Hello, everyone! How are you? 😊 Here I come with a quite long chapter, and I think it is also an exciting one. With a lot of Dramione hahaha 😏 But, first of all, there has been a kiss! Yay! 😱 A kiss that has left Hermione stumped, and Draco nearly having a heart attack afterwards! hahaha 😂 Let's see what happens now, when they have to return to reality...
I hope you like this new one, and, as always, thanks in advance for reading! Feel free to leave any comments if you'd like! 😊
CHAPTER 18
Embers
The dark, cold dungeon in which Potions class was being taught was filled with aromatic vapours of different opacities and colours. The sound of a dozen bubbling cauldrons, and various metal instruments, mingled with the loud noise of the students' voices. The vast majority were trying to discern with the help of their classmates what their mistake had been and why their precious potion, which had caused them so much sweat, was not the violet colour it should be, but rather a navy blue, purple, maroon, or an eye-damaging green.
"If you have followed my instructions correctly," said Professor Slughorn, smiling, wobbling his protruding belly from table to table as he examined the meagre progress of his students, "you should now stir three times clockwise and your potion will turn a most graceful pale pink, with a proper pearly sheen. Go on, try it."
The entire class did as he instructed, but in most cases, the potion did not change in the slightest, further plunging its maker into misery. In other cases, what happened was that it began to bubble more intensely, threatening to singe the eyebrows of the nearest student.
"Bloody hell!" Ron exclaimed in alarm, stepping back as his potion began to shoot blue sparks everywhere.
"You didn't get it either?" Harry asked hoarsely, trying not to breathe in the stinking fumes emanating from his purple potion.
"My singed fringes don't answer for me?" Ron complained with a grimace, trying to stop the smoke coming out of his hair. "How did you get it, Hermione?"
"I don't know, by following the instructions, I suppose," said the girl apologetically, stirring her cauldron happily, which contained a light pink potion with a pearly sheen. "Which you haven't done..."
"Of course I — !" Ron protested, looking away to the board and squinting to reread the instructions through the variously coloured vapours. He was silent for a moment, his friends expectant. "Was it three beetle eyes?" he finished asking, in a whisper.
"That's right. And then two Sopophorous beans," Hermione remarked, with a faint smile. "Did you pour them out?"
Ron didn't answer, and just stared at his sputtering potion in disappointment.
"Bloody hell," he repeated for the second time in less than two minutes.
"I don't know what I've done wrong, and I don't care," Harry mumbled, covering his mouth with one hand to repel the stench. "I just want it to stop smelling like that..."
"I'll help you," Ron offered, taking one last look at his incorrigible creation and waving his wand to put out the fire under the cauldron.
Hermione smiled at them in encouragement and continued to attend to her demanding potion. Now that she seemed to be getting it done, she allowed herself to relax slightly. It was very pleasant to see how the vapours rose from the cauldron in slow spirals of different shapes, but all equally captivating. Suddenly she felt at peace with herself, forgetting for a moment that she was in a classroom, only marvelling at the silhouettes that the faint vapours took on. But something she saw through the vapours caught her eye.
Malfoy's grey eyes turned from watching Zabini, who was standing with his back to Hermione, and fixed on the young Granger unexpectedly, probably as a reflex action for having felt the girl's gaze on him. But it was only for an instant. Just a quick glance that Hermione had the great fortune to appreciate. But then he looked away abruptly, as if he did not wish to attract her attention at all, and concentrated more than would have been reasonable on fixing his potion, which was a striking purple colour.
Hermione looked down, back at the cauldron before her, dropping her eyelids. Thanks to a fleeting glance from Draco Malfoy, despite its apparent irrelevance, the calm she had managed to feel had left her again. And she cursed herself greatly for it.
He was avoiding her. Again. Just as he had all week. He had avoided her gaze, being alone with her, and any contact with her, no matter how distant. The situation was starting to get beyond her, and Malfoy wasn't doing his part to make things easier. She felt like she was going to explode from the jumble of feelings inside her... She definitely needed to talk to him. Although it was really the last thing she wanted to do.
Her lips tingled as she remembered the unexpected, furtive kiss she'd received in that alleyway in Hogsmeade...
The hours that followed that unexpected kiss were hell for the girl. Guilt clutched at her gut almost immediately after the boy was out of sight in the snow. She stood in that cold alley for a long time, sitting on one of the boxes, trying to calm herself. Trying to gather her strength to return to The Three Broomsticks, to return to her friends. To face their faces. She couldn't look Ginny in the face, or Neville or Luna. Embarrassment was permeating every pore of her skin. Draco Malfoy had kissed her. An enemy, a criminal, a sympathiser of the greatest dark wizard in history, a boy who had tormented their existence for as long as they had known him. And she had allowed it. Behind the backs of her friends, behind the backs of everyone she cared about...
Finally, the guilt gave way to an intense rage that she focused directly on Malfoy. She was not to blame. It had all been Malfoy's initiative, and, although she didn't understand what had happened, she hadn't caused any of it. He had simply summoned her to tell her something. Something that, in the end, he hadn't told her. She hadn't gone to that alley looking for something like that. Not by a long shot. It wasn't her fault. She had done nothing wrong.
She had finally realised that the inexplicable attraction she had begun to feel for him weeks ago prevented her from feeling completely disgusted by what had happened. And that made her feel even more wretched. That was what made her truly ashamed. She should feel much more indignant and angry than she actually did.
After a long time, she forced herself to realise that she could not tell her friends anything. Even though she wanted to with all her might. She couldn't look Ginny in the face and tell her everything that was going on with Malfoy. Because it wasn't... logical. Hermione couldn't coherently explain what was happening. It was all... instinctive. Implausible. Spontaneous. Far-fetched. It followed no reasoning whatsoever.
So she returned to The Three Broomsticks, where her friends had been waiting faithfully with empty glasses for some time, trying to control her expression to make it serene and frustrated that she hadn't found the brass scale she needed in Dervish and Banges. And later, in the castle, she forced herself to look normally at Harry and Ron, to smile and cheerfully recount the cold they had experienced in the village, and the sweets they had bought in the various shops. Despite the embarrassment she felt looking them in the eye. Even though, inside, she felt like an absolute traitor and a liar.
She knew what her friends would say. She could almost visualise their shocked, worried, indignant faces. Because basically, everything they would tell her, she already knew. And she also knew how much they would worry about her. All the advice, plans to protect her, and Malfoy murders they would plan. And Hermione told herself that she didn't feel prepared to feel... judged, in the way she knew they would judge her. It was obvious and consistent that they would. With all their good intentions, but they would. And she didn't want that. Not yet. It was all too confusing. Her own explanations, her reasoning, would be too vague and disjointed.
She couldn't explain what was happening. And that was new to her.
She needed to talk to Malfoy. She needed to clear it all up. And then, perhaps, she could give a coherent explanation to her friends.
"Oho!" Slughorn suddenly exclaimed, suddenly nearby, snapping her out of her thoughts. Hermione's eyes widened with a start, her heart pounding, as if waking from a restless sleep. The professor had pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and was trying to avoid the stench coming from Harry's potion. "Harry, m'boy, please, flush the potion down the sink before we get sick… I won't fail you, I assure you, but do it now."
The boy, blushing, hurried to obey the professor. Ron and Seamus lent him a hand carrying the cauldron to the stone basin with a gargoyle-like tap in the corner, while they stubbornly ignored the silent jeers coming from the Slytherin table. Hermione looked over with a frown and saw that the snakes were laughing with great fuss behind the Professor's back. She saw Zabini, who was grinning as Malfoy whispered something to him. Then they both laughed quietly and heartily, covering their mouths with one hand.
How had Malfoy been able to kiss a Mudblood like her…?
The bell ending the class brought her out of her thoughts.
"Well, boys, that's it for today," said Slughorn, rubbing his hands together with satisfaction, as his students put out the fire in the cauldrons and began clearing the tables. "It is very likely that you will be asked to make this potion in your N.E.W.T.s exams, so you will forgive me for being rather insistent on it. Those of you who have managed to make something decent, leave some of your potion in a little pot on my desk. Oh, and bring me two parchments by tomorrow on how you made this potion and where and why you got it wrong."
"Come on, let's go," said Ron reluctantly, slinging his bag over his shoulder and waiting for Harry and Hermione.
"Harry, m'boy, please, stay a moment," Slughorn asked with a fatherly smile. "I am going to tell you how I will rate your potion. And you too, Thomas."
"I'll catch up with you," Harry said to his friends with a sad smile. Hermione and Ron smiled back, cheering him on, and set off after their classmates, specifically behind Malfoy and Zabini. Hermione stared at Draco as he passed her, unconsciously avoiding any disguise, but he dodged her gaze again. When they left, Ron and Hermione waited by the door for Harry as the rest of their classmates walked off in different directions but with a general air of defeat.
"Merlin, what a mess," Ron complained, stretching his long arms above his head. His back cracked audibly. "I saw Dean's potion explode when he put it in the bottle, so Harry deserves an 'Acceptable' at least. I've already resigned myself to my 'Dreadful' —"
"Yes, that's true," Hermione said, having no idea what her friend was talking about. She couldn't take her eyes off Draco and Zabini and couldn't help but notice that the two of them were saying goodbye at the end of the corridor and going in different directions.
"Will you help us with the essay he asked for, Hermione?" Ron asked with a puppy dog look on his face, ignoring the fact that his friend wasn't listening. "I think you know better than we do where we've gone wrong, and with —"
"Ron," Hermione interrupted, suddenly facing him, startling him with the seriousness of her voice, "I'm going to the Library for a moment. I'm going to get some books for this afternoon's homework."
"To the Library again?" the red-haired boy was alarmed. "Hermione, at this rate it's going to be more profitable for you to take a pillow and sleep there..."
"Can you wait for Harry? I'll see you at lunch."
"Yes, of course, but —" He didn't bother to finish the astonished sentence, as the girl had put her heavy bag on properly and had stormed off down the corridor, disappearing from sight in a moment through the crowd of students. Ron sighed and added heavily, aloud, to himself, "We'll have to get her to the Hospital. So much obsession with studying cannot be healthy."
He turned his attention back to the corridor around him, and the students still leaving the classroom, waiting for Harry, when one of them caught his eye. Theodore Nott was currently walking out of the classroom door alone, examining a piece of parchment that appeared to contain the instructions for the potion they had just attempted to reproduce in class. Apparently, the boy hadn't been doing too well either, judging by his exhausted look and scowl as he read his own notes.
Ron felt the sting of anger pierce his chest. An idea had been floating around in his mind for some time, but he hadn't found the time to put it into practice. In all honesty, he hadn't dared to go that far. Not without consulting his friends, at least with Harry. But now, unexpectedly, that moment had presented itself. And he didn't want to waste the opportunity.
Without too much time to think it through, but convinced of what he was going to do, he caught the boy's attention almost impulsively:
"Oi!" he called, before Nott could walk too far away. He stopped in his tracks and turned to Ron, blinking to focus on him, abruptly snapped out of his thoughts. "You are Theodore Nott, right?" he questioned, not trying to sound friendly. He knew he was, but he wasn't quite sure how to approach the conversation. He had never spoken to that boy before.
Nott eyed him cautiously, almost sizing him up. Puzzled at the look of open contempt the red-haired boy was giving him. Not too much, though. The animosity between their circles of friends was evident to both of them.
And, precisely for that reason, he looked puzzled that Ron was talking to him.
"Yes. You're Weasley, aren't you?" Nott replied, turning to face him. "What do you want?"
"Talk to you," Ron spat rather sternly. Nott arched a dark eyebrow, not looking overly concerned.
"You have my full attention," he merely said with slight derision at his brusque tone, though he still looked wary.
Ron pursed his lips in anger at the boy's mocking air. If he disliked him before, for being a Slytherin, the son of a Death Eater, and a friend of Malfoy's, he was disliking him worse now. He straightened up, lifting his chin. Further increasing his already tall stature, contrary to his short interlocutor. Trying to show a self-assurance he didn't feel. He wasn't used to confronting anyone so openly, let alone without the company of his friends, but the situation called for it.
And he, for Hermione's sake, would face whoever it took.
"Hermione has told us that you two are sort of friends now, is that true?" he snapped without preliminaries, abruptly. Emphasising the word 'friends' with all the disdain he could muster. Nott merely blinked. Though his light eyes glittered in the gloom of the dungeons.
"If she's already told you, why are you asking me? Why would Granger lie to you?" he answered simply, still sizing him up. After that, Nott remained silent, waiting for Weasley to continue. He preferred not to talk too much, especially not without knowing what his interlocutor was getting at. The less he said, the less he'd screw up.
"Yeah. And why are you two getting along all of a sudden? What's the point of all this?" Ron snapped, without further ado. Nott almost smirked. Apparently, judging by his question, Granger hadn't told him that it had all started with her trying to stop Draco on the whole Ancient Runes thing. And he wasn't about to do that. The fewer people who knew, the better.
"Well, y'know. Two people meet, realise they have things in common, and start to be comfortable together. That's why we get along," he said, teasingly. But Ron didn't seem amused at all, and continued to stare at him, making no attempt to disguise his animosity.
"Don't get cocky. You're not funny at all. What the hell do you want from her?" Ron accused without hesitation. Before Nott could say anything, he took a step forward, pointing a finger at him, "I'm warning you now, I'm not going to let you hurt her in any way. If you dare to —"
"Weasley, you can save yourself all this," Nott interrupted, seemingly immune to his words. He no longer looked mocking, but serious and slightly impatient. At the beginning of the conversation, he had been concerned that the Gryffindors were aware of his friendship with Granger. But Weasley wasn't a threat. Despite the fact that his intention was precisely to threaten him. "Granger and I get along well. That's all. I'm not going to… do anything to her, or… I don't know." He shook his head, listlessly. "She doesn't interest me in that way. You can rest easy."
Ron's freckles became more pronounced as his face took on a slight pinkish hue.
"I didn't say you were interested in her in that way. And honestly, I don't care whether you do or not. You don't stand a chance," he added, as if he were proud of his friend for that fact. Pretending never to have doubted it. Because, and he was sure of that, Nott didn't know otherwise. He pointed his index finger at him again. "Still, I don't trust you one bit. If I can find out that you're planning something against her, or that this is all Malfoy's doing, I —"
Nott winced, frowning quizzically.
"What's Malfoy got to do with all this?" he asked, puzzled and a little annoyed.
"You're friends," Ron spat as if that cleared everything up. "It's possible that you're acting on his orders... And if that's the case..."
Nott let out a snort, shaking his head in disbelief.
"Believe it or not, I've had an argument with him similar to the one I'm having with you," he admitted dryly, not looking at him. "As you will understand, he is not particularly excited about this friendship either. Just like you." He turned away from him. "Rest assured, Weasley, I'm not going to use Granger, or anything else you've come up with. I guarantee it."
Leaving him in the middle of a word, Nott strode off down the corridor. Ron stood still, watching him walk away, breathing heavily and his freckled face screwed up in rage. His blue eyes glittered with resentment. He swallowed, feeling slightly guilty. As much as he didn't want to give in to his stance, he hadn't really gotten the impression that Nott wanted to do anything bad to Hermione. He wouldn't have known why, it was just the feeling he'd been left with. And the point that Malfoy was against it too had sounded coherent. He had seemed sincere. And that annoyed him even more.
Embarrassed and uneasy, he prayed to Merlin that Nott wouldn't tell Hermione what they'd just talked about...
"Everything's fine?" a voice behind him greeted. Harry stepped out at that moment, and looked at his friend quizzically, shifting his green gaze from him to the figure walking away down the corridor, blending in with the other students. "Who were you talking to? I heard you from inside. You sounded angry..."
"No one, never mind. It's all right," Ron assured him, trying to pull himself together and not look so upset. He couldn't bring himself to smile, though. "Hermione's gone to the Library. She says we should go and eat, she'll catch up with us."
Hermione was running as fast as the heavy bag full of books on her back would allow, trying to follow the same path Malfoy had taken and trying not to bump into the people around her. She skidded to a halt, almost out of breath, at a crossroads of dungeon corridors. She felt a surge of panic as she thought she had lost sight of him in the tide of students. Luckily, she managed to catch a glimpse of him at the end of one of the corridors, ducking into the hidden passageway behind a tapestry. Her heart was pounding, and it wasn't just because of her accelerated gait. It was pounding with anticipation, with worry. With excitement.
Hermione rushed over and pushed the tapestry aside at full speed, darting into the passageway and quickly down the steep, narrow spiral staircase, following the sound of the blond's muffled footsteps. There, unlike the crowded corridor she had left behind, there was no one. Most of the students were on the upper floors, in the various classes; there were no classrooms down there.
"Malfoy!" she called breathlessly, when she caught a glimpse of the boy's back a few steps below. He stopped and turned, startled. When she caught up with him, and stopped on an upper step, he gazed at her as if she were some sort of apparition.
"Granger," he muttered, looking around warily, as if expecting to see a pair of ears pressed against the passageway walls, listening for them. "What do you think you're doing? What about Potter and Weasley?"
"I've left them behind," Hermione replied hastily, leaning against the wall with one hand and trying to catch some air so she could speak normally. She put her other hand to her side, which ached from her brief run. "We need to talk."
"I beg to differ," Draco simply snapped, with forced mockery, turning around and continuing his descent, as if nothing had happened. Hermione held back a snort with all her might at his perpetual arrogance and followed him, of course.
"Obviously we have a pending conversation to have," she demanded, following him down the steps, always leaving a margin of one or two. She had no intention of tempting his already bad humour by coming any closer than was strictly necessary. "Please, don't deny it to me..."
"I'm not going to discuss anything with you in the middle of a corridor, Granger," he muttered with open contempt. "I'm not willing to be seen with you."
"I don't care if they see us, I want to talk to you, and at this rate I'm never going to get it!" Hermione accused, raising her voice. "You keep running away from me."
"I have no reason to run away from you," Malfoy denied with his back to her, his imperturbability slightly disconcerting her. He continued to descend, without turning around. "I just don't have anything to talk about with someone like you."
Hermione frowned, still following him. His words hadn't impressed her in the slightest.
"I beg to differ. And I do want to talk to you. I've been wanting to talk to you all week, but you've been avoiding me," Hermione reaffirmed, unable to hide the grumpiness in her voice. He didn't say anything. "We haven't spoken since… since we met in Hogsmeade. And I think now more than ever we need to clear up a few things."
"I don't have anything to say to you," Draco repeated, slurring the words. "And I don't give a damn what you have to say to me."
They had reached the bottom of the staircase and were now walking down a short, narrow corridor which, like the staircase, was a shortcut between two floors and led into a wider corridor. It was empty, lit also by a pair of torches and floor lamps that offered a dull orange light. Magically enchanted, they would light up when someone entered the corridor, and that was what happened when both teenagers started walking down it.
"Malfoy…" Hermione pleaded in frustration, picking up her pace slightly and stretching to catch up with him. She raised a hand, placing it on the boy's shoulder. He flinched instantly, as if she had stabbed him with a dagger. He shook his shoulder, making her pull her hand away, and turned, to look at her with open alienation.
"Don't you dare touch me, Mudblood!" he exclaimed, his voice cracking. She froze, her hand still raised, at his sudden outburst of anger. This Malfoy was much more like the Malfoy she had always known than the one she had interacted with over the past few weeks. He was back to treating her as if he hated her. As if nothing had happened between them.
As if he hadn't kissed her.
Hermione didn't look down. She looked at him intently, studying him with mild surprise. Malfoy seemed ready to turn around and walk away, but something seemed to be holding him back. He seemed to be in a strong conflict with himself. The girl noticed how his fists clenched tightly before he opened his mouth.
"Tell me what you fucking want and stop following me," he demanded roughly.
Hermione continued to assess him with her gaze, undaunted. Was this change in attitude consistent? Was it normal for him to treat her with such contempt again, after he had kissed her? Was it some sort of protection from... something? From what?
Maybe he wanted to reassure her with his attitude that nothing had changed between them, despite what had happened. Which Hermione didn't really need. She knew nothing had changed.
But she needed to understand everything.
"What did you want to tell me in Hogsmeade?" the girl asked, her voice clear, which seemed to excessively rumble thanks to the acoustics of the passageway. "You could say you didn't get to."
Draco stared at her for a few seconds, looking directly into her eyes. Hermione saw a flash of anger in his eyes. He took a slow breath for a few seconds, taking his time to answer, not taking his eyes off hers. He seemed to be debating with himself whether or not it was worth answering.
"You could say it was nothing important. I didn't see the need to tell you, finally. I'm sorry for wasting your time," after such biting, sarcasm-laden words, he turned around to try to start walking again. But Hermione's voice broke the silence in the corridor again. And stopped him.
"And why did you kiss me?"
Draco felt the saliva get stuck in his throat. He didn't turn around. He would have given anything to never have to look Granger in the face again. He bit his bottom lip hard. Oh, fuck. He felt hatred towards himself. Especially, as he noticed the heat was taking over his face. Bloody hell, he was part of one of the oldest and richest pure-blood families. He was far superior to her. He couldn't be afraid of that Mudblood...
Nor could he run away from her forever, despite what he had done. Despite how humiliating it was to simply look her in the face. To look at her and realise with panic that he had succumbed to something she had, irrevocably. Something he could not yet understand. But his moral obligation was to confront her, end the conversation as soon as possible and leave. And never to go near her again, ever. To take back his life, his thoughts, his actions. Control of his body and mind. Yes, that's what he had to do. Those were the steps to take.
He turned to look at her, giving her his best sneer. Hermione was looking at him the same way she had seconds before. Attentive and perceptive. Curious. He tried to swallow again, again unsuccessfully, more liquid pooling in his constricted throat.
"What reason can you think of for me to have done that, Granger?" he questioned, in a low, serious voice. Openly showing her how little he wanted to have that conversation. Pretending not to give it the slightest importance. "What are you imagining it meant? What is your underdeveloped brain thinking about?"
"I take it for granted that what you wanted to do was to make fun of me. It's the most coherent thing coming from you," she pronounced with dry sincerity, narrowing her round eyes. Without being altered in the least by his words. "But you didn't, you just walked away, and you've been avoiding me since. No teasing, not from you or any of the other Slytherins. Nothing. So, I assume you haven't told them. I still... don't understand what was that kiss for. I find it hard to believe that you would stoop to so much for so little, and not have a single sneer at my expense. Would you be so kind as to explain to me what exactly you intended?"
Draco's lips pursed slightly, and his nostrils twitched as he drew in a sharp, almost angry breath. Hermione expected him to look away superiorly, or turn his back on her again and just walk away, but that didn't happen. He continued to stare at her, unblinking, something in his gaze resembling… fear? As if he could hardly bear to look at her. Without fully assimilating seeing such emotion in his eyes, she did not flinch. He didn't look away either. She needed to hear from his lips a logical reason for having kissed her. She needed to clear it up. To get out of doubt. She needed him to wake her up and return her to reality, but to end that uncertainty once and for all...
"What do you think I could have intended?" he questioned again, suddenly giving her a half-smirk. Haughty. Almost amused.
"Stop answering me with another question," she snapped, trying not to lose her cool. "The most obvious options are the most inconsistent, I think we can both agree on that. That's why I want your explanation. I want the truth."
Malfoy let out a sardonic laugh, looking at her with sudden smugness.
"What truth would you like to hear, Granger? I can give you the one you like the most as long as you leave me alone once and for all..."
Slytherins were known for their cunning, for being clever and for using any means to achieve their ends. Draco was the living representation of his House at the moment. He had no intention of answering her question. Mainly because he didn't know what to answer. No answer could be considered correct. So he was going to get out of it any way he could, by dodging her accusations. And he admitted that he was liking the way the young woman was taking a deeper breath at his every response, frustrated and helpless. If he hadn't been so irritated and uneasy with the situation, he might almost have enjoyed it. Granger being angry was a pyrotechnic display.
"Everything reinforces the idea that you're not capable of doing something like that. It's more than obvious," she reasoned, trying to speak with the sense that her interlocutor wasn't showing. Trying to lay the groundwork for him to finish making it clear to her. "But you did. What exactly… happened to you, Malfoy? Why would you do something like that? You're not stupid, you're not off the mark, you wanted something, to profit somehow, and I would like to know how. You... you wouldn't profit just by kissing me, I know you'd never look for that in someone like me. I understand better and better how your world works. I understand your world, but I don't understand you," she finished passionately. A part of her chest trembled at the unlikely possibility that he would deny those words. That he might tell her that he could get something out of simply kissing her. And she felt slightly dazed and embarrassed at the thought.
Draco took a step closer to her, lowering his face slightly to look down at her from his mighty height. His eyes still glittered with open mockery, but something in his expression told her that he wasn't going to reply with sarcasm. Though he didn't seem intent on speaking frankly either.
"It was a mistake. Just a mistake. Don't mention it again. I assure you that it will not happen again."
His words barely broke the silence, but his voice sounded more serious this time. Showing that that would be the most sincere thing she would get out of him. Hermione stared at him, her defensive and thoughtful face never changing. Gauging such words.
"That doesn't answer my question," Hermione ended by saying, forcing herself to speak. "And I sense that you're not going to answer. Right now it's not clear to me whether you don't because you yourself don't know why you did it, or whether it's so clear to you that you refuse to tell me. And I don't know which of the two options worries me more."
"I made a fucking mistake," Draco repeated, his voice slightly firmer and dry. As if it bothered him that that justification wasn't enough. "That's all. You will get nothing more from me, Granger, because there is nothing more."
Hermione could barely do anything but blink. She stared at him, searching his eyes for something he wasn't willing to give her.
The girl lowered her gaze, apparently measuring her next words. As if calmly assimilating what the boy had said and weighing what to say in response. As if she was swallowing the other things she had wanted to say to him that now made no sense. Draco remained silent, expectant, no longer in a hurry to turn and leave. He stared at her, analysing her every reaction. She looked confused, and upset, but unaffected. She was as tenacious and strong as ever. Immune to him. To his open refusal. To his denial that the kiss had meant... anything.
"I don't believe you."
Draco, lost in his analysis of her expressions, thought he had misunderstood her. He continued to stare at her, waiting for her to say it again. She was looking at him again, and her eyes showed a sudden determination.
"What?" His voice was barely a dry whisper.
"That I don't believe you. Malfoy, you kissed me. You can't downplay something like that. What kind of mistake could cause you to do something like that? There's something you're not telling me." Hermione shook her head, incredulous at her own words. "A mistake is not a cause, it's a consequence. This whole thing is... it's too absurd. It's irrational. First you accuse me of giving you Amortentia and now you do this? I don't understand what you're playing at. If you didn't want to laugh at me, why did you kiss me?"
Draco held still, feeling an uncomfortable warmth settle on the back of his neck. He felt his chest weigh as if his sternum were made of lead. How could she be so fucking… smart? He was a Mudblood, for Merlin's sake. Why didn't she match what he'd always been told about the likes of her? Why was she so different, so… so fucking attractive?
"I've already answered you," he managed to articulate, taking a step back. He needed to get out of there. He couldn't bear to look into those burning, dark eyes for much longer. He wasn't sure what would happen if he kept doing it, but he needed to stop. "You're making a big deal out of something patently derisory. If you want to believe otherwise, that's your own fucking problem. But leave me out of it. Keep me out of your twisted business."
"Don't you dare run away," Hermione replied, watching him back away. Her eyes were bright with anger again, and her voice was tight, but firm. She stepped closer to him until they were face to face, lifting her chin to face him. "I have the right to know. What is the point of all this? Why did you kiss me?"
Draco couldn't find a coherent idea to say, so he just stared at her.
Hating her with every pore of his being.
Was it so hard for her to leave it that way, to forget the whole thing, to forget the stupid mistake he'd made? No, for a change, she had to be there, cornering him in a dark, deserted corridor, staring at him with those eyes that glowed like two embers, just a couple of feet away...
He wished he himself believed blindly his own answer. He wished he didn't feel like a fucking liar, with all that that entailed. He hadn't lied when he told her it had been a mistake, though he didn't feel he'd been sincere either. But he wasn't going to tell her anything about what was going through his head, no way. Not about the sudden questions he was suddenly asking himself, nor his suspicions about what was going on, nor his immoral thoughts about her... Nor of the hundreds of bewildering ideas that had come into his mind in the last few days. Because it was unnatural, and because she didn't deserve to be told. Because she was nothing but a miserable, vulgar Mudblood. Because he still didn't understand what he was feeling.
Why had he kissed her? Why?
They were alone, all alone in the middle of that underground corridor. The light from the flames flickered across their faces, creating light and shadow on their features. Draco stared at her, scrutinising her face, surrounded by thick, frizzy brown hair, her expression alight with anger, resentment, towards him. Her proud eyes locked on his, the torchlight flickering in them. Too close. Too tempting. And Draco's face was burning.
He couldn't think straight. He didn't have time to analyse the situation. He didn't have time to resist.
"I can't be thinking about kissing her again, it has to be a joke... I can't do such a thing, I don't want to do such a thing... There's no reason for me to kiss her; it can't be that she has such power, any power, in me and that I can't control it…"
Granger's eyes were still locked on his, fierce, burning… No hint of fear, shame, or hesitation.
"Are you sure?" suddenly questioned that impertinent voice inside his mind that had also driven him mad in the alley next to Hog's Head.
The girl's lips were pursed, wrinkling her chin, accompanying her indignant, defensive posture, still waiting for an answer from him. They were more coloured than on Hogsmeade day, most likely due to the warm temperature of the atmosphere. It used to be frigid in the dungeons, but the torches tempered it considerably.
"... No," he lamented to himself, unable to keep his composure. Charged with adrenaline, with the certainty that he was going to screw up to the hilt, but strongly tempted to do so. He couldn't push himself any further. He felt as if he was trying to pull back and found a sturdy, high wall behind him, making it impossible for him to get far enough away.
"Why did I kiss you, Granger? Because, like now, I couldn't contain myself."
And he could think no more. Proving that the human being is the only animal that stumbles twice over the same stone, he repeated the greatest stupidity he had ever committed. Filled with anger, anguish, frustration, all towards himself, he leaned over the girl, and took all those feelings out on her. He closed his eyes tightly, and pressed his lips to hers, so roughly that it hurt, so savagely that it took her breath away.
Hermione instinctively closed her eyes this time as the boy's hot lips slid over hers, dizzying her, devouring her. She backed away with awkward steps, and, remembering it later, she wasn't sure if he had pushed her by approaching so abruptly and backed away out of inertia, or if it was she who had unconsciously tried to run away from him. The point was that the girl's back ended up slamming into one of the walls. She was pinned between two walls, the stone one behind her back and Malfoy's chest in front of her.
In the midst of the passionate, surreal moment, it didn't cross her mind to move away, or push him away, for more than the millisecond that was strictly necessary. She had to admit it. Nor was she sure she had reciprocated, or at least she wasn't aware of it; she could barely do anything but try to breathe. Her face felt so hot. Her stomach was twisting in an aching emptiness, trying to assimilate what was happening. Trying to take in how pleasurable it was being. Draco's lips were capturing hers, in wet, brisk motions, delighting himself in her mouth. And that hard contact alone was enough to have her flattened against the wall. She had stopped feeling the floor beneath her feet. She didn't know where his hands were. Possibly against the wall, on either side of her. Cornering her further, if that was even possible. Theirs were dead, dangling on either side of her body.
When he'd kissed her in Hogsmeade, she hadn't been so overwhelmingly aware of it. Both of their lips were icy cold, dry and numb that time. They were even a little hindered. It was also rather briefer, more unexpected, more disconcerting. But now, for long seconds, she was fully aware of his heavy, hot breathing against her face, against her mouth, of the moisture of his saliva, of the texture and taste of those thin lips that had so often spoken painful words to her...
And, as suddenly as it began, the kiss ended. Malfoy pulled away from her abruptly, leaving their wet lips glistening in the semi-darkness of the corridor. Hermione reflexively opened her eyes, and found an agitated Malfoy in the gloom, both hands at the sides of her body, resting his palms on the wall behind her back, just as she had imagined. An ornate floor lamp stood just behind the boy, leaving the front of his body in shadows, illuminating his outline with an orange halo.
When Draco met Granger's eyes again, wide and bright, and, recognising them, he felt the weight of what he had done crush him to the floor.
Shit.
What the fuck had he just done?
Again…
'It was a mistake. Just a mistake. Don't mention it again. I assure you that it will not happen again.'
His own words echoing cruelly in his dulled mind filled him with panic. He felt a sudden void in his stomach, as if he suddenly opened his eyes and was standing on the edge of a cliff, about to fall. Draco suffered a visible jolt of terror and leapt backwards, his hands away from the wall. His back slammed into the iron lamp, which fell to the floor with a reverberating clang that echoed through the corridor. He managed to keep his balance and not fall to the floor, although he felt his shoulder burn where the fiery saucer had struck. The red-hot embers littered the floor, slowly fading on contact with the cold stone, leaving the area even darker. Malfoy, without thinking, turned around instantly, without another glance at her, and almost ran across the corridor, out of sight in the darkness, emerging through the tapestry on the other side.
He Hermione didn't move from where she stood. She couldn't take a step. Her lips were burning, her legs were shaking, her stomach was heavy. Her gaze was fixed on the embers that littered the floor. The fire had been consumed, but an incandescent flame still burned in her chest.
A flame that Draco Malfoy had lit.
"I knew it, I knew it, I knew it…" Harry complained, loudly, relentlessly, under the dejected looks of his friends.
Harry, Ron, Ginny and Hermione were sitting around one of the study tables in their Common Room. A copy of the Daily Prophet lay open at its centre page on the polished mahogany-coloured surface. Their Common Room was almost empty, the solitude of the youths being broken as small groups of students descended the stairs that led to the dormitories and walked through the place in the direction of the portrait entrance, possibly in the direction of the Great Hall for breakfast.
Harry and Ron had been awakened by a flustered and wide-awake Ginny, already dressed, who had stormed into their room at a very impolite hour for a Saturday. The young woman was anxious to show them an interesting piece of news that she had read in yesterday's Daily Prophet, and that she had found abandoned minutes ago on a table in the Common Room. As she put them in the situation, a sleepy and dishevelled, yet nervous Hermione, appeared in the room, also dressed in street clothes as there were no classes that day. Ginny had gone to wake her up first.
Trying to disturb Dean, Seamus, and a fast-asleep Neville as little as possible, the young men got dressed as well, and went down with the girls to the Common Room, to discuss the news.
Before long, they understood and shared the importance that the youngest member of the Weasley family had placed on the news of the Daily Prophet.
"I knew Voldemort was up to something, and there's the proof," Harry continued, visibly unhinged, tapping the newspaper rhythmically with his index finger.
"There's no proof that Voldemort is behind this," Hermione replied calmly, staring blankly at the open page of the newspaper. "They haven't confirmed it yet. There was no Dark Mark in the place."
"They haven't confirmed it, nor will they," Ginny mumbled, shaking her head as she looked at her friend with both redheaded eyebrows raised. "I remind you of the position of the Daily Prophet with everything that has to do with You-Know-Who... Despite what happened in the Ministry, despite the fact that it is in the public domain that he has returned, they prefer not to alarm the population too much… As if they think that this way we will forget about the subject. I'm with Harry," she added with emphasis. "That girl has disappeared without a trace. And she was a Beauxbatons student. She was on vacation in England, and boom! Gone! How many disappearances like these are there usually?"
"It's not unusual for people to disappear," Hermione reasoned. "It's horrible, but it's not unusual at all..."
"Maybe in the Muggle world it's common, but not in the wizarding world," Ron replied, looking slightly intimidated by the Daily Prophet news. He had the Quidditch section in front of him and was fiddling around the corner of the page with his finger, almost inadvertently smudging it with ink. "There are many different magical options for finding a wizard or witch. Disappearances are always worrying. They tend to cause a lot of commotion."
"You see? It's clear," confirmed Harry with a contracted face, leaning back in the seat abruptly.
"But for what purpose?" Hermione protested, impassive, but beginning to bite her nails as she spoke. "It may even have been a loose attack, with no specific intent, by some Death Eaters. Voldemort himself may not be behind it. Nor is it part of any plan."
"They won't act behind Voldemort's back, let alone with the power he now has," Harry replied, grimacing, tired of his friend's disbelief. "If what you say is true, and disappearances in the wizarding world are unusual, they wouldn't risk, knowing it would be in the papers. They could cause the entire wizarding community to begin to suspect that he is behind it, despite the Daily Prophet's efforts to cover it up. Death Eaters wouldn't make a mistake like that, they know it would cost them their lives. Voldemort has to be behind. I'm sure this girl was kidnapped for a reason, and it must be such an important reason that he doesn't even care if people start to suspect him. He's playing with us. He plays with the disbelief of some people and with the cowardice of the Ministry."
"I don't think it's conclusive proof that he's planning something, but I also think it's obvious that he's responsible for this," agreed Ginny, nodding her head slightly. She sighed deeply, composing a rueful expression, "They've kidnapped a girl, a student... What could he want her for?"
"What if she's just disappeared in the middle of a natural disaster or something?" Hermione insisted, emphatically. Harry gave her a look full of tedium.
"She was with her friends in a hostel. And then she suddenly disappeared during the night."
Ron grimaced in agreement, "It's weird. And besides, it's not the first time Death Eaters have been seen lately. It all started with the news that they tried to attack that old Minister of Magic. What came out in The Quibbler..."
"But this girl doesn't seem to be anyone relevant," Ginny pointed out, pulling the newspaper closer, dragging it across the polished surface, "nor does she have any influential relatives or anything like that... She was just a young French witch who was here on holiday with her friends."
"Exactly, and that's why it doesn't make any sense for them to kidnap her! What's their intention? What do they want?" Harry snapped, ruffling his already tousled black hair.
He clicked his tongue, frustrated. He stood up and moved slightly away from his friends, hands behind his back, thinking. It had been a long time since they had seen him so upset. The others exchanged knowing looks, full of bitterness and understanding. They could understand Harry's frustration, and they shared it. His frustration at being in the middle of a cold war. Harry was an impulsive person, who didn't hesitate to jump headfirst into a cage of wolves if he knew that would solve the problem. But he didn't know which cage to throw himself into, and that drove him crazy. Lord Voldemort was making little stitches, stitches that only he understood, perhaps part of an elaborate plan, perhaps just to mislead, and they couldn't anticipate him. And less being in the castle, away from the outside world.
"Maybe there's some connection," Hermione sighed, giving in sadly to Harry's frustration, and determined to take it seriously. She stretched out a hand and reached for the newspaper that was now in front of Ginny. "The disappearance occurred near Warminster, and the attack on the Minister... Do you remember where it was?"
"No," Ron admitted, glancing vaguely around at the other tables in the Common Room. "I imagine near London, but I don't remember. And I don't think you'll find copies of The Quibbler around here…"
"Then I'll go find Luna," Hermione said, picking up the newspaper and tucking it under her left armpit. "I'm sure she can lend it to me."
"She's usually at the Owlery at this hour," Ginny reported. "She likes to get up early to feed them."
"Great, I'll look for her there. And then I'll go to the Library, that's where all the old copies of the Daily Prophet are kept. Maybe there have been more disappearances like this, that don't make the headlines, and we've overlooked them. I'm going to look them up and do some research. I'm going for the bag."
"Okay…" Ron said hesitantly, seeing her get to her feet. "But you don't want us to help you...?"
Without even listening to his offer, Hermione stormed off in the direction of the stairs that led to her bedroom. Ginny shook her head.
"Surely we would bother her more than help her," she said with a half smile. "She's more organised than us; if there's something to find out about it, she'll do it."
But suddenly Ron looked at his sister with a sudden grimace of astonishment that took her aback.
"Did she just say she's going to the Library later? Isn't she coming over for breakfast?" he exclaimed, as if such a thought were alarming. Ginny, after assimilating his words, let out a loud laugh.
"By the way, guys," Harry commented suddenly, turning back to them, and pulling a crumpled parchment out of the pocket of his sweatshirt, "I almost forgot. I've written to Remus and…" he lowered his voice and looked around to make sure no one was listening, "I've made an appointment with him to meet in the fireplace in the Common Room. He'll let me know when he has time and it's safe. I'll tell Hermione when she comes downstairs..."
"That's a good idea," Ginny praised admiringly. "That way we'll find out first-hand what's going on out there. The Order of the Phoenix has to know for sure."
"Won't it be dangerous?" Ron muttered.
"I don't think so. Only Umbridge detected Sirius at that time, but she's gone… We can do it again. I need to talk to him. I don't trust the Daily Prophet version," Harry said, staring down at the table, his fists clenched. "Maybe serious things are happening out there and we do not know anything."
Hermione was walking through the halls of the castle at a brisk pace, with the Daily Prophet that Ginny had found tucked firmly under her arm, her bag slung over one shoulder, heading towards the Owlery. She didn't come across too many people, since most of the students were still asleep or eating breakfast. Hogwarts inhabitants usually didn't get up at half past nine in the morning on Saturdays.
For the first time in days, she felt slightly lighter. It was gratifying to finally have something to do, something to focus on, something that required all of her concentration. The investigation that she was going to start to find out the plans of the Death Eaters was just what she needed. That way, for a change, she could take her thoughts off Malfoy; something that she had not achieved in the last few days. Anything that would make her forget about him, for a while at least, was welcome.
She couldn't get Malfoy out of her mind. She constantly found herself staring into space, thinking of him. Sometimes just drawing his physical appearance in her mind. During classes, she fought against herself not to look at him, to not give importance to his presence, to forget that he was there. But constantly, when she let her guard down, she found herself turning her eyes to him, like a magnet she couldn't control. But he never looked at her.
She still found it hard to believe what had happened. It seemed like a dream, a hallucination. But it wasn't. It had been terrifyingly real. She knew it, because her legs were unsteady at the memory.
Malfoy had kissed her.
Twice.
And, as if the first kiss hadn't been disconcerting enough, the second had ended any trace of reason and logic she might have found in the situation. She couldn't get it out of her mind, she felt dizzy every time she remembered it. And the most frustrating thing was what that memory made her feel: utter misery. Even though she knew she didn't deserve to feel this way, she couldn't help but feel used. Humiliated. She had let Malfoy kiss her, doing nothing about it. She had allowed Malfoy to appropriate her first kiss. And also the second. He, of all people. The person who could love her in the least in the world, the person who least deserved it, was the owner of something as pure for her as a kiss was.
The first had taken her by surprise. Well, she had sensed that something was going to happen, but how could she really imagine something like that? It was partly understandable that she had not defended herself; no one could judge her, she hadn't expected it. How to react in time to something like that? But the second one had been different. Although she wanted to deny it with all her strength, she had guessed what was going to happen. Malfoy's eyes had told her. But she hadn't moved away. She had done nothing to prevent his kiss.
"I could have pushed him away if I wanted to, but I didn't," she had thought over and over again, heartbroken and ashamed.
But there was something even worse. What really made her disgusted with herself — and made her want to bury her head in a Mandrake's pot — was when she found herself letting her imagination run wild, creating scenes in which she and Malfoy found themselves alone somewhere, usually in corridors similar to the one of the second kiss, and he would kiss her in the dark for hours, in the same passionate way as in the corridor of the dungeons; except that, in her imagination, his hands were running over her body, and hers were running over his, over his robes, sometimes over his bare skin, always pulling him toward her, and…
And then she'd realise how ridiculous what she was imagining was, and she'd be so frustrated and so furious with her own subconscious that she wanted to scream until she exploded.
And so the week went by, fortunately hiding well enough so that her friends didn't suspect a thing. If, after the first kiss, she had hesitated to tell them something or not, after the second she totally ruled it out. Now she really could not reason it in any way, nor pose the situation with a minimum of logic. Now she didn't feel like Malfoy had kissed her.
Now she felt that they had kissed. Which was totally different.
And she couldn't face her friends and tell them something like that. She should, she wanted to, but she couldn't. No way.
Feeling so listless from her thoughts that she could cry, she nimbly descended the steps of the wide marble staircase, trying to stop thinking, passing some students who were heading to the Great Hall. She turned to the right and went through a door that would take her down a corridor that led to the western part of the grounds, and to the Owlery Tower. To reach her destination, she had to cross the Transfiguration Courtyard, where she arrived after crossing the corridor. The place didn't seem crowded at first glance, but she did manage to hear some voice in the midst of the stillness of the place. The wind was chilly at this time of the morning, and the young woman adjusted the turtleneck of her jumper before walking through the cloisters, toward the door that led out onto the grounds surrounding the Owlery. It hadn't even occurred to her to take warm clothes. But it wouldn't take too long. She would talk to Luna, ask her for the tabloid she needed, and return to the warmth of the castle.
However, the sound of voices gradually increasing in volume confirmed to her that she was not alone in the place.
And, turning the corner, she deeply regretted that fact.
"Hey guys, look who's here!" Blaise Zabini exclaimed, from the stone bench on which he was sitting, surrounded by other fellow Slytherins. "What an early riser, Mudblood!"
The rest of the group consisted of Crabbe and Goyle, of course, and two boys from the Quidditch team named Bletchley and Warrington. Malfoy, as Hermione checked after a worried glance, was not with them. But, thanks to that quick glance, she thought she discovered the reason for the boys' presence there: some Quidditch arm guards, helmets, and a Quaffle were near them, leaning against the wall, revealing that they had probably gotten up early to go train on the field. And Zabini would possibly be a bystander, since he was the only one not on the team.
"Oh, leave me alone," the girl muttered irritably, trying to walk past them. However, two of the Slytherins, namely Bletchley and Crabbe, rose from the bench and blocked her way.
"C'mon, Granger, we just want to do business with you," Zabini assured, unable to contain his laughter, still sitting, holding out both arms mockingly. "Let's see what you think: you do our weekend homework for us and we don't insult you during… What do you say, guys? Ten minutes?" The rest corroborated it jokingly. "Well that, ten minutes. What do you think of the deal? It's fair, isn't it?"
"Stop your nonsense! Let me through!" Hermione exclaimed, trying to push Bletchley away to no avail. He backed away with an exaggerated face of disgust, as if contact with her repulsed him, looking at his companions with derision. The rest laughed out loud.
"Don't let her touch you, man, or you'll get dirty like her…" Warrington sneered, also laughing. "Who knows what diseases these Muggles have... I've always said that Pomfrey should examine them when they get to the castle..."
"Shut up!" Hermione snapped, turning to him, her face bright red and her eyes just as fiery. "Or I swear I'll give you elf ears with a spell!"
"That remains to be seen!" Bletchley exclaimed triumphantly, inadvertently approaching her again, from behind, and yanking her bag away from her. Hermione gasped in shock and automatically put her hands on her shoulders, but it was too late. The boy snatched the bag from her and held it up proudly, showing it off to the others as if it were a trophy. They all laughed heartily.
The girl felt a surge of icy rage. Inside was her wand.
"Give it back to me!" Hermione mouthed furiously, reaching for him. "Give it back to me right now, you immature jerk!"
"Catch it, Crabbe, you immature jerk!" shouted Bletchley, with open mockery, tossing the bag into the air at his companion as they all laughed. The stout young man caught it with a wicked grin. "Damn, how heavy! Did you kill someone and were going to bury them, Granger? Now I understand why you were in such a hurry!"
"I said give it back to me!" Hermione yelled, approaching Crabbe as menacingly as she could, even though she knew it would make no sense: the dark-haired boy had almost reached the size and corpulence of a full-grown bear. "I'm Prefect! I order you to return it to me! Ten points from Slytherin!" she exclaimed in a fit of anger.
Crabbe stopped laughing instantly and glared at her with his small dark eyes. The rest laughed dangerously, looking at each other with complicity.
"Don't you dare take points from us, Granger," Goyle snapped, yanking away the bag from Crabbe. "Or we will make you regret it..."
"Don't you dare threaten me or I'll take another ten from you again," she replied without hesitation.
"Hey! Look who's coming around at last," Warrington exclaimed suddenly, his smile returning. "Now this is getting fun... You've got competition, Prefect Granger! Oi! Draco! Get over here, quick! Draco!"
Hermione felt herself running out of air. Almost out of inertia, she spun around on her heel, along with the rest of the Slytherins. With bated breath. Indeed, Malfoy had just rounded the corner and was now walking up the cloister towards them. His grey eyes roamed the scene quickly, but he didn't let any emotion, except the slightest surprise, cross his face. As Hermione noticed, he didn't look directly at her, though he had undoubtedly seen her. But he didn't meet her eyes. Draco slowed his steps imperceptibly as he approached, as if he never wanted to get there. He was wearing Quidditch forearm guards on his hands.
"The Mudblood just took ten points from us, Draco," Zabini updated him, derisive, crossing his arms wryly. He was the only one still sitting on the bench. Malfoy, standing a few paces from the group, merely raised a blond eyebrow.
"Why?" he questioned in a dispassionate tone. Goyle grinned grotesquely and waved the girl's bag in the air. The early morning sun made the metal buckles sparkle.
"Nonsense," Warrington replied scathingly.
"Why don't you take some points from her too?" Crabbe suggested spitefully, eyeing her mischievously.
"A Prefect can't take points from another Prefect," Draco replied instantly, his grey gaze suddenly fixed on her. Hermione felt a hollow in her chest, as if she had missed a step going down the stairs. Almost scared to perceive how familiar his icy gaze seemed to her. Even so, she held on vehemently, determined not to let him see her falter. It had been days since they had looked into each other's eyes. They hadn't since that second kiss in the deserted passageway of the dungeons...
"Damn, that sucks… What do we do with her things? Shall we throw them into the lake?" Warrington persisted, apparently quite excited by the idea.
"Give it back to me!" Hermione yelled again, tearing her attention away from Malfoy and glaring at Goyle with a dangerous look. "Or I'll take fifty points from you, I'm warning you. I will not hesitate to do so."
Helplessly, her eyes moved to meet Malfoy's again. Forcing herself to look at him defensively, daring him to say something against it. He was still looking at her, and it didn't seem like he had stopped. He was motionless a few steps from her, and seemed unable to articulate a word. He didn't seem to be thinking of intervening in any way.
"You won't dare, Granger," Zabini muttered, satisfied. "Whatever you do, you'll run out of your bag."
"Don't be so childish," the girl muttered, swallowing hard, but taking care not to show even an iota of hesitation. Perhaps she would run out of her bag, but they would run out of points; that was very clear to her.
"Come on, Draco, you have imagination. What do we do with this Mudblood crap?" Goyle replied, shaking it back into the air roughly. Hermione prayed stupidly that the bottle of ink inside would hold up.
"Do you want it, Draco?" Zabini suggested, laughing. "You can give it to Pansy, what do you say? But we distribute the essays, huh? We all deserve some 'Outstanding'..."
Again everyone laughed again. Hermione clenched her fists tightly, frustrated at feeling so helpless without her wand. Being Prefect did not impose any authority on those imbeciles. She looked back at Malfoy again, trying to hide her expectation. Despite the rage that filled her, despite her racing pulse, she couldn't help but feel a slight pang of curiosity.
Would Malfoy be able to do… something? Wasn't he really going to stop that after… having kissed her like that?
Taking her side at that moment was simply unthinkable. A stupidity that surely he would not even be considering. And she knew it. But still, despite all of that, Hermione's chest trembled with a slight, and possibly stupid, childish hope…
Malfoy wasn't going to be able to join them against her. Not after kissing her, not after giving her such a kiss...
'It was a mistake. Just a mistake. Don't mention it again. I assure you that it will not happen again.'
Was there any chance that he would defend her? Was he even considering it?
"Pansy would never accept such a trinket," Draco said suddenly, drawing out the syllables, flashing a cruel smile. He started walking as he spoke, to sit on the bench with Zabini, in an elegant gesture. "And the rest of Slytherins would throw me out of the Common Room if I put something that stinky inside. Getting rid of the smell of a Mudblood is impossible. Though maybe I'll have time to reach the fireplace and put it to good use there… It's cool these days."
'Getting rid of the smell of a Mudblood is impossible...'
He looked Hermione in the eye as he said it. With two eyes that glowed with malicious intent. And she, unable to help herself, realised with painful dismay that he was alluding to their kiss. She had no doubt of it, despite the ambiguity of the sentence. The rest wouldn't get it, but she did. His eyes told her.
Malfoy hadn't been able to get rid of the 'smell' of Mudblood after kissing her. No matter what, despite having kissed her, she was still a Mudblood. She was inferior. He felt nothing but that.
The Slytherins roared with laughter, but Hermione heard it as if it came from far away. As if she was at the bottom of a hole. She felt a ringing in her ears, and her jaws clenched without meaning to.
She felt the sting of disappointment in her chest, a feeling she had never experienced towards Draco Malfoy. Which made her feel, if possible, worse. Completely humiliated.
Draco was looking at her with open disgust and open superiority, the same way he had done all those years. Immune to what he had just told her, to the tremendous cruelty of his words. As if he had never given her a kiss that made her legs weak. As if nothing had ever happened between them.
"I'm an idiot…" she wailed, discouraged, in her mind.
"Look at her! She turned white and everything!" Warrington laughed, throwing his head back. "Now what, Granger? Are you going to keep taking points from us?"
"A complete and utter idiot..."
Hermione didn't want to hear any more. She refused to stay there. She shook her head at Malfoy, fighting with all her will to return the same look he had just given her. A look of utter contempt.
"You are grounded," the girl said calmly, her voice overcoming the residual laughter from the group of young people. "All of you. I will speak with the Head of your House and he will impose the punishment on you."
The laughter stopped almost instantly. They all looked at her with similar puzzled expressions, perhaps wondering if she was in a position to do such a thing. And boy, was she. Without waiting for any reaction from them, Hermione approached Goyle in two strides and snatched her bag from him; he was too busy assimilating that he was grounded to resist.
Then Hermione strode off briskly, shoving Crabbe and Bletchley laboriously out of the way, and picking up the Daily Prophet she had dropped on the floor in the middle of their argument. The Slytherins' laughter and Malfoy's harsh words rang in her ears as she walked away from there as fast as she could, even though she had left a thick silence behind her. She headed for the door through which she had come there, back inside the castle.
Malfoy turned his head to watch her walk away through the cloisters. Moments ago, he had felt an absolute elation; elation for having been able to insult and despise her as always, and having enjoyed it thanks to the stimulating laughter of his friends. It had been a long time since he had achieved it, and that made him extremely proud. He felt energetic, powerful, master of the situation. He felt like himself again, for the first time in a long time.
But all of that had vanished thanks to the look she'd given him. A look of…disgust. And hidden disappointment. Now that she was gone, all he was left with was the feeling that a Bludger had hit his chest.
He didn't give a shit about the punishment. He had barely heard the verdict. Granger's disappointed expression had overshadowed everything else.
Hermione flung open the door to the deserted girls' bathroom on the second floor and almost ran into the room. She quickly opened one of the stalls and stepped inside, closing the door behind her. She sat on the toilet bowl and set her bag down on the tiled floor. Also the newspaper that she had carried under her arm all the time, on her lap. She was panting shakily. She needed to calm down, she couldn't go see Luna in that state.
Trembling, she crouched down and examined the contents of her bag. Nothing had been broken; everything was still in its place, perhaps a little messier. A couple of hot tears escaped between her lashes and fell on the cloth surface of the bag, obscuring the area they wet. She wiped her lashes and cheeks with the palm of her hand and pushed the newspaper to one side to keep it from getting wet. She decided to put it inside the bag.
"Why am I crying?"
Malfoy had insulted her countless times in the years she had known him, and she had never cried over it. Nothing he'd said to her had ever affected her as much. There had been no reason to be affected. But now everything that had to do with him affected her so much more. Was she getting weak? Why had Malfoy always managed to make her cry lately?
"Why do I always end up crying for him now? Why does he have that power over me, why do I let him?"
New tears betrayed her and slipped down her face, wetting her lips and her skirt. Her face contracted trying to control them, while the silent sobs made her chest convulse. Her lips pursed from suppressed moans. She felt like her throat was going to burst.
'Getting rid of the smell of a Mudblood is impossible...'
"I am an idiot, I have been an idiot for seeing things in you that were not there, for coming to think that you were something that you were not..."
How had she allowed her imagination to run wild like that? How has she let herself go to such an extent, in such an irrational way?
She tried to catch her breath, but a desperate moan came out as she exhaled. In the solitude of the bathroom, she let herself go for a few seconds. She needed it. Her hiccups were taking her breath away. She sniffed hard and let out a strangled sob, coughing lightly and gasping for air.
"I have allowed you to kiss me, I have allowed someone as despicable as you to kiss me, I will never forgive myself... And I will never allow that to happen again..."
After a couple of seconds of relief, she wiped her tears firmly, breathing deeply to calm down as soon as possible.
"You're crying!" a depressing voice greeted above her.
She almost had a heart attack. The young Gryffindor looked up tear-drenched, blinking them away, and saw the ghost of Moaning Myrtle hovering above her head, her lower lip lifted in an anguished scowl on her transparent face. Still, she seemed delighted to see someone else cry in that bathroom.
"Why are you crying? They also threw shampoo on your face?" the ghost asked in a small voice, then emitting a high-pitched sob and pouting. "To me, yes. A while ago, in the Prefects' Bathroom. They are beasts." Her eyes filled with tears behind the ghostly glasses. "Although I also often cry over my death. Why are you crying?"
Hermione lowered her face again, relieved to see that it was only Myrtle. She just shook her head, unable to speak. She still couldn't control her trembling and neither could she completely control her tears. Although the scare Myrtle had given her by appearing had made them more manageable, less desperate. She had calmed her down out of sheer shock. She no longer sobbed. But she still felt sorrowful, hurt. Disappointed.
'I've already answered you. You're making a big deal out of something patently derisory. If you want to believe otherwise, that's your own fucking problem. But leave me out of it. Keep me out of your twisted business.'
'Getting rid of the smell of a Mudblood is impossible...'
"I-idiot," Hermione sputtered through gritted teeth, while Myrtle stared at her with equal despair, suffering from her ghostly problems. "You d-dumb... Mi-miserable..."
"I hate you, I hate you, I hate you, Draco Malfoy," Hermione thought bitterly, as if he could hear her. "And you hate me too. Damn you, if you hate me, which you do, at least do it honestly."
On Sunday afternoon, the vast Hogwarts Library was crowded with students from all years and Houses trying to rush through, at the last minute, the homework they had been given for the weekend. Hermione was also there, but her case was very different. She had gone to the Library, just like the day before, to research old issues of the Daily Prophet, trying to find some connection between the towns and the people who had been mysteriously attacked in recent months. Although she hadn't managed to establish any pattern yet.
The attack on the former Minister of Magic and the disappearance of the Beauxbatons girl triggered an alert in her brain. She hadn't considered it, but perhaps she would have overlooked more news that didn't occupy the front page, and that actually spoke indirectly of Voldemort. And so she would form and expand the pattern she hoped to find. Despite reading the Daily Prophet carefully every day, there was nothing to lose by going over them again, now with a more open mind to what she had to look for. Luna, efficient and friendly, had also lent her the last few months' issues of The Quibbler; and had had the discretion not to ask her why. She simply told her to beware of Blibbering Humdinger, who might be drawn to the flashy turquoise colour of the January issue of The Quibbler. Hermione didn't know what the hell a Blibbering Humdinger was, and she didn't bother to ask either.
She was standing in front of a bookshelf, in the solitary section of old newspapers, leaving several of the issues she had chosen on the shelf, separating them from the rest, when she heard footsteps near her. However, she did not turn her head. To her own dismay, she realised that she was able to guess who had that gait.
Which worried her considerably.
"Mudblood," a familiar, drawling male voice greeted mockingly.
Hermione inhaled slowly, frustration overtaking her. Suddenly feeling very tired. After resisting for a few seconds, she ended up turning her face slightly to look at him. Malfoy was carrying a large number of volumes and newspapers in his arms, which he placed on the bottom shelf of the bookcase, two feet from her. The girl was curious to see him in possession of so many books, many of which, she saw with a quick glance, had nothing to do with the syllabus they were giving. In fact, many were from first-year Potions.
"Pure-blood," she returned his greeting coldly, without the slightest enthusiasm. She looked at him out of the corner of her eye, unable to contain her surprise. "What are you doing?"
He let out a bored laugh through his nose.
"I forgot you have a habit of plunging your nose into other people's problems," he muttered listlessly, separating the newspapers from the books without looking at her. "I am doing the punishment you imposed on me yesterday. Me and my friends."
She blinked and looked at him in surprise, now turning fully to him. Draco didn't look at her, and continued sorting out copies of the Daily Prophet.
"The punishment wasn't for you," she protested, confused. "A Prefect cannot punish another Prefect."
Draco raised his silver eyes and gave her a look of deep disdain, as if she had just said that Gilderoy Lockhart was the best writer in the world.
"Prefects can't take points away from other Prefects," he stated tersely, as if speaking to someone slow-witted. "But they can punish them. You know it perfectly."
Hermione blinked, surprised. He was right. She looked away, trying to keep the shame from taking over her. She bit her lip to keep an apology from escaping inside her.
"Well, perfect," she sentenced, returning to the newspapers. Raising her chin. He snorted again, sly.
"What do you gain by being so fucking cocky?" he wanted to know, looking at her with disdain. "Do you have a hard time lifting that insufferable big head every morning?"
She looked at him again, stunned that he dared accuse her of such a thing.
"Oh, I beg your pardon!" she articulated sarcastically, puzzled and shocked. "I had forgotten that I had to kiss the ground you walk on. I'm sorry I didn't kiss your hand, it was a slip-up..."
"Don't take me for an idiot," he warned, irritated.
"Perhaps you've forgotten, but yesterday you behaved like a swine with me, days after kissing me," she replied, dryly now. Malfoy didn't change his serious expression. He didn't even blink. "You don't expect me to kneel before you now, do you?"
Draco gritted his teeth imperceptibly and swallowed hard. He looked down, pushing aside a couple of books, perhaps more roughly than necessary.
"Just because something like that happened doesn't mean anything has changed between us," Draco spat out suddenly, in a small voice. "Or that you've stopped disgusting me."
"How curious, I don't usually kiss people who disgust me. Twice," she retorted, unusually scathing. He blew out a breath through his nostrils, startled at the directness of her accusation. He narrowed his eyes, sizing her up, puzzled.
"That kiss was a mistake," he whispered, looking away again. Hermione narrowed her eyes. "They were both a mistake," he corrected hastily, pushing aside a couple more books. "And it won't happen again. I actually was interested in talking to you about that."
She forced an angry snort, pretending not to care about his words, and lifted her chin a little higher. Though her heart was beating against her throat.
"Thanks for the clarification, but it is not necessary. That's all? Do you want to make clear any more obviousness? Whatever it is, spit it out and I hope it's the last thing you say to me. I don't know what the hell you want from me, I don't know what you're playing at, but I ask you to let it be once and for all. I'm tired of this little game."
Malfoy looked up again to meet hers, apparently astonished that she dared to speak to him like that. Finding her eyes, and seeing the firm determination that shone in them, he quickly composed himself, turning his puzzled look into another loaded with haughtiness, more like him.
"I would simply like to warn you not to tell anyone what has happened between us," he said, his voice firm and icy. "I want you to get used to the idea that it never happened. This has never happened, have I made myself clear enough?"
Hermione felt a painful tightening in her chest that made it hard for her to breathe. She swallowed hard to hold back the sudden lump in her throat, but then she shook her head almost imperceptibly, daring to look at him pityingly.
"I can't believe you're twisted enough to believe that I'm going to go around proclaiming it," the girl snapped, feeling humiliated that he considered her capable of something like that. "But rest assured, everything is forgotten by me. As far as I'm concerned, you've never kissed a Mudblood. If that's what you were worried about, you can sleep easy. Your reputation is intact."
"Fuck, stop treating me like I owe you something," Mafloy snapped, chucking a book onto one of the stacks and turning to her. "I don't know what you thought would happen after all this stupidity, but welcome to the real world. I assure you that nothing is going to change in the slightest," he assured hastily, breathing heavily. "Nothing can change, and nothing will."
She snorted again, shaken, and shook her head, almost in disbelief. Her heart was pumping steadily, without truce for minutes, but she forced herself to make her voice sound stable before saying:
"I don't know who you think you are, but I have no interest in anything changing between us."
Malfoy stared at her for a moment, his nostrils twitching, and then looked away, holding himself back so he wouldn't yell something truly offensive at her. In the midst of the dense silence that had formed, he forced himself to stop paying attention to the girl and to take one of the newspapers that he had separated from the books to place it on the shelf, thus fulfilling the punishment that had been imposed on him. To sort and put in their place a hundred old books and newspapers that people had used and returned to the Library. Crabbe had been sent to the Owlery, Goyle and Bletchley to clean toilets in the Hospital. Zabini would be helping Snape order his potions, and Warrington had been in the Library that morning, as had he.
At that moment, he almost welcomed the punishment. To have something to do. To keep his hands busy. He needed to take his mind off the conversation they were having.
Daily Prophet, issue of March 21, 1985...
One by one, he sorted through the rolled scrolls, placing them next to those with similar years. He felt Granger's gaze on his temple and on his hands, piercing him like an arrow on fire.
"It doesn't go there," the girl snapped suddenly, her voice icy.
Draco stopped his movements, trying with all his might not to look at her. Fighting the urge to slam the newspaper in her face. Working up the nerve, ignoring her, he tried again with another, older copy.
Daily Prophet, issue of August 3, 1964...
"It doesn't go there either..." she insisted, her voice slightly higher. "You are sorting by years, but you are missing the months. You have placed one from August next to one from January…"
Draco, feeling more and more pissed off, just pursed his lips and put another newspaper down, more roughly. Feeling about to explode, although he didn't quite know how.
Daily Prophet, issue of April 22, 1973...
"That one either… S-stay still!" she finally exclaimed desperately. "You do nothing but mess everything up…!"
Draco slammed the newspaper he was holding onto the shelf in front of him in a frustrated blow. Hermione fell silent, slightly regretting it. Draco looked up at her, his grey eyes shining like two storms. He took a step back, as if he wanted to look at her carefully. Or get away from her.
"Indeed, it sounds like the story of my life: I keep messing everything up," Draco burst out, almost gasping. "Tell me, what exactly do you want from me, Granger? What exactly is it that bothers you about me? That I insult you, that I make fun of you? Is it still not clear to you that it's my fucking duty?"
Despite the aggressiveness of his tone, and the fact that he could barely contain himself from screaming, his brain managed to remember that they were in the Library and he managed not to raise his voice too much. Hermione regarded him with her round eyes narrowed.
"Among many other things," she admitted scathingly, just as aggressively. "I know exactly what you believe your duties are as the radical pure-blood that you are. I know you're not going to turn your back on your family, your extremist beliefs, or anything like that. And I couldn't care less if you do it or not. I'm just asking you to please leave me out of this. I'm sick of this back-and-forth that leads nowhere. If you want to insult me, do it, but always do it; don't behave suddenly like... like..."
"Like what?" Draco replied fiercely when he saw her go silent. His grey eyes narrowed menacingly.
Hermione swallowed, and looked away, refusing to complete the sentence. Like somebody who's worth it, when he really isn't.
"Don't make me doubt what you feel, Malfoy," she replied firmly, her gaze fixed on the bookshelf. "I only ask you that."
"Doubt?" he spat, incredulous. "That is just ridiculous. You started all this by going where you're not called to," he snapped defensively. "Now don't make it look like it's all my fault. I have not started any of this."
"I've never forced you to kiss me," she spat, slurring the words, wanting to hurt him with them. She turned to him, finding him right in front of her. "And I've never kissed you."
Malfoy just stared at her expressionless, glancing from one eye to the other of the girl's. The young woman suddenly felt her heart race again. Her skin tingled. They were face to face... When had they gotten so close? She realised something that made her shudder: they were alone in the semi-darkness of that corridor. All alone. Just like they had been in the alley by Hog's Head, just like they had been in that passageway in the dungeons… It had been amply demonstrated that being alone with Malfoy lately was not a good idea. Things happened. Things outside of all common sense. They shouldn't be alone. They shouldn't be that close. They hated each other. She couldn't be running out of air just from being less than two feet from his body. But if the closeness made her uncomfortable... Why didn't she push him away? Why didn't she move away?
She felt apprehensive at what she sensed was coming. Emotion. A knot in her stomach. A flutter in the chest. He wasn't going to be able to...
"You're about to."
Draco's silky whisper made every hair on the girl's body stand on end. And he didn't say anything else, but he didn't close his mouth either. He leaned over the paralysed young woman and encircled her mouth with his in a firm kiss that robbed her of breath. Hermione took a quick breath through her nose as a shiver that started in her legs and ended in the lips that he was devouring ran through her. It bristled her skin completely, making it more receptive, raising her temperature. It felt so embarrassingly familiar, so pleasurable. So warm, so erotic. So forbidden. Malfoy was kissing her hard, pressing against her as he wanted to push her back, sinking into her. It was an imperious, determined kiss. She gasped softly against his mouth, but he didn't stop. He made no comment, no mockery. It was not the moment, and they both understood it. The girl, dizzy, moved her trembling lips against his. Almost by pure intuition. Wanting… more. Even if her face was on fire. She caught his lips between hers, clumsily, without much skill, settling into his rhythm. But it was equally pleasant. It seemed that anything would feel pleasant. She felt him breathe long through his nose as well. Alive. Real. Her hands moved up until they touched the front of his robes. Trying to be sure that she was still standing on her feet. She stood on tiptoe to reach him better, kissing him back. Fulfilling his words. Surrendering to him.
Surrendering.
No. That never.
'Getting rid of the smell of a Mudblood is impossible...'
Hermione felt a surge of anger replacing the chill she had felt earlier. Which further increased the heat that she already felt. She opened her eyes. Now she had a clear mind. And she wasn't going to let him get away with it. In a fit of courage and willpower, she placed her hands better on the boy's chest and pushed him with all her might, almost inadvertently biting his lips as she separated him from her. Malfoy stumbled back and struggled to regain his balance, but she didn't give him time to do it when she delivered a hard slap that turned his face. The skin-on-skin sound reverberated in the lonely hallway.
"Don't you dare play games with me, Malfoy," she snapped, trembling from the overload of sensation she was being subjected to, still not lowering her open hand. "Do not dare. I won't let you."
Hermione felt such a lump in her throat that she didn't understand how she could have pronounced those words. Malfoy stared back straight ahead and regarded her; his pale, angular face tense, his eyes glittering with what the girl recognised as humiliation. And also anger. His cheek was beginning to redden from the girl's blow. But he didn't say anything. They remained silent for a few seconds, both still panting. And they knew it was because of the intensity of the kiss. And that wasn't easy to embrace. It was easier to gasp in anger.
They were trying to understand how they had come to such a situation, when the strict Madam Pince appeared suddenly from the next corridor, scowling.
"What is this scandal?" she scolded them severely. "Please keep your voice down or I'll have to kick you out."
"Don't worry, excuse us, it won't happen again," Hermione promised, her voice unsteady, without thinking.
Madam Pince glared at them for a few seconds, and, seeing that they now seemed to be quiet, ended up walking quickly away, muttering under her breath. Hermione took two deep breaths and, using all her willpower, turned around and continued rummaging through the newspapers more roughly than necessary, under the watchful eye of an unmoving Draco.
"Tell me something, Malfoy," the girl asked quietly, not looking at him. She sounded calmer, but there was a slight restrained emotion in her voice. "What if I were a pure-blood? Would you think the same of this situation and tell me what you just told me? Have you thought about it?"
Draco opened his mouth to reply out of sheer inertia. Pre-empting her question, vainly believing that he might answer something scathing. But he was unable to articulate a word. Luckily, her back was turned and she didn't see him gasp awkwardly. Suddenly, Draco felt that the light around him had been turned off. He had stopped seeing clearly. Although he resisted, he couldn't stop such a question from getting stuck in his chest.
What if she wasn't a Mudblood?
He felt like he was short of breath, where the question was squeezing him. He fought his mind hard, unable to bear his own conclusions. All the options that were beginning to crowd his subconscious. It was much more than he could bear.
He couldn't bear, under any circumstances, to agree with her. She wasn't right. She didn't have a clue about anything. But he had, he did understand how the world worked. He did know what was right and what was not. And nothing they were doing was right. Because she was a Mudblood. And, for that reason, he could hardly bear the questions that suddenly flew over his mind.
What if she wasn't a Mudblood?
It was too much. He had to get out of there. He needed to reflect on all this in solitude. Or stop thinking forever.
"Not a word about it, Granger," Malfoy said finally. His voice was broken and terribly serious. Hermione wasn't looking at him and kept putting up newspapers, but it was obvious she was listening. "To nobody. Or I swear you will regret it."
A loud noise startled the girl. Malfoy had reached across the shelf, flinging the books and old copies of the Daily Prophet he was arranging to the floor with a sharp movement. It all fell to the stone floor with a thud, which thankfully didn't bring the librarian back. Hermione made an effort not to turn around, or look at him again. She heard Draco's shiny shoes spin on the old floor, his back to her.
Without either of them saying anything more, the young Slytherin stalked down the hall, furious, embarrassed by the ridiculousness he had made, hating her with all his might, and leaving the girl with her jaws clenched tightly.