Chapter Eight: Push

"Ah, what a delight for you to join me, Mr. Malfoy, I was beginning to think I had written down the wrong time for your detention," drawled the careful voice of Severus Snape from behind his desk, not bothering to look up from the piss-poor paper he had been grading.

Each word was laced with disdain, a distinct tone Draco was very familiar with having seen the professor scorn many other students, but had never had the displeasure of being the target of Snape's sneer himself. He swallowed down the thick lump that had formed in his throat, choosing to carry himself like the arrogant, uncaring Malfoy heir he was.

Draco let his expensive leather shoes create loud, rebounding claps as he strode over to the Defense professor's desk without responding. He sat down, crossing his left ankle over his right knee comfortably and stretching his arms behind his head.

Finally, Snape looked up with a glare that could kill. "You're late," he spat.

"Sorry, Sev," began Draco confidently, "I found some First Years with Skiving Snackboxes and took it upon myself to ensure that our new students know the rules prohibit that sort of behavior. I had to confiscate the contraband products." He made a show of pulling the small box from his coat pocket and eyeing the sweets. "Fainting Fancy? Could use it to get out of your next meeting with Dumbles, the old bat. Actually, maybe I could-"

He was briefly blinded by an astonishingly orange beam of light that whizzed past his face, halting his one-sided conversation. The student heard the clicking noise that meant the door had been locked. Snape swatted the candies onto the floor roughly, his aggressive actions matching the fury in his dark eyes.

"Cut the incessant babble, Draco, I don't have time for your childish schemes," Snape warned. "You may think that you are my equal now that you've joined the Dark Lord like your father, but I assure you that the next time you call me something other than 'Professor' I will have you cleaning out cauldrons every evening for the rest of the year."

Draco smirked at his own humor but nodded respectfully nonetheless. His blood was beginning to warm underneath the steady glare of the dark arts professor, but he tried to remain light, his plan to avoid certain unwanted conversations.

"Is that what you'll have me doing tonight, professor?" Draco questioned before flashing that smirk again. "In all five years I've been a student, you've never assigned me detention so I'm not exactly sure what to expect."

The older man scowled at him, growing more annoyed by the teen's mocking tones. Sure, perhaps he had been easy on Draco over the years but the leniency had to end at some point.

"Yes, I believe your father also felt as if he were above all authority, a quality he has somehow passed along to you despite the principles of evolution that eliminate mankind's more dreadful qualities," Snape paused with a sneer.

Snape's voice stung more with each word that rolled off his tongue, leaving Draco with nothing left to do but sit and take it until he could nurse the wound. "Your childish indiscretions may have been overlooked on many occasions in the past, but not anymore," continued the professor. "Your father has felt the consequences of his actions, and I implore you to learn from his mistake. In fact, you must if you wish to stay alive."

A thickness settled in the air at the mention of Draco's father, just as it always seemed to. The young Malfoy found it more difficult to breathe. His chest tightened more when he remembered that most teenagers don't feel physical pain when they think about their fathers. Then again, most teenagers didn't know what it felt like to feel real physical pain at the hands of their fathers, either.

"Draco, I think you know that we have matters far more serious to discuss."

Draco's eyes widened slightly at the idea, panic finding its home in his body. This is exactly what he had been hoping to avoid. Actually, he had been avoiding Snape all term.

Draco knew what his mother had asked of the professor. Draco knew the man in front of him knew of his tasks. Draco knew that Snape knew exactly who had cursed Katie Bell last month.

Draco knew and he didn't want to talk about it.

He grasped at nothing, fumbling through ideas of how to further piss off the grumpy man. "More serious than First Years with forbidden substances?" If I make him angry enough, he may just kick me out, Draco hoped. "You must mean quidditch then! Personally, I think that Montague–

"Draco, that is enough!" boomed the professor. "You dare play fool with me? If you plan to distract the Dark Lord with useless ramblings, you'll be dead before you take a second breath."

Finally, Draco recognized defeat. His eyes settled on his lap, no longer able to maintain the confident act.

"Have you thought about the task at all?" Questioned the professor in his usual bitter drawl.

"I've already told you my ideas, professor."

"Ideas aren't enough," he bit.

"You think I don't know that?" Draco growled, revealing his annoyance.

"I swore that I would protect you, Draco, and this is not an agreement I have the luxury of ignoring; nor do you."

The blonde scoffed. "I'm not the one that needs protecting," he mumbled audibly.

"I know you thought this position and task would give you the authority to protect your mother. I also know you know, that failure to complete this task will end up killing the both of you."

"There's no need to tell me this, professor. I know; I'm working on it."

"You are? Because to me, it seems like your regular distraction of a certain muggleborn witch is keeping you from fixing that cabinet. Am I wrong?" Again, Snape drawled the question, allowing his authoritative voice to fill the room.

"Granger isn't a distraction," Draco promised.

"So you aren't dating the know-it-all?"

"I am, but–

"And you are spending most of your time with her?"

"That's true, sir, but–

"And have you gotten any further on the vanishing cabinet?"

"She's helping me with it!" Draco managed to blurt out finally.

The professor gaped at his student, the dumbfounded look unflattering on his usually stern face, but the drawl of his voice held every ounce of intimidation that it usually emanated. "Excuse me?"

"Granger's helping me mend it," the blonde explained. "She doesn't know about the task or what it's for or that I've been marked, but she's agreed to help me fix the cabinet."

Snape Blinked. "How in Merlin's name is that a good idea?"

"Well, they call her the brightest witch of our age. Sure, she can be annoying sometimes, but you can't deny that she's brilliant, professor. You've seen how she can figure things out. I just figured that if anyone can figure out how to fix a vanishing cabinet, it would be her."

"So you've tricked her into helping you? I must say, I am impressed. I didn't think you had it in you."

"I didn't need to trick her, she agreed to help," the blonde defended.

"She agreed to help you kill Dumbledore? I've never heard anything more ridiculous. If you're not done behaving like a first year, you can show yourself out. I will not waste my time with your games."

"I've found I can be very convincing, sir," Draco tried, not quite sure how to phrase things. He couldn't exactly tell Snape that his relationship with Granger was fake, but he hadn't yet thought about what else he could say. "Surprisingly, Granger knows how to be a proper, supportive girlfriend."

"I thought you were trying to protect your family, not ensure your line ends with you? The Granger girl is nothing more than a filthy muggleborn, Draco, and a bloody Gryffindor, too. You can't be serious. "

Draco's jaw tensed at the comments, but he remained quiet. He crossed his arms across his chest to keep himself from revealing the tinge of anger that those words had brought on.

He didn't particularly like Hermione, but he cared for her enough to wish that others would stop defining her by her blood. He could agree that Gryffindors generally are the most annoying at school, but it wasn't as if Gryffindor and muggleborn were all that Hermione was. She was far too complex of a witch to simply be defined by those two terms.

Draco wondered why Snape became a professor if he felt such hatred for so many students. It must be a very arduous life to live.

Draco, unable to express his real thoughts on Hermione and her blood, chose not to answer Snape at all. A silence hung between the two for a few moments.

Finally, Snape spoke with a silky voice, "Have you made any progress?"

Well, that was a question that Draco wasn't quite sure how to answer. They'd read dozens of books and had taken notes on anything and everything that might be remotely useful, but they hadn't actually done anything with the cabinet itself.

Actually, now that he thought about it, Draco realized that he and Hermione hadn't stepped foot inside the Room of Hidden Things in weeks.

"Well," Draco explained, "We've done extensive research. We've looked at every book about vanishing cabinets that the library has. Restricted section, too."

"You failed to answer my question," scolded the professor. "Have you made any improvements to the cabinet?"

He hated this answer and he hated himself the longer he put off saying it. "No, sir."

Snape ran his hands along his face before leaning forward. His voice was deep and steady, "He wants something done by Christmas, Draco. You need something to report to him."

"I'm trying, Granger and I– We– work on it every night for a few hours," defended Draco, beginning to panic.

"No, you read for a few hours every night. That isn't working. Maybe in Granger's mind, but the Dark Lord won't spare your mother in exchange for a well-thought-out essay and color-coded notes. He wants Dumbledore dead."

At this point, all traces of color had drained from Draco's already pale face. Somehow, sometimes, he seemed to forget the severity of his position. He'd grown so used to thinking of it as "the task" or "the cabinet," that somewhere along the line, the actual task itself had been forgotten.

Okay, maybe not forgotten. But definitely overlooked.

Each day was easier to get through when he wasn't thinking about becoming a murder.

"Draco, the Dark Lord wants to hear a report when you go back to the manor for the holidays. You can expect punishment if his expectations are not met," Snape warned.

Draco nodded his head stiffly.

"If progress isn't made by the end of the term, you will set another plan in motion. You will use Madam Rosmerta again." Snape's tone was stern and his eyes were set on Draco's with dark stares.

"But, sir–

"Do not question me you ungrateful, entitled, boy. I do not intend for the ineptitude of a seventeen-year-old fool and his intolerable girlfriend to be my cause of death. Do I make myself perfectly clear?"

Draco's eyes fell to his lap once again. "Yes, sir," he resigned.

When Draco left Professor Snape's office a few minutes later, his mind was swarming with worries. While the punishment of detention left most students frustrated for their wasted time or perhaps a hand strained from hours of writing lines, this lingering, heavy feeling in the pit of Draco's stomach was much, much worse.

The next evening, when Draco and Hermione had returned to their office room for more research, his body was still tense. His detention with Snape had caused an unfamiliar feeling of anxiety to set in his veins. The uncomfortable, electric sensation made him feel as if he needed to run. As if that would help.

Draco scowled at the mere idea.

His body wanted to run. His mind wanted to do something more than read another bloody book, but here he was, sitting on an ugly couch, Hermione's mess of curls resting in his lap… and he was reading.

Snape had been right. The deal was made for mutual benefit, but Draco's ends were far from being met.

From the gossip Draco had heard and the way the chatter around them felt whenever they were in public together, their fake relationship was going rather well. Draco and Hermione spent a lot of time together between studying in the library, eating meals together, walking around the castle, resting by the lake… and of course, their time spent in the Room of Requirement researching.

Draco looked down at the witch as she turned the page in her book. He'd stopped reading a while ago but turned his own anyway.

Hermione's head was resting in his lap, her frizzy hair cascading in every direction across his legs. Her chosen book for the evening, Dark Artifacts of Wizarding Wars, was held lazily above her face as her eyes scanned rapidly across the pages.

Again, she turned the page.

She'd grown much more comfortable with him in the few days after her fight with Weasley, after she cried, after they laughed.

He almost smiled at the small success. Crying witches had never been something he took much interest in. They always seemed to blubber on for hours, far longer than he thought was natural, grasping desperately for attention and sympathy. He'd seen it so many times in the Slytherin Common room from Pansy, he'd quickly learned to see the behaviour for what it was: Manipulation.

But Granger was different. She wasn't crying for attention, and Draco knew that. He knew that she was perfectly capable of putting herself back together after whatever harsh words Weasley had shouted at her. Granger was fine on her own. She didn't need anyone, and for that, he had found himself wanting to be there anyway.

Draco mindlessly turned the page in his book.

He wouldn't say that he really cared for how the Hermione felt, but he wouldn't deny himself the small wave of pride he felt for having successfully cheered the crying witch up.

Her behaviour over the days that followed, too, was a positive outcome of the whole event. She'd been much more comfortable around him in all aspects. She hadn't flinched away from his touch all week, even when he'd gone to kiss her cheek in the middle of Transfiguration class despite the fact that they were sitting in the front row and surely, every sixth-year student would see. She seemed less overwhelmed throughout the day and more calm in his presence. Even their conversations now felt more genuine, like she had stopped trying to be careful with what she was saying around him.

Actually, other Slytherins had noticed it, too. Just yesterday, Blaise was telling Draco how fond he was of Draco's new girlfriend. He found her wit and cleverness extremely entertaining, stating, "the witches in Slytherin are far too haughty and much too daft to understand my sarcastic humor, let alone join in with it." She had even made a few jokes at Draco's expense over lunch, to which Blaise had said, "she's good for you, mate. Salazar knows you need to be taken down a peg... Or six."

Draco wondered if that was exactly what Hermione needed, too.

Had anyone ever checked her swottiness? Anyone besides Snape? Had she ever really been challenged academically? Had anyone ever dared to push her out of that book-shaped comfort zone?

He doubted that the Weasel or Scarface had ever dared to stand up to her about education before. They spent so much time relying on her, asking her to dumb-down the content for them, they couldn't have pushed her an inch.

From her spot in his lap, Hermione brushed a stray curl out of her face before turning another page. The slow movement of her fingers as she smoothed the parchment surface across the book set him on edge.

They'd never make any progress if they continued at this unmoving pace.

"Granger, we've read more books than there are spaces on these bookshelves. Don't you think it's about time we take this to the Room of Hidden Things?" Draco suggested, a slight edge finding its way into his tone.

"No, Draco. We've barely found anything of use," she reminded. "If we try now we'll simply be wasting our time."

He scoffed, "Oh, actually doing magic would be a waste of time?" A mocking laugh escaped his lips.

Hermione rolled her eyes distastefully. "We haven't found nearly enough information yet! We would have no idea what to do," she scolded. She repositioned the thick book in front of her face, blocking him from view.

But Draco was stressed, annoyed, and at least as stubborn as she was.

He pushed the book away from her face roughly, his grey eyes piercing. "Do you even hear yourself? We've read hundreds of books that have told us the exact same information in different words. We aren't getting anywhere."

Her usual huff rang through the air as she set her current book down and lifted her head from his lap, sitting to meet his tense, strong features on an even plain. "But we still haven't found anything about mending the passage when we only have one end-"

The blonde wizard hastily stood from the couch. His voice was powerful and loud, the tone he took with Crabbe and Goyle in previous years on the Quidditch pitch when they failed to do anything helpful. "How do you think anything gets discovered if everyone is always relying on books to tell them how to do things?!"

She looked startled by his outburst, unsure about what she had done to bring out this stormy side of him. But he knew.

His frustration with her no doubt fueled by his stress from the task and his depleted reserve of patience.

He took her silence as a reason to push on, jumping at the opportunity to get some of his anger out.

"Do you think Dumbledore discovered the seven uses for Dragon's blood by reading about dragons? Do you think the wolfsbane potion was invented simply after someone read about the nature of different ingredients? No, Hermione. We cannot sit idly by, waiting for someone else to discover how to fix a broken vanishing cabinet and write about it."

Hermione shifted in her seat, wiggling the edges of her sleeves in between her fingers. She wouldn't even make eye contact with him. This simple, common, submissive act was extremely rare for a witch as bold as Hermione Granger. Draco couldn't tell if he had said something to deeply offend her or if her silence indicated that he had gotten through to her.

He figured it was more likely the latter seeing as her fist hadn't collided with any part of his body as she was so frequently prone to do.

Draco was pacing in front of her spot on the couch, not caring that he probably looked crazed. Her silence was wearing on him.

This girl needed to be pushed, shoved. She needed to be knocked down off of the mountain of books from which she ruled. Her mind needed to be challenged.

Draco didn't mind being the one to challenge her.

He'd read a quote last year that stopped him in his tracks and made him rethink where his life was going. He never would have considered himself to have things in common with this Gryffindor princess, but those familiar Oscar Wilde words found their way onto the tip of his tongue.

"'Most people are other people. Their thoughts are someone else's opinions, their lives a mimicry, their passions a quotation.'"

He couldn't keep the pain from dripping in his voice. He'd been haunted. He'd always been cast in the shadow of his father. He'd been destined to become the next pureblood supremacist to head the Malfoy family and run the businesses. He'd never thought he had a choice.

That plan that seemed so fated, so inevitable, plagued his mind for years. It wasn't the life that he wanted for himself.

But Oscar Wilde had other plans for Draco. The poet knew that the pale blonde teenager could do more than relive the pitiful life of his father. Just the same, the poet knew Hermione could do more than read and be bossy.

A still uncomfortable Hermione was now looking at him with a gentle curiosity. He could feel her mind working, probing in between the lines of his recounted words. Her voice was buried deep in her throat, cowering perhaps, and her mind was at a loss of how she could possibly respond to the man in front of her.

Draco breathed again, deciding to take a seat on the couch next to her, but not too close. Picking up the next book in their stack and opening it up to the first page.

Her brown eyes were still stuck on his figure, but Draco understood that he hadn't won this battle tonight.

"Hermione," Draco pushed on. Her given name had rolled off his tongue so easily, he hadn't even noticed. "As much as I hate to admit this, you have a mind that could do so much more than what other people tell you."

.

.

A/N: Big Beta Love for Rachelletwin22! Any errors that remain are my own. And thank you to all of my regular readers for being patient with my weekly chapter update schedule. I promise the chapters coming up are ones you WON'T want to miss!

Disclaimer: All publically recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of J.K. Rowling.

Many thanks to anyone who takes the time to read this story, OxfordElise