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CHAPTER 35
The Boathouse
The Boathouse was a shed situated in one of the less travelled areas of the castle, on a secluded shore of the huge lake that surrounded Hogwarts. It was reached by descending a large number of steps, built into the hillside. It was a tall, three-walled building, with a wide opening from which a short pier led out into the Great Lake. A bunch of boats, with space for four passengers each, were moored inside and around the building, bobbing smoothly. The glass of the windows, dirty and almost opaque from years of age, barely showed the outside, but the view from the dock was magnificent, taking in a large area of the dark lake and the distant mountains. Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger were not enjoying it, hidden as they were inside the shed. Away from prying eyes.
He had settled his long body into one of the boats that floated inside the shed, leaning his back against the bow and draping his legs over the seats. He had an open copy of the Daily Prophet in his hands, and was enjoying a few rays of sunshine that were filtering into the shed through the grey clouds. The girl, meanwhile, was sitting on the edge of the dock next to him, with a book in her hands. Her feet were bare and submerged in the black water. She had pulled up the bottom of her trousers so they wouldn't get wet.
Only Draco's voice broke the peaceful silence of the secluded spot.
"'... the new charter, with the approval of the International Confederation of Wizards, offers advice, unions and security to the goblins of East Jordan'," he was reading aloud, his light eyes darting across the page. Hermione listened to him, not looking away from her own book. "'The Western Region is still in negotiations regarding the creation of the controversial Goblin Ministry, based in the village of Tinworth —'" he hesitated for a moment, thoughtfully. "Why does that village sound familiar?" he questioned aloud to himself.
Hermione looked up from the book Magical Hieroglyphs and Logograms on her lap.
"That's where Bridget Wenlock lived, might that be it?" she suggested, looking at him doubtfully. "You know, the witch who —"
"Yes, the witch who discovered the properties of the number seven," Draco corroborated, finishing her explanation. He grimaced in agreement. "Well, yes, that must be it."
"I understand Jordan's position — what benefit could there be to having a Ministry headquarters in a town on the other side of the planet?" Hermione questioned, interested and obfuscated.
"It's useful on an international level," Draco explained in a monotone voice, not looking up from the paper. "It would create bonds between Jordan and England. It could lead to more agreements in the future. The Department of International Magical Co-operation will be delighted, they've been after Jordan for years... With magic, distance doesn't matter. For example, our ministry's Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures has headquarters in fifteen European countries. It creates a good image in the eyes of the International Confederation of Wizards. Jordan is being very short-sighted in putting up such a fuss."
When the boy finished speaking, Hermione surprised herself giving a hint of a smile. Fascinated.
"How can you know so much about politics and international relations?" she questioned, gently, not disguising her admiration. With some envy at his vast knowledge of the wizarding world. Draco looked up then, his expression becoming unabashedly smug as his eyes fell on the smile she was giving him.
"We Malfoy's are a family of high birth, Granger. My ancestors have rubbed shoulders with all sorts of influential figures. So have my parents. I'm not uneducated. I've spoken to important people, and I'm a good listener."
Hermione pursed her lips, stretching her smile.
"I didn't say otherwise. And I didn't say I dislike it."
Draco looked back down at the paper, as if he had nothing to add, but Hermione appreciated tenderly that he seemed filled with pride in himself. She sighed, relaxed, and set the book aside. She moved her feet, absentmindedly, watching the movement of the water on the surface. Ripples suddenly appeared, approaching the boat and the dock from the centre of the lake. Hermione turned her face to see one of the Giant Squid's huge tentacles in the distance, rising out of the water and diving back in. Breaking the polished surface. Swimming peacefully.
"Do you remember the first time we get onto these boats?" she commented, turning to look at the spot where he was lying. Draco answered without looking up, but not before turning a page of the newspaper.
"Our first day at the castle."
"How were you feeling?" Hermione wanted to know, watching him carefully, and confessing before he answered, "I was very stressed. I had no idea which House I would be placed in, and the uncertainty was eating at my nerves. I'd read so much about them..." she laughed softly, remembering. "As soon as I got on the train I started asking everyone which House was the best. A lot of people agreed on Gryffindor, so I was hoping I'd end up there," Draco made a dismissive little noise that brought another smile to her face. "Though I didn't mind Ravenclaw either..."
Draco looked up again to meet her eyes. The boy's looked curiously irritated.
"You're the most fucking Gryffindor person I know. Forget Ravenclaw," he hissed, and the girl wasn't sure if that was a compliment or not. "Well, I was very calm. I knew I'd be a Slytherin," he grimaced. Hermione was almost certain he was lying.
"Has your whole family been?" she questioned, her tone peaceful. The sun was beginning to be hidden by the abundant clouds, taking away the warmth of the atmosphere and darkening the inside of the shed even more.
"Slytherins? Yes, all of them," he replied, without thinking. "Well, no, not all of them," he corrected himself after a thoughtful, frowning. "First-degree ones, yes, but I have relatives who aren't... Almost all of them on my mother's side. I think my cousin was in Hufflepuff..." Hermione blinked, realising she was referring to Tonks. Sometimes she forgot that they were family. It was hard for her to connect two such different people. "But I don't even know her. Mostly all Slytherins," he finished, clearly defensive. Hermione smiled without him seeing her.
"I imagine you were nervous about being in another House and disappointing them, then, weren't you?" she wanted to know, kindly. He gave a believable sneer.
"Not at all. I've been taught about Slytherins all my life. I never even considered being in another House. Well, yes, I did consider killing myself if I ended up in Hufflepuff..."
"Oh, shut up," Hermione protested censoriously. "If you ask me, I'd say that I think the Sorting Ceremony is barbaric. Forcing those poor students, scared to death, to face something like that in front of the whole school... It's not fair. We were only eleven."
"Bah, it's fun to watch," Malfoy mumbled, smirking pettishly. "Their faces are priceless. And some of their names too."
Hermione snorted heavily, resigned.
"I can't discuss anything serious with you," she replied, annoyed. He didn't look embarrassed.
Hermione's eyes stayed on him, fixed, thoughtful. Silently. Draco looked back at her as he felt her watching him. Her dark eyes were staring at his face without seeing it. It was clear that something was on her mind. And she seemed ready to share it with him imminently. He waited, therefore, expectantly. Anchoring himself unreservedly in her intelligent eyes. More intimidating than she was aware of. Watching the practical Hermione Granger rearrange her thoughts and make sure she had everything checked out before stating anything. A sight to behold.
"I want to tell Harry and Ron," Hermione said suddenly. He allowed himself two seconds to take it in. He dared to arch an eyebrow.
"Do you want to tell them that you don't agree with the Sorting Ceremony? You shouldn't say something like that out there, Granger," he teased, slyly. She didn't laugh. She continued to look at him gravely.
"I'm serious. I've given it a lot of thought, and I'd like to tell them. About us," she clarified, determined, though there was no need to. Seeing the determination in her eyes, the boy's smile slowly faded. He let out a sigh through his nose and put the paper aside. Hermione, grateful that he agreed to pay attention to her, continued, "What do you think?"
"We said we wouldn't tell anyone," he replied, his voice impersonal, folding his hands behind his head and raising his face to look up at the shed roof.
"I know, that's why I'm asking you. We promised we wouldn't do it, and I'm not going to do it if it's not okay with you," she assured him. She had expected that reaction, it didn't surprise her. In fact, she had expected a much worse one.
"Are you asking my permission to break the pact?" he wanted to know, with dry irony.
"An exception," Hermione replied cautiously. "Nott knows and there's no problem. Would it be so terrible if they knew?"
Draco looked at her as if he couldn't believe his ears.
"You're really asking me that?" he sputtered, incredulous. As Hermione held his gaze, he added, as if it were obvious, "Nott doesn't hate you."
"You'll agree with me that you've earned that right," she said, coldly. Draco snorted, as if he'd found it funny. Without giving it any thought.
"The reason is the least of it. They hate me, so it wouldn't be the same."
"They're my friends, and... I know I can tell them. I can make them understand. They love me," her voice cracked slightly, but she continued, "I'm sure there would be no danger. They won't tell anyone. They wouldn't do that to me."
"To you," he spat, almost spitting out both words. "I find it wonderful that they love you so much, but, as you can understand, they're not going to be so magnanimous to me. They're not going to open their arms and accept me into their stupid club. They're just going to take advantage of their position. Of having something against me with which to destroy me. To blackmail me with."
"Why do you think the worst of them?" Hermione wailed, incredulously, in a quieter voice.
"And why should I think otherwise?" Draco replied firmly. "Besides," he turned his face more to look at her, "why the hell do you care so much if they know? You don't need their bloody approval to be with me."
"Of course I don't," she replied, unperturbed. "But they're my closest friends, and I've never had any secrets from them. And this thing that's going on between us is no nonsense, it's important," she forced herself to take a breath. "It's important to me. And I think they deserve to know. I want them to know."
Draco looked at her as if he was deeply exasperated.
"How can you want something like that? How can you want them to know that you've spent months lying to them so that you could meet me on the sly and kiss in every corner of this fucking castle?" he snapped, with open sharpness. "Do you really think they'll just accept it? An explanation from you, and they'll approve of all this, just like that? You can't be being so inept..."
Hermione stared at him for several seconds in silence, pondering such words.
"I'd tell them in a slightly more delicate manner, I assure you."
"There's no delicate way of putting it, don't kid yourself."
"Of course it will be hard for them to accept it at first, it was hard for us too," Hermione emphasised decisively. "But eventually they'll understand that... it's just the way it happened. That it's not something we saw coming. They'll understand that a lot of things have changed and that it wasn't easy for me to tell them until now."
"Changed? No, not that much has changed," Malfoy mumbled, ignoring her defence. "They won't understand, because even for us it's not easy what's happening. It's not easy to explain. And I keep telling you, they hate me. They hate me and I hate them. And just for that reason they won't accept any of this".
"Well, if they won't accept it, that's their business. It won't change anything," she replied then, raising her voice, as if she was getting tired of hearing that argument. Draco gave her a sidelong glance at such a statement — was she willing to keep seeing him even if her friends wouldn't accept it? "But I want them to know. They deserve to know. And... I'm sure that, even if it's hard for them, they'll understand. And they won't tell anyone if I ask them not to."
"Stop kidding yourself, damn it," he spat, straightening suddenly in the boat. His eyes glittered with rage. "That's how you want them to act, not how they will. I refuse to let them know any of this. I will not give them that weapon against me. I don't want to give those two the power to fuck up my life if they wanted to. They know exactly what my environment would do to me if they found out about this."
"Harry and Ron wouldn't do that," Hermione dismissed, but even she was aware of how weak her protest sounded. He looked at her with open derision.
"Really, do you really think so? They wouldn't use it against me, or threaten to tell the whole school and ruin my life? Or maybe they'd do it directly, without threatening me," he said, grudgingly.
"No, they wouldn't."
Draco let the air out of his nose in a loud huff, impatiently. The muscles in his jaws tensed.
"Fine. Do as you please," he spat sharply. "If you're so convinced that they'll understand you, and that your friendship, and all that shit, is stronger than how much they hate me, you'll tell them even if I don't want you to. But, I'm warning you, if they tell anyone else, I swear it'll be the last thing those two tell."
Hermione didn't look down. But she knew she'd lost the argument.
"If I was going to tell them behind your back, I would have done it by now, without bringing up this conversation," she said, coldly. "This is about both of us. I know perfectly well that your situation is different from mine. We agreed not to tell anyone, and I'm going to respect that, I'm not going to do anything behind your back."
Draco didn't say anything. Maybe he didn't believe it. Or maybe he couldn't thank her for doing that for him.
Hermione wished she could keep refuting him, convince him that telling her friends wasn't the worst idea in the world, but she had no more arguments. Against her hopes, she thought the same way he did. She couldn't close her eyes to reality. Harry and Ron wouldn't proclaim her relationship with Draco everywhere if she asked them to, but she could see the logic in the boy's conclusion that Harry and Ron would use it against him. If the boy's environment ever found out, he would lose everything. Harry and Ron knew that. And they would show him no mercy, because he had never shown mercy to them. They would threaten him. They would have him on the ropes. She remembered Draco's cruel taunts to Ron's family about their poverty, his constant attacks on Harry, his sabotage at Quidditch matches, in lessons, his hurtful remarks whenever he had the chance...
Regardless of what they might think of her, of how their friendship could, or could not, overcome something like that, what they would do to Draco with that information was obvious. As much damage as they could.
She pushed all that out of her mind, realising that he was right. Telling them something like that would be a mistake. Harry and Ron were good people, but they were impulsive, and they hated Draco with all their being. They would be driven by a thirst for revenge, and she would not be able to dissuade them. They would not listen to reason. They would not listen to her.
She closed her eyes. Or maybe they would. But did she have the right to take the risk?
The sunlight peeked brightly through the grey clouds again, and shone down on the water. Sneaking into the shed through the wide doorway through which the boats went out onto the lake. Draco closed his eyes, blinded. At the same time, a strong gust of icy wind ruffled their hair and shook their clothes. Hermione, shivering, pulled the sleeves of the jacket she was wearing over her hands and hugged herself.
"It's getting cold," she said in a whisper, massaging her arms.
"It's sunny in here," he reported in a quiet voice, shielding himself with one hand to avoid the strong light and get a better look at her. She, unlike him, was completely covered by the roof of the shed and no heat from the sun reached her.
Hermione smiled inwardly at his discreet offer, watching as the boat rocked gently on the water, almost cradling the boy. They looked into each other's eyes. And she appreciated the way he was looking at her. Studying her. Defensive, as a means of protection. But assessing her mood towards him. If the conversation they had just had would have caused her to hate him now.
It hadn't, so Hermione gave him a tired smile in response to the doubt in his eyes. She felt the tension in his shoulders relax, possibly without him noticing. Confidence returned to his angular face. Reassurance.
Meanwhile, she assessed her position and the boat's position. Assessing what would be the best course of action to take in order to get in. She pulled her feet out of the lake and shook off the excess water. She sat on her knees and rested her hands on the edge of the boat. Testing whether it would support her weight or not. She hesitated, making calculations. Unaware that Draco was watching her with a mischievous grimace.
"Would it make it easier if I posed it to you as an Arithmancy problem?" he questioned, with satisfaction. She narrowed her eyes at him.
"Shut up."
Draco grimaced haughtily. He let out a mock huff of exasperation and sat up fully, kneeling on the unstable floor of the boat. He crawled until he knelt right on the edge. He took the girl's hands and placed them on his shoulders, in a position that Hermione found unusual. She suddenly thought of a dance. A ballroom dance. In which she would rest her hands on his shoulders, just like now, while they moved together to the beat of a melody. Making synchronised movements. Looking into each other's eyes. Dancing together. It was hard to imagine such an everyday thing happening between them. Yet, or perhaps because of that, she couldn't help but slide her hands to the back of his neck, caressing it. Imagining that this was how she would do it as they danced. In the meantime, Draco moved closer to her. And Hermione almost felt herself losing in her fantasy of the dance. It took her a while, therefore, to understand what he intended. But his hands reaching for her armpits made her wake up. And startled her.
"Wait, this isn't — Malfoy!" her protest was cut short as she felt the abruptness with which her knees left the firmness of the dock. Draco had lifted her up with his arms, pulling her to him to haul her aboard. She howled, startled, as her body went over the edge of the boat. Almost as if she were flying.
And they both noticed.
The boat tilted dangerously under the weight of two bodies so close to the edge. They felt themselves descending, the dock rising before their eyes. Hermione inhaled in alarm. Draco, with lucky reflexes, pulled back quickly, wrapping his arms around the young woman once he had her in his grasp, seeking to drop their weight in the centre of the boat as quickly as possible and avoid capsizing. He landed on his back, between the two seats, the back of his neck bouncing painfully on the wooden floor. Hermione landed on top of him, with a gasp, and hurried to let go of his shoulders and place both hands on the sides of his face to avoid hitting him.
The boat rocked roughly on the water for several alarming seconds. Water splashed in their faces. They both stood still, very still, holding their breath, until they were sure it wasn't going to capsize. They relaxed again as soon as they felt the sloshing slow down.
"Malfoy," Hermione protested again, annoyed at being taken aboard so carelessly. She was panting, her heart racing with adrenaline. "You're a brute, you almost made us capsize..."
She tried to crawl to the side, only to find that she couldn't. She was trapped in the narrow gap between one bench and the other, her legs wedged on either side of Malfoy's body, and under the seats. With no room to move out of the way. In fact, she knew she had grazed the outside of her thighs on the seats when she fell; she felt them burning under her trousers.
Her throat swallowed saliva of its own accord. Or at least it tried to. She was on top of his body. She was straddling him, on his thighs. With her face over his. His arms still around her back. As if... as if they were...
That couldn't be right.
She felt his arms leave her back, and she searched for his gaze. But Draco was busy rubbing the part of his head he'd hit when he'd fallen, looking pained. A few drops of water, coming from the lake, glistened on his cheek. When he opened his eyes to look at her, he looked resigned. With every intention of saying something scathing. But his expression went astray. And Hermione noticed the exact moment when he perceived the same thing she did.
His eyes darted over her body, from her bent knees on either side of his hips to her face, almost against the light. As if he struggled to comprehend what he was seeing. As if he wasn't prepared for such a sight. To see her on top of him in such a way.
But then his expression returned to his usual one. His silver eyes turned into two mocking slits, a definite sneer, and his thin mouth curved into a provocative smile.
"I don't know what you're talking about. It was all precisely calculated."
Disbelief crossed Hermione's face.
Unbelievable. He was unbearable.
She let out an impatient gasp and pulled herself up into a sitting position. But that was all the distance she was able to get. And the position didn't really improve her perception of the situation.
"Yeah, for sure..." she mumbled, annoyed. Not really sure why. And then she scrambled on her own to try to get her legs out from under the seats. Leaning her hands on the seats and levering up, without success. "Do something useful and help me get out of here..."
Draco mimicked her and stood up as well, with difficulty, sitting up until his weight was resting on his elbows. He couldn't move his legs, as they were under her body.
"Are you uncomfortable?" he questioned, in a silky whisper. The half-smile was still on his face.
Hermione froze at the perceptive remark. She felt her face flush, and sensed that she was blushing. Very much so. And that he could see it. But she tried to feign a poise she didn't feel. She let out an affected snort, trying to keep her composure in the face of his sharp gaze. At his nonchalant attitude.
"That's irrelevant. I have to get out of here, don't I?" she managed to articulate. Shooting him a flaming glare. Draco arched a single eyebrow.
"You didn't answer my question," he replied, trying to contain his laughter. Apparently finding the girl's grumpiness quite amusing. She became even more irritated.
"Don't play dumb," Hermione gushed. "I shouldn't be... sitting on you like that. It's not appropriate."
"Appropriate?" Malfoy repeated. And now he did chuckle. "Granger, may I remind you that we've been groping each other in old Filch's broom cupboard. And, in the teachers' wardrobe, with them next to us... Since when is anything that happens between us appropriate?"
Hermione would have thought her face couldn't get any warmer, but at those words she was proven wrong. She dreaded the possibility of her eyebrows being singed.
"Oh, that's not — that's not the same! That's — that was — !"
Hermione opened and closed her mouth a couple of times, having no idea how to finish what had started out as a desperate attempt to defend her position. But she didn't need to, because Malfoy took it upon himself to keep her from thinking. As she stammered, he straightened up, no longer propped up on his elbows, until he was sitting upright. With the girl still in his lap. He wrapped his arms around her hips, and pulled her a little closer to him. Pressing their chests together, pressing their bellies together. Hermione inhaled sharply in surprise. At the feel of herself sliding up his thighs. She tried by inertia to put distance between them, placing her hands on his chest.
She gave him a menacing look.
"Don't you dare. Stop," she ordered, firmly. "This isn't like what happened in the wardrobe. This isn't —"
"Appropriate?" Draco repeated, openly mocking her. He was still looking at her slyly, and her lips betrayed her into a smile. But she tried to keep looking at him impatiently.
"Exactly."
"Are you sure?" he hissed against her mouth. Still teasing. Hermione watched him moisten his lips. And then move closer to her. His mouth dodged hers and moved until it reached her temple, where he rested his lips. "You and me in a wardrobe," he murmured against her skin. He lowered a little, without breaking away, to place another chaste kiss on her cheek, "devouring each other," he lowered a little more until he reached the angle of her jaw, at the edge of her ear, to kiss it as well, "with the professors barely two metres away, a single loud moan away from discovering us," he ducked his head lower and buried his face in her neck, slipping through her thick hair to kiss the top of her neck, "Do you really think it's something old Mcgonagall would call appropriate?" he murmured against her tender throat, warming her skin with his breath.
Hermione's well-trained mouth opened reflexively at his question, to defend that it still wasn't the same, that he wasn't right, but all she could do was gasp. Her arms felt limp over his chest. Flooded with longing at his ethereal kisses. At his voice whispering against her skin. The closeness to him was overwhelming. He was everywhere. She felt him under her thighs, she had him in front of her, pressed against her chest, he was wrapping his arms around her back, he was kissing her neck...
And, despite all that, her slowed brain realised that he was joking, and she couldn't help but find it funny. Reassuring. With a smile of defeat, and a chuckle emitted from her throat, the girl pulled away from him slightly. Forcing him to leave her neck and look up at her. He looked satisfied that he had distracted her enough to make her feel comfortable sitting on him. That he'd managed to make her laugh.
"You're an idiot," she replied, smiling against his mouth. "And of course what happened in the staffroom wasn't appropriate. In fact, I think it was the most impulsive and passionate thing I've ever done in my life," she confessed, with crushing sincerity. Without embarrassment. Almost resigned. He kept his eyes raised to hers. They glittered brighter than mercury.
"For now..." Draco said then, in a whisper. His voice sounded calmer, without any hint of mockery. Almost like a promise.
Her pulse quickened and moved to her temples. Activating the adrenaline in her body at the connotations of such a phrase. What happened in Filch's broom cupboard came back to her memory. Her back tingled with the memory of her robes sliding down it. Her thigh tingled with the memory of Draco's fingers gripping it.
For now...
She remembered how it had felt to button his shirt in the Changing Rooms. The visions of her imagination. She... wanted to. She felt she couldn't, but she wanted to. At that moment she had forced herself to put everything out of her mind. Even though that day he had looked at her... Hungry. Eager.
That look had been real.
For now...
Did that mean he wanted to...?
Hermione found herself fighting against the nervousness that was struggling to invade her body, and in favour of the calmness that his eyes were giving her at the moment. Her lips finally pursed, unable to help it, in a restrained smile. The shame was not present. She decided, in a fit of rapture, to play along with the boy. Feeling safe in his arms, and even a little playful. In fact, standing on top of him like that, watching him from above, with his body at her fingertips, she suddenly felt... powerful.
"Are you trying to provoke me, Mr Malfoy?" she asked in a whisper, trying to mimic his suggestive tone. Her warm breath hitting his lips.
Draco bit his cheek on the inside. His grey orbs twinkled. She swelled with delight.
"I don't know if the word 'try' pleases me, Miss Granger."
The girl's smile widened.
"You'll have to try harder, then, Mr Malfoy."
She felt Draco's stomach jerk against her in silent laughter.
"Are you trying to provoke me, Miss Granger?"
Hermione let out a chuckle. But she couldn't respond to his taunt. A fresh gust of wind swept over them, making them shrink in on themselves. The atmosphere was beginning to grow colder as the hours passed. The sun seemed to have gone into the clouds for good. Hermione's hair flew everywhere, blowing into his face as well, and he closed one eye to avoid getting a lock of hair inside it. She smiled apologetically.
"Wait..." she murmured, and reached up with both arms to finger-comb her hair until it was held in a tight bun at the top of her head.
Still holding the bun in place with one hand, Hermione lowered the other and brought her wrist up to her mouth, her teeth pulling the rubber band in it up to her fingers. Without quite knowing why, her eyes searched Draco's. His eyes were already fixed on her movement. His pupils locked on her as she bit down on the rubber band and brushed her lips against her wrist. Hermione saw his throat move, and couldn't help but feel a warm flush of heat take over her neck. Wondering how his eyes had managed to make herself feel her own gesture in a decidedly almost erotic way. The warmth of her own lips, and her breath, brushing against her wrist, as Draco ogled her, seemed indescribable. She finally reached up with her trembling hand, the rubber band in it, to clasp her bulging hair in place.
She lowered her arms once she had finished. With a self-conscious smile.
"Is it okay?" she asked the boy, in a low voice. With no mirror, she thought it was a good idea to ask him for his approval, since he was looking at her.
Draco merely nodded, his eyes fixed on her hair. Barely a few inches of movement. Not saying a word. And the young woman was having a hard time interpreting the imperturbability on his face. It threw her off to see no mockery of any kind from him. That he didn't say anything slyly. He always took advantage of any situation to tease her. He loved to tease her. But now he was merely contemplating her. And she didn't feel able to read his expression. She only knew that she liked it.
She had completely forgotten her reticence about the closeness. She wanted to touch him. She wanted to take advantage of her position. But she didn't know how. What she could or could not touch.
It was the first weekend they'd managed to see each other since they'd been together. It was Sunday afternoon, and they were both wearing casual clothes, as students at the castle might do on days when there were no classes. The girl, after contemplating her wardrobe for several minutes, decided to opt for dark trousers and a cardigan that she particularly liked. It was a little chilly, but not cold enough to wear a coat, she thought. She would have liked to wear a blouse, perhaps something more flattering, but her common sense told her that if she did, she would be in the Hospital with a fever of forty and unable to attend classes the next day.
Draco had dressed in a bottle-green shirt, of a fabric Hermione didn't know the name of, but it looked expensive, and it was soft. Over it was a black sleeveless jumper with a V-neck. Also a pair of black trousers that matched his style. Still, it was rare to see him in anything other than regulation uniform. And, perhaps precisely for that reason, the appeal of seeing him in clothes a little tighter than the baggy robes was multiplied. But it was not unusual to see him in green.
Hermione's hands reached up. To reposition his shirt collar, though there was no need. She just wanted to touch him. To have an excuse to feel like she could touch him.
Draco felt an unexpected shiver down his spine at her almost motherly gesture. The girl's eyes were dodging his. Who knew that the ever brave and determined Hermione Granger was so reserved when it came to closeness? At least she was with him.
Bad combo, because he was the same way.
As a rule, he did not like to touch, or feel touched, by anyone. He was not used to receiving physical affection in his day-to-day life. Perhaps with Pansy he had achieved an acceptable level of confidence of that sort. But with Granger, sadly and oddly, he felt more confident about it, more self-assured. With her, physical contact became something he was always too late to remedy. To control. Suddenly, he found himself brushing her arm. Stroking the hand she had placed over his. Stroking her lap as she sat in front of him. Struggling to adjust the thicket she had for hair.
He needed not to overthink such a change in himself, or he would go mad. No one knew, so he didn't have to answer to anyone. And he was so tired of judging himself over and over again. Not thinking was easier at this point.
He could understand the girl's reluctance at the intimate position. He hadn't been like this with anyone either. And he never thought he would be like this with her.
The young woman, after smoothing his shirt collar, finally found herself able to look up. He raised his eyes at the same time. He seemed to have been watching her hands. She gave him a faint smile. Relaxed.
"Anyway, I think I should —" Hermione began softly. And her intention had been to say 'move away'. Thinking that surely her weight would be making him uncomfortable, despite everything. But he wouldn't let her suggest it; wouldn't even let her finish the sentence.
"No way," Draco hissed absently, as if he knew what she was going to say. And then he broke the closeness between their faces, kissing her unexpectedly on the lips.
She inhaled loudly, caught off guard in mid-sentence. Her hands twitched on his shirt collar, where she had left them resting. She tugged unconsciously at him. Without knowing why. But he seemed to understand because he moved closer, tilting his face so he could take in more of her mouth. Kissing her slowly, but determinedly. Delighting in catching her lips, and reluctantly letting them slip away. Caressing her tongue as she opened her mouth against his. Hermione had to take a brief breath in through her nose, him not breaking away from her for a moment. On the contrary, she felt him quicken his pace. The movements of his lips were faster against hers. She felt his breath hitch against her face, her own becoming louder. She released the wrinkled collar of his shirt and pressed her hand against the back of his neck. And her legs against his sides as well. Trying to hold back the tightness she felt in her belly. She felt Draco's thighs shake beneath her. And then his hands splayed across her back. Placing his palms on her cardigan, pulling her even closer, pressing her to him completely. Having to turn their faces further so they could continue kissing, now with no gap between their bodies.
Hermione moved against him, without prior thought. Without conscious control on her part. Perhaps with the intention of getting closer, if that was even possible. And it really wasn't. All she succeeded in doing was making their bellies press against each other. She felt the stiff, wrinkled fabric of his trousers, and the firmness of his hips, rubbing against the space between her thighs. And the sensation went through her even over her own trousers. She felt her body jerk at the sudden shiver of pleasure that ran through her. Something warm and liquid forming beneath her navel. Failing to comprehend how she had been able to feel something like that just moving against him.
Draco broke the kiss momentarily, so he could breathe out against her mouth. With need. And one of his hands dropped lower. Encircling the outside of her thigh, above the stiff trousers. Squeezing it. Urgently. And Hermione almost felt the pleasure rush through her again, even without moving. She had caused that. That he needed to touch her. And the discreet sound that had escaped his being had been wonderful. She wanted to hear it again. She rocked her hips slowly again, purposefully now, seeking contact with him. Pleasure shot up her spine again. Her gasp was muffled by his. Draco's hands left their respective positions until they reached her hips. Holding her with unexpected strength. Pinning her down.
"Stop..." he pleaded against her mouth, and the harsh sound of his voice sent a third shiver up and down her spine. Hermione held her breath. Understanding. It was too much. It brought them closer to a line from which it would be difficult to retreat later.
She opened her eyes. He was looking at her. And the shades of grey in his eyes seemed to have multiplied. Hermione swallowed, feeling her heart thudding in her chest. She took a breath to apologise, but he wouldn't let her, bringing his mouth back to hers. Now in a more controlled way. Gentler. Hermione moved her hands until she managed to cup his face with them, holding him close to her. She tried not to move again.
She opened her eyes when she felt the kiss was about to break. To see his closed eyelids. The look on his face as he kissed her. When their lips lost contact completely, his eyes opened as well. They looked at each other. Without saying anything. Trying to come to their senses. They didn't have to stop, though, and they knew it. No one was going to interrupt them there. They could go as far as they wanted.
Hermione watched as he scanned her face with his silver eyes, as if he truly intended to learn, or simply appreciate, her every facial feature. She lost herself in his intimate contemplative gaze. She didn't know if it was the movement of the boat, but she was beginning to feel dizzy. Or maybe it was everything swirling around in her head.
Did something like this really have to end?
Why? Why end it all? Why not be together completely? No secrets, no lies, no hiding. A real relationship. They could have it. They were having it. Contradicting everything. Breaking everything. Were the prejudices of the wizarding world really that important? Were they really helpless against it? Did something like that really mark their destinies to this extent? There couldn't be such insurmountable obstacles. They would find a solution. They would be together. Maybe if they... Maybe there was some way...
Embarrassed by the desperation of her thoughts, she forced herself to stop. To wake up. To dismiss it all. No, they couldn't. Of course they couldn't. The reality was very different. Not everything could be solved by fighting bare-chested. There was too much at stake. They were just two teenagers against reality. Against the world, against the prejudices of very powerful people.
Her racing heartbeat was clouding her common sense. Heartbeats that never slowed down. That never slowed down when she was with him.
"Are you cold?" she heard Draco's quiet voice before her, speaking in a whisper. "You're shivering."
Hermione was slow to answer. Because it was all coming at her and she didn't know how to cope. Because to think that at some point she would have to give up that feeling, everything that boy was making her feel... It seemed unreal. She couldn't believe that he wouldn't be part of her future, that she would have to get used to a life without him, without seeing him every day in class, without any clandestine meetings, without speaking to him again...
He would have his life and she would have hers. Two parallel lines that might never cross again. At least not in that way. And she could hardly bear the thought of it coming to that. Not when they felt so good together.
'We said we'd keep at this until we were clear. And we haven't yet. So... let's continue.'
She'd already cleared her head. She was bitterly clear about everything. And she wanted him. Completely. With all that that entailed. No half measures, no barriers. She wanted to be with him. But she couldn't. That wasn't the right decision.
"I'm falling in love with you," Hermione corrected him in her mind, overcome. "And I can't tell you that. Because this wasn't what we had planned. And because I'm terrified of what might happen if you came to feel the same way too."
"A little. It's because of the wind," she replied, softly. Pretending to shake her shoulders slightly, as if a shiver was coming over her. She tried to make her voice sound calm as she determined, "I must be hurting your legs... Can you help me move away?"
Malfoy looked at her for a moment longer, as if trying to read something in her eyes, and then nodded silently. Suddenly he seemed to feel slightly out of place, as if the intimacy of the moment had dropped a defence he didn't want to lose. As if he hadn't planned to be so carried away by the confidence of closeness as to contemplate her as if he... loved her.
He took her by the armpits and carefully dislodged her from between the two seats. She leaned against one of them for support and allowed him to pull his legs out from underneath her, giving him more room to manoeuvre. Hermione dropped into a sitting position in the bow of the boat, with a sigh of relief that she could now stretch her legs out. They had been a little numb from being on her knees. When she looked back at Draco, she saw that he was stretching towards the dock, reaching for the book the girl had left there. When he picked it up, he held it under his arm and turned to her, kneeling on the floor of the boat.
"Spread your legs," Malfoy demanded then. Regaining a normal tone of voice. And those three words tore Hermione away from any possible thoughts that still tormented her. Concentrating solely and exclusively on such a request.
Do what?
Her brown eyes snapped open, along with her nostrils.
"Excuse me?" Hermione asked menacingly, automatically gathering and closing her legs. She was still barefoot, and the bottoms of her trousers were bent almost to the knee. "What for, may I ask?"
He blinked. As if taking in her reaction. His eyes narrowed, scathing.
"Because I'm going to fuck you hard against this unstable boat, here, in full view of everyone, until you come screaming my name, apparently," he said mockingly, taking in the surroundings with a wave of his hand.
Hermione was smart enough to realise that he was teasing, possibly alluding jokingly to the passionate moment they had just experienced. But it didn't matter. Her face went through a disturbing succession of colours anyway. From a healthy cream colour, to end up scarlet.
"W-what on earth are you talking about...?" she spluttered, shocked. She glared at him in such a way that he rolled his eyes, and hastened to add, before she kicked him overboard:
"Merlin's beard, Granger, I'm pulling your leg," he articulated, as if it were obvious. But looking amused. "Do the favour of spreading your legs."
"What for?" she insisted, sticking to her guns. In a gravelly voice. Malfoy arched an eyebrow.
"You really don't trust me?"
"Right now? Not at all," she snapped spitefully between her teeth. The corners of Draco's lips turned up in an insidious little smile.
"Good. But, now... Spread. Your. Legs."
Hermione pursed her lips and fought the exasperation in his gaze for a few moments longer. But then she sighed. Surrendering. Almost with... curiosity.
She spread her thighs a little apart, watching him intently. Feeling very awkward in such a position, lying on her back with her legs spread like that. And even more so without knowing the purpose. She couldn't think of any coherent one under the circumstances except... for that. To her bewilderment, the boy spun around to turn his back to her, still kneeling, and then propelled himself backwards with the help of his hands to get closer to her. When he had positioned himself in front of her body, he dropped onto his back, settling himself between her legs, which he spread wider with the help of his shoulders. Finally, he lay on his back on top of her body. With the back of his neck resting on her stomach and his back against her belly.
Once the process was complete, he threw back his head to look at her upside down slyly.
"Disappointed?"
Hermione was glaring at him. With open irritation. She wanted to complain, just out of pride, but the truth was that she wasn't uncomfortable at all. Besides the pleasure of his closeness, the boy's warm body was taking all the chill out of her.
"For a change, if you'd told me from the start what you were up to, we could have saved time," Hermione snapped. Draco snorted through his nose and pulled the book out from under his arm, opening it in front of him.
"There's plenty of time, it's only six o'clock," he replied, nonchalantly. "Listen, you can hear the bells."
Hermione looked up in the direction of the castle as she heard the distant ringing of the bells. Malfoy was right, they still had time to be together. For once, they had several hours all to themselves.
Their friends, like the vast majority of students, had gone to Hogsmeade for the day, and were likely to stay there until almost sundown. They were usually back from their excursion by dinnertime. Draco had been banned from Hogsmeade trips, courtesy of McGonagall, since the incident with the girl's essay. And Hermione had decided it was a hard to ignore opportunity to be together. Lately, they were finding it more difficult to see each other than ever. And the prospect of being together for most of the afternoon had been too exciting to be true. So Hermione had soured her friends' dinner the day before with a long-winded lecture, which she herself found insufferable, about the inappropriateness of scheduling a trip so close to exam time. So none of her friends protested or were surprised when she informed them, with her nose pointing to the ceiling, that she would be staying at the castle to study. They promised to bring her some sweets and seemed relieved to be separated from her for a few hours.
Hermione looked down at the boy, curled up between her legs as he leafed through her book. She couldn't help but smile at the sight, being sure he couldn't see her. She reached up and brushed her hand through his blond hair. It was fine and soft and straight, the complete opposite of hers. Her thick auburn bush was closer to resembling a Devil's Snare than a woman's hair. Combing it was an ordeal.
"My feet are wet," Hermione pointed out, now in a kindly tone. It was true. She was still barefoot, and her feet were still damp from being in the water. She feared that the young man, lying between her legs, would get his clothes wet.
"It doesn't matter," he assured her quietly. His tone sounded almost lazy. As if it took too much effort to speak. Hermione noticed then that his head was a little heavier. He was completely relaxed as she caressed him.
"Do you like having your hair touched?" she questioned, pleased, without stopping her fingers. Draco gave an ambiguous murmur of confirmation. He added, in a nonchalant tone:
"Pansy does it sometimes… She knows it relaxes me."
Hermione's fingers stumbled through his hair. Her brow furrowed. Parkinson did what?
"Oh, yeah? That's nice," she replied, icy. Malfoy nodded, not giving it a thought. She hesitated. Lips pursed. Slowing the speed of her now distracted caresses. But, before she could finish deciding what to do, she heard the boy let out a chuckle. She saw him raise his head again to look at her upside down. Curiously, he was smiling mischievously.
"That's nice? I was teasing you, I wanted to make you jealous," he revealed, satisfied. "I can see you glaring at me from here, almost frying my brains..."
Hermione let out an affected exhalation.
"I'm not jealous, you arrogant prat," she defended herself, annoyed. He returned his gaze to the book, openly vain. Not believing a word of it. She pursed her lips again, not quite sure how to feel about his words. "So she doesn't?" she asked, hesitantly, unable to contain herself.
"Actually, she does," he admitted, still satisfied. She snorted again, unable to help herself. "She's my best friend, we trust each other. We've known each other since we were kids. It doesn't mean anything."
"Right..." Hermione mumbled, composing herself. She felt slightly embarrassed, definitely irrational, and tried to take a deep breath so that she could be in control of herself again. She also stroked his hair again. "It's true, it's not bad at all. Harry usually caresses my hair too, and it doesn't mean anything either," she added, casually.
There was a few seconds of absolute silence. Before Hermione had managed to mentally count to three, Malfoy had closed the book and was sitting up with a start, turning to face her. His nostrils were flared.
"Caress you? Potter? Why?" he spat angrily, putting special emphasis on the boy's surname. Hermione smiled at him, nonchalantly, feigning surprise.
"Because he's my best friend," she hissed, with mock innocence. "And we trust each other?"
Malfoy pursed his lips, and narrowed his silver eyes. She had tricked him.
"You're an immature shrew."
"You started it."
Draco snorted and lay back down in the same position, sulking. He opened the book again and pretended to leaf through it. Hermione resumed her caresses, now smiling contentedly.
"So it wasn't true," he murmured, with feigned assurance. So low that she had to strain to hear him.
"Who knows," Hermione replied mischievously. He snorted harder through his nose, pretending to play it down.
"Well, that's nice," he grunted, turning a page roughly. Hermione's chest rumbled in silent laughter. She slid a hand down to cup his face, trying to soothe him and show him she was joking. She felt his face burn beneath her fingers. She frowned, flattered. She hadn't expected him to get jealous for real.
"Hey, has there ever been anything between you two?" Hermione questioned then, her tone gentle. An indication that she was serious now. "Between you and Parkinson. I admit, I thought there was before. You've always seemed to be very close."
"We had a thing a couple of years ago," Draco admitted calmly. "No, actually it was three years ago," he corrected himself, thoughtfully. "It was in fourth year."
Hermione was surprised that he was being honest; she thought he would either refuse to answer, or respond with a sneer. She analysed herself at such information, and was pleased to find that she didn't feel jealous at all. It made her feel more self-possessed. His tone was calm, almost casual. And that, strangely, made her feel reassured.
"You went to the Yule Ball together," she remembered, not wanting to sound intrusive. "Were you already a couple then?"
"No, actually, it was shortly after the ball. Although, more than a couple, you could say we had a brief stint of... kissing," he admitted, with a nostalgic chuckle. "Because that wasn't a relationship, it wasn't anything. We were about fourteen and we were kids, it was just a few kisses. We didn't last long. Being boyfriend and girlfriend was too weird. It was easier to just be friends."
"Did the two of you come to that conclusion?" she questioned, discreetly. He didn't answer, and Hermione sensed that he didn't understand what she meant. "I say that because... from what little I know of her, Parkinson has always seemed to have feelings for you," she said, cautiously. "Even now, I'd say. She adores you. So much for just friendship."
Draco hesitated for a moment, taking in the words. Hermione felt him shrug slowly.
"Well — I don't remember who decided to break up. I could have sworn it was both of us. I'd say you're wrong... She's never said anything like that to me," he commented, with mock nonchalance. But Hermione sensed that she had made him doubt his friend's intentions.
Hermione felt an inexplicable surge of pity for Parkinson. Maybe she was still interested in Draco from their fourth year, but couldn't bring herself to tell him. Maybe she was in love with him; that was the impression she had always given. But maybe it was clear to her that he didn't want her that way. Hermione felt a strange sympathy for her, even though, of course, the young Slytherin was no her cup of tea. But if that was so, she would have had a very hard time of it for a long time. She might still be suffering for him. And, the pain of unrequited love, Hermione did not wish it on her worst enemy.
"Who else have you been with besides Parkinson?"
She regretted it before she even finished the question. Belatedly taking in what she was asking. She didn't want him to think she was a gossip, especially not on such intimate matters. She closed her eyes, biting her tongue... They were not a couple, at least not in the strict sense of the word. She had no right to pry like that.
She opened her mouth to apologise. To tell him he didn't have to answer. But he was silent. He wasn't protesting her indiscretion. He was thinking about an answer. And he didn't seem annoyed, just indecisive. Meditative.
He ended up answering quietly, after several eternal seconds. His voice barely audible amidst the silence of the lake.
"With no one," he confessed, slowly, almost taking in such words. Hermione felt the blood leave her own cheeks. No one? "It's not very common in my environment... I mean, it's frowned upon to have a lot of affairs," he spoke dispassionately, but he seemed to feel the need to justify himself. "My parents are very conservative in that respect. In fact, almost all pure-blooded families are like that. Except for Zabini's mother," he commented with grim humour. "I'm supposed to find a lifelong pure-blood partner, get married, and have children to perpetuate the bloodline. Full stop. It's my responsibility to my blood. Other kinds of... sporadic courtships are frowned upon in high wizarding society."
"And you never wanted to disappoint your parents with occasional affairs that would jeopardise your reputation. Not even behind their backs, without them knowing. Not even as a teenager," Hermione completed, in her head, feeling a tingle of sympathy for him. For the pressure of having to please such a family. For how hard the rules were in his world.
"Nor have I been interested in anyone," he added with sudden abruptness. As if he was regretting what he'd let slip away. Of all that it implied.
"Of course, I understand..." she hurried to say, trying not to make him feel judged.
She was having a hard time coming to terms with it. To come to terms with reality. Despite his words, despite what he had just told her... He had broken all the rules that had been imposed on him in order to be with her. He hadn't been with anyone else. And now he was involved with her in a sporadic affair, one that would definitely not end in a wedding. Much less a convenient pure-blood wedding that would perpetuate the bloodline. She had already known that, somehow. From the moment they began such a relationship, it had been clear to both of them. That they were not allowed to do what they were doing, in many ways. She felt herself becoming more aware of the real repercussions of people finding out about her. Not just their classmates. The whole of society. Draco was risking his reputation, and that, in his world, was pretty much the most important thing. She felt like she was more aware of it all now than she had been when they'd started. Now that she was more involved in his life, now that she was beginning to understand his point of view. And she felt a surge of affection for him so strong that her chest ached.
And there was another piece of information floating around in her subconscious. If Pansy Parkinson had been the only partner he'd ever had in his entire life, and all he'd ever done was kiss with her, then he was...
"What about you? The rumours of what you had with Potter, were they true in the end?" Draco questioned, again sullenly. Possibly wanting to change the subject. Finding herself snapped out of her thoughts, Hermione frowned quizzically as his words sank in.
"What rumours?" she wanted to know, puzzled.
"Witch Weekly. During the Triwizard Tournament. That journalist... Rita Skeeter wrote about it. Pansy and I encouraged the rumours because we thought it was funny. But I admit we never knew if it was true or not. We guessed it wasn't, but... well..." he shuddered out of the blue. Sounding a bit annoyed. And the girl almost laughed when she realised he was remembering her recent joke about Harry stroking her hair.
Hermione let out an offended snort.
"Oh, that wasn't true. Rita Skeeter wanted to make the cover, so she made up everything she could think of about Harry. It was all lies. I hate that stupid magazine..."
She felt Draco let out a proud chuckle. Seemingly more cheerful.
"I thought so," he boasted, and Hermione guessed he had a smug smile on his lips. "What about Weasley?" he wanted to know again, in a less jocular tone.
Hermione was silent for a few moments. Hesitating, wondering how much to reveal of her innermost thoughts. He had been honest. And it was only fair that she should be honest with him as well.
"Ron is more... complicated," she murmured, not quite sure how to begin.
"In what way?" he questioned. And his tone sounded as cold as Hermione had expected.
"Years ago I... liked him," she confessed, musing. "In our first years at Hogwarts."
"Then you lied to me."
Hermione's heart skipped a beat. She waited a moment, but he didn't say anything else.
"What?"
"At King's Cross. You told me you didn't feel anything for him. That he was like a brother."
"And I have no feelings for him," she clarified, a little more firmly. "I'm talking about the past. From when I was eleven. Like you've told me about Parkinson." He kept a cold silence, but it seemed to be enough. "There's never been anything between us," she assured him, more calmly. "But... it's true that I liked him before. Ron is very funny, he made me laugh. He managed to make us laugh in the worst situations. And he's a wonderful person, brave, and incredibly generous. But... I guess that's not the only thing I look for in someone to be my partner. There are more things that are important. I've come to understand that over the years. I was too much of a child back then. When I really stopped to think about it, more rationally, I understood that we don't agree on many things. On important things. Ron is not a hard worker at all," she sighed with some frustration. "He doesn't work hard for what he wants. I feel like he's... too immature in some ways. And insensitive. Sometimes he's behaved —" She didn't want to finish the sentence, not wanting to talk that way about her friend. Draco was silent, and she wondered if she was boring him with all this explanation. But, now that she had started, she couldn't stop. She'd never told anyone any of that before. "He wasn't even able to ask me to go to the Yule Ball with him. He did, but as a last resort, when he couldn't find anyone else. And it hurt me so much. And then I told myself that I couldn't love like that someone who didn't consider me his first choice. I think that's when I started to forget about him. And then, when he saw me with Viktor Krum, he was —" She interrupted herself again, remembering her friend's accusations of fraternising with the enemy. The new accusations later that year of her friendship with Theodore Nott. She swallowed, struggling to get over it. "We've argued so many times... He's never understood anything I've done," she suddenly remembered how, in third year, Ron stopped talking to her when she told Professor McGonagall that Harry had been sent an anonymous Firebolt in the post, causing the broom to be dismantled for inspection. "He doesn't understand that, for me, following the rules is important. He doesn't understand that I want to fight for the house-elves. When I created the S.P.E.W. —"
"The what?" Draco asked then, interrupting her for the first time. And then Hermione discovered that he was listening to her carefully, not missing a word. Somewhat incredulously, fighting not to smile, she hurried to answer:
"The S.P.E.W.; Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare."
"I haven't heard of that in my — ah, wait," Draco straightened up, no longer resting on her stomach, and turned so that he could see her, remaining seated. She pushed aside her cramped legs to make room for him. She scrutinised his face, unsure of what she would find. But he only looked curious. "Was that the club, or whatever it was, that you formed in fourth year in defence of the house-elves? We were laughing in the Slytherin Common Room for several weeks," he confessed, frankly, arching an eyebrow. Hermione composed an indifferent grimace, not in the least perturbed.
"I'm not surprised. I didn't expect you to support it."
"Well, Granger... you called it spew. And you made badges," he remarked, his irony undisguised, as if trying to wake her up. Hermione pursed her lips and lifted her nose slightly.
"Whatever. The thing is, when I created it, they didn't take it seriously. They were supposed to be my friends, but they didn't support me. I understand that you made fun of me. But, they... He... I don't hold a grudge against Ron, not at all," she hastened to assure him, without looking at him, somewhat regretful of the way she was talking about her best friends. "I love him very much... Just not as a partner."
She looked down at her knees, wrapped around her own arms. Embarrassed that she had spoken so much. But Draco's voice broke the silence again, immune to her embarrassment.
"What were you supposed to achieve with that S.P.E.W.?" he asked, his voice incredulous. Hermione looked him in the eye. Hesitantly. She wasn't sure if he was laughing at her or not.
"Decent rights for elves," she murmured, confidently. "Decent wages, clothes, holidays..."
Draco let out a disbelieving laugh.
"You're kidding me... Elves don't want any of that."
"Just because someone doesn't know they're being enslaved doesn't mean they're any less of a slave," Hermione protested through her teeth, firmly. Draco clicked his tongue.
"They're happy that way. They live to serve the wizards. And they get a home and food, everything they need. What's wrong with that?"
"What about the conditions?" Hermione blurted out, straightening up more. Her eyes were blazing. "Aren't they abused? Mistreated?" She bit her tongue to keep from telling him that she knew all too well how the Malfoy's had treated Dobby in the past.
"They're just elves, they're not —" Draco began disdainfully, but was silenced when he realised that she looked ready to smack him if he finished the sentence. She was breathing heavily, her nostrils flaring. "I'm just saying, if they won't rebel, why should we wizards do it for them? You're going to get into a battle they don't want to fight themselves."
"I can't just stand idly by in the face of something like this. You're not rebelling because you're not interested in being left without a devoted servant to provide you with every comfort," Hermione said hotly. "But not because you really think it's right. No one in their right mind would find slavery justifiable in this day and age. The Ministry of Magic had to stop a revolt against the enslavement of house-elves in 1973, but no one has ever done anything for them again, and it's unfair. They're not inferior to us, they're just different," she finished passionately.
Draco rolled his tongue around inside his mouth. But he didn't know what to say in rebuttal. The girl's brown eyes had darkened. Her cheeks, by contrast, lit up. Her hands clenched into fists. She was raging. She was beautiful. And Draco felt like he'd forgotten to breathe while she spoke. All he wanted was for her to go on talking in such a raging manner forever. That was her. Fire. And she had to burn. She had to burn like that forever. No idiot like Ronald Weasley had to make her think she had to give less of herself.
"Creating that organisation is a disservice to the elves," Draco heard himself saying. His eyes caught the girl's trousers were still rolled up. His hands reached for them, pulling them back down to their original position. "Yes, you might make a few wizards aware, but it's not enough. You make the elves passive. You have to change their mindset first. And let them be the ones to rebel. Don't fight for them, teach them that they have to fight."
Hermione looked at him closely. As he spoke. And as he pulled the bottom of her trousers into place.
"The elves in the kitchens wouldn't listen to me, I tried," she admitted, in a more demure tone. Staring into the boy's eyes. He shook his head in exasperation.
"They're too ingrained. A speech, no matter how emotional, won't change their minds. You're a big girl. You have to aspire to more than a club in the Gryffindor Common Room. They won't take you seriously," he knelt down and crawled to the edge of the boat, still talking. His hand stretched out towards the dock, reaching for the girl's shoes. "You need to aim higher. What are you going to do when you finish school? What about the Ministry of Magic? It has a department —"
He fell silent in the middle of his own sentence. Freezing, with one of the girl's shoes in his hand. When they finished school... They weren't going to finish school. He was helping the Dark Lord take over the wizarding world. And she would have no place in it. There was nothing beyond that for her when she left school. Not in magical society.
He looked down at his hand. The shoe he was holding. What was he doing?
"Yes, I know," Hermione admitted thoughtfully, not quite seeing the boy's dazed expression at his own thoughts. "The Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I've considered it, it's one of the options I'm thinking about. But I should have continued with Care of Magical Creatures..."
"It counts quite a lot, but it's not the only one," he protested, forcing himself out of his thoughts. His mouth speaking for itself. He returned and dropped her shoes roughly to her side. "Arithmancy counts for a lot, too. For any department in the Ministry. And you have, and will have, 'Outstanding' in everything."
The girl looked at him with sparkling eyes.
"Is that so?" she murmured, interested. She put her socks back on, before her shoes. Her feet were very cold. "I haven't got to —"
"The Heads of Department are the ones who call the public examinations," he said, sitting back down in the floor in front of her and leaning his elbows on the seat at his back. "I seem to remember that in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures they ask for an application, and then you have to go through a personal interview."
"And can I apply at any time after I graduate?" asked the girl, leaning closer to him. The boy got the impression that she regretted not having parchment and quill to take notes.
"Actually, you have to wait for them to create calls for proposals. They do it every few years. But, between us, my father always told me to apply at any time. They value initiative. And if, for whatever reason, they have an unexpected vacancy, they can hire you without having to go through so many filters."
"Really? And that's all right?" Hermione protested, frowning. As if she didn't like the idea of favouritism.
"No, but that's how reality works. Although, if you really want to get in through the legal route, and I know you do," he looked at her patronisingly, as if her honesty exhausted him, "you'll be interested to know that they'll be looking at N.E.W.T.s marks, but also any training you may have done on the side. I know that the Office of House-Elf Relocation runs courses with the intention that you will be interested in their department afterwards. I've heard it's boring as hell. But it would be a first step. Just to get in. Then you could move up to the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. There you'd make your own laws. Your own departments. You can change the world."
Draco had to fall silent at his own words. A Mudblood changing the wizarding world? That wasn't right. It wasn't, not at all. But he couldn't remember why. She was capable of it.
Hermione watched him with her mouth ajar. Her expression glistened. She looked suffocated.
"Sounds... great," she managed to articulate. And her dreamy eyes told Draco that she thought it sounded more than great. "It's... I'd love something like that," she grinned from ear to ear, letting out her breath in excitement. Draco's jaw clenched discreetly. Feeling unsatisfied at his own words. Hermione tilted her head to one side then, looking at him with unexpected affection, "What about Alchemy, what are the career opportunities? You're going into something related to it, aren't you, or is it more of a hobby?"
Draco snorted through his nose. He looked away, as if it wasn't an important subject, and fixed his eyes on the opaque waters. What was he going into? Torturing Muggles, kidnapping people...
For a moment, looking out over the lake, he imagined that war was not imminent. That he was simply finishing school, and preparing for the future. His parents had enough money so that he would never have to work in his entire life. He had never considered the option of working. He didn't need to. He could simply do what his father did. Devote some time to the Board of Governors, and devote himself to making donations that would provide him with contacts and a comfortable life. But what if... he got a job? Something he was good at. Something he enjoyed doing.
Granger's fiery expression as she spoke passionately about house-elves had piqued his curiosity. He, too, wanted to look with such passion at his future.
"Right now I think of it more as a hobby, though —" he confessed, forcing himself out of his thoughts. "In chemical industries, for example, it has a lot of potential. And it has many other possibilities. From philosophical subjects, to the more well-known, that of transforming base metals into gold or silver."
"Is there any extra Alchemy training besides the Hogwarts elective?" Hermione asked with keen interest.
"There is a very prestigious school in Egypt," he commented, looking down at his hands. He'd never discussed any of that with anyone before. "But I don't think it's necessary to do it after Hogwarts. If you take Alchemy in sixth and seventh year, you get a degree that allows you to work almost anywhere you want. At Gringotts, for example, they often do research projects and they often ask for alchemists."
"It suits you to work in a bank," the girl joked. "I know you won't take a job where you don't wear a fancy robe."
"I see we're beginning to understand each other," he said, looking pretentious. Hermione chuckled. "I'm not too keen on banks, though. I'll find something else," he added in a quieter, less mocking voice.
Hermione nodded enthusiastically. Encouraging him to do so. Draco leaned his back better against the edge of the seat and tried to wedge his long legs into the narrow bow of the boat, where they had both settled. Taking the opportunity to avoid looking at her face. Struggling to think of something to change the subject. He didn't want to keep talking about the future. He didn't want the future to come. The present was fine. And the past was safer.
"Hey, back to the topic of... relationships and all that..." Draco remembered, regaining his dismissive tone. Though the word 'relationships' stuck on his tongue slightly. Hermione looked at him expectantly. "What about Viktor Krum? You went to the ball with him."
"Yes, I did," the young woman smiled, touched by her own thoughts. "He was a nice guy. But there wasn't much between us either. Not even kissing, he was too old for me," she admitted, with a sad chuckle. A slight spasm in Draco's body told her that he had laughed quietly too. "He said he'd never felt the same way about a girl as he did about me," she recalled aloud, lost in her memories. "The truth is, he was always very kind to me."
Draco's eyebrows disappeared under his blond fringe. His clear eyes were wide with surprise.
"Wait a minute, I remember that. They said it in Witch Weekly," his eyebrows drew together. "Was that really true? Viktor Krum told you that? Viktor Krum? Are you serious?"
Hermione nodded, modestly surprised by his astonishment.
"He even invited me to go with him to Bulgaria that summer. But I turned him down. I didn't feel the same way, and I didn't want to give him false hope," she admitted hastily and sheepishly. "We wrote letters to each other for quite a long time, although we've lost the habit now..."
"Did you really turn Viktor Krum down?" the boy insisted, wide-eyed. He let out a proud chuckle. "Fuck. I'm dating a heartbreaker and I didn't even know about it..."
Hermione thought she caught a hint of satisfaction in the boy's voice beneath his teasing tone, but she wasn't sure if it wasn't her own imagination playing tricks on her. Instead, she felt a jolt in her chest.
'I'm dating a heartbreaker'?
Was he aware of what he had said, that he had spoken of her as if she were really his partner? Did Malfoy think of them as a couple, as a real relationship?
That possibility inflated hopes in her that she definitely shouldn't nurture. She had to keep a cool head. What was between them was not possible. Regardless of how they felt. And there was no solution to that.
She forced herself to look at him spitefully, forcing a proud smile.
"Very funny. If you're so interested, I can ask Viktor if he's still single and if he'd like to welcome you to Bulgaria."
Draco's body reacted before he could help himself. And a loud laugh escaped his mouth before he could even consider controlling it.
"That's all I need," he snorted, pretending to be offended. He picked up the girl's book again and pretended to skim it as he commented, nonchalantly, "Krum is overrated. He's not even that good a Quidditch player. One of the best Seekers in the world..." he scoffed. "What an exaggeration. And he's not my type," he added, following her joke with irony.
Hermione let out a giggle. She remembered clearly how Draco had unsuccessfully tried to win Krum's sympathies when he had visited Hogwarts, and she could only smile in amusement.
"Do you know the Ancient Runes lesson yet?" Hermione asked then. She pointed to her own book in his hands.
"Nah, I haven't even looked at it," Malfoy confessed, with rebellious disinterest. "The subject we're studying is silly..."
Hermione was as shocked as if he'd just told her he was planning to give the Giant Squid a teeth cleaning.
"But she's going to ask it tomorrow!" Hermione exclaimed, astonished at his apathy. "And she'll give you a bad mark if she sees you haven't studied," she added, in the tone she would have used to tell him that if he didn't pass his oral exam, they'd put him in a cauldron of boiling potion. Malfoy looked at her in open exasperation.
"Merlin, tell me you're joking... I'll get a bad mark!" he scoffed, raising an affected hand to his chest. "Luckily, I don't mind..."
"Well, I do mind," Hermione spat resolutely, snatching the book from him and holding it open where he couldn't see it. "I don't want you to get a bad mark for being a complete slob... What number does the Runespoor represent?"
Draco blinked.
"What?"
"What number does the Runespoor represent?" Hermione repeated, not budging. "Tomorrow Babbling's going to ask. Answer me, come on."
"Tell me you're joking..."
"Three," Hermione replied, ignoring him. "Because it's three-headed. And the hydra? What number does it represent?"
"Granger, don't even try," he warned her, shaking his head. "I'm not going to study that shit. If I've arranged to meet you, it's to be with you, not to talk about hydras and I don't know what else you said..."
"Runespoor," she repeated impatiently. "It's the number three. And the hydra is nine because it has nine heads."
"Granger!" he exclaimed, annoyed. Hermione clicked her tongue, surrendering to his stubbornness.
"Oh, come on, is it that hard? You're a great student, and you always get good marks in exams, but you don't put any effort into your lessons," she reproached him firmly, scowling at him.
"Because I value my time, and I know how to discern if there's a class that's useless. And this one is useless. Honestly, I'd rather spend my time with you on other things than learning that a bloody Runespoor, which I don't even know what it is, represents the number three..."
"See, you've learnt it!" Hermione interrupted him, smiling brightly. She flipped through the book feverishly again. "Come on, let's keep revising, you're inspired..."
Malfoy held back the deepest sigh of his life and closed his eyes as he pinched the bridge of his nose with two fingers, stressed. He could hear Granger turning pages in a hurry. Nothing would stop her at this point.
"All right, all right! You win," he conceded, before she launched back in with another question. "When we get back to the castle, I'll go to my dormitory and study the stupid Runes lesson for tomorrow, happy?"
She stopped checking the book and looked at him with deep annoyance.
"I don't believe it. You won't."
"Yes, I will."
"No, you won't."
"Yes, I will," Draco articulated, emphasising the syllables. He leaned his elbows back on the seat. "I'm giving in. If I tell you I'm going to do it, it's because I'm going to do it. I don't lie so wantonly," he arched an eyebrow arrogantly at the grim look she was giving him back. Hermione looked at him for a few seconds uncertainly. Finally she sighed heavily, handing the book back to him.
"You win," she sighed, shrugging her shoulders. He placed the book face down, open, on his stomach. "Tomorrow in class I'll find out if you lied to me or not."
"Challenge accepted," he replied, smugly smiling.
"It is too much. This is all too much. It's the last straw, it can't go on like this..."
"So what do you suggest we do then?"
"I don't want to do this anymore..."
"What?"
"I'm sick of it, fed up... You're nothing but a coward."
Hermione was shaking her head, her face flushed with tears. She was furious. She took several steps backwards down the corridor, away from Draco. He tried to move towards her, but his feet wouldn't respond. He was panting. She was leaving. He stretched an arm out towards her.
"I'm not a coward, I'm risking my fucking life just talking to you!" he shouted. His feet weren't moving, he could only watch her walk away. "Damn it, leaving like this doesn't solve anything! Let's talk about this!"
"I have nothing to say. I can't go through with this..." Hermione sobbed, taking another couple of steps back. "It's not worth it."
Draco gasped, out of breath. It wasn't worth it?
"So that's it? This is the end of all this shit?" Draco, unable to reach her, shouted louder and louder. She kept backing away. His voice was beginning to fail. He was choking. "You can't — ! Granger, don't even think about it! Don't go, I — ! I can't — ! Granger! GRANGER!"
But she was still walking away relentlessly. He stretched his arm out as far as he could, trying to reach her. Maybe if he stretched far enough... He was suffocating. He was suffocating. She couldn't leave like this, she couldn't... He hadn't come to terms with the idea. He couldn't give her up in this stupid way... He felt something sizzling hot sliding down his face...
Draco's eyes snapped open, jerking upright, and the first thing he saw was... nothing. Darkness. Where was the corridor? Where was Granger? He blinked, his eyes growing accustomed to the blackness. He was gasping for breath. The first thing he noticed was the dark canopy of his bed above him. The next was that his right arm was stupidly raised towards the ceiling. And the third was his face suspiciously damp with something that didn't feel like sweat. It still took him a few seconds to realise that he wasn't in the middle of any corridor, let alone with Granger. He blinked hard, trying to figure out what day it was. What time it was. Was it night? Was he in his bed? Still drowsy, he dropped his arm onto the mattress, irritated. It must have been late at night. He was in his bed. He was tangled in his sheets.
What the fuck...?
It had only been a dream.
He'd dreamt about Granger.
Holding back a sigh, he put both hands to his face. His temples were soaked. It was sweat. It was fucking sweat. It had to be. He rubbed them hard, wiping away all traces of salty drops and leaving them burning furiously. Damn it. Feeling the heat from his face spread through his body in sheer embarrassment, he kicked the sheet away from him. He wiped the wetness from his forehead with his pyjama sleeve, and let his arm rest over his eyes, forlorn. Shit. He was still struggling to breathe. Had he shouted something out loud? He didn't seem to. Everyone seemed asleep around him.
How could he have dreamed something like that about her? At least, he thought depressingly, it hadn't been one of those dreams that had haunted him for half the school year and made him wake up in the middle of the night to throw up. On the face of it, he preferred the dream he'd just had with Granger. But it still wasn't pleasant.
It was hard for him to admit that what he had experienced had not been a dream, but a nightmare.
'You're nothing but a coward.'
'It's not worth it.'
Draco rubbed his eyes again, which itched. There was a nagging itch on the back of his neck, too, but that was the embarrassment. At this point he was vaguely recalling the confusing dream, and yet he was still uncomfortable with what he remembered. How could he have spoken to Granger like that, even in his sleep? How could he have pleaded to her like that? Merlin's beard, if something like that were to happen, if it was Granger who decided to end what they had for good, it wouldn't be the end of the world... Not for all the money in Gringotts would he be begging her not to leave him. He had dignity, for fuck's sake. And she was still a Mudblood, after all. She was beneath him. Because of her blood. She was. Of course she was. Yes. Of course. Yes...
He tried, consciously, to imagine it was all over. Preparing himself, even though he knew he didn't need to. They would never meet again in secret, nor would he have any reason to stare at her for minutes at a time in class. Nor would he be able to look her in the eye without sneering afterwards. They would go back to being the rivals they had always been. He would go back to insulting her without remorse. He'd go back to messing with Potter, and Weasley, and Longbottom... Well, that didn't sound so bad. But he wouldn't feel her soft mouth against his again either, or touch her face... He wouldn't touch any part of her again.
He forced himself to take a breath of air. Thankful when it entered his lungs. Okay, that was better. When had he stopped breathing?
He wasn't liking the result, so he forced himself to ramble on. Until he was satisfied with his own reaction.
He would have no reason to lie to his mates and sneak off to meet her. He would spend more time with them. Nor would he have to be on his toes in class, looking for the right moment to send her a risky, discreet note without anyone seeing him. He wouldn't relive the minutes before meeting her. Knowing that it was only a matter of seconds before she appeared around the corner. That last gesture of running his fingers through his hair to make sure it looked combed. Of making sure his tie was elegantly loosened. Of rubbing one hand against the other because his palms were tingling.
He forced himself to breathe faster, in search of oxygen. He had stopped breathing and now, when he tried again, it was difficult. His face burned.
Then he imagined the girl with someone else. With another man. Someone without a face. Someone she was allowed to be with. Someone she liked. Someone her friends would approve of, include in their group of jerks. She would fall in love with him. He would have the qualities she was looking for in a partner. He wouldn't be immature or lazy like Weasley. For her, he'd be perfect. Right for her. And she would look forward to seeing him. To smile at him. In public, if she wanted to. Because no one would judge her. And no one would judge him either. She could give him her smiles — she would want to give him her smiles. Her excited explanations, which he would understand and encourage. The fire in her eyes, her breath, her desire... Everything would be for him.
And then he realised he was gritting his teeth so hard that his jaw had protested with a sharp pain.
Jesus.
Stop it.
He snorted aloud at his train of thought, forcing himself to push them away. He breathed hard. Filling himself with air.
What the hell was that all about?
Shit. He was sweating. Cold.
He was scared. Of himself. Of the trembling in his chest. How could he... be feeling so bad? And that it had only been his imagination. It would all come true one day. And he couldn't react the way he'd just reacted.
"For God's sake, man, come to your senses..."
He took one last deep breath, almost with need, and rubbed his face again, though it was counterproductive to stop it from burning. He closed his eyes and tried desperately to think of something else. He needed something to distract him. If he kept thinking about Granger, he'd have a fucking heart attack.
Or maybe not. The answer came to him in a wave of inspiration: Granger's map.
His eyes widened, thrilled at his quip. He had intended to look at it when Nott and Zabini were asleep. But, apparently, he himself had fallen asleep before them.
He turned his face to the right, and squinted at Crabbe and Goyle's beds, which had been empty for weeks, and Zabini's, which was also empty. That puzzled him a little more, though it wasn't unreasonable. He glanced to the left, scrutinising Nott's bed in the gloom. The lump under the covers told him that his friend was indeed there. But he wasn't moving, and appeared to be fast asleep. That gave him the green-light.
He sat up a little, trying not to make any noise, and cautiously opened the drawer of his bedside table. He pulled out the piece of parchment he had stolen — borrowed from Granger, his wand, and closed the drawer again. He drew the heavy, almost opaque velvet curtains around him and lit his wand. He looked at the parchment in his hands.
Finding the last thing he expected to see.
His jaw unhinged.
There was no map. It was blank.
How was that possible? He turned it over in his hands a thousand times. Opening and closing it several times. He stopped, scrutinising the empty parchment, thoughtfully. Well, it wasn't so strange after all. It would have some kind of spell on it, something that concealed its contents. And, possibly, when it wasn't used for a while, it was activated, for safety's sake. Although that revealed that it was not the same as Filch's maps. Those had no spell of any kind.
The question was, how to reveal it?
He pointed his wand at the parchment.
"Specialis revelio," he whispered. But the parchment remained intact. He tried another spell, "Aparecium."
Letters appeared written in cursive script on the surface. Draco chuckled. He'd done it. But... no... They were just words. It wasn't a map. Frowning, he tried to decipher the calligraphy.
Mr Moony pays his respects to the Malfoy heir and asks him to be a good boy and not touch things that don't belong to him.
Mr Prongs agrees with Mr Moony and would like to add that Mr Draco Malfoy is ugly.
Mr Padfoot would like to express his amazement that an idiot like him has managed to read this far without dying trying.
Mr Wormtail wishes Mr Draco Malfoy good night, and advises him to sunbathe, as his paleness makes you cringe.
Draco had to read it three times. What?
He snorted loudly, irritated, and shook his head. Was he still dreaming? What kind of joke was that? Was it a prank map, from Zonko's Joke Shop, and he was making an idiot of himself?
He scratched his chin. Maybe it was some sort of mechanism in case someone tried to make the map appear without the proper means. It seemed to require a specific spell. Or a password. And he had no idea what that might be.
He thought he could visit the Library the next day and look for spells that might help him to make the map reappear. He didn't hold out much hope, though. Resigned, he folded the parchment, turned off the light of his wand, and opened his curtain again. There was no point in persisting that night. He would look at it better tomorrow. He reached for his bedside table, intending to put it away, and that was when he heard a loud thump at the foot of his bed.
He froze, clutching the parchment in one hand and his wand in the other, uncomprehending. What noise had that been?
He heard Nott's blankets moving before him. And a light suddenly appearing. Draco blinked, getting used to the sudden illumination. Nott was turned inside the blankets, facing him. He had lit the candle on his bedside table.
Draco looked down at his feet. He then discovered that his Ancient Runes book was lying on the floor. Open, face down, with the page folded against the carpet. Ah, now he remembered. He had been studying the Ancient Runes lesson for the next day's class, as he had promised Granger that afternoon at the Boathouse. But he must have fallen asleep while doing so, leaving it forgotten among the blankets. And the book, hardcover, had fallen off the bed as he moved. Oh, shit.
"What are you doing?" Nott asked, his voice mushy. "What was that noise?"
Draco cursed his friend's light sleep and hesitated. He hadn't told Nott about the map he'd taken from Granger. He was terrified that someone would overhear him talking about it. That something would leak out.
He reached down to the carpet and reached for the Ancient Runes book. Leaving the parchment in his lap, out of his friend's sight, so that he wouldn't see the insults towards him that had appeared on its surface. It would definitely raise questions.
"I'm sorry. I'm studying," he revealed, waving the book with credible derision. As if it were obvious. "And I dropped my book."
Nott narrowed his sleep-deprived eyes.
"Studying?"
"Runes, tomorrow's lesson."
"Are you studying Runes? You?" he questioned again, now with evident suspicion. He didn't believe a word of it. He straightened up in bed until he was sitting up.
"I was just trying to make myself sleepy, I'll be done in a minute," Draco commented, casually. But he had begun tapping his wand nervously against the parchment that corresponded to the map without even realising it. As if it would make him look more innocent.
Nott looked at him with no lessening of disbelief in his expression. He looked around and his eyes stopped on Zabini's empty bed, but he didn't comment. Then he tried to focus on his wristwatch.
"It's four in the morning. Haven't you felt sleepy yet?"
"I'm not able to sleep," Draco replied, beginning to grow impatient. The tapping of the wand came faster. "I was asleep but I woke up, that's all... There's no need to interrogate me like that, what's wrong with you?" he protested then, pretending to be annoyed. "What's wrong with me lying in bed, studying?"
Nott seemed to relax a little, but continued to look at him suspiciously.
"None, I suppose," he muttered quietly, rubbing one eye with his fist.
"Well, then... You're such a light sleeper, how could I wake you up?"
"Who knows... I'll take the opportunity to go to the bathroom," he mumbled, still a little disoriented. He lowered his legs to the floor, but remained seated. He looked at him again, now upset. "I'm sorry. I was worried you were up to another misdeed of your own. Are you sure you're not up to anything? You already got yourself into trouble yesterday by cursing McLaggen."
Draco chuckled, pleased with himself. The wand tapping slowed down and became almost distracted.
"Yeah, that was great."
"No, it wasn't," Nott replied impatiently. "And that's precisely why I don't trust your intentions one bit... McGonagall will end up murdering you if she has to punish you again. Swear to me, if you dare, that you are planning no evil," he pointed an accusing finger at him, looking wary again.
Malfoy gave a broad, sly grin.
"As you wish. An Unbreakable Vow, or is a verbal pact enough for you?" Nott dropped his eyelids, annoyed at his jest. But Draco put a hand to his heart and lifted his chin, "I swear — er —" He hesitated, trying to think of the most prissy way to say it.
"Solemnly," his friend completed, arching both eyebrows. Draco laughed in a hiss.
"How elegant, I like it... I solemnly swear to you I do not intend to not to do anything bad," Draco completed with a smirk. Nott narrowed his blue eyes. Resigned. His annoyance seemed to be fading.
"How could you have used two negatives?" he scoffed, giving up much of his annoyance.
"You want me to use three?"
"I want you to be honest, dickhead."
"Well, to be honest, I don't mean well. Why should I lie to you," he revealed, slyly, eyeing his friend smugly. "I plan to catch the Creeveys tomorrow. And to cast a spell on that stupid camera big brother's got so that when the flash goes off, anyone will turn into a canary... With any luck, he'll try to take a picture of Potter."
Nott grinned without malice.
"Stop it, don't go on, I don't even want to know. Do whatever you want. I knew you were up to something..." He leaned his weight back on his hands. "How would the sentence go, then?" he added, with lazy mockery. Draco looked at him with renewed amusement.
"How many negatives?"
"Just one, see if you can do it."
"Aha, let's see..." Draco looked up at the ceiling, organising his thoughts. "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good."
"Impressive lexicon," Nott scoffed, chuckling. "You should tell that to McGonagall tomorrow when she grounds you again," he let out a yawn and propped his elbows on his knees. "Where have you been this afternoon? I've been looking for you on my way back from Hogsmeade and I haven't found you..."
"Walking around," Draco mumbled, now without much enthusiasm. Looking away from his friend. Nott glared at him, looking more awake.
"Have you been with her? Has she stayed at the castle as well?" Nott questioned, not needing to clarify who he was talking about. Draco tensed immediately.
"Shut your mouth," he protested instantly, in a whisper. "Don't talk about her, it's not safe."
Nott looked at him with an impatient grimace.
"We're alone, man. Who's going to listen to us? We can give her a nickname if you like..."
"I beg you not to finish that sentence."
"How about... your Golden Snitch? You're a Seeker, Gryffindors ooze gold, and stuff..." he sneered, pleased with himself. Draco gave him a look of deep contempt.
"I think that's the stupidest thing you've ever said in your life."
"Shut up, I'm a fucking genius..."
"It didn't just occur to you now, did it?"
"Of course not... Have you been with your Snitch, then, or not?"
Draco looked at him grimly. Gauging his answer.
"Yes," he admitted dryly.
"And how did it go? What did you do?"
Draco narrowed his eyes in open distrust. Nott frowned, amused.
"You told me you weren't having sex or anything, so don't look at me like that. I wasn't asking you about your intimacies. Just... where did you go. Or what you talked about. It was kind of a date, wasn't it?"
Draco measured those words. He had never considered his encounters with Granger as 'dates'. They were just... encounters. They'd agree to meet somewhere and there they'd chat about current events, or something about classes, or whatever, and they'd share a few kisses. Mind-blowing kisses. He told himself it had nothing to do with a date. And then he realised that maybe it had. But he didn't like the term. They didn't go on dates.
"We've been to the Boathouse," he said, unsure of what he was going to say. "Not many people go there; it's a complete mess, it's falling apart. So nobody could find us there. And, if someone came down the Steps, we'd see them straight away, it's a wide area," he felt a bit strange to be sharing aloud the precautions they had to take. Nott said nothing, and Draco kept talking, staring at his quilt, "We've... read the Daily Prophet. And Granger was studying for tomorrow's Runes exam. Before that, though," the boy's left corner tugged up, of its own volition, lost in thought, "Granger told me something really good. It turns out that Nearly Headless Nick and the Fat Friar made a bet with Finnigan and Thomas yesterday to see who could eat the most. People bet money on them and everything. Gryffindors are pathetic. And, in doing the competition, it turns out that the ghosts brought rotten food and the Gryffindors brought good food. They got into an argument and Granger had to intervene. Apparently, she tried to dissuade them," his chest shook in a chuckle, "but she couldn't. So she set about writing the rules of the competition on parchment. She is unique. Only she could write rules for such an absurd challenge. So they concluded that everyone would eat the food in whatever state they wanted, but controlling the quantities. And then," his voice cracked slightly, holding back another chuckle, "Granger goes and says —"
But he shut up with a start. Because he had looked up to see his friend. And Nott's expression snapped him out of it. He'd been staring at him in silence for he didn't know how long. With a gentle smile on his lips. Almost moved. As if it was the most normal thing in the world that he'd been babbling on and on for a whole minute about some stupid thing Hermione Granger had said to him.
Draco's face twitched instantly. Feeling the heat rush through it. A sudden embarrassment warmed his limbs.
"Go on," Nott demanded, seeing him go silent. Without wiping away his grin. "What did Granger say?"
"Nothing, nonsense, anyway," Draco protested, curtly. He shifted back on the bed with a sharp movement and lay back down, ending the conversation. Nott frowned.
"What's wrong with you? Keep talking..."
"Some nonsense. Forget it. Weren't you going to the bathroom? Get out of here."
Nott arched an eyebrow. He could see clearly in his friend's face what had happened. The way he'd frozen when he'd realised how he was talking about her. Fondly.
And he'd been angry. Or perhaps terrified.
Nott shook his head, resigned to his friend's sternness with himself, and made his way towards the bathroom at last, closing the door behind him. Draco let out a frustrated snort. There were more and more things he had to concentrate on controlling. He was starting to get tired of himself. Finding himself unhinged.
The door to the room opened and Zabini appeared. His dark eyes looked confused at the sight of him awake and the light on.
"You threw a party and didn't tell me?" he joked, raising a black eyebrow.
"We've been waiting for you," Draco confessed with sharp sarcasm. "Nott's waiting for you in the bathroom." Zabini chuckled and walked over to his bed. He was still dressed in casual clothes. "Where are you coming from?" Draco asked, trying to concentrate on something other than his stressful thoughts.
"The team have managed to leave the door behind the greenhouses open. Filch rarely watches it. We've gone to the Quidditch pitch to hang out for a bit," Blaise revealed as he grabbed his pyjamas from the trunk. "We brought some stuff back from Hogsmeade. I was going to tell you, but I didn't see you anywhere when I got back."
Draco shook his head.
"I was busy. No problem."
He sat up in bed, while Zabini changed his clothes, and grabbed his belongings to finally put them away on the bedside table. However, he froze in mid-action.
"Messrs Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs
Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers
are proud to present
THE MARAUDER'S MAP"
The map had appeared on the parchment as if by magic. How on earth had he managed to do it?
Heart pounding, he made sure with a quick glance that Zabini's back was turned, and held the map up to his eyes. There it was: every corridor, classroom, tower and passageway in the castle. He didn't know what was different about Filch's maps, but he sensed that, if Granger had it in her possession, it must be special.
He frowned. Something small and black was moving on the map. He grimaced — ants in his bed? Yuck... In the dim light of the lamp on Nott's bedside table, he shook the parchment and tried to remove what he thought was an insect with his finger, until he saw it: above the tiny, moving dot was a little label that said 'Argus Filch'. His mouth dropped open. The caretaker was at that moment patrolling a corridor on the third floor. Nervously, he looked around until he found the Slytherin dormitories. There, on one of the beds, was a little dot that said 'Draco Malfoy', next to one with the words 'Blaise Zabini'; and, a few metres away, inside another adjoining room, a little dot with the label 'Theodore Nott'.
He couldn't believe it, it was too good to be true. What was Granger doing in possession of something so fabulous? Where had she got it from? A map that told you where every single person in the castle was at all times. It was perfect! He continued to scrutinise it with his eyes. It showed the same passages as Filch's maps, he knew them by heart. Except that they weren't crossed out. The one on the Armour Gallery; the One-Eyed Witch Passage on the third floor; the Mirror Passage on the fourth floor... He hadn't managed to get into any of them. Although...
There was a new passageway on that map that wasn't on Filch's map.
A huge tree in the castle grounds concealed a mysterious passageway that led to... the edge of the map. It went off the page. He didn't know how far it went. He tried to get his bearings, wondering what was in that direction — Hogsmeade, perhaps? It didn't matter, as long as it got out of the castle, he could use it. That tree was the Whomping Willow, no doubt about it.
Draco wiped the sweat from his upper lip with a trembling hand. He couldn't believe it. There it was. He had just found the solution. He could bring the Dark Lord into the castle.
He couldn't be sure, but he'd have bet his new Thunderbolt VII that this passageway wasn't blocked.
Draco jumped back and the thick branch whipped past his nose, barely grazing him. As soon as the branch whizzed away from him, he ran as fast as his long legs would allow. Another branch lunged towards him but he threw himself headlong to the ground, trying to land on his shoulder so he could roll. He managed to avoid it and ended up in a crouch, ready to keep running. Inertia made him get up, but another thick branch hit him square in the stomach, knocking all the air out of him. He felt his feet lift off the ground and was thrown backwards. He rolled over, unable to see anything. As soon as he stopped spinning, he got to his feet, dizzy, without even thinking about it, making a move to keep running. As if the damn tree didn't expect that from him and he might catch it unawares.
But, evidently, it had no effect. A taunting branch took advantage of his dizziness-stricken reflexes and threw a lashing at the ground in front of him, without actually touching him.
Draco staggered in surprise and fell backwards, landing on his arse in the grass, panting heavily. He made no attempt to get up again. He was out of reach of the willow again. Back at the starting point. He wiped his forehead with the back of his hand, trying to catch his breath. His grey eyes glittering with anger in the dawn light.
He hadn't slept a wink that night. Not after he'd managed to get Granger's map to work and located that new passageway. He listened to Nott and Zabini snoring for hours, struggling not to go mad. As soon as he reckoned that the first rays of sunlight were breaking, he pulled on his uniform at full speed and headed for the grounds, his roommates still asleep. The corridors were deserted, but the gates were already open and it didn't take him long to reach the Whomping Willow. Once there, he realised that there was a difficulty he had not anticipated. That tree was a bloody offensive weapon.
He hadn't managed to get within three feet of the trunk. As soon as he stepped beyond the perimeter of its branches, they lashed out at him like synchronised whips. Whirring in the silence of the grounds, drawing screams from him every time one of them hit its target. He sensed that one of his attempts, which had ended with a branch throwing him several metres into the air, had left a good wound in his chest. Judging by the way it stung.
He remained pathetically seated, watching his violent enemy. Sizing it up. He was smart enough to give up trying to dodge its branches using only his agility. He had not even approached the trunk in the slightest, there was no point in proceeding in the same manner. Nor had the various immobilisation spells he had tried had any effect.
He checked his watch and realised he was missing breakfast, but he couldn't care less. He put a hand to his chest and pulled out the map, thankfully intact. Still panting, he scrutinised it carefully. The passageway definitely led from inside that tree, all the way to the edge of the map. There had to be an entrance between the roots.
He made sure there was no one in the grounds but him and stared at his own name label near the picture of the tree. Frustrated. Looking at it without seeing it. Thinking what to do next. How to stop the branches.
His eyes were drawn to the parchment. He blinked, making sure he was seeing right. A line had appeared right next to his name. A single line, short and thin. Just a few feet from where he stood. Draco looked around, scrutinising the grass. Trying to locate the line of the map.
And he saw it. A branch. There really was a branch in reality.
What kind of magic was that?
He looked at the map again. He saw the footprints that corresponded to his situation approaching the line. Or the branch. His map self seemed to take the line, judging by the way it changed position, and pointed it towards the willow drawing. He moved closer to it. And then the label that corresponded to his name was superimposed on the picture of the tree, as if he had managed to get inside.
The map was helping him.
Draco looked up and fixed his gaze on the branch on the ground. He didn't quite understand how it would help him, but there was no harm in trying. He pocketed the map again, as he stood up. He picked up the long branch and looked at the tree. It was still moving wildly, making sure he wasn't getting any closer. Draco pointed the branch at it. Nothing changed. Catching his breath, he tried to approach again, using the branch as a defensive shield.
The result was to end up rolling again on the ground, almost downhill, with a new cut on his shoulder.
He staggered to his feet. He pulled out the parchment again. Holding back the urge to tear it into tiny pieces. The label that corresponded to his name was doing it again. He had taken the line and was moving it closer to the tree. Draco squinted. He was pulling the line closer, and pulling it away again. Briefly. Once. As if he was pressing the tree with it.
He looked at the tree. This couldn't be a good idea. That fucking map was taunting him.
He put it away again and got as close as he could without being detected by the branches. He stretched out his arm, branch in hand. Towards the trunk. Okay, he could reach out to touch it without risking losing his arm. The branches would not attack him. He tapped the trunk tentatively. Nothing happened. He hit another area. And another. And another. He moved at another angle. Spun around the trunk. Touching every area. Feeling utterly imbecilic.
There was a knot peeking through the bark. A single knot. Draco pushed on it, hard.
The branches stopped moving. Immobile now. Harmless.
His jaw dropped likewise. He gasped in disbelief. Almost a chuckle. Holding back the urge to let out a shout of joy.
He took a deep breath to gather his strength and rushed to the trunk. It didn't take him long to find a hole in the roots. Black as a Chimaera's mouth. He lit his wand and, without allowing himself to hesitate, ducked down and stepped into it. He crawled down a dirt ramp to the mouth of a low-ceilinged tunnel. He raised his arm with his wand. He could not see the end. The air felt stale down there. He advanced cautiously, his back bent uncomfortably. For a long time. There seemed to be no end to it. It took a long time before he felt the ground rise and twist. He saw a small opening at last, dimly lit. He stopped before crossing it, straining his ears. He heard no voices. No noise of any kind. He had no idea where he would appear.
With all the stealth he could muster, he stepped through the opening. He found himself in a deserted room, cluttered and dusty. The floor was dirty, full of stains here and there. There was some furniture, but it was smashed. The only window was boarded up with wooden planks. Some light came through the cracks. It looked abandoned. But he had to make sure.
"Homenum revelio," he whispered, in a quiet voice, pointing at the ceiling. Nothing happened. There was no one there.
He shook the dirt from his clothes, out of inertia, and also from the top of his hair. To the right was an open door, leading into a shadowy hallway. What was that place?
With his wand still lit, he stepped out into the hallway and found a staircase, in very poor condition. It was covered in dust, as was everything around him. He carefully ascended the steps, wanting to see the upper floor. He came to a dark landing, where he found a door ajar. He opened it with his shoulder, all his senses alert, just in case. He found a bedroom. There was a huge canopied bed with ragged, dusty hangings. And a new, boarded-up window.
He walked over to it, and waved his wand to push aside the wooden boards. They creaked and a cloud of dust rose. Dawn light flooded the room as the dirty panes of glass were exposed. Draco moved his face closer to them, trying to see outside. The sun blinded him slightly. He saw some rooftops. Low houses. He caught a glimpse of the sign for the Hog's Head Inn.
He was in the Shrieking Shack.
"... so, as you know, the Gouging Spell will be practised more thoroughly in your Herbology class on Snargaluff plants, but — ah, Mr Malfoy," Flitwick interrupted himself, seeing the boy's head pop out of the door. A few students who weren't taking notes looked at him as well. "Come in, come in. Close the door. But try to be a bit more punctual next time, please. Thank you. Well, as I was saying, today we'll see the theoretical part of the..."
"Where did you come from?" Theodore whispered, as soon as Draco plopped down next to him on the desk. "You left the dormitory very early. You didn't even go to breakfast. I was beginning to worry, why are you always so late?"
Draco was trying to catch his breath. Nott always sat in the front or back row, and it suited Draco just fine that in Charms class he chose the latter. He had to tell him what he'd discovered. But he supposed he would need context first.
He turned his face discreetly to the right. The Gryffindors sat in that area of the classroom. Thick brown hair fell over Hermione's shoulders as she listened to Flitwick in rapt attention. Filled with the desire for him to ask any questions so that she could begin to demonstrate everything she already knew about the Gouging Spell.
"I'm trying to get to the classes we share with the Gryffindors just after the bell. So that the... essay thing doesn't happen again," Draco looked his friend in the eye, watching as he struggled to understand what he was talking about. "I promised... my Snitch," he mumbled reluctantly, knowing that this way he would understand. "I try to avoid her in public as much as possible. I misjudged the time today, though." It had taken longer than expected to get back from the Shrieking Shack.
Nott arched both eyebrows. Now he knew what he was talking about. But it seemed to take a while to sink in.
"I didn't know," he muttered, scrutinising him closely. He glanced over his friend's shoulder at Hermione across the aisle. Flitwick had just asked a question, and the girl was already stretching as far as she could in her seat, her arm towards the ceiling and her eyes sparkling with excitement. "I'd noticed that you've always been very late for class lately, but I thought it was just that you didn't feel like coming..."
"That's the least of it," Draco hissed hurriedly. He took another quick glance around. "I need to talk to you," his hand came up to his friend's lap. Nott looked down and saw that he was holding out a folded piece of parchment. "I have found a way. My father is saved, Nott."
Draco's voice was barely a whisper. Theodore had to read his lips. His eyes widened and his breath escaped his mouth, stricken. They looked at each other, taking in the information. Draco turned his face away, making sure no one had heard him. But they were all staring at Hermione Granger. His eyes locked on her as well. On her profile glowing with satisfaction. Her familiar voice cut through the adrenaline in his brain, seeping inside him. Calming his limbs. Slowing his pulse, racing with so many emotions.
She was answering Professor Flitwick's question in such detail that Draco knew he would have little more to add to it once she was finished.
