Hi, everyone! 😊 I'm so sorry for the delay, real life has kept me very busy these last two weeks, I've barely been able to even turn on my computer... 😅 Here I come with a new chapter! I hope you like it a lot and that it makes up for the delay hehehe thanks a lot in advance for reading, and for all your support! 😍 And without further ado, read on! 😊
CHAPTER 14
Clock Tower Courtyard
When Hermione arrived at her Defence Against the Dark Arts class on Wednesday morning, she saw that several people had beaten her to it, though fortunately Snape wasn't one of them.
Harry and Ron were already sitting in their seats, chatting with Seamus and Dean, who were sitting directly in front of them. Hermione felt the sadness and heaviness she had been fighting for days slightly flaring up again. The fact that she wasn't coming to class in the company of her friends, but alone, was depressing her mood beyond help. She missed them. Very much. But the way they had treated her with the Theodore Nott thing still stung inside her, and she refused to be the one to make the first move. She walked silently to the seat she shared with them, immediately next to Harry, and dumped her heavy bag on the table. Harry turned his face to look at her at the sound of the bag and gave her an almost imperceptible smile in greeting, which she was unable to reciprocate. She didn't look up from her bag, beginning to pull out her belongings. She was still hurting, although the kind gesture was certainly comforting. But not enough. And the fact that Ron had ignored her completely didn't help to diminish her chagrin.
"Look who's here!" a piping voice suddenly crooned, above the murmuring conversations of the students.
Hermione turned her neck to the left at the sudden exclamation, and saw that the mocking words were coming from Pansy Parkinson, and were undoubtedly directed at her. The Slytherin was sitting cross-legged on top of the table occupied by Malfoy, undoubtedly looking in her direction. She was blinking coquettishly, no doubt with something mischievous about to escape her lips. Draco was sitting with his back to Hermione, his arms crossed over the space Pansy vacated on his table, and he didn't bother to turn to look at her. He barely moved his face enough to catch a glimpse of her over his shoulder. Crabbe and Goyle, sitting just behind them, watched the brunette with expectation on their huge, coarse faces. The four of them were the only Slytherins present yet.
"I didn't think you were coming to class, Granger," Parkinson continued, looking very pleased with herself. "I thought you'd be taking a bath to wash off the smell of old books... Spending so many hours in the Library has its consequences, you know?"
Crabbe and Goyle laughed hoarsely, as if it was the funniest thing they'd ever heard. Malfoy's eyes flashed silver with satisfaction. And Hermione felt her face flush, in spite of herself. It was true that she had been spending more time than ever in the Library lately, since she was no longer speaking to Harry or Ron, and the Common Room was no longer a comfortable place for her. And she didn't feel like looking for other fun places to hang out alone. The Library had always been a sanctuary to go to, and studying kept her pleasantly entertained. But she definitely didn't smell like an old book.
"Well, I had no idea you knew what a book smelled like, Parkinson. That's quite a surprise," Hermione replied, raising her chin. Now it was the brunette's turn to blush and snort with her flat nose. Goyle let out a chuckle that was met by a smack on the head from Crabbe.
The corners of Draco's lips twitched for an imperceptible instant, hiding a treacherous smile. Granger was a stupid Mudblood who had no right to respond to Pansy like that, who was far above her given her blood status without a drop of impurity; but he had to admit that the know-it-all knew how to defend herself very well. She had always proved it to him, but it never ceased to amaze him. Draco averted his light eyes to Pansy, wanting to see if his friend was up to the task and could repay Granger for her offence.
"Well, imagine my surprise to find out that you Mudbloods know what a book is," the brunette mumbled effectively. "Do you Muggles learn to read in your world, or do you just look at pictures?"
Hermione smiled with fake sweetness.
"We can read and write, Parkinson. I'd ask you to lend me your book to prove it, but I doubt very much if I'll find too many words in it. They'll have adapted it to your level, I hope."
Pansy inhaled angrily, flaring her nostrils, and glared at her with utter contempt.
"I won't let you touch anything of mine, Granger. But you amaze me; I thought you Muggle women painted caves while the men were out hunting," Pansy scoffed, amused. She turned to Dean, mischievously, "Am I right, Thomas? Have you been out hunting a lot? Did it take you long to learn how to make fire?"
At the mention of the word 'men', Hermione's eyes averted, without her being able to stop them, straight to Malfoy. He was still staring at her out of the corner of his eye, unperturbed.
"What am I doing?" wondered Hermione, bewildered and almost alarmed at herself.
The young woman looked away again, feeling a jolt of panic in her chest, but fortunately no one seemed to notice anything. Only Malfoy.
"Point to Pansy," Draco thought, satisfied; though his satisfaction was short-lived at the Gryffindor's strange gesture. "What's wrong with Granger? Has she looked at me?"
A couple more students arrived in the classroom, and joined the rest of their classmates to watch the discussion expectantly as they took their seats. Among them were Parvati from Gryffindor and Greengrass and Nott from Slytherin.
"Fuck you, Parkinson," Dean spat, his self-respect wounded. "The cavemen would mistake you for a mammoth, if they still existed."
"Sure they would, big boy," Pansy sniggered. She turned to Hermione again, looking more serious and less scornful, "Stop looking down on all of us, Granger, like you're some kind of superior. Someone needs to take you down a peg or two. You should be kissing the feet of us wizards just for allowing yourself to be near us. You have no right to even look at us, let alone respond with such grandiose airs," she grimaced in deep disgust, but then smiled with broad malice, composing a pout of mock innocence. "Do us all a favour and go back to the backward world you came from. If they'll let you go back. Maybe they won't even put up with you there."
Hermione opened her mouth and gasped, indignant at such an appellation for the Muggle world. Outraged at such venom from her classmate.
"How dare you — ?" she stammered, enraged, advancing towards the Slytherin with her face screwed up.
In that instant, several things happened at the same time. Malfoy jumped to his feet, and stood in front of Parkinson, standing between the brunette and Hermione. Hermione stopped instantly, blocked by the blond's body. Due to his considerable height, she had to raise her head to look him in the eye, offended. How could Malfoy, in spite of everything, take Parkinson's side after what she had just said to her? Pansy, behind Draco, let out a loud laugh.
"Stay where you are, Granger," Malfoy muttered under his breath, eyes glittering. His face was serious, his features tense.
Hermione snorted through her nose and clenched her jaws in obfuscation, looking up into his grey eyes that were beginning to look so familiar. It was to be expected that Malfoy would react like this; what wasn't normal at all was the stupid feeling of frustration and spite against the boy that Hermione had inside her. How could it surprise her that Malfoy behaved the way he always did? What had she expected from him to make her feel this way?
The blond's words went unnoticed by the others as two more people stood up at the same time as him, drawing the attention of the entire class. Harry and Ron overturned their chairs as they stood up, clutching their wands in their hands, and pointing them at Parkinson.
Hermione turned, forgetting about Malfoy, and stared at her friends, bewildered.
"Bite your tongue and poison yourself, viper!" Ron roared, beside himself, his ears flushing red. His wand was pointed straight at the brunette's face. "You go back to the dunghill you came from!"
"Be careful not to disrespect Hermione!" Harry shouted at the same time. "Don't even think we'll let you! One more word out of you and we'll teach you manners, Parkinson!"
His wand, unlike Ron's, was pointed at Malfoy's chest, clearly ready to defend Parkinson in his defensive stance against the young brunette.
"Guys…" Hermione whispered in awe.
At that moment, the bell rang above their heads and the footsteps of the few remaining students could be heard, pacing the corridor to get there in time. They hurried panting into the classroom, taking their seats at lightning speed, seemingly grateful that the teacher was not yet there. Then, with impeccable timing, Snape made his presence known in the classroom and they all seemed to remember where they were. Harry and Ron put their wands away slowly, discreetly, still murdering Malfoy and Parkinson with their eyes. They hurriedly arranged their chairs and took their seats, amidst the commotion of the last few students arriving. Hermione forgot all about the Slytherins and rushed to sit down as well, looking at her friends with deep affection, this time reciprocated. Parkinson hopped down from Draco's table and made her way over to her own, next to Daphne, her expression amused.
Malfoy sat back down too, next to a newly arrived Zabini, feeling the blood pounding in his ears. His chest felt heavy, as if it were made of lead; the same heavy feeling, he thought, as an alarm went off in his chest that you get after you've argued or hurt someone important.
How could he feel this way after defending Pansy, arguing with stupid Granger for it? Why was arguing with Granger so... difficult lately?
Damn… He was starting to get really sick of her.
With a firm determination not to think about what any of it meant, Draco bent down to his bag to pull out his utensils. However, his hands and mind were so unsteady from the various emotions running through him that they soon fell to the floor. As he bent down and swivelled further on the chair to pick them up, his eyes lifted of their own accord. Granger was smiling excitedly at Potter and Weasley at the moment, as they whispered something to her. The girl looked pleased, relaxed and moved. And Draco thought he had never seen her in that mood when he was around. With him she was always tense, disdainful and alert. But with those two...
Potter, too, was smiling amiably at her, and Weasley looked a little disgruntled, though equally affable. Draco's hand involuntarily clenched on the inkwell he had just picked up, rattling the glass. Pair of idiots. He felt himself struggling to breathe normally, and he wasn't sure if it was because of the bowed position of his trunk, which was closing up his chest. It was because of what he was seeing. What he was seeing was upsetting him. So much that he couldn't look away. Granger was beaming, happy, excited to talk to them, and for what they had done for her. What he had not done.
The stupid thought crossed his mind without warning, unnerving him. Of course Draco hadn't defended her, Merlin. It was the logical thing to do. He had done the right thing, which had been to defend his people. And that had cost him that bright look of gratitude from the girl. When she looked at him, there was only contempt. And resentment. Which was logical and natural, given their relationship.
And still...
At some unknown words from Potter, Granger widened her grateful smile even more, and her small, white hand flew to the dark-haired boy's forearm, squeezing it affectionately ...
...and Draco saw red.
The inkwell he held in his hand, unable to withstand such pressure, shattered with a resounding crack, and the shards fell with a clinking sound to the floor, quickly soaked in black ink. The people closest to him stifled gasps. It took almost two seconds for the sound to reach Draco, but it didn't bring him back to reality. He just looked down and stared at his hand, bleeding and full of glints of tiny crystals. He felt a hand on his shoulder, but ignored it. He did nothing to clean up the mess. He didn't move. The sound of blood coursing through his veins continued to clog his ears, preventing him from thinking. Preventing him from breathing.
"Is everything all right, Mr. Malfoy?"
His professor's deep voice finally brought him to the surface. He looked up and met Snape's cold black eyes staring at him sternly. Draco took a deep breath. His lungs felt like they were on fire, as if he hadn't been breathing for a long time. The silence was eerie, even though he had regained his hearing. He scanned the classroom with a discreet, quick glance. The gazes of his classmates were on him, frightened and bewildered. He dared not look to his right, but he knew that the stares of the Gryffindors were on him as well. When he became fully aware of where he was, some of his blood rose to his face, colouring it, while some continued to flow from the cuts on his hand. Blaise's hand was still resting on his shoulder. He might have said something, but Draco didn't hear it.
"Do you need help?" Snape inquired, with crushing seriousness. "Or perhaps another inkwell?"
Draco gulped a nonexistent saliva, trying to moisturise an impossibly dry throat. He was unable to answer him. Instead, he straightened himself until he was sitting upright in the chair again. He reached out with his unsteady left hand and picked up the wand on the table, using it to fix the mess of crystals with two simple, automatic spells spoken in a half-voice. He couldn't remember any spells to heal his hand, so he simply wrapped it in a cloth handkerchief from his bag; he would go to the Hospital later. As the adrenaline began to subside, he discovered that it hurt like hell. After a few more seconds of stupor, Snape, like many others, stopped staring at him and concentrated on the lesson at hand. Draco tried to do the same, though he could still feel Blaise's gaze on his left temple; but he refused to return it. And it only took a quick glance to the front to discover Nott's blue eyes fixed on him, sitting alone in the front row. When he found himself uncovered, the dark-haired boy blinked a couple of times and then slowly turned forward, cutting off eye contact. Draco felt a slight pang in his stomach, but he forced himself to push it out of his mind. He had more important things to worry about.
He felt dizzy, dazed, almost claustrophobic. As if there wasn't enough oxygen in the classroom. His hands were still shaking. He didn't want to think. He didn't want to try to understand what had happened. He couldn't analyse his own reactions. Granger had fought with those two louts Potter and Weasley countless times in the years he'd known them, and they'd forgiven each other just as many times. He himself had told Granger: there was nothing different this time. Only his own reaction. The feeling he'd gotten from that reconciliation that had absolutely nothing to do with him. He felt disgusted with himself. He shouldn't have felt that blind, overwhelming rage. That resentment, thinking that she shouldn't forgive them. Thinking bullshit. His heart shouldn't be beating like a drum. He shouldn't be trembling. He shouldn't have felt anything. But he had. He wasn't stupid, he couldn't fool himself. The question was why.
He buried his healthy hand in his hair, pretending to be deep in thought, reading the book he had open on the table, even though he didn't remember opening it. He felt sick. Sullied. As if a virus had taken over his body, slowly, gradually taking over his whole being. He could almost feel it tingling in his arms and legs. He turned his face a few discreet centimetres to the right, just enough to catch a glimpse of the Gryffindor tables. Would Granger be one of the ones who had looked at him when he broke the inkwell? He felt the heat rise to his face with no possible control at the prospect. Would she continue to stare at him? Would he meet her dark gaze full on, as he had done during the argument with Parkinson? No. Granger was writing on her parchment at an astonishing speed, her abundant brown hair hiding part of her face.
At that moment, with an impatient hand, the girl flicked her hair away from her eyes, tucking it behind her ear. And Draco accompanied the movement of her hand with his gaze. Despite having pushed it away, the ends of the shortest strands of her hair still brushed against her cheeks. Her round, bright brown eyes shifted in their sockets, reading rapidly. Blinking, focused on the lesson. Her lips pursed slightly, articulating unknown words from time to time. Draco took a deep breath through his nose. He didn't know why. His light eyes narrowed. And they dropped a few inches. The girl was sitting at the table closest to the aisle, so he could see her body. Her uniform. He could see her legs, under the table. Ankles crossed near the legs of the chair. Her bare knees, her skin between the edge of her skirt and the regulation grey high socks.
Draco realised then that he could feel his own pulse in his fingertips. And how his right thigh spasmed.
Enough.
He was beginning to feel really dizzy. He forced himself to look away by turning his face away, but it took an incredible effort; as if his neck was suddenly stiff. No, this was definitely not normal. What was happening to him was not normal. He would never have lost his temper like that over that Mudblood's bullshit. Something was wrong with him, and he refused to believe it was his fault. He hadn't done anything. No, there was something fishy going on — but what was happening? And why Granger?
Granger, the brightest student in his year. Of all people. A bossy, controlling girl; especially, that year, with him. Wasn't that too much of a coincidence? Was it possible that...? Yes, that had to be it. It had been her. She was behind it all. That Mudblood was doing this to him on purpose; she wanted him to feel all that. But why? He couldn't think of a coherent reason, but he felt such a surge of hatred and resentment towards the girl that he told himself he didn't need to look for a justification for her twisted Muggle mind. He would just, he thought, reaching out with his injured hand and picking up the quill that rested next to his textbook, find out.
Hermione, for her part, could barely keep a goofy grin from coming to her lips from time to time while she was writing. Even the incident that Malfoy seemed to have had with his inkwell didn't faze her in the slightest. She had more important things to think about. They had finally made amends. Harry and Ron were by her side again. There had been no need to talk about what had happened because of the rumour about Theodore Nott; what had happened had been enough. They still loved and supported each other when they needed it most. They loved each other. And that downplayed anything else. Any stupid fight.
Everything had been resolved. She felt completely happy, as she hadn't felt in days. The three of them had been through too much together for an argument like that to last more than a few days. They couldn't help it: they weren't perfect, and sometimes they messed up; they could get angry, even stop talking to each other... But the love they felt was stronger than pride, and when one of them felt threatened, the others rushed to their aid. That part of them was perhaps what she liked most about their friendship.
Suddenly, interrupting her musings, she felt something brush against her feet and was startled. Harry, to her right, stopped writing and looked at her curiously, but she just smiled at him, indicating that she was fine. She made to duck, but at that moment Snape began to speak and she was forced to pay attention:
"If you are anything faster than a Flobberworm, you will have finished copying by now," he waved his wand and the words on the board disappeared. Neville's plaintive groan was heard. "So now copy the first point, and then we'll discuss it," he summoned a spell and the board filled with instructions again. "I'll give you two minutes."
When everyone had concentrated on writing, and she was sure that Snape was far away, criticising Neville's writing at the other end of the class, Hermione discreetly crouched down to see what was bothering her. She was surprised to see that it was a small piece of yellowish parchment, enchanted in the shape of a dog that had apparently scoured the classroom in search of her. The girl reached out an arm and picked it up. She unfolded it over her lap, careful not to let her friends see it, finding several words written on it:
At five in the Clock Tower Courtyard.
Come alone.
D.M.
She felt her heart rise in her throat and her ears began to burn. She looked up and fixed her gaze on Malfoy's profile, deep in thought as he wrote on his parchment. He was calm and indifferent, as if he hadn't just sent a note to a Mudblood ordering her to meet him after school. Hermione's stomach cramped painfully. She gulped and struggled to compose herself, trying to play it down. Trying to keep her mind cool to think about what to do next. But her breathing had become helplessly shallow. Her head had become such a whirlwind of thoughts and doubts that she almost felt dizzy.
What was this all about? Why did he want to see her? What was she supposed to do? Go? Ignore him?
She closed her eyes and cursed herself, feeling stupid and frustrated for a moment... Was she afraid of Malfoy now?
Besides, she didn't want to ignore him. He had asked her to meet him. For once, she wasn't the one looking for him to talk to. And that filled her with a strange adrenaline mixed with satisfaction. It had been his initiative.
Finally, gazing at his sharp profile in the distance, she made an ill-considered, almost impulsive decision. She took a deep breath, turned the piece of parchment over, and wrote on it, trying to make her handwriting a little more elegant than the lines she was used to writing:
I'll be there.
She recreated the shape of a dog with a simple and discreet spell and, after sending it to its addressee, picked up her quill to continue copying the first point on the blackboard. But now with a permanent sense of unease that didn't allow her to pay enough attention to what she was writing.
What could Malfoy want from her?
Later that evening, Harry, Ginny, Hermione and Ron were sitting in armchairs by the fire, engaged in an exciting game of Wizard's Chess. The Common Room around them was crowded with chattering third and fourth years, who had decided, like them, to take shelter from the winter chill outside in Gryffindor Tower.
At the moment, Harry and Ginny were engaged in a duel to the death, the winner of which would be the one to face Ron, victor of the previous game against Hermione and winner of that game against his friends the vast majority of the time.
Harry had been staring at the pieces on the board for several minutes, absolutely focused. The young red-haired girl, her freckled cheek resting on her hand, watched him without him noticing her, a tiny smile on her lips, amused at the seriousness on his face.
Ron, sprawled out on the sofa, broke the silence.
"C'mon, Harry, Merlin's pants... I'm growing a beard."
The dark-haired boy raised a hand quickly, and waved it in front of his nose, asking for silence. Ron snorted, exasperated. Ginny gave Hermione an amused, knowing look, but her friend didn't return her gaze. She had turned her face to look at the ornate golden clock hanging on a wall in the Common Room to her right, oblivious to her friends. Ginny had caught her in the same gesture several times before. She seemed to be somewhat absent. Even when she thought her friends weren't looking, she looked worried.
"Rook to E6," Harry then exclaimed, with a satisfied look on his face. The magical rook obeyed him, and moved into position, next to the bishop. Ron groaned with orgasmic satisfaction. Ginny looked back at the board, contemplating the move. Then she let out a giggle.
"Are you sure, Potter?" she asked, in a faithful imitation of Snape's gravelly voice. The boy barely contained his laughter, and looked at her warily. He glanced at the board, then back at her, his green eyes bright with suspicion.
"I've never been more sure before... Why?"
"I'll just say two words," Ginny commented, in Snape's deep voice, stretching out an arm languidly and pointing to one of her pieces. "Knight... E6."
And sure enough, the magical figure whinnied and swooped towards Harry's helpless rook. Ron's eyes widened.
"You've spent three days thinking up this move for this?" Ron protested, incredulously. "You're good for nothing! How on earth have you been able to defeat You-Know-Who several times?"
Harry went to retort, offended, but couldn't help but laugh. He sighed heavily and looked at Ginny with mock anger. She returned a glowering glare.
"Well played, Ginny," Hermione praised, amused. As she spoke, her head turned again in the direction of the clock on the wall. It was twenty-five to five.
"Hermione, you're going to get one of those torticollis things in the end, why are you looking at the clock so much?" Ginny chided her, unable to contain herself any longer, a little strangely. "Are you waiting for something?"
"Huh?" Hermione felt herself blushing. The truth was that she was staring at the clock, unable to contain herself, with a worrying three-minute average, waiting for five o'clock for her meeting with Malfoy. "No, no, nothing special..."
She felt an annoying tingling in her stomach because of her nerves. She could barely concentrate on the game. She was looking forward to the hour so that she could find out what Malfoy wanted, but at the same time, she obviously didn't want to meet him. The few times they had met alone had not ended very well. But this time it was different. The blond had personally asked, or ordered, rather, her to meet him. Now he couldn't call her a meddler.
She got annoyed with herself. She didn't have to be nervous. She didn't have to be. She didn't even have to go if she didn't want to...
"Are you in a hurry?" Ginny asked curiously, pulling her out of her thoughts.
"No — I mean, yes," she replied, her brain working at full speed. "Well, it's not a hurry exactly, but I have to... go to the Library. And I don't want to get distracted and get it closed," she stammered, but deeply relieved that she'd come up with a credible excuse. Not very elaborate, but credible.
"To the Library?" Ron was astonished, looking at her in puzzlement. "But it's the first week after Christmas, and we haven't got that much homework..."
"Yeah, but... I have to do my Arithmancy homework and... and I need to look up some tables," Hermione excused herself and stood up. She didn't feel able to delay any longer. She picked up the bag that rested on the floor beside her and slung it over her shoulder. "I'm going now, to do it as soon as possible. I've already lost anyway, and this game is going to be a long one," she tried to joke, pointing to the board with an amused gesture. "I'll see you guys in a bit. I won't be long... Oh, I forgot my scarf!" she exclaimed, stepping back and picking up the scarf, which was lying on the back of the chair.
"What are you taking the scarf for?" Harry wondered.
"Well, because it's snowing, of course," Hermione replied, surprised by the question.
"Yeah, it's snowing outside... but, weren't you going to the Library?" Ginny reminded her, with irony and almost amusement.
"Uh — ? Oh!" Oh, God. "Yeah, yeah, of course, but it's just — it's just — it's really cold in the Library, didn't you know that? Of course, as you hardly ever come with me," she laughed nervously but with slight hysteria as she made her way towards the portrait entrance. "Well, I leave. See you later."
"Bye," Ginny replied, waving her off. As soon as the girl's hair was lost behind the portrait hole, the redhead turned to her friends. "Hey, has something happened to Hermione? I feel her acting strange."
"She seems nervous today," Harry admitted hesitantly, staring at the portrait through which his friend had exited. "But I thought it was because we'd just made up or something..."
"I thought the same thing," Ron said in a mutter, frowning. "Ron muttered, frowning. "Maybe she's still mad at us because of that guy. The Slytherin."
"Theodore Nott?" Ginny pointed out. With a hesitant grimace. "Maybe... But I don't think so. Hermione's proud, if she was really upset she'd still have told us straight out."
"Maybe she doesn't trust us in that matter anymore," Harry opined more quietly, suddenly looking worried. "The way we reacted..."
"It's possible," the redhead admitted with a sigh, raising a shoulder. "It's just that, honestly, it's suspicious that she has to check the time to go to the Library. She almost lives there, she knows it doesn't close until eight o'clock at night, doesn't she? What was the rush?"
Harry frowned more pronouncedly, pondering. Ginny looked at him, curious, waiting for him to comment on what was going through his mind.
"Perhaps —" Harry began, meeting her questioning gaze, "— she's going to see him now? And she didn't want to tell us?"
Ron raised his head. Suddenly, he looked somewhere between offended and hurt.
"See who? Nott?"
"I don't know, it's a possibility," Harry justified himself quickly, blushing slightly. "It just crossed my mind..."
Ginny lowered her brown eyes to the carpet, also pondering. There was a somewhat tense silence. Definitely sad.
"Let's wait and see if she behaves normally in the next few days, let's not jump to conclusions," she finished. "If we don't trust her, we won't give her any reason to trust us."
Hermione was walking as fast as she could through the corridors, rushing down stairs and taking all the shortcuts she could find. She glanced at a wall clock in a corridor; although she had left early, she was running out of time. She turned sharply to the left and hurried down a wide but deserted corridor, filled with tapestries, elaborate paintings, and armour.
"What a mop of hair, lass!" a high-pitched, mocking voice suddenly spat.
The girl stopped abruptly despite her haste and looked around with a frown. Experience had taught her that if someone close to her said something about 'hair' in a dismissive manner, they were most likely referring to her. A shrill laugh echoed above her head and made her look up.
"Peeves!" the young woman exclaimed, offended. "Leave me alone, you rude!" she snorted, continuing down the corridor.
"In fact I'm doing you a favour!" the poltergeist sneered, following her as he flew calmly, sprawled in the air. "I bet you didn't notice that a dragon spat on you, did you? That is a mess...!"
"Leave me alone!" the girl commanded angrily, picking up her pace even faster. "Or I'll put a hex on you!"
"Very well, very well, as you wish! When a couple wants to hide in your hair to do their dirty deeds, thinking it's a bush, don't say I didn't warn you!" the ghost laughed loudly, made a handful of chalk appear out of nowhere and dropped it over the girl.
"Peeves!" she shouted, stopping abruptly, ready to pull out her wand and curse him. The poltergeist laughed again and was out of sight in the blink of an eye. Hermione snorted and continued walking, more slowly. Peeves' silliness had managed to overwhelm her. She couldn't help but feel a twinge of unease, despite herself. She bit her lower lip and ran a hand through her hair, still walking. Did it really look so terribly bad?
Despite the fact that she didn't exactly have time to spare, she stopped in front of a shining suit of armour, almost at the end of the long corridor. She stared at her distorted reflection in it, and looked critically at the thick clump of brown hair that framed her face. She raised both hands impatiently and removed a piece of chalk that was sticking out near her ear. She tried to comb a strand with her fingers, to no avail. She would never get it to stop looking matted and frizzy. A Sleekeazy's Hair Potion was useful, but who would want to smear stinking liquid on their hair every morning? What a waste of time! She looked at herself from different angles. She took off her scarf and put it on in a perhaps more flattering way. She looked at herself again. When her eyes met those of her reflection, her brow furrowed. She couldn't hold back a snort of indignation.
What was she supposed to be doing?
"I'm trying to give Malfoy one less reason to mock me, as I'm sure he will," she said aloud to herself, looking censoriously at her reflection. "That's all I'm doing. But it's silly. He'll tease me anyway."
She took a deep breath and removed her scarf, putting it back on the same way she'd worn it in the beginning; less attractive, perhaps, but certainly more appropriate for keeping out the cold.
"I think you look beautiful, miss," an elderly wizard remarked from a frame near the armour, smiling kindly.
Hermione gave him a warm, grateful smile, and made to continue on her way. But she had barely taken two steps when she heard a voice behind her.
"Hermione!" a familiar voice called out. The girl turned around, a little surprised to see Parvati Patil coming towards her at a trot. Her Ravenclaw sister Padma was a few feet away, waiting for her.
"Hi," Hermione greeted in a neutral tone. The last time she had spoken to the girl had been days ago, when the argument with Harry and Ron over her and Lavender's accusations had happened. She hadn't spoken to either of them in the evenings any more than was strictly necessary.
Parvati looked at her with a mixture of hesitation and embarrassment, but seemed to come with the intention of having a friendly conversation. She didn't seem clear on how Hermione would react, though.
"Hey, I hope you weren't affected by what that Parkinson sow said in the morning," she began, cautiously and kindly. "She's mad. Don't pay any attention to her."
Hermione softened her features slightly.
"I don't," she assured her, simply.
"Great... You know? I wanted to make amends too," the raven-haired girl admitted gruffly, speaking in a rushed manner. "And apologise to you. I didn't know how to do it but I don't want to drag it out any longer. We didn't mean to be cruel or make fun of you for being with this Nott."
"I'm not dating Nott," Hermione replied dryly. Her interlocutor swallowed.
"I know," she hastened to confirm, looking a little distressed. "I believe you. It's just… My sister saw you two talking in Arithmancy a few times and she mentioned to Lavender and I that you two might be together. And then he casually came to ask us to give him the book... We jumped to conclusions," her trembling voice sounded like a sincere apology. Hermione's features relaxed completely.
"I understand," she forced herself to say, seeing the regret shining on her companion's face. Parvaty dared a cautious smile.
"We haven't discussed it with anyone else, I promise. What Lavender said about people talking... it wasn't true," she assured her, looking at the girl gravely. "You know how Lavender is about these things. We won't say anything like that about you and Nott again. I'm very sorry we caused the fight with Harry and Ron. You guys have fixed it? If I can do anything..."
Hermione gave a small smile. Encouraging her interlocutor, who also smiled in relief.
"I know. Thank you," she agreed, and reached up a hand to stroke the girl's arm. "Don't worry, we've sorted it out. But I appreciate it, Parvati."
"Everything all right, then?" the girl wanted to be sure, though she looked calmer. Hermione nodded, her friendly smile widening.
Parvati smiled more broadly in gratitude and, after saying that they would see each other later as a farewell, turned to go back to her sister.
Hermione turned back to the front and continued walking slowly. Feeling a little more relaxed. No one was talking about her and Nott. It had just been Lavender's unfounded gossip. Nott's 'reputation' was intact. There was really nothing to worry about, nothing to regret. They could still have a cordial relationship.
Letting out a sigh, she tried to relax and not think about anything for a while, as she walked in the direction of the courtyard. Trying to let her overloaded mind rest. But, as always happens when you want to let your mind go blank, as she remembered where she was going, she felt the worry come over her again without being able to help it. Twisting her guts. She caught herself thinking that it was quite possible that Malfoy might be interested in the conversation she'd just had with Parvati...
She turned a corner, and went down a final flight of stairs, eventually emerging through a wide door into the Clock Tower Courtyard. A rush of wintry air made her shiver instantly. At that moment, she regretted not having taken her coat as well, despite the suspicion it would bring upon her friends; she wore only her uniform robes and scarf. She stopped in her tracks, shivering, and noticed, confused, that there were several people loitering in the snowy courtyard. What if they saw her with Malfoy? Hadn't the Slytherin thought of that detail when he suggested they meet there? Didn't he care if they were seen together?
Yeah, sure, and Blast-Ended Skrewt were ideal pets for children...
"Hey! Shh! Granger!"
Hermione turned her head in the direction of the voice, and saw a properly wrapped Malfoy slyly calling out to her from the entrance to the Wooden Bridge a few feet away. The girl took one last deep breath and made her way there without hesitation, her footing firm. She couldn't help but look around absently, though. No one ever took the Wooden Bridge in winter, for it was very old, cold and dilapidated. It would definitely hide them from prying eyes, and that was probably why Malfoy had chosen the place. But she still didn't feel at ease. Although, in fact, there was nothing wrong with what they were doing...
"I see you got my note, Granger," was the blond's curt greeting as she stood beside him, hidden by the ceiling and the narrowness of the bridge. He seemed very tense, and spoke very slowly, as if he were alert. "You didn't have the decency to return it to me signed, so I wasn't sure if you'd show up..."
New record. Seven seconds in his company, less than thirty words, and she wanted to strangle him. There couldn't be a more unbearable person than that boy.
"You shouldn't send notes in class," Hermione scolded him, icily. "It might as well have been Snape who intercepted it, and he would have shown up instead of me."
Draco's eyebrow arched in mock concern.
"Aha, sure. But my utter — " Malfoy emphasised with mock guilt, scornful, "— lack of decency in class hasn't stopped you from coming, I see," he retorted, blinking with sharp irony. Hermione scowled at him, dropping her eyelids. "Even if you are late."
"I'm so sorry," Hermione apologised, also with obvious derision. She had just arrived and was already looking forward to getting the hell out of there. She folded her arms, looking to the side. But she agreed to add, with dry sincerity, "I got held up on the way."
"Peeves?" Malfoy guessed, arching both eyebrows.
Hermione turned her face towards him, suddenly outraged.
"How do you know?" she asked accusingly. She narrowed her eyes suspiciously. "Did you bribe him to annoy me?"
Draco snorted reluctantly, as if he'd found it amusing.
"I assure you I have better things to spend my time on, smart-arse," he sneered, rolling his eyes and shoving his gloved hands into the pockets of his elegant black coat. "I guessed it because you've got a chalk stuck to your robes, you clever one. Peeves has been throwing chalk at people all week..."
Hermione blinked, and looked down, searching for the aforementioned chalk. She finally discovered it, hooked to the hem of her sleeve. She waved it off, and snorted.
"I hate that poltergeist," she mumbled, shaking out her clothes to see if she had any more chalk hidden there. A few fell to the icy ground.
"I don't understand why," Draco sniggered, arching an eyebrow, not changing his expression of utter boredom. Hermione snorted again but said nothing, still shaking out her robes. She seemed to be pondering. She hesitated for a moment, before looking at the boy with renewed seriousness. Draco blinked, holding back the sudden urge to avert his own gaze.
"Actually, Peeves wasn't the only one. I've been talking to... well, never mind. The point is, I've been assured that no one talks about Nott and me," she confessed, looking the boy steadily in the eye. He blinked again, furrowing his blond eyebrows slightly, taking in her words. Wiping the irony from his face. "I'm talking about what I told you in the Library... I thought you'd be interested to know. It was just malicious gossip. No one, as far as I know, is calling Nott a traitor. You can rest assured on that point."
Draco gulped discreetly. He suddenly felt the need to take a deep breath, and did so. It was, though he didn't intend to say it outright, a bloody relief. And he realised, as he felt his shoulders relax hopelessly, that he hadn't even doubted the girl's words. He didn't ask her how she knew, or who she'd spoken to. His first impulse was simply to believe her truthfulness.
And, realising this, he had to restrain himself from taking a step away, almost frightened.
Was he really trusting Hermione Granger?
He rubbed his nose with the back of his hand, just buying time before answering. He needed to get his heart rate under control before he spoke. Or he would vomit.
"Fine," was all he finally managed to say, dryly, lifting his chin slightly. Hermione said nothing, just stared at him. And so several seconds passed, amidst an icy silence.
"So...?" she finally said, somewhat quietly. He narrowed his eyes.
"So?" he was forced to ask, confused and defensive. The girl arched an eyebrow, showing a scornful expression more typical of him than of her.
"You've asked me to meet you here, haven't you?" she remembered, almost ironically. "What's this about? I told Harry and Ron I'd be right back. So you'd better hurry."
"Well, that's touching," Draco scoffed, walking off unhurriedly across the bridge. Hermione, after a moment's hesitation, reluctantly agreed to follow him. Her arms folded, shielding herself from both the cold and his presence. "I almost forgot that you had already forgiven yourself with Potty and Weasel, after their heroic performance this morning... And you didn't tell them you were going to meet me? You managed to lie to your close friends? What nerve!"
"I did it for you, Malfoy," she replied, smiling with false sweetness. "If my friends found out that you forced me to meet you alone, you'd be in the Hospital by now with a watermelon for head."
"You have no idea what nightmares you've just given me," Malfoy said, deadly serious, but with a definite hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"That was the point," Hermione snapped angrily, beginning to lose patience. "But before you give me another idiotic retort, I have a life to live, so either tell me what all this secrecy is for, or I'm leaving right now."
Malfoy then stopped in the middle of the bridge and Hermione mimicked him. His hands were still in his pockets, and his eyes were now locked on hers. His face was serious and expressionless. No longer sneering. The girl swallowed discreetly, trying not to show that her heart had skipped a beat. It made her hair stand on end when Malfoy looked at her in such a serious manner, as she had no way of guessing what the boy was going to say or do next. In fact, she almost preferred it when he was sneering. It was less dangerous. But, of course, she didn't avoid his gaze, and held it with determination.
"What are you doing to me?" was the only thing that came from the boy's lips, in a very light tone, without altering his expression and without averting his gaze.
Hermione blinked. Twice. And then she looked both ways, confused.
"What do you mean?" she asked in turn, completely bewildered. "I am not doing anything to you..."
"Don't pretend now. I want to know what you're doing to me," Draco repeated, his face suddenly taking on a grim complexion. He suddenly looked menacing. "What is it? A spell? A potion? An Imperius Curse? If I can prove that you've hexed me I'm going to tell the Headmaster and have you expelled, you Mudblood... So you're already taking it back."
Hermione had to blink again.
"Have you lost your mind?" she snapped, stunned. "What on earth are you talking about?"
"Stop that, I know you've done something to me. Did you think I wouldn't notice? I know you have, otherwise there's no point for me to —"
"You, what?" Hermione interrupted quickly, bewildered, feeling her stomach do an annoying flip.
Malfoy suddenly fell silent, breathing deeply and slowly. Unsteadily. Still staring into the girl's eyes. His warm breath turned to mist as soon as it left his mouth, and Hermione was aware at that moment that she was holding her own without realising it.
"You know perfectly well what I'm talking about. Don't play games with me, Granger," he hissed, his syllables slurring. "I'll make you confess by hook or by crook."
"What are you talking about?" Hermione repeated again, more emphatically. Immune to his veiled threat.
And she was still staring at him, in total bewilderment. Either she was a fantastic actress, or she really didn't seem to know what he was talking about... And the very idea that she had nothing to do with what he was feeling made a sudden rage come over him. No, that was not possible. She had to be behind.
"Don't pretend! Tell me immediately what you've done to me, Mudblood! Speak!" he demanded, his eyes wide. She let out an exclamation of shock at his abrupt change of tone, and stepped back almost unnoticed, raising a hand in front of her as if it were a shield.
"What do you — ?" the girl tried to say.
"I know you're behind this, Granger!" he accused, approaching her again and pointing an accusing index finger at her. He opened his white hand and instinctively grabbed the girl's raised forearm, as if to push it aside. No shields between them. "You have to be!"
"Stay away from me!"
With a hard push on his chest with her free hand, Hermione pushed him away, pulling him several paces away and forcing him to let go of her arm. They stood barely half a metre apart, panting, and staring into each other's eyes. Her eyes were stricken, his empty.
"I don't understand a word you're saying," Hermione muttered determinedly. Rubbing a hand unconsciously where Draco's fingers had dug in. "And I don't have to put up with this. I haven't done anything to you, Malfoy. You know? We'll talk when you're mature enough to take responsibility for yourself and whatever it is that's happening to you."
She swallowed what little saliva she had left and started to walk across the bridge, not waiting for his response. She was actually heading for the other entrance to the bridge, the one leading to the grounds, but she didn't even know where her feet were taking her. All she wanted was to get as far away from Malfoy, and his disconcerting accusations, as possible.
But luck was not on her side.
"Do you know what the damn problem is, Granger?" Malfoy spat at her back. The creaking of the fragile wood of the floor signalled that he was following her. "That what's happening to me isn't normal. I'm not behaving normally, nothing I'm feeling is normal, and all my problems started when you got into the habit of meddling in my life. So you'll understand that, given that you were the most bloody intelligent student in the whole school, I suspected... no, I'm sure, that you've hexed me in some way."
"Malfoy, I'm tired of telling you that I haven't the faintest idea what on earth you're ruminating about," she exclaimed, wearily, quickening her pace. "And stop following me, for heaven's sake!"
Suddenly their feet left the smooth wooden surface to sink several inches into the snow that covered the outside. They had walked all the way across the Wooden Bridge and out the other side, into one of the grounds next to the greenhouses, in which stood the Stone Circle. It was a strange construction of three large stones set in a semicircle, from which Hagrid's hut was visible. It was all snowy, empty, silent and shining.
"I'm not doing it!" Malfoy shouted in return, reaching out and grabbing the girl's wrist, forcing her to stop. He pulled her to face him. "Not until you tell me what you've done to me. What was it? Amortentia? The one your filthy Weasleys were selling?"
Hermione froze completely. Suddenly, she felt as if someone had turned off the light around her, leaving her in darkness. All she could see was Malfoy standing in front of her.
Amortentia.
"A… love potion?" Hermione repeated, taken aback. "What are you talking about? What are you implying?"
Draco's eyes went wide, horrified at what he himself had revealed. He let go of her wrist instantly, as if it had burned him, and stepped back onto the crunchy snow, not breaking eye contact. Hermione made no attempt to flee, and held his gaze with genuine expectation.
"I'm not implying anything, Granger. Anything," he said, struggling to regain his poise. He wiped his hand on the front of his coat mechanically, not even noticing. "It was just a fucking example. I told you I don't know what you did, so I want you to explain it to me."
"How I did what?" Hermione exclaimed more forcefully, still breathing heavily. "What do you think I did to you, Malfoy? Explain yourself!"
Draco's nose flaps twitched.
"I'm not playing your game. Don't change the subject. I want you to explain it to me!" Draco shouted in return. He was unusually pale.
Hermione shook her head, stressed.
"We won't get anywhere like this. I keep telling you, I don't know what you're talking about! I think the only one who can explain it to yourself is you, Malfoy," she said, trying to control her voice. "I would never, listen to me carefully, never degrade myself to such an extreme for anyone. Least of all for you. Why on earth would you think I would do such a thing?"
Her voice sounded almost choked. Utterly bewildered. Malfoy jerked as if she had slapped him. His loud, agitated breathing could be heard amidst the stillness of the grounds. His eyes were like two embers.
"You're a —" he stammered, trying to control too much anger to articulate anything coherent. He seemed capable of slamming himself into something at any moment.
"A what?" Hermione snapped, with renewed fury, taking a brave step towards him. "Come on, say it, what am I? A Mudblood? I already know that because of you, thank you very much." Malfoy pursed his lips. She wanted to hit him, without quite knowing why exactly. "Why do you think I have given you a love potion?"
"I don't have to put up with this," Draco snorted haughtily. But his voice was a little breathy. "We'll talk some other time when you're not acting like a lunatic."
Indeed, he turned and walked back to the Wooden Bridge to return to the castle. Hermione breathed in sharply, outraged.
"Don't you dare walk away now, Draco Malfoy!" she yelled at him. "Come back here immediately!"
He absolutely ignored her as his only response. Out of her mind, Hermione bent down and grabbed a handful of snow from the ground with her bare hands. Straightening up again, she threw it at his back. The icy projectile hit its mark and splattered the back of his blond hair with moisture, soaking his coat as well. Draco paused and turned around slowly, livid.
"Did you just throw snow at me, Granger?" he demanded, his tone threatening danger.
"You bet I did!" she shrieked, furious.
Malfoy, almost fuming through his nose, bent down and caught a handful of snow in his gloved hands, then threw it at Hermione in response. It hit her full in the chest, and some of it splattered her face. The girl's jaw dropped under its own weight. She had only thrown snow at him to stop him; it hadn't even crossed her mind that he was going to throw anything back at her.
"We're even now," he hissed, shaking his hands to free them from the snow. Her fingers twitched.
"You're a — ! You're unbearable!" Hermione yelled, bending down again to scoop up another handful of snow and throw it at him. It brushed past the boy's face, but missed him. Malfoy ducked in turn to grab more snow, while Hermione dived to the side to dodge his projectiles.
"Be still, Fang," said Hagrid sternly, as he peeled potatoes, sitting at the table in his hut. The dog was still barking restlessly, with his front paws perched on the window sill. "Wha' the matter? Are yeh hungry? The food is not ready yet. Wait, I'll give yeh somethin' ter snack on..."
The gamekeeper rose heavily to his feet and walked over to the cupboard by the window. He gazed casually out over the snowy grounds as he rummaged for something to feed his dog, when suddenly his whole body tensed. He stopped his movements instantly. He stepped away from the cupboard and rushed to the window, pressing his face against the fogged glass, pushing Fang slightly away.
"Tha's Hermione," he said in a whisper to himself, worriedly watching his young friend run as someone chased after her. He raised a huge hand and wiped the mist from the glass to get a better look. "Bu' tha' one doesn' look like Harry or Ron... Tha's... MALFOY!"
He let out a rabid roar and, throwing his flowered apron on the table, stormed out of the hut. Fang came barking after him.
"You are the most self-centred and immature person I have ever had the misfortune to meet!" Hermione shouted, as she threw a ball that hit the blond in the knee.
"Me? I'm self-centred and immature?" he bellowed in return, throwing a ball at the girl that hit her in the shoulder. "You're the one who's persisted in harassing me for a thousand and one stupid things over the past few months!"
"H-harassing you?" she repeated, too indignant to remember that she had been about to throw him another ball. She would have killed him on the spot. She took a step towards him, "You call trying to get you to stop making life miserable for the entire Ancient Runes class a harassment, you piece of —?!"
"Exactly! You've done nothing but harass me for months, and now you've cast a spell on me so that I —" he shuddered, feeling breathless. So that he... what? He had enough sense not to finish the sentence, not to say out loud exactly what he was feeling. He couldn't put voice to his thoughts. His face and chest burned. He shook his head in frustration and glared at her with deep contempt. "What the hell do you want from me, Granger? Say it now, and stop this immediately."
Hermione's face was going through a disturbing succession of colours: first red, then white, and now purple. Without even realising it, they had both stopped the rain of snowballs and had moved closer until they were facing each other, forgetting about the icy battle.
"But what... what the hell could I possibly want from you?" she mumbled, feeling so much anger inside her that it was impossible to scream any more. Her eyes were locked on Malfoy's, and she could have sworn she could see herself reflected in those two silver mirrors. "Malfoy, I don't understand what's happening to you, but I can assure you that I had nothing to do with it. Whatever it is, you'll have to sort it out on your own."
He just clenched his jaws without breaking eye contact. He was digging his nails into his palms through his gloves. He was breaking out in a cold sweat.
"That's not possible," he muttered through his teeth. She didn't say anything else, nor did she look away. Stunned at the state of near panic mixed with fury the boy seemed to be in. Why, even if he tried to hide it, did he look frightened? She didn't understand what was going on in the blond's mind... and what little she thought she did understand was utterly insane nonsense. She didn't like it one bit.
Sudden footsteps, heavy on the snow, and a string of barks, made them blink abruptly and turn to look for the source of the sound.
"Hagrid…" Hermione gasped, watching as the gamekeeper ran up the slope towards them, followed closely by Fang.
She and Draco looked at each other one last time, slightly dazed. As if they had just suddenly remembered where they were and who they were.
"YEH!" Hagrid roared in his powerful voice as soon as he reached them. "STAY AWAY FROM HER IMMEDIATELY, MALFOY!"
Fang, barking furiously, made an attempt to lunge at the young blond, but Hagrid held him by the collar to stop him, though it was clear that he would not hesitate to let go if necessary. Hermione had never seen her friend's peaceful, sleepy pet so furious. The animal was splattering drool as he barked.
"Hagrid…" Hermione began in a whisper, trying to calm him down, but he didn't hear her. He was too busy glaring at Draco and shouting at the top of his voice.
"D'YEH NOT HEAR ME? GET OUT! NOW! OR I WON' HESITATE TER RELEASE FANG!"
Draco did not move from his spot. He glared at the gamekeeper and his dog with hatred and disgust, and then looked at Hermione. She caught a glimpse of resentment and contempt in his gaze, along with something she couldn't quite identify, but it made her shudder. Her skin crawled under her clothes.
"EITHER YEH LEAVE OR I'LL CALL THE HEADMASTER! YEH'VE BIN WARNED, MALFOY!"
The blond turned and walked away with determined strides. Hermione, stunned by all that had happened, just watched him leave until he disappeared over the Wooden Bridge.
"Damn brat," Hagrid muttered, finally releasing Fang, who had stopped barking after the Slytherin's departure. Panting, he looked at Hermione paternally, "Are yeh all righ', Hermione? Did he hur' yeh? Fang saw yeh from the window an' wen' berserk..."
The young woman shook her head, lowering her gaze to the ground, leaving it lost in the snow. She felt a horrible pressure in her chest, and she was starting to feel very tired, as if she had just run a marathon and the adrenaline was starting to drop. She couldn't feel her hands; they were frozen from the unexpected snow battle. She tried to clench her fists to warm them, but her joints ached too much.
Hagrid noticed Hermione's mood and approached her, hugging her gently. Or as gently as he could for someone so huge. Fang was rolling around in the snow, oblivious to it all.
"Oh, Hermione," Hagrid murmured sympathetically, "don' let him get ter yeh. It's Malfoy. Yeh know him, he's not worth it..."
Hermione nodded uncertainly, burying her face in her friend's thick coat. Her head was so full of doubts that her brain couldn't agree on which one to think about first. One of them was on the surface, though, flashing, haunting...
Malfoy had accused her of giving him a love potion. A love potion. The implications of such a thing were clear, but it was too far-fetched. There had to be another explanation. Malfoy was too confused, so much so that it was frightening. He couldn't be having any kind of… romantic thoughts about her. It was hopelessly impossible. Malfoy couldn't see her as a woman. She was a Mudblood. An animal.
And yet… his words, his accusations… It didn't make sense. Nothing made sense. She clung tighter to Hagrid's massive body, trying to release the tension that gripped her. Her hands ached with the pressure.
She didn't even understand why she was suddenly struggling to hold back the tears in her eyes.