Hello, everyone, how are you doing? 😊 Looking forward to continue reading the story? I hope so! πŸ˜‚

A thousand thanks, as always, to all of you for your support! 😍 And I know I repeat myself, but I'm so happy that you like the story... Thanks to those of you who are always there, whether you comment or not...

Let's remember that we ended the previous chapter with a very angry Draco as Hermione hadn't come to meet him behind the greenhouses...

I hope you like this new chapter a lot! If you feel like leaving me a comment, I'll be happy to read it. Thank you in advance for reading 😍


CHAPTER 31

Silencio

The last time Draco had felt this nervous was the day Lord Voldemort burned the Dark Mark into his forearm. The situation at the time couldn't even compare, but he was almost as tachycardic.

His face peered imperceptibly from behind the pillar in the Entrance Hall. The last stragglers from breakfast were now running up the Marble Staircase. The Hall was empty at last, leaving the way clear for him. All the students would be in their various classes by now. Still, Draco didn't move yet. His heavy breathing was the only thing he could hear in the silence, and it threatened to drive him mad. Adrenaline tingled through his veins, mixing with his blood. He waited a few more seconds, making sure that not the slightest footstep could be heard, and then he closed his eyes. He took in air through his nose and expelled it through his mouth, pursing his lips. He did it slowly, three times, struggling to calm himself. He could not fail. He couldn't make any mistakes. He had to keep his head cool and focused. The stakes were high.

He took one last slow, deep breath, then forced himself to change his breathing. He began to gasp purposefully, taking in air and expelling it quickly through his mouth. He practised an expression of desperation that he thought would be convincing, and only then did he speed out of the column he was hiding behind. He ran, swift as an arrow, towards Filch's office on the other side of the Entrance Hall. Panting exaggeratedly, he yanked open the door without knocking.

"Mr Filch!" he shouted, trying to look anxious.

The thin, puny man looked away, startled, from a rusty armour helmet he was rubbing with a cloth, sitting on his desk. A bottle of Mrs Skower's All-Purpose Magical Mess Remover was on the table, open, emitting a strong pungent odour.

"How dare you barge in like that, you rude little brat?" stammered the caretaker, in his gravelly voice. A mewl told Draco that Mrs Norris couldn't be far behind, though he couldn't see her at first glance.

"I am Draco Malfoy, Prefect of Slytherin House, sir. It's about Peeves, sir. He's messing up the trophy cases in the Trophy Room, sir," Draco justified himself, huffing, trying to look exaggeratedly respectful. He added, emphatically and gravely, "With indelible ink, sir."

As Draco expected, the caretaker's bulging eyes threatened to leave their sockets.

"Bloody poltergeist!" he exclaimed, rising to his feet and setting the armoured helmet down on the table with a thud. "I've been telling Dumbledore to throw him out of here for years! But he'll pay for it this time, I'll say he will! He won't get away from me!"

Without thanking Draco, he limped out of the room, the boy holding the door for him helpfully, looking his most humble self. His cat then emerged from a dark corner of the room and came after him, meowing softly. Draco pretended to follow him for a few feet, but as soon as he realised that the caretaker didn't even realise he was after him, and wouldn't be missed, he retraced his steps and slipped into the office. He closed the door behind him quickly and discreetly, and leaned his back against it. He allowed himself a deep sigh, then tried to relax his falsely rapid breathing. He waited for a few seconds, not moving, his heart pounding in his ears. There was no sound outside. Filch and his cat were probably on the first floor by now. It would take them a considerable time to make their way up and down from the third floor, where the Trophy Room was. Still, he had to be quick. He didn't know how long it would take Filch to clean up the ink he had thrown against the trophy cases minutes ago. It had been a poorly crafted ruse, but it would give him enough time to do his job. Or so he hoped.

He scanned the small, cluttered office, his grey eyes glinting in the gloom. It smelled of fish and was very dark, lit only by a small oil lamp hanging from the ceiling. It had no windows, being located in an inner part of the castle. And Filch probably didn't mind not having good lighting either, as he was hardly ever inside. He was always hanging around the castle, doing a thousand and one tasks. He understood that his foray in there, for better or worse, would be quick. There was nothing but a tall wardrobe, a metal chest of drawers with six drawers, and a rickety desk.

Trying to get organised, he headed for the wardrobe first. He opened the doors and found several threadbare winter robes hanging on the top rail. On the floor of the wardrobe were the odd Muggle cleaning utensil, such as a dustpan and a brush with thick, dirty bristles. Also, in one corner, a few tins of cat food that the boy guessed, just by looking at them, would be out of date. He closed the wardrobe, holding back a sigh, and went to the metal chest of drawers. He opened the top drawer, and found a set of files containing hundreds of arrest records, dating back more than fifty years. They were yellowed and dirty with damp. He rummaged through them without much hope, but that was all it contained. He closed it impatiently and opened the next one. More folders from years ago. And he was surprised to find that they all belonged to Fred and George Weasley. The whole drawer. Draco arched an eyebrow in disbelief. Shit, those paupers... He closed it with a sharper thump and opened the next one. There was nothing there but a bunch of old-fashioned keys. He sized them up with his keen eyes. They were too small to be from the main entrance. Who knew what they belonged to. Taking them was too risky, it would attract attention. Possibly Filch used them every night to close off certain areas of the castle. Still, he made a note of the existence of the keys in his mind. He would return for them if necessary.

He was beginning to feel his heart racing. He took a quick glance at the closed door. He didn't know how long he had been there. Nor how long he had left.

"Come on," thought the boy, despondently. "Come on, please. There's got to be something, anything..."

He opened the next drawer and found several crumpled shirts. No longer pausing to snort, he opened the fifth drawer. He was shocked to find some shackles and rusty chains, along with something that looked like a small whip. Draco only blinked β€” had Dumbledore allowed him to have that in there?

Telling himself not to be surprised, he opened the bottom drawer. There were several rolls of parchment there. At last, something promising. With a surge of hope, he pulled them all out and laid them on the table, pushing aside the helmet of the armour. He took another fleeting glance at the closed door and focused on them.

He unrolled the first one. His heart skipped a beat. They were maps of the castle. He had to give himself a second to let out a shaky sigh. Thank goodness... He unrolled the other two with clumsy hands. More maps. He had no idea if they would be useful, but he didn't have time to look at them closely. The only thing his eyes caught a quick glance at them was that on their surface there were several ink crosses, which seemed to cross out various tunnels and corridors. He gulped. Were they blocked? He would check. He took out his wand and tried, without much hope, to make a perfect copy of all three with the help of the Doubling Charm. Three identical maps materialised side by side with the real ones. He arched both eyebrows. He couldn't believe it had been that easy. They didn't even have a spell to prevent them from being copied. Though, of course, the caretaker was a squib, everyone knew that... He put the copies in the inside pocket of his robes, next to his chest, and took the originals back to the drawer they had come from.

He glanced around and found that he had searched everything but the desk. He opened the two drawers that formed it, finding nothing useful inside except another bunch of keys, smaller than the previous one, a few parchments, and a couple of poorly sealed ink bottles.

"Aspiring successor to Mr Filch, Mr Malfoy?"

The boy felt his heart leap out of his mouth. He looked up abruptly and found himself staring into the black eyes of Severus Snape, standing on the dark doorstep, shrouded in shadow. His sallow face was relaxed, almost ironic.

Draco felt the adrenaline paralyse his muscles. He could hardly believe it, how had he got in without him hearing him?

"I've come to warn Mr Filch that Peeves has messed up the Trophy Room," the boy excused himself coolly. His hand moved very, very slowly, closing the desk drawer as discreetly as he could. Snape arched a dark eyebrow.

"Yes, he told me that when we passed each other on the way there. Or, at least, he told me that a boy of your qualities had informed him of it," Snape said in a quiet voice. "But that was fifteen minutes ago, Mr Malfoy. And it couldn't have taken you more than ten seconds to communicate such a warning to Mr Filch. Why are you still here?" he questioned, now mockingly. Draco pursed his lips in a sneer and merely returned the cold stare, impassive. He had no way to defend himself, so he said nothing.

Snape scrutinised the boy with his black eyes, then glanced over his shoulder into the Entrance Hall, perhaps noting that no one was there. He then stepped into the small room as well and closed the door behind him.

"What are you looking for, Draco? What information do you expect to find here?" he questioned, now on a first-name basis. His voice sounded less accusatory. Draco snorted, not relaxing his disdainful attitude.

"I'm not looking for anything..."

"Boy, lying isn't your strong suit, has anyone ever told you that?" Snape interrupted, almost distracted. He walked slowly around the office, glancing around. Perhaps trying to figure out what the boy had touched. Draco composed a grimace that hid a biting smile, and bit the cheek on the inside of his mouth. He tried to breathe more softly, afraid that his heaving chest would cause the parchments in his pocket to brush against each other.

"If you'll excuse me, Professor, I'm off. I have to study," he said, with undisguised irony. He made to leave, striding purposefully past Snape, but he reached out a pale, slender hand and grasped him firmly by the elbow. Draco was forced to stop, gritting his teeth to stifle the groan of pain that came from the man's uncaring grip.

"Stop behaving like an infant. I am aware of the mission you have been given," Snape snapped, glaring at him with his black eyes. Draco held his gaze, unblinking. He did not relax the sneer on his mouth. But he did have to gulp.

"Why do I care if you know? Should I be impressed?"

"I can help you, you great fool," Snape insulted him again, impassive, glaring right through him. "What do you need? Information about what? I can try β€”"

Draco felt the sudden burn of anger sweep over him, rising up his back to the nape of his neck.

"I don't want your bloody help. I can handle this mission on my own, that's why he asked me to do it," he spat at him, sneering, trying to straighten himself up to look taller. Snape snorted, stressed, and let go of his arm with a jerk. Draco didn't move from where he stood.

"Think, boy, think. You think this is a game? You're risking your bloody life. If you use that hollow head of yours for anything other than growing hair and stopping Bludgers, you'll tell me what you're planning and let me help you."

"I don't need your miserable charity," Draco mumbled very slowly, leaning closer to his professor's sallow face. "Do you offer help to all Death Eaters? I very much doubt it. You do your job, I'll do mine. I'm just one of them. Treat me as one. And show me some respect."

Snape merely let the air out of his aquiline nose and shook his head, as if he disappointed him. Not impressed at all. His deep black eyes were still locked on Draco's, and an alarm went off in Draco's brain. Sensing what he intended. And he couldn't let him do it. Let it enter his mind. No way. For several reasons, and one in particular.

Draco turned around, cutting off eye contact, and now he did indeed stride away, walking out of the office with determination. Snape didn't stop him again.

He raced down two floors to the dungeons, mercilessly sweeping away a couple of very small second years. He was furious. He was sick of everyone's pity, of being looked at as if he was an incompetent who needed help almost to walk. He was seventeen years old, for fuck's sake. He was of age. And he was more mature than any boy his age, that was obvious to anyone who knew him, wasn't it? Why did they insist on treating him like he was incompetent? His mother seemed to think he was still a babe in arms, talking about him as if he wasn't even there. Snape was sympathetic and dismissive, as if he, too, were talking to a child who was dim witted. Even the Dark Lord spoke bluntly to the rest of the Death Eaters about how useless he thought he was...

He had had enough. He was going to shut them all up. He was going to do it. He would find a way to get Lord Voldemort into the castle. And he would do it single-handedly.

He reached his Common Room in record time. He walked through it steadily but quickly, trying to appear normal, perhaps a little hurried, and not to pant too openly. He climbed the stairs to his dormitory and could barely contain a groan of happiness when he saw that it was deserted. Wasting no time, he sat down on his bed and pulled out the copies of the maps.

He examined the first one, the one overlooking the grounds. At first glance, he saw nothing of interest. It showed only the familiar entrances to the castle, the courtyards, the Stone Circle, the gamekeeper's hut, a small speck that would be the Whomping Willow, the Black Lake, and the Forbidden Forest. There was no mark, nor was he able to discern any passageway that he did not recognise.

Grimacing, he set it aside to examine the next map. He would return later to analyse it inch by inch if he found nothing interesting in the others. But he didn't want to waste time. The second map showed the first four floors of the castle. He studied it very carefully. There were some passages he didn't know about, which seemed to be shortcuts between different floors. Others, though, seemed to lead out of the castle, if that was possible. And they were the ones that were crudely crossed out. He hadn't really harboured any hope that there were physical paths that connected the castle to the outside besides the official entrances, but the map gave him to understand that there were. At least if he was interpreting it correctly, there were. He would have to go and investigate. Check to see if those crossing-out lines meant they were impassable or blocked... and unblock one of them if necessary.

Dejectedly, he examined the last map, inwardly praying. More of the same. It showed the towers and the higher floors, but nothing of interest. In fact, there were only two small crosses in ink, in passages that connected one floor to another.

Nothing that, apparently, could be of any use to the Dark Lord and that might lead him to release his father.

He felt a slight uneasiness tighten in his throat. He forced himself to swallow saliva, making it pass with difficulty, and put the maps aside. He sat better on the edge of the bed and rested his elbows on his thighs. He clasped his hands in front of his face and wrung them tightly, then rested his forehead on them.

He felt anxious, and he didn't even understand why. It had been a good first step. At least he had something relatively solid to work with. He had some possible passages leading to the outside. Although they might not be passable...

It couldn't be that easy. If it were, Snape would have found a way to help the Dark Lord months, if not years, ago.

He forced himself to take a deep breath, fighting the loneliness that crushed him against the mattress. He squeezed his eyes tightly against his clenched fists. Just because Snape hadn't made it didn't mean Draco couldn't. He was sure he would. He was smart, and he didn't possess the scruples Snape seemed to have. He would go all over the bloody castle, sneak into every classroom, knock stone by stone, and interrogate Albus Dumbledore himself if necessary.

He would do it.


The fifth cry of pain echoed through the Transfiguration class, but Minerva McGonagall did not even blink.

"In order to make the salamanders mute, you must first hold it by the tail," she exclaimed imperiously for the tenth time, without losing patience, and without ceasing to walk between the desks. "Otherwise, it will get scared and burn you."

Many students tried to obey her advice, but it was not easy to hold the slippery tail of a particularly nervous salamander, which spits fire from its mouth, while you try to stop it from emitting high-pitched squeaks with a difficult-to-execute Silencing Charm. The burns in that class numbered in the dozens. The atmosphere smelled intensely of burning, and a light smoke hung in the air, slowly rising above their heads. Fleeting, tiny flares lit up various areas of the classroom from time to time.

It was turning out to be a rather chaotic Monday.

"Couldn't we practice this spell with some cockatoos? Hold still, critter..." Ron grumbled under his breath, trying to grab his Fire Dwelling Salamander by the tail for a while now, still unsuccessfully. The clever, squeaky lizard was running zig-zagging across the table, making the red-headed boy dizzy, who hadn't even had a chance to try the spell yet. They had created helpful barrier spells around the desks so that the salamanders couldn't jump onto the floor, but they were still difficult to manage.

Hermione, sitting next to him, had already managed to grab hers by the tail and successfully cast the Silencing Charm. She was now holding it as far away from her body as she could, both because of her disgust for it and because of the small flares it was intermittently spitting. The little animal opened and closed its tiny mouth, making no sound.

Two more screams were heard, one louder than the other, but definitely coming from the same person. This time from the Slytherins' side. Hermione turned her face curiously to look for the source of the new accident, as did other people sitting near her. Ron continued to concentrate on his Herculean task, growing increasingly irritated. Hermione could almost see a vein throbbing in his forehead.

Pansy Parkinson, her face screwed up in anguish, was shaking her left hand frantically, as if it hurt like hell. Hermione thought she could see a reddish tinge to it, as if she were bleeding slightly. Sitting next to the young brunette, Daphne Greengrass watched her friend with concern as she held not one, but two boisterous salamanders by their tails, one in each hand. Holding them as far away from her body as possible, arms outstretched wide. One was definitely Pansy's.

"It bit me! The spell didn't work and it bit me!" exclaimed Parkinson in a high-pitched voice. She raised her arm to show Professor McGonagall her bleeding finger as she patiently approached her. Pansy had apparently managed to catch the salamander and thought she had performed the charm correctly, but then the animal had let out a sudden shriek, catching her by surprise. The frightened girl had dropped it with a scream, and then the lizard had bitten her finger in revenge, causing her to scream again.

Hearing her words, Draco, sitting behind her, could not contain his laughter.

"They don't have any teeth!" he exclaimed loudly, scornfully.

The boy was holding his own salamander firmly by the tail, also safely away from his body. Zabini was at his side, and seemed to be having the same trouble as Ron in catching the reptile. Only the young Slytherin was using his textbook as a shield. At Draco's taunt, Zabini burst out laughing, briefly distracting himself from his struggle. And several people nearby chuckled as well. Pansy turned her face over her shoulder and gave Draco an angry, reproachful look.

"Well, it bit me!"

"It's not very common, but they can do it," McGonagall admitted impassively, straightening up after having been watching the girl's finger closely. "They're not poisonous, Miss Parkinson, calm down."

"It's the poor salamander that's poisoned," Dean whispered mischievously, sitting behind Hermione and Ron, causing Seamus to guffaw. Ron laughed as well and turned to give him an amused look.

"I've got a name for my salamander," he said, very happily, in a low voice so that only they could hear him. "Hello, little Parkinson..." he chirped teasingly, trying to stroke the back of his tiny, fierce lizard, causing it to flare at him, and then try to run away again. McGonagall threatened to punish Dean and Seamus for the loud, uncontrollable fit of laughter that Ron's joke had given them.

Hermione smiled reluctantly, looking at her friend with amused censure. But it didn't take long for her gaze to return to Parkinson. She saw that the girl was turned back in her chair, and reached out with her healthy hand to take a handkerchief from Draco's hand, which he had apparently taken out of his bag. Pansy took it with a grateful smile. She was still looking at him spitefully for his teasing remark, though she also looked slightly amused. And Draco was gazing at her in the same way. Hermione lost herself in that mutual knowing look. Pansy and Draco had always been close. Ever since they were little. They were very good friends. The girl had always laughed at his jokes, had worried about him, had stuck up for him in front of everyone, and had accompanied him in his scorn towards everyone. They had gone to the Yule Ball together in fourth year.

Hermione felt a slight lump form in her throat, as if her vocal cords were suddenly thickening. Those glances... Malfoy didn't have to regret giving them to Parkinson. He didn't have to hide them. He didn't have to dissemble. He didn't regret doing it afterwards, he didn't blame himself. Because that was right. She was a pure-blood, and it was all right. Proper. Predictable.

She forced herself to take a breath. She couldn't be feeling jealous. It was illogical. Of course the relationship she had with Malfoy couldn't even compare to the one Parkinson had with him. It had never been the same, and never would be. And yet, theirs was real too. In fact, it was even more real. Pansy and Draco were just friends. She and Draco weren't. They were... more than that.

Parkinson pressed her handkerchief against her bleeding finger, returning her gaze to the front to reassure Daphne, who was still looking at her uneasily. Draco, on the other hand, closed his bag awkwardly with his free hand and set it back on the floor. With the other, he was still firmly holding his salamander. Hermione then glared at him, almost forgetting to dissemble. He, however, either didn't notice or pretended not to. He was sitting some distance away from her, with a row of tables between them, and it was plausible that he hadn't felt her gaze on him. But, in fact, Hermione didn't know if it was on purpose or not, but the boy hadn't given her a single glance in the entire class. Despite the many times she had looked at him, she hadn't once found him watching her. She supposed it was out of caution, that he didn't want anyone to suspect anything, and so she tried to keep up appearances. And she told herself once again that it was actually the sensible thing to do, so she too returned her attention to the class exercise, forcing herself to stop watching him so brazenly.

Hermione, lost in her musings, didn't notice that a pair of blue eyes did watch her intently from the solitude of the back of the classroom.

Monday morning's gruelling two hours of Transfiguration ended with the shrill ringing of the bell, leaving several students unable to contain their cheers.

"Wait a moment," McGonagall commanded instantly, in a firm voice, from the front of the class. Just in time before her students scrambled to their feet and fled for the exit. "Someone has to collect the Fire Dwelling Salamander," she reminded, scanning the classroom with her feline green eyes. She noted with exasperation the sudden expressions of panic that returned her gaze and added, "As I am convinced there will be no volunteers, I will choose at random," with a sigh, she stood at her desk and unfolded a parchment she held to one side with a list of names. The silence in the room was almost solemn. "Miss Davis is out of this draw because she volunteered to collect the Purple Toads last week," she reported aloud again, not bothering to look up. Pushing her glasses back on the bridge of her nose so that she could read properly, she added, "Mr Finnigan, say a number."

The boy in question, who had been the first to stand up and had been paralysed in the process of picking up his books, waiting for the poor victim's announcement, visibly winced. He looked around, somewhat alarmed, as if waiting for someone else to respond in his place.

"Uh... the... the... nine?" he mumbled, hesitantly. Perhaps fearing he might be able to give the wrong answer.

"Nine," McGonagall repeated, exaggeratedly counting nine places with her index finger. The students were almost holding their breath. "Mr Malfoy, you've been the lucky one. Here is the box," she tapped her fingernails on the wooden box on the desk in front of her. "Close the door when you are finished, please. Everyone else, leave the salamanders on the table. You may go, and have a good afternoon."

The rest of the students almost ran for the door, finally free of the irritating lizards and with the prospect of lunchtime ahead of them.

Draco, for his part, closed his eyes for a moment, his expression furious. Indignant at his bad luck. He looked capable of protesting, or even refusing, but, seeing his teacher's inflexible, almost threatening stare, he simply stood up abruptly, his chair creaking as he dragged it. Zabini patted him on the back, as he finished slung his bag over his shoulder to leave. Draco made his way to the front of the class to grab the box the teacher had pointed out to him and, on the way, made sure to bump into Finnigan and slam his shoulder as hard as he could.

"We'll be waiting for you in the Great Hall, Draco," said Pansy's voice above the din. Draco, already standing by the teacher's desk, turned to look at her. The girl was smiling at him from the side of the exit door, letting other people through. "Can I take your handkerchief?" she questioned, showing him her injured hand. He indicated with a reluctant gesture that she could. "Thanks, I'll give it to you later," she said goodbye, waving her hand.

Daphne, waiting beside Pansy, also smiled goodbye and walked out the door with her friend. Hermione watched them out of the corner of her eye, then scanned the rest of the classroom just as discreetly. Most of the students had already left, the remaining few were packing up, and soon they would all be gone. McGonagall was talking quietly to Parvati on some apparently private subject, while Lavender waited by the exit door. Nott was gathering his things at the back of the classroom. Hermione, looking around cautiously, realised that this was a good opportunity.

"Ron, would you mind get going?" she asked finally, with her best smile, turning to him. His friend, already slinging his bag over his shoulder, gave her a confused look.

"Why's so?" he questioned, innocently quizzical.

"I want to tell McGonagall about a mistake I made in my last writing," she admitted in a slightly lower voice, feigning embarrassment. "It's not very important, but I don't want her to take it into consideration. It's bound to bring my mark down, and I want her to know that I'm aware of it. I won't be long."

"What mistake β€” ? Nah, never mind, I don't care," he corrected himself, rolling his eyes. "Right, well... I'll wait for you in the Hospital. I'm going to see Harry before lunch. Make sure he didn't sneak out during the night. He couldn't wait to get out of there... And he's being discharged this afternoon," he let out an animated chuckle.

"He might have," Hermione admitted, smiling broadly. "Perfect, I'll catch up with you in a minute."

"Right, see you now," Ron replied, giving her shoulder a squeeze and passing behind her to reach the central aisle, and the most direct path to the exit door. Behind Seamus and Dean.

Hermione followed him with her gaze for a few seconds, and saw him pass Nott coolly, who was moving down the central aisle towards the front of the classroom. The young Slytherin stopped and sought Draco's gaze, who was already busy by walking between the desks, picking up the salamanders and stuffing them into the box. When Nott managed to catch his gaze, he seemed to silently question, with a subtle gesture, whether he wanted him to wait for him. Draco gave him a resigned gesture, and waved his hand in the direction of the exit. His friend gave him an encouraging grimace and turned back towards the door. His blue eyes met Hermione's as he did so. They descended for a moment to her hands, which were pretending to collect her things without actually collecting anything. But his glance at her was fleeting, and the boy made no gesture of any kind. He merely walked towards the exit in silence.

When Nott came out, followed by an animated Parvati and Lavender, Hermione finally found herself alone in the classroom. With the exception of Malfoy and McGonagall.

"Is there something you want, Miss Granger?" the teacher questioned loudly, looking at her carefully through her shiny spectacles. Hermione gave her a self-conscious smile and shook her head.

"No, Professor, thank you. I'll be done collecting up in a moment..."

"Hurry up, then," the teacher urged her with gentle sternness, approaching her large desk and tucking the last of her papers into her briefcase.

"Yes, Professor, I'm sorry," the young woman assured her, pretending to conscientiously sort through some parchment before stuffing it into her bag.

Hermione stood up to pretend that she was just finishing up and would be leaving soon. Professor McGonagall, briefcase in hand, walked away in the direction of her office and closed the door behind her, not looking back at her student. She bit back a smile, abandoning her clumsy task. Alone at last.

The boy was at the other end of the classroom, the wooden box in his hands, collecting the slippery Fire Dwelling Salamanders that everyone had left on their desks. The little animals were much quieter now that the hubbub of the classroom had ceased. Draco had his back to her, and seemed to have no intention of turning around. He was probably still dissembling, just in case.

Hermione, unable to stop herself from smiling in anticipation, grabbed her salamander with thumb and forefinger and walked up to him. When she was behind him, she stuck close to his back, tiptoed up to rest her chin on his shoulder, and slid one arm around his body to drop her lizard into the box.

"How nasty they are," she commented, smiling, resting her cheek against his neck. "Besides the fact that we've found them to be dangerous..."

Against all odds, Malfoy just vibrated his throat in a dry mumble and walked away loosely, as if she wasn't leaning on him. Walking away without even looking at her. The girl almost staggered at the sudden movement, not expecting him to turn away so hastily. Her heart clenched in her chest. She stood still, staring at his back. Not trying to move closer again. Frozen at his rejection. Embarrassed without being able to help it.

Had it made him uncomfortable that she had leaned against him like that? She had never taken such a confidence in him before, but she didn't think it would bother him... It had been spontaneous and innocent. A way of showing him that she was glad to be near him again. She thought they had reached that level of familiarity, but apparently she was wrong.

"Is everything all right?" she asked softly at the boy's back, the only part of him she could see. She didn't try to touch him again. He continued to collect salamanders as if nothing had happened, moving further and further away from her. When she realised he didn't seem in the mood to answer, she frowned and insisted, "Are you all right?"

"Of course."

Malfoy opened his mouth for the first time, and his voice was like a whiplash. Dry and serious. Distant. Hermione felt her arms tingle uncomfortably. And her heart racing. No, he was definitely not all right.

"Did something happen?" Hermione questioned again, taking a few steps closer. But keeping a safe distance. "Are you β€” ? What happened? You can... Tell me," she finally asked, with renewed willingness.

Hermione saw Draco's profile as he turned to grab another salamander from a desk far away from the centre of the aisle. And she saw the sneer curving his lips.

"Tell you..." he repeated, with a coldness and disdain that chilled her body. "I firmly believe it would be a waste of time, Granger."

Hermione frowned, and grimaced in bewilderment. She didn't exactly know whether to be offended or not β€” what was that about? What was with the change in attitude? Why did he look so cold, even for him? She didn't understand what the new bitterness was all about. She would have given anything for him to look her in the eye, but he certainly didn't seem to even consider it. He was still walking away, picking up the lizards, definitely not at all gentle with the little animals.

"Why do you say that?" the girl murmured, still trying to speak calmly. "If something bad has happened to you, I want to know. If I can help youβ€”"

"If something has happened to me..." he repeated, again in that scornful tone. And then he stopped at last, still with the box in his hand, turning his face only to look at her. His expression was haughty, and contemptuous. His eyes failed to convey anything but irritation. "Nothing has happened to me. I assure you. Nothing to which I've attached any importance."

"Well, it doesn't look like it," she replied instantly, her eyes boring into his and speaking in a firmer, if more peaceful, tone now that she had his attention at last. "You are evidently upset about something, and I don't understand β€” is it about me?" she asked suddenly, with such a possibility piercing her chest like an arrow. "Have I done something...? If so, I beg you to tell me."

Draco then seemed to lose what little patience he had. He set the box of salamanders down roughly on the nearest table, without even looking at it, and turned his body completely to face the girl squarely. The sudden anger in his gaze made her shudder. The resentment she saw in his eyes puzzled her even more β€” did she have something to do with it, or was he simply fed up with her interrogation?

"No, Granger, you haven't done anything. Nothing I shouldn't have expected," he muttered. "But, for next time, I'd appreciate it if you'd notify me if you change your mind. So that I'm not wasting my time and so that I can spend my time on something more productive as well..."

Hermione opened and closed her mouth awkwardly. She didn't know what to say. She was stunned. And she was beginning to feel a sudden, unpleasant heaviness in her stomach. She sensed uneasily that this was definitely serious. But what on earth was he talking about?

"I don't understand a word you're saying," she whispered, trying to speak calmly. "Notify you about what?"

The boy's silver eyes glittered with resentment and anger. As if the girl had said the one thing that could make the situation worse.

"About what you were doing at eight o'clock on Saturday evening, Granger, about that," he said, icy. "It would have been nice of you to at least give me an explanation. But I suppose that was too much to ask. That it doesn't work like that. That it's not worth such an effort on your part."

Hermione blinked rapidly. Searching her mind almost desperately. Eight o'clock on Saturday evening... She had been in the Hospital, taking care of Harry after what had happened at the match. Along with Ron and Ginny. Malfoy seemed to have heard about it, apparently. And it seemed to bother him that she had been in the Hospital with her friends. Or at least that's what he was implying to her, as he seemed to want an explanation for it. Was he angry that she hadn't told him she'd been in the Hospital with Harry? It didn't make sense. Why would he care about something like that?

She continued to feel lost. Besides, what had he meant by 'change her mind'? And why had he mentioned 'eight o'clock in the evening', specifically? She had been accompanying Harry all day... She was missing something. Something important.

"I didn't think you'd be interested in knowing something like that, so I didn't tell you," she tried to justify herself, again calmly. Trying to appease him so that he would express himself more clearly.

"That I wouldn't be interested?" he repeated, incredulously. Well, no, he seemed to have become even more annoyed. Hermione could almost see the surge of anger that ran through him from his feet to his face, tensing him. He took a few firm steps towards her, "Who do you think you are? I had every right to know, and you know perfectly well. Do you find normal that β€” ?"

"But what's this all about?" she interrupted him, beginning to feel too angry to listen to him. "Who do you think you are? What kind of way is this to demand that I tell you what I do in my spare time? Or since when did Harry become such a big deal to you?" she added, with angry derision.

Draco opened his mouth decisively, but closed it again. For the first time, amidst the rage he was emanating, he looked confused. His eyes roamed over the girl's face, as if seeing her for the first time.

"What the hell does Potter have to do with any of this?" he hissed, his voice flat.

Now it was Hermione's turn to look puzzled again.

"You don't know about Harry?" she questioned, more quietly. Now she really didn't understand. Draco's face suddenly went slack, turning pale. But then Hermione saw it in his eyes, something flashed through his mind. And his expression tightened again. With undisguised fierceness.

"What should I know? What is going on with Potter?" he asked, and Hermione noticed a tremor in his voice. Anger? Disbelief? Anguish? He was too undaunted to know, despite everything. Too Malfoy to determine. He took another step towards her, and Hermione noticed then, too, that he seemed to be having trouble breathing.

Hermione allowed herself to study him for a few seconds, stunned. She understood less and less. She could see a sudden jealousy in his eyes, but she didn't understand why. If he didn't know Harry was in the Hospital, what was he blaming her for? Why was he angry?

"Malfoy, I think we're talking about different things," she tried to reassure him again, avoiding answering his question. "What exactly is it that you want to know?" she questioned, articulating clearly.

Draco ran his tongue over the surface of his teeth. Apparently restraining himself from succumbing to rage.

"Don't fuck with me, Granger. I want to know why you changed your mind. Or, worse, why you lied to me. If you have no interest in seeing me, tell me straight out. My time is worth as much as yours. So," he took another step forward, determined, "you're already telling me what the fuck you have preferred to do at eight o'clock on Saturday evening, and what Potter has to do with it?"

"But what's Harry got to do with what?" she stammered, indignant. Her fists were shaking on either side of her hips. "I don't understand a word of it. See you? Where? What's with the eight β€” ?"

A spark in her brain.

A dizziness in her body.

A blur in her eyes.

Eight o'clock.

'Behind the greenhouses. Eight o'clock. And bring the Wizard's Chess. I'm going to crush you.'

Hermione was suddenly mute, as if a Silencio had been cast on her. Her face broke down. Mouth half open, she looked up to meet the eyes of a fierce Malfoy, still standing before her. He was scrutinising her eyes silently, watching her break, undeterred. Not relaxing the rictus of rage on his mouth.

"Oh, my God..." the girl spluttered. She visibly shuddered and covered her mouth with both hands. Her eyes went unfocused again, missing the boy's eyes. "Wait... Oh, no... Oh, no," she howled in disgust, her hands muffling the sound of her desperate voice.

Draco snorted through his nose, unperturbed. Without taking his eyes from hers.

"Interesting," he replied, mumbling, impassive. "Nice reaction, Granger. I almost believed it and all."

"Oh, my God, Malfoy, I forgot, I totally forgot!" she groaned, distressed, still not taking her hands away from her mouth. She shook her head as if she could avoid what had already happened. "I'm so, so sorry! You're... you're absolutely right, I'm β€” oh my God..."

Draco didn't blink. His eyes roamed over her face once more. Struggling for breath. The back of his neck burned. His chest burned. His patience burned.

She had forgotten it. She had forgotten him.

Clenching his jaws tightly, he turned around and picked up the wooden box, inside of which several puffs of fire could be guessed. To go on with his task, oblivious to her regret.

"So you forgot. Interesting. Well, no, not really. But at least I've found out why I was stood up like a prick. Do you have a handkerchief I can cry on?" he asked, with credible, disdainful slyness. As if he didn't care, as if he hadn't been thinking about it all weekend. Ignoring the pounding of his heart that reminded him of the painful truth. But he concentrated on ignoring it. She wasn't going to know how he really felt. He would not let her know.

"Malfoy, I'm so sorry," Hermione repeated, finally removing her hands from her face. Her eyes were glazed over. "It was all a misunderstanding. I had an unforeseen event that threw me completely off balance. A major unforeseen..."

"An unforeseen event, of course. It's getting better by the minute. It must have been something life-threatening that kept you from coming to see me, since you wanted to so badly," the bite in his voice was almost insulting. Hermione pursed her lips at his tone, but she was too upset at the way the conversation was going.

She couldn't conceive of what had happened. She had forgotten all about him. She had completely forgotten that they had agreed to meet behind the greenhouses. She had stood him up on Saturday, without telling him that she would not be able to keep the appointment. And even less had she bothered to seek him out on Sunday to clear it up for him. She hadn't thought about Malfoy all weekend, with all her attention on Harry, on the voice that was tormenting him, and on his state of health. And today, Monday, she'd gone to talk to Draco as if nothing had happened. Damn it, how could he not be angry?

Stupid, stupid, stupid...

"Malfoy, listen to me, I can explain... I'm so sorry," she repeated, more firmly, moving closer to stand beside him, though he had decided to repeat his attitude of not looking her in the face. "How could I not want to β€” ? Of course I wanted to see you. It's nothing like that, I just got distracted, and β€” listen to me!" she exclaimed, raising her voice, now angrily, as she watched him walk away to pick up more salamanders. Completely immune to her heartfelt apology. "When I came out of the Changing Rooms after we met there, I went to look for my friends, but I couldn't find them, and other people told me that Harry had just been moved to the Hospital..."

Draco snorted, impatient, with no intention of changing his attitude at this revelation. Too upset and full of adrenaline and anger to react as he might otherwise have done. She had forgotten about him. Because of Potter.

"Promising story," he conceded, arching an eyebrow affectionately. "A couple of Manticores short, and you could publish it..."

Now Hermione snorted. Angrily. Incredulous.

"Would you stop mocking me? I'm serious," she protested, her tone firmer. "Do you think I'm lying to you? Do you want to go to the Hospital and check that he's there? He got very, very sick. He's spent the whole weekend in the Hospital Wing."

She didn't intend to go into any more detail about why Harry was in such a bad state of health, so she kept silent, hoping that would be enough. She still felt ashamed and guilty about what had happened, but the boy's attitude, sardonic, cold and immune to her regret, bereft of any empathy, was making her furious. Draco tossed another lizard into the box, which let out a squeak of annoyance, and the inside of the container lit up with a small flash. Hermione shot him an angry glare at his indelicacy, but said nothing.

"Aha. Fascinating. Let's say I buy it. So, for all I know, it's more important to keep watch over your adored Potter than to come with me," he snapped, gruffly, and again openly mocking. The girl's face fell for a moment, and then she looked furiously incredulous.

"My best friend was very ill," she repeated, her voice clear and confident. "Of course I had to stay with him. What would you have done?"

"I'D HAVE LEFT THAT ASSHOLE AND GONE WHERE I'D PROMISED TO GO!" he shouted, turning to face her at last.

"Would you abandon your best friend?" Hermione was shocked, also raising her voice, frantically sceptical. "I don't believe it. And I certainly would never. I'm really sorry I didn't notify you, but β€”"

"You forgot! Yes, it's quite clear to me! That bloody Potter, or whoever else, makes you forget about me as if all this doesn't matter a damn!" he continued to protest, choleric. "And I'm supposed to put up with it? I'm taking a big gamble on this, Granger!"

"We both know exactly what's at stake! And when did you ever hear me say that I don't give a damn about any of this?" Hermione protested, almost shouting.

"Your actions speak for themselves," he spat. "If a single failure in that stupid four-eyed git's health is enough to make you forget about me completely for days, your priorities are very clear..."

"You're blowing things out of proportion! I said I'm sorry!" she shouted now, throwing her arms out to either side. As if she didn't know what else to do. Malfoy pursed his lips and threw another of the lizards into the box, letting it fall any which way. "What else do you want me to do to fix it? What do you expect me to do? And for God's sake, stop β€” don't treat the salamanders like that!" she exclaimed angrily, in a louder voice, unable to contain herself.

Mafloy seemed speechless. He turned his face to look at her, with the same expression he would have had if she had let out the worst of profanities. With hands trembling with anger, he dropped the box on a table and turned to face the girl. Now with his full attention on her. Hermione was breathing heavily and her fists were clenched.

"You've made it clear that I shouldn't expect anything from you," he snapped, gruffly, "But I won't tolerate you forgetting about me at the slightest absurd setback."

Hermione let out an affected, almost unhinged exhalation. Absurd setback?

"Is that really what matters most to you? That you're not the centre of the universe?" she spluttered, heatedly. "That I've prioritised my best friend over you in a situation like this? You didn't doubt for a moment that I didn't show up because, according to you, I just didn't feel like it and I didn't want to see you...!"

"And what the fuck else would I think?!" he exclaimed, just as angry as the girl.

"Well, that I had a problem!" she shouted, her voice cracking with emotion, with anticipation of what she was going to say next, "That something had happened to me! You could have worried about me and feared that I was in trouble instead of thinking only of yourself! Did you even think about that?" she managed to ask the question just before her voice broke completely.

"Of course not!" he then exclaimed, with a twitching sneer. "Why would I care about something like that?"

"Because you're supposed to have feelings for me!" Hermione shrieked, pointing an angry, trembling finger at herself. "If it had been the other way around, I would have gone to great lengths to find you as soon as possible and make sure you were all right!"

"I NEVER SAID I FELT THAT WAY ABOUT YOU!" he yelled, without thinking, taking another step forward. And then he discovered how dangerous inertia was. Not stopping to think before speaking. Because he wasn't even aware of what he'd said, until he'd said it. And he didn't have time to redeem it. He didn't even know if he wanted to. He wasn't even sure what he had meant. It was all too fast. Too frantic.

Hermione let out a stifled groan. She did allow herself two seconds to think before speaking.

"So what's the point of all this, Malfoy?" she mumbled, managing to lower her voice so as not to shout. "What's the point of all this resentment? If you don't care about me at all, why are you so angry?!"

"Because I don't have to put up with being ignored like this!" he shouted, apparently finding it harder to lower his voice than she did.

"It was never my intention to disrespect you!" Hermione found herself shouting again, desperate. Panting, stressed, unable to think straight at all. "For God's sake, Draco, this is absurd, I β€”"

Malfoy's face broke down in the space between heartbeats. Suddenly, it all seemed to overcome him. Fury tensed every muscle fibre in his body, shaking them as if he'd been struck by a generalised cramp.

No. Not that. No way.

"DON'T YOU DARE CALL ME BY MY NAME!" he snapped, interrupting her at the top of his voice.

Hermione was silenced with a start. Paralysed by the mask of rage that flared across his face. An anger she'd never seen in those features, not even in the worst arguments they'd had when they still hated each other. She seemed to have crossed a line, without even realising it. Without intending to.

They just stared at each other for long seconds. Both mute. Both paralysed. With the silence after the storm pressing against their eardrums. Hermione had to clench her jaws to contain the itch that had settled behind her eyes, struggling to manifest itself. But then she tried to gasp. Opening and closing her lips, trembling. Struggling to speak again above the dazed state she was in. Struggling to regain her composure in the face of a rejection she hadn't expected. Though she told herself she shouldn't be surprised by that reaction. What did she think was going to happen? She was still a Mudblood. Someone who wasn't worthy of addressing him informally. And no kiss, nor any of the intimate conversations they'd exchanged over the past few weeks, could change that.

Nothing could change that.

"I won't stand for this either," Hermione replied, her voice cracking, clenching her fists on either side of her body. "Being with someone who won't allow me to make the slightest mistake, and who openly admits that he would never care about my well-being."

She didn't mention what had just happened. She didn't mention how he had reacted to hearing his name from her lips. She didn't need to. It was all too clear.

"Powerful statements. Any more?" he hissed, instantly. Still revved up. And furious. Too furious.

"You're unbearable," the girl articulated, trembling with anger. She turned away and walked over to her desk to grab her bag roughly.

"Anything else?" she heard Draco utter behind her, raging.

"Insufferable! A selfish egomaniac!" Hermione said now, without looking at him, striding towards the door. "And a shitty person!"

"Any more insults?" Draco shouted, out of his depth. "Or can I go on picking up the bloody lizards?"

"DO AS YOU PLEASE, MALFOY!" she shrieked frantically, storming out and slamming the door.

Draco stood still, panting like a bastard. The silence that pervaded the classroom after their shouting became unbearable. Not even the pounding of his racing heart in his ears was enough. His hands trembled. His chest trembled. His lips trembled.

Fuck it. Fuck it. Fuck it...

He clenched his fists, trying to hold back the trembling. His face was burning.

'And a shitty person!'

She had said it with hatred. With resentment. And though it had come from the same person, it had nothing to do with the voice his mind recalled of its own accord...

'I didn't think you'd behave so respectfully... I misjudged you.'

He gritted his teeth hard. Feeling that something big, very big, wanted to leave his chest. Not succeeding, squeezing his lungs to do so. Trying to help it out, he raised a hand, cutting off the air, and threw the box with the lizards to the floor with one hand. He unloaded all his anger on it. It tipped over, and they all flew off, in different directions. He wasn't sure if any of them had been hurt. He didn't give a shit. The loud sound the box made as it hit the stone floor prevented him from hearing his own sob.


The Changing Rooms on the Quidditch pitch were almost completely silent. The only sound was the considerable pattering of the heavy rain, which had replaced the sunshine of the past few days, pounding on the stands just above. The stillness of the atmosphere was broken at the very moment when the door of the Changing Room burst open, and half a dozen people in sweaty, rain-soaked clothes came in, panting. Captain Montague, who was the last to enter, lit the two nearest lamps and closed the door behind him with some difficulty in the strong draught. When it was closed, the room became a good deal quieter, though the roar of the wind and the rain could still be heard, even above the sound of the players' voices.

"Merlin's beard," Bletchley muttered, running his hands over his face to push his soaked hair out of his eyes. "I can't remember the last time I've seen such rain..."

"Tell me about it, I could breed Hinkypunks in my boots right now..." commented Urquhart, taking them off and turning them upside down, allowing puddles to form on the floor.

"Captain, you should have called off the training," complained Warrington, trying to pull off the tight, soggy trousers, now stuck to his legs. Montague gave an ambiguous grunt.

"I know, but, if I called it off, that Potter git would take it away from us for Gryffindor team training," Montague justified himself, grimacing. "He wouldn't waste a day like this. Besides, we need to train as much as we can, because we've lost a lot of time with Crabbe and Goyle missing."

"Have you decided who you're going to pick as our new Beaters yet?" Urquhart wanted to know, waving his wand in front of his uniform, with a stream of hot air coming out of the tip, so that he could dry it.

"No, I haven't... When the weather improves, I'll call trials again. There aren't very good Beaters in Slytherin, things as they are."

"Well, Beaters aren't that important. As long as the Chasers are good we've got a chance."

"Hopefully it won't rain like this next match," said Bletchley, his voice muffled from being under the shower spray. "Because, with a storm like this, I don't think even the Chasers will be able to play properly."

"So far they say it's going to last all week. But then it should get better, it's about time. If it rains like this we wouldn't finish the match if we had the whole term," Montague corroborated, listlessly. "Our Draco wouldn't see the Snitch if it was right under his nose... let alone that short-sighted Summerby."

They all burst out in knowing laughter that mingled with the rumble of thunder outside. There was only one person who didn't laugh. Draco had managed to remove his dripping Quidditch uniform robes and was now busy pulling his soaked jumper over his head. He moved slowly, almost distractedly. He seemed deep in thought and certainly wasn't paying much attention to the conversation. Or rather, not paying any attention at all.

"What's the matter, Draco, aren't you laughing?" Bletchley complained as he passed behind him on his way back from the showers. He slapped him hard on the now naked back. "You're stupefied, man. You may not talk much, but you haven't said a word today..."

"I was thinking," Draco mumbled, not caring and not looking at him. "I know you've been told that thinking is dangerous, but you should try it. It's an experience like no other."

They all burst out laughing again, except for Bletchley, and Warrington as well. Bletchley, pretending to be angry at his joke, picked up a towel and prepared to hit the blond, but he dodged the blow nimbly. Warrington, for his part, didn't even look at him. He still hadn't forgiven Draco for the beating he'd given him weeks ago, and Draco didn't care if he didn't. They hadn't gotten back to the friendly relationship they'd had before, though at least they could be in the same room. If they wanted to stay on the team. Montague had brought them both together privately when they had returned to training, to make sure there would be no problems and no risk to the camaraderie of the team. Warrington, embarrassed by the hard look on his captain's face, assured him there would be no further discussion. Draco, haughty and disdainful, had merely nodded his head, making no promises aloud.

Draco wrapped the towel around his waist to head for the shower, half-smiling in vague gratitude for the laughter his offence at Bletchley had gained. He didn't feel like laughing. He wasn't in the mood. He had been feeling morose, unmotivated and permanently obfuscated for several days. Even that night, for the first time in weeks, he had been having nightmares again. Although he forced himself to behave normally so that no one would notice anything. He didn't like anyone to notice that something was wrong with him. He didn't like to give explanations, he didn't like to talk about how he felt. He was too bad at it, he felt too stupid, too exposed, so he refused to do it whenever he could. In the beginning, it was easier to pretend. Plus, of course, he couldn't talk about what was going on in his mind. With absolutely no one. So he had opted to carry on acting as usual, generating witty remarks in class, making his Housemates laugh, and doing the occasional mischief with his peers. He had successfully managed so far that no one had noticed anything. But he was beginning to get tired of pretending. It required too much effort. And the apathy of his mood was doubling. So he allowed himself to look a little listless. He could say he was tired. Or bored.

Nothing could be further from the truth.

For one thing, he had made no progress on his mission for the Dark Lord. He hadn't had the time, or the interest, to go over the maps he'd found, and he felt he was wasting valuable time. On the other hand, he and Granger hadn't spoken for days.

And he couldn't bring himself to admit which of the two was really responsible for his bad mood.

It had been almost a week since the fierce fight in Transfiguration class, and since then they hadn't said a word to each other. He hadn't tried to look for her, and neither had she. They hadn't looked at each other in class, nor had they exchanged a single note. He hadn't met her eyes for days. And he couldn't help but feel weird.

And angry with himself.

Because he was missing the hell out of her.

He couldn't deny the undeniable, not to himself. It was stupid to lie to yourself, and he wasn't stupid. In some not-so-secluded part of his being, he was missing this girl's company. At first, he thought that what he really missed was the adrenaline of their furtive kisses. The erotic sensation of a female body close to his. The excitement of breaking the rules in such a risky way... And he thought with resignation that this banal desire would soon pass. But, as the days went by, he realised with difficulty that it was more than that. He longed to be alone with her. He longed for the simple fact of having her near. Talking about anything. Listening to her clever opinions and unfunny jokes. The sound of her voice when she whispered against his mouth, when they had to speak softly lest they be discovered in some public place. Even the feel of her unruly, hideous hair between his fingers, when he cradled the back of her neck to kiss her. The feel of her clothes when he caressed her arms. He had found that he was never bored in her company. It wasn't just kisses. It was her.

He longed for her. And he couldn't help but feel miserable.

But he was angry. Very, very angry. He had forced himself to lock the argument they had had in a sealed box in his head. He didn't want to dwell on it, or remember anything. Because he wasn't sure what he would think about it, now that his mind was cool. If he would regret anything he did or said. He sensed, much to his regret, that he would; so he spared himself from such an embarrassing feeling. He was angry with her, but even more so with himself. For feeling like this. For feeling himself flagging. For missing her even though, of course, it was all her fault. No doubt about it.

She had forgotten him. As if he were just a random person.

He had no reason to allow such a thing.

She had forgotten about him... because of his best friend's state of health.

Oh, shit...

And she had called him by his first name. And he hadn't stood for it. He was able to understand that his reaction had possibly been an overreaction, but he hadn't been able to help it. It had been too much. It was as if they were crossing an invisible line, a new state of intimacy that he was far from ready for. That he was even hopeful he would never want to reach. By calling each other by their last names, he managed to minimise the guilt of what he was doing, of feeling this way about someone like her. He managed to feel that everything was kept under control. But, if they called each other by their first names, he felt that what they were doing would become more real, something irremediable, and they wouldn't be able to turn back. And the thought terrified him.

"Saying things like that, you do sound like the usual Draco," Montague joked, laughing, stepping out of the shower at that moment and passing him on the way.

"By the way, have you got a new broom yet?" Bletchley questioned, already buttoning a pair of casual trousers.

"No," the blond admitted distractedly from inside the shower. He hadn't even remembered to write to his mother for the money. He stuck his face under the water and rubbed it hard, before sticking his head out again and trying to speak without getting water in his mouth. "Not yet, but I'll get it in time for the next match, don't worry."

"You'd better..." Montague grunted, joining his teammates in creating a stream of hot air with his wand so he could dry his soaked uniform before putting it away. "C'mon, lads, don't take too long in the shower. You've been wet enough. Finish dressing and let's get back to the castle. Just get some paddles, because I think the Black Lake has reached this far..."

They finished showering, dressing and gathering their things, and they all left the Changing Room together, only to emerge in a gale of water and freezing wind. Theodore Nott was standing by the door to the Changing Rooms, sheltered from the rain under the small roof that corresponded to the front edge of the stands. He had the collar of his cloak up to keep out the wind and the hood covered his head. A few of the team members waved or mouthed a greeting to the young Nott as they passed him, but most ignored him completely.

As soon as Draco emerged, just behind the huge Bletchley and Warrington, he noticed his friend's presence. Nott gave him a silent grimace and the two of them walked side by side behind the other members of the team.

"You didn't bring an umbrella?" was Draco's curt greeting, as soon as he had his friend at his side. Nott arched a mocking eyebrow.

"In this wind? What for?" he scoffed, indifferent. "How was the training?" he asked then, raising his voice a little to make himself heard above the rain.

Draco, before answering, pulled his own hood over his head in a crude attempt to keep his hair out of the rain. Though his hair was soaked from the recent shower anyway. He hadn't bothered to dry it. But the water felt icy around him.

"A waste of time. We haven't been able to train as well as we would have liked with this rain," Draco admitted reluctantly. He pulled up the collar of his cloak, as did his friend, and was almost knocked off balance when a gust of wind hit them sideways. "Plus we're still without Beaters."

"Yeah... Crabbe and Goyle's been a real pain in the arse for the team. And this weather is insane," Nott corroborated, looking up at the overcast sky. "It's supposed to last all week."

"You liked the rain, didn't you? What are you complaining about?" the blond replied sullenly, staring at the waterlogged ground as he walked.

"I like the rain, not the typhoons," Nott corrected, scathing, glaring at him. A strange gleam in his eye. "No one in their right mind would want to drown on a Quidditch pitch, and on top of that, because they were waiting for a bloody sullen friend."

Draco gave him a scornful look, barely turning his face to look at him. Nott arched a dark eyebrow at him, indicating that his grumpiness had not gone unnoticed.

"What are you doing here, then? You should have stayed in the Common Room..." Draco protested, realising that detail then. Why had Nott come looking for him? They hadn't agreed on that...

Theodore hesitated for a moment so long that it seemed strange to Draco and ended up looking up to stare at him again through the curtain of rain. The dark-haired boy seemed to be hesitating, which was never a good sign. And he had slowed his pace. After making sure that the rest of the team was several metres ahead of them, looking distracted, he replied:

"You've been pretty grumpy for a few days, and I wanted to catch you alone so we could talk quietly. I was going to do it tonight, but I wasn't sure Zabini wouldn't be in the room." After the brief explanation, he added calmly, "Is everything all right?"

Draco pursed his lips and merely shrugged, feigning an indifference he didn't feel. Damn Nott and his sixth sense for always guessing when something was wrong with him β€” was it ingrained in him, or had he developed it especially in that last year?

"Sure, all right. I don't quite know why you say that, I'm perfectly fine."

Nott tried to give a sad smile, but a gust of wind and rain forced him to compose a grimace of discomfort. When he recovered, he looked Draco in the eye again, narrowing his eyes in the icy wind.

"You're taciturn. Moody. Not that you're a particularly cheerful person, but these days it's a little too unfriendly even for you. You've even been having nightmares again tonight," he commented, more kindly. Draco pursed his lips, cursing his friend's light sleep. He didn't know he'd found out about that. "The last time I saw you like this was before Valentine's Day, when you confessed to me in the Changing Rooms," he pointed at them with a discreet shake of his head, "that you had strange feelings for Granger. And I couldn't help but think that she's the reason for your uneasiness again."

Draco didn't try to avoid rolling his eyes. The temptation to fall face first into the soggy grass and vent a cry of frustration was too strong, but he managed to control it.

That was all he needed.

"Nott, I know what you're getting at, and no. I refuse. Don't go on, I'm warning you. I can't have this argument again," he mumbled, feeling the anger rise in his already heavy chest. "I told you everything was settled, and β€”"

"I remember what you told me," his friend interrupted him, calmly. And something in his tone made Draco's heart begin to pump faster. Why did he have the feeling that something was hopelessly... wrong? "That you two had talked and that you had decided to call it quits. That nothing more was going to happen between the two of you. That you'd come to your senses... Well, you didn't tell me that, that's my interpretation," he mockingly clarified. "And I believed it. But... let's just say I couldn't help but notice strange things. And, added to your bad mood these days, I've decided to look for an explanation. And I have some hypotheses."

"And you're going to grant me the privilege of knowing them, I'm overwhelmed..." Draco uttered, trying to imprint his voice with overt sarcasm and boredom. Though he definitely would have given half his fortune not to be there at that moment.

Nott stopped walking, and Draco had to do the same. They stopped in the middle of the field, feeling the heavy rain fall on their shoulders and hoods. Immune to it. Only aware of the conversation they were having. The temperance in the dark-haired boy's gaze petrified the young Malfoy. He had the impression that, to round off the day, he was in trouble. He couldn't quite understand how that was possible, though.

"You're nothing but a liar," Nott whispered. "There's still something, I don't know what, but something, between you and Granger. You lied to me when you told me you'd decided to call it quits. And she lied to me too."

Draco was shocked, but he struggled not to show it. How on earth had he found out? Theodore looked sure about it now. He was no longer questioning him, but accusing him directly. Draco made sure his own face wore only a slightly puzzled expression. He wasn't going to show that his heart had stopped. He wasn't going to die without a fight. He wasn't going to just confess the truth to him.

"I beg your pardon?" he said at last, with controlled disbelief.

"Remember when you disappeared during the Hufflepuff versus Ravenclaw match to supposedly have a word with Montague?" Nott said then, without hesitation. He seemed to have it rehearsed. "You took forever to get back. And do you remember we were sitting near the stairs? Well, I saw Potter and the others walk past. Something happened to Potter, he looked awful. They were dragging him out almost unconscious, white as wax. And, oh, surprise, Granger wasn't with him," he narrowed his eyes coolly. "Granger wasn't with her friends at a time like this either, when they're thick as thieves?"

Draco couldn't help but swallow, but he kept his composure. Though he was beginning to notice beads of sweat on his back, despite the cold. At first, that was a very poor argument. He could easily refute it. He hadn't seen them together.

"What have I got to do with β€” ?" he tried to articulate, with open contempt, and almost amusement. Trying to sound relaxed.

"Also," Nott added with cold emphasis, not letting him finish, "I've seen the furtive glances you've been exchanging in class lately. You two are terrible at concealing it. I'm not stupid enough to be fooled into thinking you're murdering each other with your eyes..."

Draco forced a contemptuous laugh that sounded curiously intoned.

"That's a β€”" the boy tried to argue, raising his voice, but Nott continued unheeding.

"And yet, what a coincidence, whenever we have a class with the Gryffindors you always manage to tell me to be on my way, that you'll catch up with me later. And Granger's pretty good at being last in class, too..."

"Oh, please..." Draco protested again, bored.

"And I've noticed that sometimes you disappear completely, and no one's seen you. You're not in the dormitory, or the Library, you're not with Zabini, or Pansy, or Daphne, or any of the team. Since when do you sneak off on your own? You haven't for as long as I've known you, you've never liked being on your own. Crabbe and Goyle were living proof of that," Nott finished, poised, not taking his blue eyes off his friend. Serious. Determined.

Draco tried his best not to let his face express even the hint of the frenzy that was already gripping him at this point. He didn't even try to put on a mask of haughtiness, he wasn't sure he could pull it off. He hoped that the darkness of the rainy afternoon was camouflaging part of his face, because he could feel it burning intensely. He just looked at Nott seriously, with as neutral an expression as he could muster. After several seconds, he decided that an offended, angry grimace was most appropriate.

"Thank you, may I speak now?" he sneered, with fierce disdain. Trying hard to look convincingly angry at his accusations. "But what are you getting at with all this nonsense? It doesn't make any sense, it doesn't prove a damn thing... That I'm mysteriously disappearing, you say! Of course, to meet her, right? Come on, Nott, don't fuck with me... You know perfectly well that I have a mission to accomplish for the Dark Lord," he justified in a lower voice, in a fit of inspiration. "Do you expect me to take Zabini with me while I get everything ready? Of course I have to go on my own, you fool..."

Nott was cautiously silent for a few seconds. Impassive. One eyebrow raised.

"Very well. Point to you. But I forgot one thing... I also found this," he reached into his trouser pocket, pushing aside the cloak covering his body, then pressed his hand to Draco's chest. The texture and the slight crunch he felt against his body told Draco that he was pressing a small folded piece of paper to his chest. He held it out of inertia when his friend took his hand away from it, and examined it reluctantly. Trying not to let the rain tear it to shreds. He noticed a couple of words written on it. He had no difficulty recognising the handwriting. It was one of Granger's notes. He didn't know which one, but it was one of them. He knew without bothering to unfold it.

Draco's eyes grew slightly larger. And his jaw stopped being clenched. He felt his face grow even hotter as he looked up, only shifting his eyes in their sockets, to pierce his friend with them. Nott was unfazed by the ferocity with which he found himself beheld.

"Have you been rummaging through my belongings?" Draco muttered, his eyes flashing with anger. The rage that was taking hold of him threatened to instantly evaporate the rain around him. It was the straw that broke the camel's back.

"You left it on the desk, you big git," Nott then snapped, undeterred. "Be thankful I saw it instead of Zabini. Although at least you've got two fucking brain cells left alive and you're not signing them..."

Draco was at a loss for words at this revelation. He was breathing heavily. And he didn't know what expression to make. He wanted to strangle his friend, but he sensed there was no point. He looked down at the parchment in his hand. Fighting his own disbelief. Had he really been so stupid? How could he have made such a mistake?

"This isn't hers... It's β€”" He still tried to speak. To argue once more. Almost out of inertia. Because it was what he had to do. He had to deny everything. He could hardly remember why, but he knew he had to. But he didn't know what to say anymore. He was starting to feel dizzy.

"Draco," Nott muttered, almost in a desperate moan. He looked at his friend with so much heaviness in his calm gaze that he managed to silence him. "Were you really going to tell me that this isn't hers, that you're seeing another girl? Don't insult my intelligence. I know Granger's handwriting, we've shared notes..." he let out another sigh. Exhausted. "Stop it, please. This has long since passed the level of ridiculous. I know there's something between you. And, listen to me, I don't care," he emphasised, articulating clearly. "I don't give a damn. And I'm not going to tell anyone, I promise. I just want you to stop denying it to me... You can't trust anyone but me about Granger, and, if you're smart, you'll tell me what's going on so I can help you."

Draco then tried to give a biting, almost amused smile, as if the whole thing was absurd, but he only managed to compose a grimace. His jaw was trembling. He couldn't stand the fact that he had found out. He couldn't stand the way Nott was looking at him. He couldn't stand that he was right.

"Trust you," he managed to articulate disdainfully, glaring at him with haughty arrogance, lifting his chin slightly. "Do you really think that, if any of this were remotely true, I could trust anyone at all?"

Nott just looked at him, unperturbed. Face cocked to one side. Scrutinising him.

"Why wouldn't you trust me?"

"Why would I?" Draco insisted more loudly, his face tightening.

"Because I'm here," Nott said calmly. He shrugged, and held out his arms, as if it were obvious. "Because I know there's something between you and a Muggle-born, and I'm still here. That should be enough. I'm telling you I don't care. I'm not threatening to tell anyone, I'm offering you my help if you ever need it. And I think you will."

"I don't need anyone's help for anything," he spat almost without thinking, still glaring angrily at him. Nott raised an eyebrow.

"I disagree. You'll agree with me that it's a bit of a sticky situation. Although... there is something else," the sudden hesitant tone in his voice made Draco look at him with fierce anticipation, "I've noticed that this last week something has changed. Or rather, it's gone back to the way it's always been. You haven't looked at each other, you haven't been last in class again, you haven't disappeared again, and your moodiness is increasing. Has something happened? Have you two had an argument or... broken up?"

Draco realised again that he was having trouble breathing. He had reached a dead end. There was no way out. With a lump in his throat, he realised that he couldn't lie to him any longer. As Nott had said, it was ridiculous.

He had never really believed that he had to tell anyone about what was going on between Granger and him. And so now he felt stunned. Not knowing what to say. And he hated feeling like this. He hated feeling like he wasn't in control of the situation. He let out a dry snort through his nose and looked away from Nott to the other end of the Quidditch pitch. Despite being freezing cold, he was grateful for the rain that was falling with a thunderous crash all around him. He couldn't bear for the silence to envelop them. Though he didn't want to, he felt some of the weight in his chest leave him. Not having to pretend was, for a change, one of the best things he'd experienced lately. And Nott's words, his determination to stay by his side despite everything, felt as if a bolt of divine light had pierced the clouds around them.

"Yes, we had an argument," he surprised himself by blurting out, still staring into nothingness. He gritted his teeth just after he spoke, as if to lessen the gravity of his confession.

Nott took a slow breath and closed his eyes for a moment, unseen by his friend. Resigned to find that his worst fears were true. Relieved that at last he seemed to have relented. He had admitted it. And Nott had been gentle enough not to reproach him, knowing how hard it had been for him to do so.

"What happened? What was the argument about?" his tone of voice was less accusatory. Almost curious. Cautious. Trying to keep his friend from closing his shell again.

"It's none of your business," Draco protested coldly, in effect, turning his face even further away from his friend. Nott pursed his lips, unsurprised by that response.

"Can I start at the beginning, then, and ask what exactly it is between you two?" the boy questioned, looking at him sharply. "Are you two a real couple? Or are you just hooking up? Or sleeping together...?"

"No," Draco spat instantly, unable to bear such suggestions. He looked at him again, with fierce disdain. "Of course not. How can I β€” ? Granger and I don't β€” no," he finished, not sure what he was denying. His face felt like it was burning again, and he had to restrain the urge to pull his hood off his head to cool it.

"No, what?" Nott insisted, laconically, steeling his patience.

"That we're not. We're nothing of the sort," Draco spat, staring down at the waterlogged, almost muddy field that the pitch had become. "We're not a couple or anything. Evidently, for fuck's sake, I would never β€” I'm not going to date someone like her."

"But you're seeing each other on the sly," Nott wanted to clarify, cocking his head to one side. "And there's something between the two of you. So where does all this leave you, then? Have you changed your mind about Muggle-borns?" he asked, and his voice sounded almost hopeful. Not too hopeful, though.

Draco gave him a look of open contempt. Almost bored.

"You're laughing at me, aren't you?"

"Merlin forbid," Nott resigned himself, pursing his lips. He appraised his friend, frustrated, then added, "But then, if you still feel the same way about Mudbloods, how can you β€” ?"

"I'd be surprised if you thought it was any of your business," Draco blurted out without hesitation, giving him a fierce glare. Nott arched his eyebrows, almost amused. Uncaring of the bluntness of his tone.

"As you wish. But it's a far-fetched situation, you can't deny it. There's something going on between you, but you say you're nothing, and you still think she and hers are inferior," he added, holding back the irony in his voice. "So, have you two talked about where this is going? What are you two trying to do? Is there some sort of... deadline or something?" Nott questioned again, a slightly jocular tone in his voice.

Draco didn't like the condescending tone in his friend's voice. He started walking again, just to have something to do.

"We didn't discuss it. Until we're clear on what we β€”" he shuddered sharply, unable to pronounce 'we feel' out loud.

"Clear?" his friend repeated, a little more confused, resuming his pacing as well.

"Clearly we're not in our right mind, are we?" Draco reminded him, almost scathingly. "You've told me that a thousand times yourself. We're not able to make ourselves clear right now, and it was all too complicated, but we couldn't control it, so we decided to... let ourselves go," he almost choked as he said something like that out loud. He felt he was explaining the situation in the worst possible way, but he couldn't do any better. He cleared his throat roughly. "I don't think it'll last long. It's just... silly. A minor thing. We're only seeing each other a few times, and that's it, it's of no consequence..."

"Draco, you're a Death Eater."

Draco stopped again with a jolt. He felt something icy slide down his back, making the skin on his arms bristle. His face felt sore from the cold now. He tried to take a deep breath, but his chest refused to admit any more air than he needed to survive. Nott stopped a step behind him, staring at his back.

"Thanks, but I hadn't forgotten," Draco hissed, not turning around.

"Are you sure?" Nott questioned, coolly, without mockery. "And you don't think it's bloody madness to be dating a Muggle-born, while you're under the orders of the person who wants to do away with them? It does seem to matter to me."

Draco swallowed. His hands were shaking slightly. And he wasn't sure if it was because of the cold rain, or because of everything else.

"It doesn't matter, because no one has to know," he mumbled, between his teeth. "He'll never find out..."

"I've found out," Nott protested, impassive. Draco then gave him a furious glare over his shoulder.

"Because you're a stubborn, gossipy git. And because of me to begin with. Because I was stupid enough to talk to you about it before Valentine's Day," Draco complained defensively. "If I hadn't told you all that, you never would have suspected anything. Besides, he's not here, is he?" he reminded, as if that invalidated everything else. Nott grimaced indifferently.

"TouchΓ©. You're probably right. But still, perhaps you should be a little more cautious. You haven't told anyone else, have you?"

"I was going to make the front page of the Daily Prophet, but handing out pamphlets seemed enough."

"What about that argument?" Nott changed the subject, resigning himself to his friend's perpetual sarcasm. "Was it that bad? It seems as if there's nothing between the two of you anymore..."

Draco frowned and blinked. Wondering for the first time. He'd been so angry with her, feeling so full of spite, so intent on his prideful attitude to not even look at her, that he hadn't considered that what was between them was really over. It had certainly been a very unpleasant argument. And they hadn't spoken since.

Did that mean it was over? His chest tightened slightly, as if his sternum had caved in. He tried to recall whether Granger, or he himself, had verbally ended their relationship, but he couldn't remember.

Couples argued. And that didn't mean a break-up per se. Or at least he thought it didn't. But they weren't a couple, they were something precarious and forbidden. Something with no future. Possibly easier to end than a proper relationship.

Suddenly he felt very tired. Exhausted from so much unrest. He was very angry with her, of course, and he had no intention of being the first to give in. But breaking off completely wasn't at all what he wanted.

But what did Granger think about it?

'And a shitty person!'

"I don't... know," he caught himself admitting, staring unseeing at the stands of the pitch, blurred by the rain. And he felt anger at the halting tone of his own voice. He pursed his lips and spoke more firmly, "We argued days ago, and we haven't spoken again. I don't know if it's over. And I don't intend to check. Frankly, I don't care. Obviously it has to end at some point. One less problem in my life if it has."

Nott scrutinised his face, his serene profile, and arched his dark eyebrows again.

"You're not a very good liar, Draco. You should know that by now."

"And what do you know whether I'm lying or not!" he snapped, getting upset again, turning to glare angrily at his friend. "It's my life, Nott! Stop pretending you know me better than I know myself, damn it!"

The dark-haired boy nibbled on his lower lip for a moment before calmly adding:

"I'm just trying to help you."

"Well, I don't need your help. I never have. Granger and I did something stupid and pointless, we argued as expected, and it's probably all over now, so that's that. You got what you wanted. It's settled," he turned away, turning his back on him again. He wasn't even sure why, but he was furious. At Nott, at Granger, at everyone. He was sick of them all. That they had nothing else to do but meddle in his life and tell him how he should be doing things. He was sick of everyone driving him crazy. Of feeling that everything, and everyone, was out of his control.

He felt his friend's gaze on his back for a few seconds until Nott spoke calmly:

"What exactly do you feel for her?"

Draco closed his eyes, jaded. The relaxation of his racing heartbeat would have to wait.

"I've already told you that we're not β€”"

"I didn't ask you what you are. I asked you what you feel."

Draco furrowed his brow. He turned his face again, until he located his friend's. Not knowing exactly what expression he expected to find. He found Nott looking at him calmly, the rain soaking his black fringe under his hood, reducing its abundant volume. His blue eyes, which blinked rapidly from the water seeping into them, gazed at him serenely. In a close way. He was not judging him. He just wanted to understand everything.

"I don't know," Draco whispered then. Stoically. Not defensive for the first time in the conversation. "I think she makes me... feel right."

He faltered, gritting his teeth. Not quite understanding where he'd gotten those words from. They sounded absurd even to him. He could have said a million things. More deep, or more interesting. Or been smarter and said nothing at all. But he'd said she made him feel right. Maybe that was what he was looking for in someone, to make him feel right?

But Nott didn't laugh at him. He didn't mock at his words. He didn't even vary his expression.

"Do you like her?" he questioned again, in a quieter voice. Draco wondered what the point of all this was. Wasn't it obvious, judging by what they were talking about?

"I suppose... it could be that," Draco articulated, and felt his tongue grow large in his mouth as he uttered the words. Looking back up at his friend, he found him with a sly smile curving his lips. It was mocking, but not overly so. But it was enough for a burst of embarrassment to plague Draco. "What the fuck are you laughing at?" he snapped, his voice rising.

"I'm not laughing," Nott assured him, but he didn't wipe that curious smile from his lips. "It's just that it's the first time I've ever heard you admit to liking someone. You've never liked anyone like that, as far as I know. It makes me happy," he acknowledged, his voice curiously breathy. Perhaps out of emotion. Maybe out of joy. Maybe out of fear.

"Happy of what, you piece of twit?" Draco spat in return, regaining his poise in his tone, and turning his back on him proudly. Feeling like a complete idiot. Shamefully exposed. Why the hell had he confessed anything to him? He wasn't learning his lesson, he wasn't learning it...

He heard Nott sigh then, and then launch into speaking with new seriousness. His voice coming through clearly despite the sound of the rain.

"Draco, if you and Granger really have done this, behind everyone's back, risking getting caught with all that that would entail... It's because you really do have feelings, whatever they are, for each other. And I don't think it's silly. I'm still worried, and I still think it's very dangerous, but I can't do anything about it. I've learned my lesson, and I know that no matter how much I advise you to stay away from her, and give you a thousand and one reasons, I can't make you do it if you really don't want to," he took a deep breath. "I can only ask you to be careful. And to offer you my help if you need it," he brushed his soaked fringe out of his eyes, thinking for a moment. "I'm not going to say I know what you're going through, because I don't. But I can see that what's going on between you is troubling, and it's making you both suffer a lot. And it's going to continue to make you suffer. Because it is possibly one of the most complicated situations you could have gotten into. In fact, it could end in the worst possible way. And I know you're aware of that. And so is Granger. Is it worth all the effort?"

Draco said nothing, nor did he turn around. He wasn't even able to answer his question in his head, let alone out loud. Because he didn't know. At that moment, he didn't know anything. He wasn't able to feel anything. Just the feeling of having swallowed a Bludger.

"Oi! Malfoy! Nott!"

They both turned and saw that Montague was calling out to them from much further away, gesturing to them through the heavy rain. The rest of the team watched them, attentive. They seemed to have stopped to wait for them, and lost patience as the conversation dragged on.

"Are you coming or are you drowning? I have to close the pitch."

"Yes, we're coming," Nott assured them loudly, apologetically, and instantly started walking towards them, splashing through the grass.

It took Draco a few seconds to gather the strength to follow his friend. After weeks of quiet, his head was aching again.