I'm back! Merry Christmas! Thank you for your patience, I really needed that break! Now I'm back and can't wait to write, hopefully catching up on my slack over the vacations! The next one will be on Sunday January 5 and if all goes well, we'll get back to the rhythm of a chapter every two weeks!
Thank you all for your sweet messages, they've reassured me a lot, and I wish you all a very happy holiday season, may you be surrounded by love, and if you don't celebrate, may you be surrounded by Dramione! Love you all!
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Draco
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Black, blurred figures walking on a green ground.
Notebooks stained with black ink and illegible lines.
Dark bottles of liquid on shelves.
A long black cloak gliding over stone.
"Concentrate, Draco." a deep voice whispered, entering his head like a breath.
Draco tried to cling to the threads of thought, but they dissipated as soon as he was close enough to grasp them. An image appeared before his eyes as soon as he caught one, but it was too fast for him to understand what it was.
"Concentrate." Snape repeated tirelessly.
He wanted to scream in protest, but there was no air left in his lungs. His legs felt numb, as if he were trying to walk through quicksand, or very deep water. A headache pounded at his temples and he closed his eyes as his arm gave out in exhaustion.
The next thing he knew, he was back in Snape's office.
"That was very good, Draco."
He tried to answer, but his tongue refused to move. He felt as if his body no longer belonged to him, as if his body had disintegrated and he could see the scene from afar. He could not feel his legs. Snape materialised a glass of water, but Draco made no move to take it. He didn't have the strength.
"You have been meditating." Snape guessed after a few seconds.
Draco looked up wearily at his Potions Master. He didn't understand how he could come to this conclusion at this moment, because he hadn't done anything extraordinary tonight, it was as if all his efforts over the past months had come to nothing. Still, he nodded and had the painful realisation that his jaw felt as heavy as if it were made of stone.
"You took my threats to heart." Snape realised with some pride. "You finally realised the danger you were in."
Draco let out a small laugh that shook his shoulders, but the sound turned into a hiccup of pain instead.
"That's very good, Draco. The sciences of Occlumency and Legilimency are primarily cerebral and cannot be fully executed if your will fails. I see you've regained your motivation."
Draco didn't really agree. He'd never lost his motivation. He'd only taken these classes to protect Granger, to teach her in turn how to shut her mind off from intruders. He'd never lost sight of that goal. It was his own mind that had let him down; he'd lost the taste for meditation when Granger had left. He'd suddenly forgotten how to close his mind properly, so consumed had he been by her absence, and now that she was back and he'd returned to the Library table, he was getting there again. Nothing to do with intensive training or remotivation.
Perhaps Occlumency had something to do with the heart, but Snape had never associated it with it, because he didn't have one.
"We'll meet again on Thursday for your Legilimency training." Snape announced as he rounded his desk to reach the door.
"What?" asked Draco, who had regained his voice, albeit hoarse after the Legilimency exercise. "No, I want to continue..."
"That won't be possible tonight, Malfoy." Snape cut in dryly. He opened the door to his study and gestured down the dimly lit corridor. "You may go."
"But Professor..."
"Monday nights are no longer possible." Snape said. "I will be here on Thursday, at 6pm, so that we can continue to train you in Legilimency. In the meantime, meditate and practice closing your mind at random times during the day."
Draco couldn't count the number of times Snape had said that to him. He hated being dismissed like that, like he was having a childish tantrum. He wanted to continue with Legilimency, he wanted to understand this obscure art that Snape had mastered so well and that he couldn't seem to improve upon. There was always too little time, and Snape was the only one who could train him worthily. He had thought that if he came here on a Monday evening, they could practise for hours.
Draco grumbled and walked to the landing. Snape looked worried, as if he couldn't wait for him to leave, and Draco couldn't understand why. He was the one who had always insisted on practising, over and over again, despite the tiredness and the pain and the complaints.
He understood why a second before he asked him.
Footsteps sounded in the corridor and Draco recognised Potter in the dim light. He was walking towards them without seeing them, his eyes fixed on the cold stone floor, dressed in his Gryffindor Quidditch jersey. The light from the torches gave him a sombre look, accentuating his dark circles and grimace of horror when he reached them and caught sight of Draco and Snape.
For a second, Draco didn't understand what Potter was doing in the middle of the Slytherin corridor long after dinner. It took a while for his Legilimency-slowed brain to understand why he'd stopped in front of the office, why he was staring stupidly at Draco and Snape in succession without saying a word, and why Snape wasn't yelling at him or taking points off him.
The realisation hit him and he turned to his teacher with a look of pure indignation on his face:
"What the hell is he doing here?"
Snape said nothing, just pursed his lips tightly, as if Draco were a disturbed child about to have a fit.
"I could ask the same question, Malfoy." Potter replied coldly.
Draco didn't even look at him.
"Is that why?" he asked Snape, pointing at Potter, not hiding his resentment in his question. "Is it for Potter?"
"I will see you tomorrow, Malfoy." Snape replied.
Draco let out an exasperated sigh.
"Potter, come in."
Potter didn't hesitate and walked between them, bumping Draco's shoulder violently. The latter reflected that Potter rarely acted like this in front of Granger. She knew their hatred was mutual, but she'd never really seen this side of him. Maybe that was why she always took his side.
Draco was forced to leave and Snape closed the door behind him. Draco couldn't explain why the image of his favourite teacher slamming the door in Draco's face, with an almost gloating Potter in the background, triggered a kind of jealousy he'd never felt before.
He didn't really know if he could call his bond with Snape friendly, because he was the coldest, most distant person he knew, but he had always felt a kind of respect between them, an understanding. Most of the time, he hated him for putting him through that intense state of exhaustion every Thursday night, or for seeing things in his head that were far too personal. But after Draco had been kicked out so that Snape could teach Potter everything he'd taught Draco, he felt pushed aside, and wanted to cry.
His ego immediately took over. He swallowed his vulnerability and closed his mind, trying not to think that the man who had taught him how to do it was teaching it to the boy he hated more than anything. He climbed the stairs, ignoring the throbbing pain in his legs with each step, and reached the second floor. If Potter had interrupted a Quidditch practice, that meant Weasley was still on the pitch and Granger was in the Library. He went there with the firm intention of complaining to her and letting her voice soothe his headache.
He didn't look at Madam Pince when she greeted him and went straight to the secluded table. He knew she was there as soon as he reached the shelves, for he could hear the quill rustling on the paper and the smell of cinnamon tea. When she heard him coming, she looked up in disbelief.
"What are you doing here?" she asked, confused.
"Nice to see you too, Granger." he replied dryly.
He walked over to the empty chair in front of her and she let out a small, horrified cry:
"Draco! You're limping!"
He ignored her comment.
"Is Potter taking Occlumency lessons?" he asked.
He could guess her answer just by looking at her. She barely widened her eyes and her index finger twitched slightly against her quill, a fraction of a second, but just enough for Draco to notice. His fears were confirmed and he took his head in his hands:
"Fuck!" he shouted.
"How... Why are you asking me that?" asked Granger, trying to maintain a calm, composed demeanour, even though he knew full well she was panicking inside.
"Because I just saw him walk into Snape's office." he blurted out angrily.
"Oh." she replied.
Draco tried to imagine Potter standing where he was, in front of the desk, feeling the same sensation of a needle against the wall of his frontal lobe, and a wave of resentment washed over him.
"Tell me, Granger, who came up with the completely stupid idea of teaching Potter Occlumency?" he muttered aloud. "Dumbledore? Snape?"
Suddenly, a horrible realisation crawled up his throat and he lifted his head to look at her:
"You?"
Granger put on a blasé expression:
"You're being ridiculous." she said. "No, it wasn't me, it was Dumbledore. But I told you, I think it's an excellent idea, Harry needs it."
"Why?" he asked sharply.
"Because Voldemort can get into his head." she replied calmly.
Draco jumped so hard that his knee slammed into the table and Granger's teacup exploded on the wooden floor.
"FUCK, Granger! What the hell is wrong with you?!" he snapped, trying as hard as he could to whisper so that no one in the Library could hear him. "Have you lost your mind? Since when do you dare speak His name?"
"Since the beginning of the year." she said in a light tone, imperturbable, as if they were discussing her latest essay grade and not the most dangerous wizard of all time. "Dumbledore says that fear of a name only increases the fear of the thing itself."
"I don't give a shit what Dumbledore says!" said Draco, his voice rising. "You shouldn't say that name, Granger, it's bad luck!"
She arched an eyebrow in his direction and pulled out her wand:
"Wingardium Leviosa." she waved in the direction of the broken shards of her teacup on the floor. "I think he's got better things to do than haunt a Muggle-born because she said his name. They're legends, Draco. Scary stories. Reparo."
The cup rebuilt itself without a single visible crack. Draco was still out of breath and put a hand to his chest, trying to calm his heart.
He'd only heard the name four times in his life. Once when his father had been drunk and let it slip out unintentionally, one night before Hogwarts when Blaise had whispered it in his ear under a makeshift shed in the garden, and twice from Potter in Umbridge's class. Each time he'd flinched, as if the bearer of the name himself was right behind him, waiting for him to turn and kill him on the spot. But hearing it from Granger's mouth was even more terrifying, because she said it as if he were nothing, as if he didn't taint her perfect mouth just by saying it.
"You-Know-Who can get into his head?" asked Draco after several seconds of struggling to catch his breath. "Potter?"
"Yes, sort of." she replied vaguely.
She filled the teacup with boiling water and dipped a new tea bag into it. Draco felt the conflicting urge to apologise for breaking her favourite mug, but he still couldn't erase the echo of her voice in his head uttering that forbidden name. He had to file that memory away in the farthest corner of his Library, never to think of it again.
"How is that possible?" he asked.
Granger shrugged, but her forehead was drawn in an anxious line that he noticed as soon as she raised her head to him:
"We know very little. And you're not supposed to talk about it, Draco, to anyone."
He rolled his eyes, but she insisted:
"Draco, seriously, I share far too many confidential secrets with you, it's dangerous!"
He almost laughed at the irony of the situation.
"I won't say anything, Granger. I'm not interested in Potter stories anyway."
It wasn't true, and she knew it very well, but she nodded and went back to her essay. A few strands fell on her copy as she bent, and she brushed them away with a wave of her hand.
"What were you doing in Snape's office anyway?" she asked as she continued to write, a talent Draco would have dreamed of having. "You have class on Thursday nights, don't you?"
"I wanted to practise. And Snape threatened before the break to stop teaching me Legilimency if I didn't get back to it, so I wanted to prove to him that I had it... But I guess Potter has the Monday night slot now."
Draco crossed his arms over his chest and realised he looked, for the third time that evening, like a temperamental child.
"Ah." Granger said. She smiled, her eyes twinkling with amusement, still bent over her parchment. "You're jealous."
"No, I'm not." Draco retorted immediately.
"Yes, you are. You're jealous that Harry can use your favourite teacher to teach him a science that you've mastered and for which he'll take all the credit."
Draco opened and closed his mouth several times, not knowing what to say. He was still shocked by Granger's accurate perception of him. He knew he revealed much more of himself to her than to the others, but he still found it hard to realise how well she had him pegged.
"See?" she said when he didn't reply. "I'm right."
She gave a small, satisfied smile and Draco almost laughed before remembering that he was supposed to be indignant.
"I have nothing to envy Potter." he said.
"You envy him Snape's attention." Granger replied matter-of-factly. "You resent him stealing your teacher and you don't like to share. It's classic Draco."
"That's not true."
But Granger was too sure of herself for him to disagree. He knew she was right, as usual, but he didn't want to admit that weakness out loud, so he let her continue without a word.
"Didn't you grow up with Pansy?" she asked, though she knew the answer perfectly well. "Didn't you have to share your toys with her?"
He tapped his fingers on the table, feigning disinterest. He suddenly remembered their imaginary games in the Manor garden between private lessons, and for a moment was caught up in his nostalgic memories. He could see Pansy's face, missing a tooth, her bangs dishevelled from so much running, he could still hear her squeaky voice telling him the rules of a game that no one but them knew. He could see himself running across the lawn, grumbling when the Latin teacher called them from the Manor.
Back then, he'd spent his time dreaming, talking and waiting for Hogwarts. Today, what he wanted more than anything was to spend an afternoon playing with Pansy in his garden.
"No. I think we each had our own toys." he finally said.
"Typical only child." Granger said, rolling her eyes.
"I remind you, you're an only child too." he pointed.
"Yes, but it's not the same." she said, suddenly thoughtful. "I think it's different, for Muggle-borns."
Draco could have listened to Granger talk about her own childhood for hours. He knew she'd spent much of her life with the Muggle-born Hufflepuff Danny, but she'd never gone into too much detail about that part of her life, and it fascinated him. It was as if she had a second life full of secrets that he knew nothing about.
He wanted to ask her, to understand all the differences in their existences before they met, but Granger's attention suddenly turned to the lines on the schedule lying in the middle of the table and she sighed:
"Anyway, it's not serious, Draco. If you also have classes with Snape on Monday evenings, that's a whole night's work, and you can't afford to put off your studies, over and over again!"
She grabbed her wand from beside her and tapped on the notebook to rearrange the schedule, her mouth twisted into her typical expression of disapproval. He noticed that she had marked Draco's study sessions in blue on her own schedule, an attention that touched him deeply.
"I won't have class with him since Potter stole my spot." he reminded her when she'd finished moving his homework. "And we'll see each other tomorrow, right? I'll be able to continue then."
Granger shook her head:
"No, tomorrow I have my prefect round with Padma."
"Wednesday?"
She lowered her head, several strands of hair covering her eyes:
"Um... No, I can't do Wednesday either."
Draco could guess the reason, and he suspected it started with a P and would piss him off, so he didn't ask her. Fucking Potter, ruining his life.
"Thursday, you have Occlumency class..." she said, sliding her finger along the week. "Friday night?"
"I have Quidditch practice."
Granger rolled her eyes to show she didn't like that reason.
"Then that leaves Saturday."
"Saturday's the Ravenclaw match and I promised Blaise and Pansy I'd stay for the party." Draco said reluctantly.
"How do you know there's going to be a party?" she asked. "Maybe you'll lose."
Draco sneered haughtily:
"Please, Granger. Ravenclaw."
She rubbed her eyelid as she looked at her notebook, all crossed out, a gesture she made unconsciously when she was stressed.
"Sunday night then? That's disastrous Draco, you won't be working all week!"
Draco wasn't too worried about his late homework, he was far more saddened by the thought of not spending an evening with Granger until the end of the week.
"You'd better get started right away." she said urgently.
"I haven't got anything with me."
He had entered the Library to have a chat with her, not even thinking about his overdue work. Granger shot him her McGonagallian stare and pulled one of her open textbooks from under a pile of books and placed it in front of her. He could make out the title, The Various Wars of the Giants, from 212 to 1891, and his headache intensified.
"I'm going to make you study History of Magic, and tomorrow you'll come back here to do your Herbology homework, which is due on Thursday."
Draco grumbled in reply. He knew that Theo had already done it and would no doubt give him the answers, but the prospect was far less appealing than doing it alongside Granger.
"So, who was the forerunner of the Giant Movement?" she asked.
Her face was half hidden by her huge book. He could see the roots of her hair and her eyes scanning the pages at full speed.
"Grogn the III." he replied in a jaded tone.
"What year?"
"987."
"988." she corrected.
"Same."
Her chocolate eyes went up for a second to judge him sternly.
"Where did the third battle of the war of 1311 take place?"
Draco recited his knowledge in a monotone. Granger listened, occasionally correcting him or giving him the answers he didn't know. She pretended to be annoyed when he didn't know the name of the umpteenth giant to declare war, but he could see that she was impressed by the amount of information he had on the subject. He couldn't really tell her that he'd developed a certain affection for the subject since the Slytherins shared it with the Gryffindors, and he spent the hour no longer asleep, but watching her take notes, her tongue protruding slightly from her clenched teeth.
She quizzed him until the Library was about to close. As she went through her usual ritual of packing her bags, Draco asked her:
"Have you been meditating during the break, by the way?"
She nodded:
"I tried, but I just couldn't do it."
Draco frowned at the answer:
"What do you mean you couldn't?"
"I don't like silence, it makes me uncomfortable. And I couldn't think of anything long enough to call it meditation." Granger replied, tucking her planner into her methodically organised bag. "On the other hand, I read every book I could find on the subject to get a more pragmatic approach, you know?"
She pulled a book out of her bag and placed it on the table so he could see the title: "The Ancestral Gift of Occlumency."
"I did some research." she explained earnestly, and it reminded Draco of their first real interaction, when she'd told him that his first name came from a constellation. "Before I tried it, I wanted to understand exactly what Occlumency meant, what magical mechanism was used to gain access to someone else's mind. I'd never heard of telepathy in the wizarding world, so I found some books to help me understand a little more."
Draco smiled as he watched her open the book. Of course she wasn't going to plunge headlong into a science she knew nothing about except for Draco's stories, that was Granger. He was sure she'd need a week or two of research before she could meditate for good.
"What is telepathy?" he asked.
Granger stopped her leafing and looked at him with the timeless wrinkle of reflection between her eyebrows.
"It is the ability to communicate without words, to read the other person. But I think the word is Muggle, they're fascinated by the idea of being able to read minds. In the context of Occlumency, I'd say the term would be more like telesthesia, because it's only one way, it goes into your mind, there's no 'communication' as such."
Granger flipped through her book to find a particular page and Draco wondered if, in Muggle eyes, he wasn't practising telepathy with Granger. He could guess everything she was feeling just by looking at her face, he could analyse every emotion from the slightest frown, the curve of her lips, the glint in her eyes, and he'd been able to do that since the first time he'd seen her. He didn't need any magic to know when she was lying, or when she was holding back a laugh. He'd always been able to read her, and he had a feeling that she could too, when no one else could.
"The prefix 'tele' comes from the Greek têle, which means far away, at a distance." Granger went on, turning the pages of the book. "Like television, or the telephone."
Draco nodded, even though he had no idea what a television was. Finally she found what she was looking for and turned the book so that he could see it. It was a drawing of two silhouettes, one holding a wand pointed at the other, and some kind of waves coming out of it, hitting the other person's frontal lobe without being able to get inside his head.
"What you can do, Draco, is unheard of." Granger said, full of admiration. "I've read about ten books on Occlumency and all the authors say it's one of the most complex branches of magic. It takes decades to master it completely, and even the greatest wizards in the world can't do it!"
Draco felt the effect of that sentence on him as if he'd drunk an Elixir of Euphoria. He loved receiving compliments, but it was even more pleasant when they came from Granger. He'd forgotten why he was supposed to be in a bad mood.
"Snape told me I was good." he said in an almost pompous tone.
"You're much more than that, Draco!" Granger continued, resting her finger on the paragraph below the illustration. "It says here that it takes several years to close your mind, and you've been doing it since February!"
Draco smiled proudly. Granger then leaned over the table and Draco could smell the sweet scent of her hair and unconsciously moved closer, too.
"Draco, I know you did this to protect yourself, but also to protect me." she said in a low voice, her eyes locked with his. "And don't think I underestimate the investment, the work and the time you've put in for me. It's the most beautiful proof of love anyone has ever given me, and that you did it without even telling me, just to spend time with me without having to worry about what might happen to me if anyone questioned you... It means a lot to me, a lot. Thank you, Draco."
He wanted to tell her that he was willing to suffer a hundred mental intrusions in a row just for an evening in her company, but he said nothing, suddenly embarrassed by Granger's amazement at him. He didn't think he deserved the thanks. After all, it was because of him that she was in danger. It wasn't to protect her that he had learned to Occlude, it was to make amends for falling in love with her and dragging her into this dark, merciless world of his.
"I can try to repay you by learning too." she continued, sitting back in her chair. "But I don't think I can learn Occlumency as well as you."
"Why?" he asked, surprised to hear a defeatist Granger. She usually jumped at the chance to learn something new, especially if it was magic she didn't know.
"Sirius told me you must have a gift. A rare ability passed down from generation to generation."
Draco couldn't help but grimace at the name. He still found it hard to imagine Sirius Black and Granger in the same room having a civilised conversation. He'd been right then, she really had spent her Christmas holidays in the company of a fake serial killer.
Granger's face suddenly took on an unhappy look and she lowered her eyes. She ran her finger gently over the cover, as if it were a treasure she could never discover.
"And... let's just say that my heritage is not... I don't have that gift, of course, my ancestors are all Muggles."
She shrugged limply and Draco straightened up completely in his chair:
"I beg your pardon?"
She lifted her head, surprised at his tone.
"What?"
"How can you say that?" demanded Draco, outraged.
"Say what? My parents are Muggles, that's a fact!"
"Perhaps, but that doesn't mean anything, and you know it!" he exclaimed, revolted. "Your ancestors were Muggles, they never picked up a wand in their lives, yet here you are, casting spells that aren't even on the syllabus, Conjuring objects without the slightest effort, you know even my father can't do that?"
Granger's cheeks took on that familiar pink hue and she looked away in embarrassment.
"You have a gift, Granger, Muggle parents or not." Draco stated firmly. "I may have a gift for Occlumency, but you have a gift for magic in general. You're the most gifted witch I've ever met, so I have no doubt you'll be able to close your mind much faster than anyone else."
"I can't even meditate." she confessed sadly.
"Then come with me." Draco suggested, rising to his feet. "I'll show you."
He held out his hand, but she looked at it suspiciously without taking it.
"Show me?"
"We'll meditate together, on the bench." he decided.
Granger bit her lip and looked down at her bag, overflowing with textbooks and parchments.
"That's not very sensible, Draco, you've got a lot of work to do..."
He rolled his eyes at this rather pathetic excuse.
"I'll do it later. I'm not Weasley, Granger."
She looked at him with wide eyes, but he could see that she was hesitating. She was constantly torn between reason and heart, he could see the choice dancing in her pupils. His hand was still outstretched, an invitation, and she looked longingly at his palm. He knew she wanted to come. He didn't withdraw his hand. He wanted her to choose.
After a long minute, she took his hand, and the contact sent a series of shivers down his forearm, as usual.
"Well, all right." she said, getting to her feet.
Draco didn't withdraw his hand until they reached the main hall of the Library. He moved forward and she stayed behind him, and none of the students they passed realised they were going to the same place. They took the corridor on the first floor, descended the great staircase and arrived in the Castle Hall. Draco couldn't help but look over his shoulder, in case she'd changed her mind and turned the other way, but Granger was there, behind him, her cheeks as rosy as ever.
They reached the bench in less than five minutes. Granger pulled a jar out of her bag and poured a spray of blue flames into it, placing it in the middle of the bench.
"So, how have you been meditating?" asked Draco as he sat down.
Granger sat down next to him and crossed her legs to rest her chin on her knees.
"I saw in a book that you should be silent, think of nothing, breathe deeply and relax." she listed shyly.
"That's about right." Draco said.
"But no matter how hard I tried to think of nothing, I always ended up with a full head of steam in less than a minute."
He chuckled. He wasn't really surprised.
"Put your head against the back of the bench and I'll show you." he said.
Granger obeyed and leaned her head back, her neck against the bench. Her face was turned to the sky, but she was looking at Draco with a flicker of apprehension.
"Close your eyes."
She didn't look enchanted by the idea, but did so anyway. He moved the jar and approached her. He rested his head against the backrest, right next to hers, so she could hear his voice:
"Take a deep breath and imagine what's going on in your head."
She frowned slightly but complied. The breath she released evaporated into the air as an icy cloud that dissipated into the winter air.
"What do you see?" he asked.
"I see the hundred homework assignments waiting for you when you get back." she said accusingly.
"Put that aside." Draco said, holding back a laugh. "What else are you thinking?"
Her beautiful face turned slightly:
"Harry. That I'm worried about him."
Draco inhaled several times. The thought of Potter sent a new wave of anger through him, which he fought hard to resist. When he'd calmed down, he took her hand and ran his finger delicately over her skin, several times, until her features relaxed.
"Take these thoughts and put them in the back of your mind."
Granger didn't speak for several seconds, then let out an exasperated sigh:
"I can't do it!"
She opened her eyes again and made a move to sit up, but Draco held her back:
"Granger, wait, you were almost there!"
She didn't look very convinced. Her cheeks were even redder, but Draco couldn't understand why. She slowly sat back down on the bench.
"Take a few more breaths and exhale. Take your time."
She did, a little too quickly for Draco's liking.
"All right." he said. "What are you thinking about now?"
"Lots of things." she replied. "I'm remembering I need to return the jumper I borrowed from Ginny last week, I'm thinking about the letter I really need to send to my grandmother tomorrow, I forgot to put the formula for Transfiguration of Inanimate Objects in my homework, I promised Ron I'd proofread his Astronomy homework, but I haven't had time to do it and he's certainly forgotten..."
"Merlin, Granger!" cut in Draco with a smile she couldn't see. "All right then, take all this and put it in the corner of your mind."
"I can't." she repeated stubbornly. "That's the whole point!"
"Yes, you can. Think of nothing. Try to visualise the inside of your head and fire all those parasitic thoughts." He waited a few seconds, then whispered: "Is it done?"
She nodded.
"Very good. Now you're going to think of a place you like, where you feel comfortable, safe. Somewhere peaceful. Can you see it, in your mind? Picture yourself there, breathing deeply. Think of nothing but that place."
Granger's lips gradually curved into a smile. She was so beautiful that Draco stayed silent for a few seconds, just looking at her, trying to capture this image in his mind. He wanted to keep this vision of Granger forever, calm, serene, eyes closed, hair gently blowing in the wind.
"What place do you have in mind?" he asked, more out of curiosity than meditation. He expected her to answer the Library or the bench under her window at home.
But Granger replied in a quiet voice:
"Right here, on this bench, with you."
He smiled. He thought of the same place when he meditated. He remembered when he used to come here alone to watch the Castle lights go out. Now it was impossible to imagine coming here without hoping that Granger would join him. He associated this bench with their whispered confessions in the night, their repartee, their arguments and reconciliations, her laughter echoing around them.
In fact, it wasn't so much the place that soothed him, it was her.
Unable to resist, he leaned forward and kissed her on the lips. She flinched slightly at the contact, but immediately raised her hand to rest against his neck, preventing him from pulling away, and he took it as an invitation.
They kissed under the stars. Draco could feel her rapid heartbeat against her lips, and he felt immense satisfaction at the thought that he could be the one to give her that. Hermione tilted her head back so that he could deepen the kiss, and he did so without hesitation, running a hand through her wayward curls to brush her burning neck, the tender skin just below her ear. He could feel Hermione's fingers absentmindedly caressing the back of his neck, just below his hairline, and he tried to savour every sound she made, the texture of her lips beneath his, the smell of the strawberry in her hair intoxicating him deliciously.
"How am I supposed to concentrate when you do that?" she asked against his mouth.
He kissed the corner of her lips, which were raised in a playful smile.
"I don't know, I couldn't help it." Draco replied, kissing her nose.
She ran a hand through his hair and grinned:
"Maybe I'll have to find another meditation teacher then."
"Hmm, maybe." he murmured, running his lips down her skin to her neck. She shivered as he reached under her ear. He slipped an arm under her back and held her close.
She laid her head in the hollow of his neck and let out a small sigh of contentment. They both rested their heads against the back of the bench and looked up at the stars, entwined in each other's arms.
"You're the best thing that's ever happened to me." Draco whispered.
Granger turned her head to the side to look at him, confused.
"You are." Draco confirmed, noticing her surprise. "The best. I can't stop thinking about who I would be if you hadn't let me sit at this table last year."
"You would have changed." she replied without the slightest hesitation. "There was good in you already, Draco. You just had trouble feeling it without feeling bad. I just... sped up the process."
But Draco disagreed. She hadn't just changed him, she had made him see a completely different version of life than the one he knew. No longer living in hate and pain, she'd shown him the light, and now that he'd experienced it, he couldn't go back. How could he live in a cold world when he'd tasted her warmth?
"Anyway, thank you for having me at your table." Draco said after a few seconds of silence. "I really don't know where I'd be without you."
He had a picture of himself collapsed on a couch in the Common Room, knocked out by alcohol, the only thing that would have allowed him to feel anything and not think about the fear his father instilled in him on a daily basis. Granger laughed softly:
"I didn't really have a choice, let me remind you." she said cheerfully. "You sat there and I couldn't say anything."
"I was afraid you'd throw a Kanarpalmus between my eyes." he confessed.
"You didn't look like it. I almost felt like I was disturbing you."
He remembered Granger's astonishment the day he'd dared to sit across from her and they'd burst out laughing at the same time. He loved Granger's laughter, but the sound of their laughter together was his favourite. It seeped into him, even warmer than the blue flames in the jar.
"I was pretending to write study notes so I could stay as long as possible." Draco admitted. "I'm pretty sure I wouldn't have had the courage to talk to you if you hadn't told me about my constellation."
She snuggled against him and he took the lock of hair she always tucked behind her ear and wrapped it around his finger.
"Yes, you would have." she said, sure of herself. "You always said I talked too much and asked too many questions, but you're worse than me."
She was right, of course. He didn't even argue with her.
"I'm sorry for what I've put you through since then, Granger." he said, suddenly full of seriousness. "I'm so afraid of losing you that it makes me do stupid things. You should have left a long time ago without looking back."
She shook her head against his neck.
"I'm not leaving, Draco. You're scared and you don't know how to react, but I know there's good in you. You just have to understand that you can never keep us apart."
He counted the stars, repeating the sentence over and over in his mind. Despite all the time that had passed, the forgiveness she had given him and the blatant love they felt for each other, Draco still found it hard to believe that Granger could feel the way he did.
"You've changed me too, you know." she murmured. "A lot."
"In what way?" asked Draco.
"I feel like before I got to know you so well, I was playing some kind of role." she explained. "I love Harry and Ron, but I've always tended to withhold information from them so they don't make fun of me, or think anything negative about me. With you, it's different. I can talk to you freely without fear of you judging me, even if we disagree."
She took a deep breath and Draco thought he saw a tear roll down her cheek.
"You've taught me to say what I think, even if it's upsetting. Thanks to you, I've freed myself from this inferiority complex, I'm no longer afraid of being rejected for my ideas or my status, I stand up for my opinions, I'm... me."
She turned to him and smiled a sad little smile:
"Ironic, isn't it? A Slytherin teaching me to be brave."
He gently wiped away her tears with his fingers:
"It seems unlikely that I could be the cause of any positive change in you." Draco admitted. "I feel I've given you nothing but suffering."
Granger frowned and slapped his hand on her cheek in rebuke:
"That's completely untrue, you're still convinced that you only inspire evil, when that's not the case at all. You inspire far more joy than unhappiness in me, by far."
He made no reply and turned his head to the sky. The smile her sentence gave him stayed on his face for long minutes.
"Draco?" Granger called softly, in an almost worried tone. He turned his head towards her:
"Yes?"
"Can I offer you a deal?" she asked anxiously.
She looked at him pleadingly and he almost laughed. It was the sweetest deal he'd ever heard in his life.
"Yes, of course." he said.
Granger fidgeted nervously with her hands and he realised that this was something she'd been thinking about for a long time, maybe even before the break.
"I forgive you, for everything." she offered. Draco's heart leapt in his chest when he heard her suggest this. "And in return... I want to stay friends with Theo."
He frowned reflexively and she hurried to explain:
"I know you think we're not friends, and I can see how you might think that, because I put him in an awkward position by using him to make you jealous, but... to be perfectly honest, I realised very quickly that I wasn't spending time with him out of jealousy. You were right, Draco, we are very much alike, and... he was the only person who cheered me up when you walked away from me."
His heart clenched painfully in his chest. Granger continued in a jerky tone:
"I know you don't like me saying this, but it's the truth, Draco. I like him very much, and I know now that it would hurt me to cut ties with him, I think it would ruin a beautiful friendship for no good reason... And I could go on seeing him without telling you, but I hate keeping things from you, and I can't even imagine your reaction if you saw me with him without knowing. Maybe you'd leave, and I wouldn't put up with that again, or worse, maybe you'd resent him, and Theo doesn't deserve that. So I prefer to be honest. Here's my deal: my forgiveness for Theo."
Draco watched the anxious features of the girl in front of him and picked up the curly lock to tuck it behind her ear.
"Are you the real you with him too?" he asked, no trace of anger in his voice.
She hesitated for a second.
"I think so, yes. He never laughed at me when I told him something he didn't know, he never belittled me when I defended my values..."
"Makes sense." Draco said with a sarcastic chuckle. "You're the two biggest nerds in Hogwarts."
She clasped his hand again, but he could see she was barely holding back a smile.
"I don't like to share my friends, Granger." Draco warned gently. "And I especially don't like sharing you."
Her cheeks flamed and she wanted to look away, but he put his hand on her jaw so she wouldn't look into his eyes:
"But I understand. And I guess I'm not really in a position to ask you for things. If you want to stay friends with Theo, you don't have to offer me anything. I want you to sincerely forgive me, Hermione, when you're ready."
Her eyes sparkled with joy and Draco tried to hold back the wave of jealousy that swept through him when he saw her reaction to the news that she could keep talking to Theo.
"Really?" she asked almost suspiciously.
"Really. If Theo meant anything to you at a time when you needed him, I can only thank him. I don't want you to hold back from being friends with someone just to please me."
She laid her head back on his shoulder and Draco took a deep breath, the smell of strawberries soothing him enough to relax instantly.
"Besides, I think being friends with people other than Potter and Weasley can help you, make you see other horizons. Become the real you."
He expected her to stand up abruptly to disagree, but she nodded shyly in agreement.
Draco knew he was doing the right thing, but it crushed him inside to know that she'd been able to come up with a ruse to stay friends with Theo. She must have struggled with the idea of suggesting it, she must have been afraid of a stupid reaction from him, and he couldn't blame her. He hated the idea that he had caused her stress. And he hated that she knew him well enough to be afraid of what he'd think, because his first reaction had been indignation, and he'd only managed to suppress it at the last second.
He kissed the top of her head to show her he wasn't angry with her. He didn't want her to think about such requests ever again; he wanted her to be free. His own fear of losing her shouldn't make her suffer. He had to work on it, absolutely.
"Thank you." she whispered.
"You don't have to thank me for that, Hermione." he replied. "You have every right to be friends with whoever you want. Just... no more schemes to make me jealous, please."
"Then no more running away from me when you're scared." she added.
"Deal."
He held her close and heard the sigh of relief on her lips.
"I trust you, Hermione." he murmured.
They both tensed. He'd never said those words before. He'd never dared to share that part of himself, that vulnerability, with her, and now that he had, he was almost tempted to take it back. His body reflexively wanted to Occlude. He wanted to erase himself and shut out his emotions so that he would not feel this fear.
But he didn't.
He waited patiently for Granger to receive this confession, somehow even heavier than his declaration of love in London, then she replied in a calm voice:
"And I trust you, Draco."
He held her close, with the sweet but terrible feeling that they had just exchanged parts of each other's souls.
.
.
Hermione
.
.
"It was awful." Harry complained in a low voice.
Hermione didn't look at him, her attention on the exercise Flitwick had asked them to do five minutes earlier. The Spells class was, as usual, noisy. All the students were practising a proper Reduction spell, sending spells all over the place and rarely at the cushions the teacher had placed in front of them so they could practise destroying them.
Hermione knew that the spell would almost certainly be required for the O.W.L., and she'd known how to cast it since the previous year when she'd helped Harry practice for the Third Task Maze. She tried to concentrate as best she could, but Harry had the unfortunate tendency of wanting to tell her and Ron about the latest events in his life during Spells class, so she was forced to listen to him recount his first Occlumency class under these more or less adequate conditions.
"Why?" asked Ron, who was far more interested in Harry's story than the pillow in front of him.
"He got into my head without even warning me what he was going to do or how to defend myself. I could feel him, there, right behind my forehead..."
He rubbed his scar unconsciously, and Hermione winced as she imagined how that must feel.
"Did he see your thoughts?" asked Ron, equally disgusted.
"Yes." Harry replied darkly. "Like flashes. I couldn't do anything to stop him, he saw Dudley, my parents in the Mirror of Erised and even... Even Cedric."
His voice went into a poorly controlled tremolo. Ron lowered his eyes with a look of pure devastation, and Hermione covered her mouth with the hand that wasn't holding her wand:
"No!" she said in horror.
"Yes." Harry replied bitterly. "I hate him. I hate Snape, why did he have to be the one to teach me Occlumency?"
"Scary stuff, scary guy." Ron offered as an explanation. "What was he like?"
"Horrible, as usual." Harry muttered, absentmindedly tapping his wand against his pillow, not even bothering to say the spell he was supposed to learn. "But never mind. That's not what's important..."
Harry leaned forward and Hermione and Ron did the same in one motion.
"Do you remember the dream I've been having for months..."
"The one about the door?" cut in Ron in a whisper. "The windowless corridor with the door at the end that you can't open?"
"Exactly." Harry replied, obviously relieved not to have to explain it to them again. "I've finally found out where that door came from. I saw it this summer, just before my audition at the Ministry of Magic. It looked so familiar, that's where I saw it!"
He grinned with all his teeth, pleased with this revelation, but Ron and Hermione widened their eyes in horror.
"You... you mean... that the weapon, the one You-Know-Who is looking for, is in the Ministry of Magic?" asked Ron.
"In the Department of Mysteries, for sure." whispered Harry. "I saw that door when your father took me to the courtroom, and it's the same one he was guarding when the snake bit him."
Hermione sighed heavily. The two boys turned to her.
"Obviously." she breathed.
"Obvious what?" asked Ron.
"Ron, think! Sturgis Podmore tried to break into a door at the Ministry of Magic... It must have been that one, it can't just be a coincidence." Hermione said.
"Why would Sturgis try to force his way into the door my father was guarding if he's on our side?" remarked Ron.
"I don't know." she admitted, taken aback by the thought. "It's a bit strange..."
"What's in the Department of Mysteries?" Harry asked Ron. "Has your father ever told you about it?"
"All I know is that the people who work there are called the Unspeakable." Ron replied with a frown. "Because no one really seems to know what they do. It's a strange place to hide a weapon."
"Not strange at all, very logical, in fact." Hermione objected. She didn't know much about the various rooms in the Ministry of Magic, but she was intrigued. "It must be something top secret that the Ministry is working on... Harry, are you sure you're all right?"
He was unconsciously massaging his forehead, as if the scar was still burning. He immediately put his hands on the desk.
"Yes... Fine... I just feel a bit... I don't like Occlumency very much." he admitted.
"Anyone would feel shaken if someone kept trying to get inside their head." Hermione said sympathetically.
She thought of the state Draco had been in when he overdid his Occlumency sessions. Snape considered Draco his favourite student, so it wasn't surprising that he wasn't as attentive to Harry and let him suffer without doing anything. Hermione was outraged by this; she hated favouritism.
Just then, Parvati threw a too-powerful Reducto that bounced off her pillow and grazed Ron's ear.
"Hey!" he yelled at Parvati. "Watch where you're aiming!"
Parvati apologised and went back to her work. Ron fidgeted with his ear a dozen times to make sure the spell hadn't hit him, then glared at his pillow as if he were the author of the failed spell.
"It's too hard anyway!" he grumbled. "It's impossible to cast a decent Reducto in fifth year, Percy didn't manage one until sixth year. It should be taught for NEWTs."
Hermione raised a weary eyebrow and pointed her wand at the cushion:
"Reducto." she said clearly.
The pillow exploded with a loud ripping sound that interrupted the surrounding students. A shower of tiny white feathers fell over them, fluttering next to the desks, slightly burnt in places. Flitwick smiled at her from his desk:
"Well done, Miss Granger!" he called happily. "Ten points for Gryffindor!"
Hermione smiled proudly and Ron put his head between his arms, his hair streaked with white feathers.
.
.
Hermione didn't see Draco all week. Sure, she'd passed him in the corridors, during their classes, and in the Great Hall during meals, but he'd ignored her each time so as not to arouse suspicion. With each passing day, she felt as if he'd drifted away without her noticing, that he'd slipped through her fingers again for fear of what they'd become for each other. It was terribly frustrating not being able to talk to him. The round table in the Library remained empty all week, and Hermione was terrified that he might have changed his mind. As a result, she was in a very bad mood, something Ron repeated to her every day, not realising that it only added to her irritation.
On Saturday, Neville arrived at the usual time for their study session and they worked non-stop for two hours. Strangely, it was the only time of the week when Hermione wasn't tense. She didn't even think about Draco, so absorbed was she in her latest lessons and study sheets.
When she'd finished helping Neville with his Transfiguration exercises, she leaned back in her chair and rubbed her eyes.
"Mione?" Neville called in a low voice.
When she turned to him, he had a sheepish look on his face, as if he were about to confess some childish stupidity.
"Yes?"
"I wanted to tell you... You know, during the break, I... I didn't want the others to know, about my... my parents."
An icy chill ran through her arms and she saw the St Mungo's ward in a flash: the small window that barely let in any light, the gloomy atmosphere that hung over each of the patients, a frail woman with grey hair and once round cheeks staring at a plant her son had given her for Christmas.
"Oh, Neville, I..."
"But I was going to tell you." he interrupted, his cheeks flushed and his eyes glued to the table. She could see it wasn't idle talk, that he'd thought about it and needed to tell her. So she let him speak without interrupting. "I wanted to explain, but I couldn't find a way, and I was afraid that you would... I don't know, see me differently, so I never did, but I wanted to, believe me. And I'm proud of them, my parents, they fought so that I could live in a better world, and I'll always be grateful, but it's hard, sometimes, to... to talk about them".
His eyes were filled with tears and she felt hers rise dangerously. Seeing Neville cry was a task she never thought she'd experience.
"I'm sorry." he wailed without looking at her.
Hermione tentatively reached across the table and took his hand, squeezing it affectionately.
"You have nothing to apologise for, Neville." she said firmly. "You have every right not to say it, it doesn't take away from the pride you feel in them. I understand that you didn't want to tell me and I'm terribly sorry that we had to find out under these circumstances."
Neville sniffed and lifted his head slightly to look at her. Surely he could see the tears in the corners of her eyes, but if he did, he didn't comment.
"And I'm sure they're very proud of you, too." Hermione continued, her voice shaking. "You are an exceptional boy, Neville. Don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
He didn't look convinced, but nodded anyway. He hastily wiped his cheek as a tear fell, as if he was ashamed to cry in front of her when Hermione didn't care. She wanted to tell him he had a right to cry, but she didn't know how to phrase her suggestion, so instead she stood up, walked around the Library table, and hugged him.
She could feel him relax in her arms as soon as she laid her head on his shoulder. He squeezed her weakly and let out suppressed sobs, probably held back from the moment they'd met in St Mungo's, maybe even before. His shoulders trembled in silent tears. Hermione let him cry without saying a word, rocking him gently, because that was how her mother comforted her when she was sad and that was what Neville needed right now.
"Thank you, Hermione." he murmured after a few minutes, his voice shaking.
She stood up and gave him a smile, then sat back down as if nothing had happened. Neville blew his nose, wiping away the last traces of sadness, and suddenly his face tightened into a grimace of hatred she'd never seen Neville wear before.
"That woman..." he growled, and she understood immediately who he was referring to.
"She'll pay for this." Hermione promised.
They stared at each other for long seconds of silence, and Hermione had never felt so emotionally close to Neville. She could see all his emotions in his eyes, hatred, sadness, regret and gratitude. Then, without another word, they agreed that this conversation was over and put their notebooks away.
"By the way, look what I got for Christmas!" exclaimed Hermione, pulling her new herbarium out of her bag.
It was a present her grandmother had given her when Hermione had told her she'd almost finished the old one. This one was even bigger, with thicker pages to stick the leaves on, and their eyes lit up at the thought of all the flowers and plants they would be able to collect.
They spent lunch together, discussing the new herbarium and choosing exactly which flowers to add. Neville listed many, and Hermione wrote them down under each picture in the book, then they went out into the Hogwarts valley, ignoring the bitter cold to begin their search. They found digitalis, black flowers Hermione didn't know existed, which Neville explained were "dragon's blood", and even a tree sapling that had been magically preserved for over a century.
While Neville was cutting a petal, a noise caught Hermione's attention and she noticed silhouettes flying across the Quidditch pitch. She had completely forgotten that Slytherin were due to play Ravenclaws this afternoon. She tried to make out Draco among the moving bodies, but they were moving too fast for her to see anything.
She tried to keep up with the game, picking up flowers at the same time. Somewhere in her memory she remembered that Draco was wearing number 7, but she was too far away to read the number on their shirts. Every time Neville bent down to pick a plant, she looked up to see who was leading. She could hear the cheers from the crowd and Lee Jordan's faint comments:
"50 points to Ravenclaw's 30, Cho Chang looks disturbed!" she could hear and had to stop herself from smiling.
She walked down the aisle while Neville analysed a flower for moldy sprouts, still looking up frequently in the hope of spotting him.
"Hey, Mione!" Neville called from behind her. "I found a moonwort, you know what they say? They say it can open doors, even more effectively than an Alohomora! Isn't that crazy?"
"Yes, completely mad!" she gushed, her eyes glued to the space between the two towers of the Quidditch pitch.
Suddenly, a player appeared, and without knowing how, Hermione knew it was him. Maybe it was the way he held his broom, maybe it was just his blurred silhouette. He hovered over the pitch for a few seconds, then swooped down. The crowd roared, but Draco's attempt must have been unsuccessful, as the match continued with no mention of a caught Golden Snitch.
Hermione walked on and came across an unfamiliar plant. It was a magnificent white heart-shaped flower at the end of a long green stem. The petals were huge, almost forming a sun. Hermione knelt down to examine it, fascinated by its brilliant whiteness.
"Neville?" she called in the distance. He was still plucking a leaf from the moonwort, careful not to damage it. "I found a flower I've never seen before!"
"Really?" he exclaimed. "Hang on, I'm coming. What does it look like?"
"A long stem with big white petals, like a sun."
Neville only heard half of her explanation because he was too far away. He frowned in incomprehension, stood up and walked towards her. When he saw the flower, his features relaxed and he knelt down beside Hermione with the perfect posture of a herbologist who has just found a priceless treasure.
"Oh my, Hermione, you've just found an amor mensurantis!"
"A what?" asked Hermione, who had never heard the word before.
"An amor mensurantis." Neville repeated enthusiastically. "They say it's capable of..."
But Neville's sentence came to a screeching halt when Hermione touched the white petal. The moment her fingers brushed the flower, it took on a bright red colour that spread along the petals like ink on a blank page. Hermione withdrew her hand abruptly, but the flower continued to turn red.
When Hermione looked up to ask Neville about this strange phenomenon, she was surprised to see that he wasn't analysing the flower, but her. When their eyes met, Neville looked away and small red spots appeared on his round cheeks.
"Er..." he said awkwardly.
"What's going on?" asked Hermione, not really understanding why he was reacting this way.
"This flower is an amor mensurantis." he explained, looking embarrassed. "It's white until someone touches it, and, er... If that person is in love, it turns red."
Hearing this, Hermione blushed just as Neville had a few seconds earlier.
"Wh-what?" she stammered. "Is it true?"
Neville nodded, looking at the flower, now completely scarlet.
"I... Don't worry, Hermione. I already knew." he said, as if to ease her embarrassment.
Hermione's heart pounded against her chest and she half choked on her own saliva:
"What? You already knew?!"
Neville wrinkled his mouth and glanced briefly at the Quidditch pitch.
"Er... Yes. Sorry, Mione, but it was pretty obvious."
Hermione was probably as red as the amor mensurantis.
"Are you kidding?" she stammered. "How... how did you find out? Did Fred tell you?"
"No, he didn't." Neville said, surprised by the question. "I found out last year at the Yule Ball."
Hermione put her hand to her heart as she replayed that evening in her mind. How could Neville have guessed? They'd been yelling at each other in class, maybe he'd just walked by? He'd known all along and hadn't said a word? How would Draco react when he found out that Neville Longbottom had known about their secret relationship for over a year?
Hermione began to hyperventilate and had to fan herself with the herbarium in her hand.
"You... have you told anyone?" she asked, her panic growing until it blinded her.
"No, no one, but... I think everyone knows, Mione. You're not very discreet..."
She screamed in horror, covering her eyes with her hands:
"Oh, my God..."
"Calm down, Hermione! Breathe!" Neville said in a distraught tone, waving his hands around her. "Merlin, I thought you knew Ron had been in love with you since first year!"
The breath she'd been struggling to catch suddenly vanished from her lungs. Her hand fell limply back to the grass and she looked at Neville, eyes wide.
"Ron?" she repeated, the strange name on the tip of her tongue.
"I messed up, didn't I?" Neville worried. "Sorry, I'm really bad at this sort of thing, I'm as tactless as Loony Lovegood..."
Hermione looked at the red flower in confusion. She hadn't thought about Ron for a second. She had jumped to the conclusion that her friend knew about her feelings for Draco instead of thinking pragmatically.
"Oh..." she said, using Neville as a counterbalance to steady herself. "Sorry, I haven't eaten much... I... I think I panicked."
Neville nodded, concern in every feature.
"You didn't mess up." Hermione promised. "I knew, of course... I just didn't... didn't think it would be so blatant."
"He never said anything to me, but I thought it was obvious, considering how... you know, how he talks about you."
Hermione frowned:
"How does he talk about me?"
Neville looked like he wanted to be anywhere but in there. His blush hadn't subsided and he was still avoiding looking at her face, surely afraid of revealing confidential information.
"It's nothing, just snippets of conversations I've overheard... between Harry and Ron, you know, in the dormitory, before bed... He thinks you're pretty, nothing more, maybe I've gone over my head, don't think about it, you've found an amor mensurantis, that's something to celebrate!" he said with a fake laugh. "I'll cut a petal, it'll grow back in a day, I'm sure Professor Sprout will want to see it..."
He took his scissors from his pocket and carefully cut one of the red petals. Hermione watched wordlessly, shaken, and at that very moment, a few paces away, to the roar of the crowd, Draco grabbed the Golden Snitch.
.
.
.
.
The next day, a Sunday, Hermione arrived at the Library at opening time. She had an idea in mind that had nothing to do with the O.W.L. or her homework. She greeted Madam Pince politely and sat down on the table under the window in the middle of the room, opened a few books at random to pretend she was working, and wandered through the empty stacks to find what she was looking for.
She'd read somewhere that there was a spell that could tell one's heart rate, but she couldn't remember where. She'd been obsessed with it for a few days now, because she could only think of one thing: to tamper with it so that she could know Harry's all the time. If she could keep track of his health, she'd know right away when he needed her, and she wouldn't have to feel guilty when she was with Draco.
She picked up a few books in the Healer section, but couldn't find the spell she was looking for. She spent the morning there, poring over every summary, every chapter on the heart, every line of medical spells she could use. She found nothing on heartbeat, and soon an impressive pile of books beside her blocked her view of the entrance to the Library.
"Refrenantem sanguinis... non... Ego tardus cor meum, neither..." she murmured, not even realising she was speaking aloud.
Her hair was tousled from pulling it back in concentration. She closed "Wizards' Vitals" rather abruptly and opened "Morbi cordis" without much conviction, vaguely wondering if she shouldn't go to Pomfrey for advice, when someone startled her:
"What are you doing?"
Theo sat down opposite her, pulling his bag over his head and placing it on the empty chair between them. Several rolled-up scrolls protruded from his satchel, probably Crabbe and Goyle's essays. His hair had grown again, falling in front of his eyes.
Hermione looked at him, not understanding his question, until he pointed to the pile of books with his chin:
"What subject are those for?"
"Oh, no, it's... personal research." she replied sheepishly.
He frowned at this very unelaborated answer.
"Alright..."
He waited for her to explain further, but when he saw that she didn't, he gave up and rummaged through something in his bag:
"Look what I've prepared."
He pulled out a large vial filled with a muddy potion.
"Polyjuice Potion?" asked Hermione, astonished.
"That's right. Five points for Gryffindor." Theo scoffed.
He set the vial down between them as if they weren't in the middle of the Library and gestured to it:
"I think with this amount we can easily get six or seven doses. But I think we'd have to change people every time, Lavender Brown would suspect something if I replaced her every time."
Hermione nodded thoughtfully; she already had a few names in mind.
"Has Potter set a date for the next meeting?" asked Theo, picking up his potion again to put in his pocket.
"Next week, but he hasn't given a specific day yet, because of Quidditch training..."
Theo and Hermione rolled their eyes at the same time.
"All right, let me know." Theo said.
"There was one on Wednesday, but I didn't have time to warn you..." she said in an apologetic tone.
"That's fine. I'd better not be there every time to avoid being noticed." he replied, not at all pained.
He took the rolled-up scrolls from his bag and spread them out on the table.
"But, Theo, this potion..." Hermione said hesitantly. "It's very difficult to make. It takes a long time, how could you make it so quickly?"
Theo's eyes sparkled with mischief:
"And how would you know, Miss Granger?"
Hermione blushed automatically, unintentionally revealing herself.
"Through, er... my... academic... research."
Theo raised an eyebrow and pointed to the book she had been leafing through before he arrived:
"This kind of research, you mean?" he asked, full of irony. "Come on, I know you've already made Polyjuice Potion. You told me yourself you'd taken some, and you know the effects too well not to have made it yourself. When was that, last year?"
"Second year." Hermione confessed flatly.
Theo's face seemed to lengthen in shock.
"Second year?!" he shouted. "You made that potion when you were twelve?!"
Hermione nodded shyly.
"Fuck! Second year! Everyone says you're really clever, but this is outrageous! This is the most complicated potion I've ever made, and you did it in second year?"
"Shh!" Hermione intimated, swinging her arms around her to remind him of the place they were in. "Everyone will hear you!"
"Merlin... Second year." Theo gasped in shock.
"Have you been heating it for a month?" asked Hermione, mostly to change the subject.
"Yeah." said Theo. "I started before the break and just finished. What a pain in the ass! Forced to get up early to check it had kept the same consistency, and it stinks too!"
Hermione laughed, remembering her long nights making sure the fire under her Polyjuice Potion cauldron wasn't too hot, or that the potion didn't stick to the cast iron if it hadn't been mixed for a long time.
"And none of your friends asked you why you needed Polyjuice Potion?" asked Hermione.
Theo shrugged nonchalantly.
"They didn't notice. Blaise saw I was making stuff, but he didn't ask any questions, and he's got a big laboratory at home where I could put the cauldron. But the last thing I wanted was for Draco to see it, he would have realised right away that I was up to something, he's incredibly good at Potions..."
Theo fell silent and looked at her sideways, as if to make sure she hadn't taken his answer the wrong way. It took Hermione several seconds to remember that she was supposed to hate Draco Malfoy.
"Well, I've confided a lot of personal things to you, now it's your turn." Theo decided. "What is this personal research?"
He pointed at Hermione's books and she surrendered with a sigh.
"You'll think I'm mad." she muttered.
Theo grinned in amusement.
"You made a working Polyjuice potion when you were twelve and suggested I use it to play Gryffindor and attend a top secret meeting," he said calmly. "I think I'm beginning to get a picture of you."
Hermione sighed a second time and rested her hands on the various book covers surrounding her.
"Um, so... Harry's having trouble sleeping." she summarised.
Theo raised an eyebrow, clearly not expecting such a trite explanation.
"Right...?"
"And... I'm looking for a solution to help him." she finished.
Theo looked at her as if she were particularly stupid, and Hermione rarely got that kind of look.
"Has he tried the Dreamless Sleep Potion?" suggested Theo after a silence, his question wrapped in an ironic tone.
"He doesn't want it." Hermione replied.
She'd had this conversation with Harry countless times, and he'd always flatly refused, repeating that he needed this link to Voldemort. He said it was just in case, like when he'd seen Mr. Weasley attacked, but Hermione knew he secretly wanted to keep that connection to feel useful to the Order, and especially to Sirius, whose admiration was something he constantly sought. Hermione was sick of it. She couldn't stand the thought of Harry struggling through nightmares and insomnia just to feel like he existed in the eyes of adults.
Theo brushed her refusal aside with a wave of his hand:
"Put some in his evening drink. He'll never know what hit him."
Hermione's eyes widened at such a suggestion.
"No, I wouldn't do that." she replied indignantly. "He'd resent me forever."
"Why?" asked Theo, surprised. "You'd be doing it to help him."
"But he specifically told me he didn't want to drink it."
Theo looked at her for a few seconds without saying anything. Then, he leaned forward and told her in a low voice:
"In third year, Pansy had this... strange whim of wanting fuller lips." He rolled his eyes to show how silly he thought it was. "We laughed in her face, of course, as soon as she floated the idea. But after a while, I noticed that her lips had changed, subtly getting bigger by the day."
Hermione listened intently, eager to hear the rest.
"I heard there was some sort of trade in crappy cosmetic potions among the Slytherin girls." Theo said disapprovingly. "I mentioned it to Pansy, who said I couldn't understand it, but it drove me mad to see her arrive every morning with swollen lips. She didn't need it and I could see she was increasing the dose every time she took it."
A mischievous smile suddenly spread across Theo's face and small dimples appeared under his cheeks.
"So I threw all her potions in the bathroom sink and replaced them with rose syrup. To this day, she has no idea that she has been drinking juice instead of her junk beauty potions for over a year. She said the effects were phenomenal and her lips had never been so beautiful and full in her life."
Hermione burst out laughing and received a "shush!" from a seventh year studying next to them.
"All of which is to say that you'd be doing Potter a favour if you put a few drops of Dreamless Sleep potion in his evening herbal tea." Theo advised. "He wouldn't know, and it would be for his own good. You can tell him in a few years' time, and you can laugh about it together."
"Will you tell Parkinson?" asked Hermione.
Theo shook his head firmly, suddenly struck with horror.
"No, never in a million years! She would put a duck's beak on my nose for a year if she found out I'd done that!"
Hermione found it hard to believe that Parkinson would be capable of doing that to one of her closest friends, but from the look on Theo's frightened face, it seemed likely. He lowered his head and read some of the titles of the books she'd placed in front of her:
"If you're not going to give him potions, what are you looking for?"
Hermione bit her lip.
"You won't tell anyone?" she asked in a low voice.
Theo nodded immediately.
"So... Harry has night terrors, sort of." Hermione explained, choosing her words carefully.
"I'd have them too if I were him." Theo said in a sympathetic tone.
Hermione closed her mouth and looked at him for a second to make sure he wasn't mocking her.
"What do you mean?"
"Well... it's Potter." Theo said, a genuine look of pity on his features. "I don't even dare imagine what he's been through, what he's seen. I understand he's traumatised. Anyone would be, especially after seeing the Dark Lord last year and seeing Diggory die..."
He shuddered and looked down at the table. Hermione thought he'd gone very pale. Her heart clenched at hearing such a confession from a Slytherin.
"Do you believe him then?" she asked hopefully.
"Of course." Theo said without blinking, almost indignant at the question. "Anyone who doesn't believe it is a fool in denial. It's obvious that he's come back, that he's gathered his old troops." he spat with an anger that Hermione had only heard once before, when Goyle had insulted her for being a Mudblood.
Hermione wondered if Theo knew his father had been there that night, but she didn't dare ask.
"Anyway, Harry's not doing very well at the moment and he often wakes up... in a panic." she concluded. "So... I'm looking for a way to permanently link my wand to his heartbeat, so I can know when he needs help."
Theo didn't speak for several seconds, his blue eyes widening in shock. Hermione waited for a reaction from him, but when she saw he had none, she began to stress. She was about to ask him what he thought when he jerked his chair back noisily and jumped to his feet.
"Theo?" cried Hermione in panic. "Where are you going?"
Theo looked at her as if she'd just asked him an absurd question.
"To help you, of course." he replied as if it were obvious. "So, the heartbeat... I think I've read something about that. You keep looking in the medical books, I'll get on with the spells..."
And off he went into the stacks before she could utter a word.