Chapter 32
A Wider View
Spring light filtered across a Pitch of green. It was ignited with the bodies of emerald green and golden yellow. The wind had taken the day to recoup from its relentless blowing. There was a calm stillness in the stands as they awaited the start of the match.
Hermione was bejeweled with a Slytherin green headband slipped through the fluffy round curls of her hair. Daphne had pulled a spare cheering jersey from an older witch to loan to Hermione. It was charmed to read Draco's name and number on it. The witch wore a similar silken jersey with silver lines cut through emerald green hues.
It was still not warm enough to do without a long sleeve shirt below it and a scarf wrapped around her neck (also green).
She looked like a proper Slytherin witch in the getup.
It was reminiscent of a cheerleading position in the muggle world.
Hermione was never the type, but she envied the pretty girls who were the type that were so desirable in their uniforms. For once, she felt akin to being a desirable teenage girl. Not a brainiac. Not Harry Potter's best friend. Not Order member. Just Hermione Jean Granger.
The thought made her smile.
Draco hovered high in the air center field. His blonde hair was brighter in the clear light of day. With little cloud cover, the Pitch was coated in the perfect stretch of daylight with a warmth back through the Scottish air.
Crabbe and Goyle carried their beaters bats in their hands. Somehow those two had gotten better at handling the equipment during her absence at practices.
She tried not to notice Terrence Higgs. It was still too awkward to think about the past with him. What she'd done was rightfully awful. She deserved that touch of sourness at the back of her tongue when she remembered how she used him.
The letter of apology she wrote to him was the best she could do to reassure him that it was no diminishing of his character, rather hers, that allowed it to be so chaotic on Valentines Day.
There was a pause in the noise near her. In the corner of her eye, she caught sight of Daphne shuffling over.
She turned to ask what was wrong when she caught sight of the soft but blaring beauty of her younger sister, Astoria.
Hermione's throat went instantly dry.
"You remember Tori. Don't you, Hermione?" Daphne eyes were large. They looked at her with great care.
"Of course. Yes."
She was too stunned to say much more. Truly, there were no words that came to mind.
How could she atone for the acts committed against the witch without being sorry for them while still empathizing with the politics that went into the contract they were bound to? Was there a way to say it? If there was, it was not common knowledge for Hermione's circles.
The witch wore a wincing smile, as if in pain or fear. Her little face was turned red at the sides. She wore little black earmuffs over her brilliant blonde hair. It was sleeked to one side, held in place with a silver and pastel blue claw clip.
Astoria did not wear any Slytherin gear that was typical of Quidditch games. Instead, she wore her (seemingly favorite shade) pale blue robes.
"Wondered if she could sit with us a bit, she did," Daphne stated. "You don't mind, do you, Hermione, love?"
It was a tense moment. She felt very on the spot.
Would Draco like it if they were together? Did he have feelings for her? Was she frightened of Hermione?
"No. Please, Astoria." She motioned to their seats. "We'd be glad for the company."
The young witch was surprised. Her face was swept with a preppy pink blush. It grew with her gorgeous genuine smile that was not too large, but still rang of her warmth.
"Thank you," the young witch murmured.
Daphne boasted a more cheerful grin. "See? We're all right." Her hands tucked one (of many) fallen strands of her knotted bun away from her face.
Astoria's eyes watched the motions of the witch's hand. It was coated in black symbols like little tattoos upon her knuckles and wrist.
It was not a traditional look. Nor were tattoos an accepted form of self-expression in the magical world.
"Your hands," the witch pointed out. Hermione readied a defensive statement of Daphne's temporary tattoos against a chasm of virtue enforced patriarchy that wizards and muggles were so fixed on. "You changed them. What new ones did you do?"
The sister leaned her head over Daphne's palm as Daphne explained every little symbol with its meaning.
It disarmed her to see the kindness in the sisters. Pureblood, Slytherin witches. The same stock as Pansy Parkinson. Yet these two were so supportive of things that were not what they were raised to believe. Their eyes did not narrow in judgement. They were wide and observing. Honest and open. Calm and kind.
Hermione allowed the stain of the Malfoy's nonsense wash away from the Greengrass sisters. They were too precious to be in the circle they were in.
A sign, perhaps, that there was flaw in Voldemort's mission.
A sign that one day he may be overthrown by an assumption he shouldn't have made.
The match started in a surge of noise. Cheers of every direction flew through the air, rode on the gusts stirred from the brooms, and carried with their echoes to the other side.
The singular beat of their hearts – all in time by the heavy stomps on the wooden stands – united the castle in the competition.
Quidditch was wicked brutal. The beaters had a hard job. Harder still, when Goyle looked less than stable on a broom.
She cheered for Crabbe and Goyle, her kind of friends.
Then, there was the wizard she was there for. He loomed high above their heads as he watched the match from his perch. His attention snapped to Hufflepuff's seeker every other minute. He did join in the bashing of formations when he could.
The seeker, though, kept himself attuned to the discreet shimmering of a golden orb.
Daphne had the girls wedged against the outer rail of the wooden stands. They swung their flags of support out for the house team. They screamed and hollered their lungs out at Higgs led their team to a huge lead.
Hufflepuff never quite recovered from Cedric's loss. He was a seeker and captain.
They worked really hard to defend against Slytherin's aggressive offense. There was little that could be done to the intricate weaving, seamless maneuvers in and out of bodies and brooms. The violent clash opposed the beauty of their fluidity.
Draco's long cape whipped around him as he flew past. A gust flew up her curls.
She screamed his name in support. Her lips forgetting she was a Gryffindor lion. She forgot everything except the craving of her heart for the wizard of the serpent whom she loved wholly.
Slytherin won the match.
Daphne and Astoria awaited with Hermione outside the locker rooms just below the Pitch. There was a fair number of Slytherin students there waving their little banners of support. It seemed they waited for the winning team, too.
"I never intended," Astoria voice was a soft mumble under the hum of the crowd around them. Hermione shifted to hear. "I did not know. When I told you. It was not my intention to upset things."
"Right." Hermione forced a response that was not bitter.
Bitter? Why was she still so burned by it? She shagged Draco. He was wrapped around her finger. But that Valentines Day when she saw the pair of them in a booth at the Three Broomsticks, it all made sense. Draco and Astoria looked like they belonged together. Blonde, beautiful, elite.
Hermione shifted uncomfortably. She liked Astoria. She really did.
It was not the witch.
Yet, it was. Because she was the witch that Hermione could never be.
"Daphne said you are a good person and I believe her," Astoria declared. "There is no hate in my soul for you. I hope that you feel that same. I do not wish to have an enemy in a good friend of my sister."
Mention of Daphne cooled the heat of tension.
Hermione nodded and smiled. "There was nothing you could have done to stop it. Daphne told me the circumstance of it. It was not fair to the pair of you."
"He wouldn't have liked me," she replied.
"Excuse me?" Hermione tilted her head to hear.
The noise warbled the sound of the witch's voice. Surely.
"Draco." The blonde hair gestured toward the locked room door. "I could see it. He did not like me."
It shot a strange swirl throughout her chest. "Uh, I wouldn't go that far."
"I would." The first cheers of the emerging dressed-down Quidditch players started. The two witches huddled closer at the surge of the bodies pushed forward. "The wizard looked right through me. I was apart of the background. Every piece around is observed the same. You. When he sees you, there is, nothing left. It is like the world is black to his sight when you're around."
The team started a chant that urged the crowd up to the castle to celebrate. The voices echoed against the great emptiness around.
Hermione slipped out of the current to find Draco.
Goyle and Crabbe passed. They gave a head nod in acknowledgement.
"Great match," she told Crabbe. Then she turned to Goyle. "That was an excellent rebound from Hufflepuffs beater. Cheers."
They mumbled their thanks and shuffled on up after the others.
The entire house of Slytherin marched together back to the castle.
Draco finally emerged. His hair was wet, slicked back like it had been first year. It flashed an image of his young snarl from that first time they met: he, the opposite of Harry and she as a friend Harry made on his own.
She stumbled her step through the memory.
A smirk emerged. His eyes wandered her with delight. More so, lingering on her chest.
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms. "Wizards."
"An interesting jersey you wear there, pet. I wonder whose number is on it."
Oh, right. The green and silver jersey was a mock of his. Right across her chest was the display of his.
Her arms dropped away. "Well. Figured we had to do it right."
"Where'd you get it from?" He asked, still dazzled by its sight.
"Daphne borrowed it from an older witch. We just charmed it to have your name and number."
His brows lifted. "My name?"
"Well sure." She showed her backside to him. The freshly washed smooth curls pulled up from her neck to show the name MALFOY etched across the back of the jersey. "It supposed to be like yours. Do you like it?"
A subtle purr came from his mouth.
Her eyes were wide as she turned around.
He gave her a smile, tossed his arm around her shoulders and walked with her back to the castle. They did not do public displays of fondness much. Or, at all. It was totally foreign to feel the gaze of others on her as her arm wound around his back, too.
The Slytherin pack was just ahead of them.
"They've got a party planned," he muttered.
"I assumed," she hummed.
"I can skip it." Her eyes jumped to his gaze. He shrugged. "If you want me to."
The slick oil of power slipped across her tongue once more.
He was hers. Not the other way around.
He'd lost his power. It was she who now held his leash as master to her pet. Pet Draco.
She blinked away the allure of control. "And miss all that ego stroking? Are you barmy?"
The witch deposited him on the staircase down to the dungeons with the rest of his team. He was hesitant to follow. His eyes glanced back at her many times before he finally descended to the depths of Slytherin house.
But it paved way for a new dynamic in their relationship. One she hadn't expected. One, that she kept pushed out of her mind in fear of what other thoughts it would welcome in.
Draco was not in obsession. Not anymore.
The days of spring were the best of Hermione's life. Her friends were all on the same page. There was no fighting from Harry. He pretty much didn't mention Draco but didn't spur to retaliation as he had previous. Ronald was lost in Lavender, so really, his life was pretty solid, too.
Slytherin was amazing. Daphne and Astoria became very good friends to Hermione. Though Draco was not a fan of being near Astoria. He kept his mouth closed about it when the witch came around them. He'd keep his words to himself or just linger on the edge of their conversations until the girls found something better to do.
She saw less of her shadows. They rather approached her in conversation through the halls when Draco was indisposed. Not that it happened much. He was stuck to her side. His eyes pleaded with her to stay at the end of night when curfew was near. His fingers laced between hers to keep her from leaving.
He hung onto every breath after they kissed. It was never he who broke away first.
Absolute bliss lived inside of Hermione's veins. She was full and confident and bubbly with life, and love, and all that could be.
Of course, the end of term started to spiral around them. The last Quidditch game was near. There were OWLs to study for. The entire reminder of what it meant to leave Hogwarts began to splinter Hermione's high.
Then, Hagrid had the audacity to leave responsibility for his younger brother to Harry and her. They were barely hanging onto their own lives. Now they were given the chore of tending to a giant.
His own kind treated the poor thing awfully, but leaving him in the wood, alone, and tied in place was a prison all of itself. It was cruel.
Hagrid's reminder of what was storming outside drenched her in a numbing sheet of ice. The giants were being rallied. Other creatures, stronger and more oppressed, were being recruited for Voldemort's cause. (Somehow, since the purists were the ones who required the separation of magical creatures from wizards and witches.)
There was so much despair for Voldemort to pray on. The magical community had stayed in the dark ages for far too long.
He offered riches that would never leave his own hands.
Why there were not more to see it, irked her.
Then came the offhand comment from Draco's mouth one day at supper. He spoke of being friendly with the wizarding examinations authority head for years. They dined together. It was said to a friend, like Theo or somebody, but she'd listened very clearly to its meaning.
Lucius Malfoy was interconnected. His reach was within the Ministry, within the world, perhaps, in Hogwarts beyond his own son's hand.
He was in direct league with Voldemort's followers – everyone knew. She pondered if that ensured her safety or risked it. There was rumor of the list. The list that her name was written upon – to be spared and captured. However, Lucius cherished his bloodline above all others. Would he spare her life as his dark lord commanded or curse her for associating with his son?
Hermione started to tread careful around corners. Her body tensed around Umbridge.
The stress of examinations only compounded her stress. It was impossible to clasp her wand every waking moment when she had to confiscate potions every other minute. The dangerous memory enhancers and hastily brewed energy potions damaged more than just a student's digestive system. They were unstable at the best of times.
All the first years were given a speech in the common room about the dangers of the usage of any substances for study aids.
"There may be an older student who offers you a sip. Just a sip. Enticing, isn't it? Well, it won't be when you don't sleep for two days and pass out in the middle of your exams. They do not retest, you know. Just say no. There is courage in refusing a potentially unsafe potion. Say no. Say no to memory enhancers," Hermione said to their wide-eyed faces with total trust. They listened to her instruct them all to turn over any potions they get their hands on. "There is no punishment for turning in any student brewed elixirs or potions that are contraband. I will accept all without diminishing house points."
A densely freckled brunette with sparkling blue eyes raised her hand. Her legs swung below her, so childlike.
Hermione paused. "Yes?"
"What do you do with them once they've been confiscated? Do you keep them?"
The group had listened to minutes of the health risks of consuming potions that were not tested by a skilled potioneer. A review was in order.
"Um, no. No, as with any home brew that is discovered and seized in Hogwarts, it is given to a professor to dispose of. Since potions tend to be unstable if not brewed properly. Professor Snape covered this in potions first year, did he not?"
The group hummed a yes in response.
Their empty stares prompted yet another reiteration of the lesson. Do not drink potions that were ineffective and risked health.
The first years shuffled out of the common room to their days as the most recent stash of potions was collected into her arms. She held the glass vials close to her chest as she walked down the many, many stairs of the castle to the cool depths of the dungeons.
The lower levels of the castle were frigid, even in warmer temperatures.
Her breath shuddered from her lips. A ghostly air showed the outlines of her breath before it dissipated.
Professor Snape's office appeared at the end of the corridor. She shuffled the vials in her arms. The awkward loud clanking echoed throughout the space.
"A Gryffindor witch in the dungeons." A voice split the silence. She jolted which only clanked the potion bottles harder together. Her eyes traveled down the front of her to ensure none of the unstable potions were going to spill over her.
When her safety was ensured, she turned to greet the voice with the growing pace of her heartbeat throttling her insides.
"Not many have that courage. Even the lions," Terrence teased.
"Just on my way to Professor Snape's," she explained. She shifted and was rewarded with the sound of her movement by the armload of noise makers. Her mouth went tense to prevent an embarrassed wince showing. "Passing through."
Vibrant green eyes sparkled as they appraised the collection in her arms. He scratched the scruffy edge of his jaw. The faded shadow of an emerging beard wrapped around his lips and chin, up the outline of his jaw.
He still wore a simple chain necklace. It hung outside of the collar of his shirt.
"Extra credit?" He asked.
She smiled and shook her head. "Potions I've confiscated from students. Exams are soon. They all think this will save their marks. Professor Snape disposes of them."
"Shining example." His eyes flicked away from hers. "As always."
The loose strands of his black hair hanged at his shoulders. They were full of volume, not like hers, but in a tamed way. There was the slightest curl at their edges.
Her eyes refrained from ogling too long. It was not right to appraise him with such approving desire when she'd done what she did.
Her throat refused to swallow an awkward lump of guilt. She tried over and over again. It affected the tone of her voice as she asked, "Did you get my letter?"
The wizard's attention lifted from the books in his arms. "I did."
"I meant it," she stated firmly. "Every word."
"I did not expect deceit from you."
A frown sloped the corners of her mouth. "I know. I-I'm so sorry." Her mind sought for explanation. What could she say, but the truth? "My Gryffindor rage did not consider what I'd done until I felt my revenge. It was rotten. I'd not blame you if you hated me, would I. It is not to save myself in your eyes however, I must declare I never imagined Draco reacting the way he did. I fully intended to continue with the date as it was meant. Although my motivation was a lie."
His head tilted. He gave her a long look in total quiet.
Shivering hands of humiliation tickled with the back of her thighs. Thousands of pricks, like eyes, touched at her. All at once, she felt red, and hot, and singled out.
Her conscious chided in. You deserve this.
"I read your letter, Hermione. I understand. I forgave you," he explained. "It did not read as a deceitful expression so I did not take it as such."
"Oh."
Terrence Higgs was a wizard beyond credit.
Too often now, Hermione found herself stumped with the Slytherins she encountered. Daphne, Astoria, and now Terry. They did not show her a shred of bias, despite her being more than guilty of deserving it.
A forced, albeit polite smile captured his face. "I won't keep you."
He turned on toe. He'd taken a step away before she realized there was more she needed to say.
"It was not one sided," she called out. "You've bewitched me from the moment we met. Made me question what I thought I knew. Exposed my own narrow-minded thinking. It's only – well, if not for Draco."
One glance over his shoulder gave her chills. His eyes filled with relief.
"You will have friend in me, Hermione. Should you need it."
For some reason, those words twisted her heart harder. The muscle beat erratic and painfully. Its main stemmed aorta clenched so tight that it suffocated between the pumping.
She blinked back guilt, or tears, or something. "I don't deserve it," she whimpered.
He faced her with a long-standing twisted expression. "What I like about you does not change. You are a beautiful witch. Wicked smart. A sense of humor beneath those curls. And a drive to change the world, rid it of its outdated prejudices." He shrugged. "I'm just glad I exposed one more to you. The Slytherins are not saints, of course. Some are rotten. Not only rotten ones come from Slytherin either. But we are not all content with the ways things are, have been. "
A few other older wizards called him away. He gave a short nod with a smile as he said his goodbye.
The wobbly state of her knees left the rest of the corridor a struggle; she winced with each clattering of glass.
Professor Snape opened the door before she could lift her hand to knock. He appraised down the length of his nose. The collection of contraband vials and mugs caused a sharp exhale to leave his nostrils down at her.
"Well," he drawled. "The consequences of being in Gryffindor finally caught up with them, I see."
He stepped back with the door opening wider. She awaited his invitation before she stepped through the threshold into his personal lair.
The door closed behind them. It cloaked them in a shield of privacy.
"These are the ones I've found so far," she stated.
Long drastic sleeves pulled together at the wizard's center. It made him a wraith with a human head only exposed.
"The Weasley's exit has been auspicious."
Her eyes peered at the professor carefully. "Auspicious, sir?"
Black flowy sleeves parted to reveal a hand. The porcelain white flesh emerged through the dim of the room like a beacon. His hand pointed at the desk. It was very direct.
The armload clattered to the table's surface.
His fingers picked up the vials. Their contents were shaken. Vigorously. A slender dark brow raised as he did it again, over and over, to the contraband potions and elixirs.
Hermione watched the professor inspect every vial with great attention.
"It is auspicious that the Weasley twins departed before exams. It would seem the castle's potion skills have increased on their own accord." Delicate fingers popped corks out of bottles. Long sniffs were given at the rims of some vials. Something less than a scowl formed on the professor's face. "Desperate times, and all that."
"Fred and George made memory enhancers for the whole school?" She hadn't known about that little tidbit. She'd have stopped them.
All their product testing on students was unethical, but knowingly administering potions that did not work, and sometimes had dire consequences. That was too far.
"I was under the impression you knew all, Miss Granger. Is this an admission of a divergent reality?" A thin-lipped silence was all he received in response. "No matter."
He flourished his billowy robes as he rounded the edge of his desk. "The Weasley brothers were adept at the disposal of their potions being catastrophic for the disposer. My task shall be simpler."
Hermione frowned. The potions were like their fireworks. When they were intervened with, they exploded at the caster. Those twins had devilish ways to cover their tracks. The upmost of their chaos inflicted, just as intended.
The moment she saw them again, she'd chastise them for all the disruption they caused.
"May I be excused, sir?"
His face clicked up from the parchments atop his desk. "No, you may not."
She hesitated. His tone snapped a tension throughout her spine.
"Have you had another migraine?"
A bolt of electricity shot through her.
"No, professor. I've not."
"I trust you've heeded my warning of secrecy," he drawled on a gentle tongue.
It put an undercurrent to the zapping tension in the room. Sincerity? Was he concerned of her health? The professor tolerated her with the least bit of patience he held for a student, apart from Ron and Harry. She doubted there was reason for his approval now.
"You are I are the only ones that know," she said.
"Good." He bobbed his head once, as if he was pleased with the statement. "Keep it that way."