another perspective.
"It's false, of course," Hermione hastened to clarify, almost feeling the need to do so, for some incomprehensible reason. "I've already made it clear that there's nothing going on.. It's absurd that they've come to that conclusion... Since people have seen us talk together in Arithmancy, well, they've thought that... Anyway, nonsense," she hastened to finish, looking away again, feeling that she had put her foot in her mouth. Draco just stared at her, his silver gaze slightly unfocused but fierce at the same time. "It was just... stupid. Merlin, don't say anything to Nott," she pleaded suddenly, realising the consequences of what she had revealed. "Please, I don't want to worry him. It was silly, it's all cleared up. It's not important."
Hermione cursed herself inwardly. Her face felt hot with embarrassment — why had she opened her mouth? What did Malfoy care about her problems? Nothing, bloody hell, nothing. Damn it, she'd opened up to him as if he was a friend, as if he could give her advice...
No. She had decided to do it because the rumour affected his friend, that was all. Her mind, without letting her assimilate it, had considered that he had the right to know... Or so she forced herself to believe. Because it sounded reasonable. And so she justified what, deep down she knew, had been a terrible mistake.
"I'm not sure it's been cleared up," the boy replied, still looking at her as if he were seeing her for the first time, seemingly annoyed. He felt slightly stunned. And very angry.
Was Nott a friend of Granger's? A friend of Granger's? To the point where rumours were already flying around the castle that they were hanging out together? Had the Gryffindors noticed?
Draco felt his heart pounding heavily. He felt the situation slipping through his fingers. He felt fear.
How could Nott have been so reckless? How could he be making it so clear that he disowned the Dark Lord? Making it clear what his ideals truly were, that he no longer despised that Mudbloods rabble...
"If I tell you it's cleared up, it's cleared up," Hermione insisted, annoyed, emphatically, snapping him out of his thoughts. "Blimey, you never agree with anything I say," she commented frustratedly, shaking her head. "It almost seems like you're doing it on purpose."
"Ten points to Gryffindor for that remark," he said indifferently, struggling to return to the conversation with her. "What a discovery that you and I don't agree on anything..."
"It might be considered worthy of study," Hermione commented with heavy resignation. "I even find it interesting how tangentially different two points of view can be..."
"It's annoying. Full stop," Draco retorted, narrowing his grey eyes. "Not interesting, nor whatever..."
"Oh, you're doing that on purpose," Hermione complained, looking at him accusingly.
"I am not."
"You're impossible!" she exclaimed, frustrated. She turned around, shivering, and went over to her belongings — a little drier but just as stinky — to start gathering them up. For a moment she thought Malfoy was going to grab her arm again, and she wasn't sure she was relieved or disappointed when he didn't.
"Am I impossible because I don't think like you, you smug woman?" Malfoy complained angrily behind her. "Oh, for God's... Look, screw you, I don't know why I'm putting up with you. I thought you'd have a more interesting reason for being like this, but you've disappointed me, Granger. You bore me," he spat, turning and striding down the corridor. In truth, he needed to get the hell out of there to try and calm down. Her words had seriously worried him.
Hermione, as angry as she was, felt an emptiness inside as she listened to him walk away. She turned her face to look at him over her shoulder. She realised that, deep inside, she wished he hadn't left yet. She didn't want to be left alone with her thoughts. Which was rather worrying. Malfoy's company couldn't be better than her thoughts, depressing as they were.
Suddenly, she remembered something that made her heart skip a beat.
"Malfoy! Wait!" Hermione called hastily, not moving from where she was. He stopped and turned only his head, looking grumpy. "Could you do me a favour?"
Malfoy stared at her in silence for a moment, flabbergasted.
"Of course not," he spat, starting to walk again.
"Wait! Just give this to Nott, will you?" Hermione asked, picking up the fortunately clean copy of New Theory of Numerology. "It's his. He lent it to me a few days ago. Since we were talking about him..."
A strange twinkle that hid an unpleasant surprise flashed in the boy's eyes.
"Did Nott lend it to you?" he asked, unmoving, in a strangely impersonal voice.
"Yes," Hermione murmured, somewhat taken aback by his grave expression. "His version is different from mine, and he let me copy some things..."
Malfoy stared at her for a few more seconds and then seemed to regain his composure. He clicked his tongue impatiently, and retraced his steps to snatch the thick copy from her hands when he was in front of her. He did not look her in the face, unlike her, who stared into his eyes. Muttering profanities under his breath, Malfoy turned back around and continued on his way, when the young woman's voice broke the silence of the Library again:
"Malfoy…"
"What now?" he muttered impatiently, stopping again and glancing over his shoulder.
Hermione was staring at him, standing in the middle of the aisle between the bookshelves, still with her things lying on the table. Her hands were clasped behind her back, and her brown eyes, brighter than usual from the recent crying, were locked on his. Her nose was still smudged with ink. Suddenly, the girl seemed to him the same strong, forceful person she always was, despite the aura of fragility that enveloped her from being alone in that wide hallway.
"Nothing," she said simply, in a clear voice, still looking at him. "Thank you. I guess. For... returning the book to Nott."
Malfoy stared at her for a moment longer, as if he found it difficult to look away. But finally he turned and strode out of the corridor, striding long and purposefully.
Hermione watched him walk away, still. She felt a sort of warm rush from inside her that comforted her limbs. Oddly, she no longer felt like crying. Perhaps she had used up all the tears she had left because of Malfoy. Or thanks to him.
"Malfoy is so complicated. I understand him less and less every day," she thought, clutching her arm at her elbow, trying to simulate how the boy had held her just minutes before.
"Get out of my way, you brat!"
The second year Ravenclaw House boy hurried to the wall, terrified, leaving more than enough room for Malfoy to pass. When the young man was really angry, the tone of his voice could become really intimidating. And his eyes were even more so.
Malfoy was descending the steps leading down to the dungeons with astonishing speed. He seemed to be in a great hurry, even though he didn't really have a destination. But he needed to go at that speed. He needed to clear his head. To get rid of the burning sensation that overwhelmed him.
He didn't plan to go to the practice. He was too angry, too rabid. If he had a broom in his hands, he'd smash it against a wall until it splintered. His steps were almost as fast as his thoughts.
"You're an arsehole!" cried a voice in his mind, and rightly so. "Why on earth do you listen to that Mudblood? You're not her fucking school counsellor!"
He let out a growl of frustration and mercilessly ran over a pair of girls who were crossing the corner. They barely had time to open their mouths to complain about his rudeness when he was already out of sight. His jaws felt as if they were going to break from the pressure of one against the other. His hands, clenched into firm fists, trembled.
Why had he even shown any interest in her damned problems? He already had his own, and infinitely more serious ones, thank you. Why had he asked her anything? Why hadn't he been able to laugh at her, as he had done ever since he'd known her? Because she was crying? And what difference did it make? Now that he was away from the tearful Mudblood, everything he had felt, all his headaches and his efforts to behave normally, seemed ridiculous and bewildering. It had been unreasonable. Nothing he had done or felt could be justified.
He could barely catch his breath. He felt overwhelmed after the argument with Grang... No, stop it, he mustn't think about her any more. Lately he had been thinking more about the Mudblood than was healthily advisable. He had to get her out of his mind any way he could. He needed to.
Feeling his face so hot that he felt like he was going to blow smoke out of his nose at any moment, he rounded the last corner to finally make his way down the corridor to his Common Room. Instantly, he collided face first with something smaller and softer than himself, but just as blond. Both his sudden obstacle and himself staggered, but managed to keep their balance, holding each other by inertia. It took him barely two seconds to recognise the person in front of him.
"Greengrass?" he stammered, still feeling a little dazed by the collision. He took a step away from her, awkwardly. His blonde classmate raised her green gaze, looking confused as well.
"Draco," Daphne greeted, smiling as she recognised him and tucked behind her ear an unruly, straight strand of hair that had been left dancing in front of her eyes. "Hi… Are you in a hurry?"
"No," he said frankly, smoothing his robe mechanically without needing to do so. He would have liked to lie to her and walk away, but his heart was still beating like a drum and he didn't react in time. For lack of anything better, he tried his best to concentrate on the conversation with his classmate. "Why?"
"No, nothing... Just because you seemed to be trying to fly without a broom," the girl joked with a friendly smile. Draco, in turn, forced himself to grimace, which actually made him look like he had a stomachache. But the girl continued without comment, "Pansy was looking for you earlier. I think she spoke to Snape and wants to tell you something about Prefect duties... She didn't specify what."
"Okay... I'll look for her now, thanks," he murmured distractedly, not paying much attention to her. He had more important things on his mind than Pansy at the moment... Oh, shit. Since when was arguing with Granger more important than Pansy?
"Please, stop it already…" he pleaded desperately to his mind.
"By the way, you haven't seen Theodore, by any chance?" asked the girl, her smile turning a little shy. "He said he'd help me with my Herbology essay next week, and I wanted to ask him if he had time now... Or when he can, actually. When he has... time," she said awkwardly, suddenly looking rushed.
Draco, not quite noticing the girl's embarrassed tone, made a deep effort to get his brain to work on something and remember if he'd seen him, but, after several seconds of total lack of any similar memory, he shook his head.
"No, I haven't seen him today," he admitted. At that point, he couldn't even remember what he'd had for breakfast. Arguing with Granger had the side effect of giving him mild amnesia.
When the image of the Mudblood, standing in the middle of the lonely Library, surrounded by a handful of ink and alcohol stained books, popped into his mind, he realised that he, too, was looking for Nott. He looked down at his left hand, with which he held the New Theory of Numerology book he was supposed to return to him. He felt fury sweep over him from head to toe...
How had Nott been such an arsehole as to lend a book to that Mudblood? How had he allowed them to be seen together? Had he not the slightest scruple? How could he get along with her?
It was the last straw, the straw that broke the camel's back. He had to talk to him very seriously, and set him straight about what it meant to be a pure-blood.