The Laws Have Changed - Chapter 3
"Slughorn really needs to raise his standards."
It was their seventh meeting and he mumbled it after she started going on about one of the club's dinner parties.
"He really should!" she announced as she flounced into her normal seat.
He was surprised by her choice in attire that Saturday afternoon. As the fall breeze began to gave way to winter's chill, he noticed it was the first time he'd seen her in something that looked like it was actually meant for her. She wore a long-sleeved navy blue shirt, with the sleeves pulled down to cover most of her hands. She'd grasp at the edges of the arm holes if she needed something to do with her fingers. Her black corduroy skirt hit just above her knees, but black tights prevented wandering eyes. Scuffed black knee-high boots completed her ensemble. If he didn't know any better, he would've thought she was dressing up for him. But her weird relationship with Thomas was still on-going, so the innocently feminine outfit was most likely for her boyfriend.
He was feeling especially tired that day. It was getting close to one of his initial attempts to harm Dumbledore and he was struggling to find a different way out of his mess. He still didn't trust the old man and his ragtag group, so he resigned himself to hoping that the Dark Lord would at least spare his family long enough for Potter to do his job. And if his two pithy attempts on Dumbledore's life ended up working this time around, then all the better for him. His nights were now becoming a mix of dreaming about his death and being unable to sleep due to his fear of what he'd see when he closed his eyes.
In his luckier moments, he would see her. He wasn't sure if he necessarily liked it, but flashes of her smirking, or smiling, or laughing seemed to calm him enough to allow for a semi-decent night's sleep.
He slunk down into his seat and let his head fall onto the top of the chair back. He closed his eyes, knowing she wouldn't care as long as he gave enough verbal acknowledgement.
He registered her giggling and decided to focus in more on what she was saying.
"McLaggen's lucky Hermione's too nice to actually do anything to him. I would've hexed him as payback for his sheer audacity."
He snorted, which sounded odd to his ears, as he remembered Blaise recounting the way the Gryffindor seventh year had made his feelings known to Granger the night before. "Blaise said bloke's got enough tact to fill a thimble."
He almost grinned as the full-on laughter this prompted from her.
"I didn't know Zabini had a sense of humor," she stated once she had calmed down.
He turned his head to her side and cracked an eye open. "You'll have to forgive him. He's had a strange upbringing and it's forced him to keep to himself. He's being cautious since Slughorn knows about his mother and he finds it odd that the old man still wants anything to do with him."
"What do you mean?" She was laying across the chair now, which caused her skirt to hike up and her tights to sheer out a bit as they stretched. He thought he could spy a large freckle on her right thigh.
"Do you know why Slughorn has his Slug Club?" When she shook her head no, he sat up, turning his chair to face her properly. He placed his ankle on his knee before continuing. "My father calls it 'soft power.' What it means in Slughorn's case is that he can reap the rewards of societal influence without doing any of the dirty work himself. McLaggen's an idiot, but his uncle or something is an inventor. Granger's too smart for her own good, Potter is Potter, and Blaise's mother has an interesting way of accumulating wealth."
"So what you're saying is, Slughorn only sees us for what we can provide for him now or in the future."
He smiled, but the dark circles under his eyes still spoke volumes. "Exactly. As for Blaise, he's known not to expect anyone to be in his life for too long because of his mother, so he finds no use in trying to make meaningful relationships of any kind; my friendship with him not withstanding. It's kind of hard to do that when all of his father figures find themselves the victims of unfortunate accidents, as it were."
He chuckled at her dramatic gasp and her scramble to sit up again.
"Bleeding hell! I thought Black Widows were only a Muggle thing." Her eyes went wide with awe as she breathlessly spoke the last bit.
He squinted, unfamiliar with the term she used. "A black what? I mean, she is black, like Blaise, but you're making it sound like it's a thing."
"Oh," she began, having the grace to blush, "it has nothing to do with what he looks like. A Black Widow is a kind of spider that Muggles know more about. They're small, but their venom has the potential to kill a person if they don't get help right away. The spider's named as such because their bodies are shiny and dark black, and one specific species has a red hourglass shape on the abdomen of the female as their only warning, I guess you could say. The widow part of their name comes from the fact that the females have been known to eat their mate after laying their eggs."
"While I actually did enjoy that Muggle science lesson, what does that have to do with Blaise's mother?"
"I was getting there!" she huffed, slapping the tops of the chair arms. He smiled again at her irritated, but playful display. "It has to do with Blaise's mum," she started, continuing to slap the arm chair as she spoke each word for emphasis, "because, in the Muggle world, women who do what she does are called Black Widows. They look for rich blokes, marry them, and when the poor fellow dies due to some mysterious accident, the woman gets all the money and moves on to her next victim." She took in a deep breath and sighed. "I could learn so much from her."
He found himself losing his composure around her for a second time at her unexpected comment. "Should I be warning any of the males in my house?" he asked in between laughs.
She took on her standard thinking pose, this time adding squinted eyes and pursed lips. He thought this was the face she took on if she was being cheeky as she considered something. "No, I've since learned that with great power, comes great responsibility, so you can sleep soundly at night knowing that I have no designs on their person."
"Can I ask you something, Weasley?"
"You just did." She laughed when he half-heartedly gave her the finger.
"That's not what I meant, and you know it. I wanted to ask if I could indulge in the treat you so graciously gave me last week?"
She rolled her eyes and crossed her arms over her chest, preparing for the worst.
"It's not too bad, I hope. All I want to know is why Slughorn chose you. You said it yourself that you're not the best at Potions and," he paused, looking down at his hands, "and your family doesn't have the kind of monetary connections that a leech like him craves. So what did you do that caused him to ask you to join his club?"
He chanced a glance at her, unsure of how she would perceive his comments. To his surprise, she simply had her face contorted in thought: brows furrowed, eyes narrowed, lips pursed then pouted. He exhaled in relief. Remembrance hit her face as her brows shot up and her eyes widened as though even she was shocked by the knowledge. When she slowly smirked at him, eyes now alight with amusement, he felt his mouth go dry.
"He might've seen me use a hex on the train ride in."
"Which hex?" He had a feeling and that part of him was already remembering what happened when he was locked in a broom closet with her last year.
"I think you and I both know which hex he saw me use, Malfoy." Her tone was vaguely sympathetic, but the smile she gave him was coated in sarcasm. Her giggles rang through the room again as she noticed his barely restrained panic. "Don't worry; you haven't given me a sufficient reason to hex you recently. You can be frustrating, but I know it's because you're especially brooding and mysterious this year."
A part of him that hadn't come out to play in a while preened at the idea of him being mysterious. It made him feel desirable and not like the gangly, sickly looking teenager he actually was. "Am I allowed to take that as a compliment, Weasley?"
She bit her bottom lip as she squinted at him, then slowly let it go as she thought. He could feel his eyes flitting to her mouth. Envy began coiling in his stomach like a serpent, warring with an unexpected dose of lust and it gave him another reason to hate himself. It wouldn't do to fantasize about what things might be like with her and he needed to put away his burgeoning emotions; something he was becoming increasingly adept at. She might be a means to an end, but he didn't want to drag her into the dangerous mess his life had become.
He flinched when she finally sighed.
"Yes, Malfoy. I suppose you can."
He walked out of the boys' lavatory on the second floor, exhausted and filled with a higher than normal amount of self-loathing.
He couldn't stand the sight of himself anymore. His cheekbones were protruding more than normal and, combined with the hollowness of his eyes, he looked haunted. He could see his skin greying from a lack of food. He wondered if he was already a ghost that hadn't faded away yet. When he got dressed each day, he could see his muscles atrophying from a lack of use. Blaise's insistence at continuing Quidditch that year fell on deaf ears. What right did he have to be happy? To enjoy something he loved since he was a child?
He wiped his mouth as he steadied himself against the cool stone of the hallway. His dinner had left him shortly after a failed interrogation by Snape. He had put all of his remaining strength into his Occlumency during that meeting, knowing his Head of House wasn't above Legimency to get an honest answer out of his once prized pupil.
He didn't know what possessed him to try to crash Slughorn's Christmas party. Blaise said the parties were an awful bore, but that didn't seem to matter. In his increasingly frantic mind, he seemed to focus on the fact that his father and grandfather were invited to join the boisterous Potions professor's club, so why should he be any different?
When he was hauled away from the surprised guests, he saw a flash of red and he closed his eyes. She didn't need to see him like this. And he couldn't bear the idea of her expressing uncharacteristic concern for him in front of her friends. It made him feel like the male protagonists who were in some of the books she read: simply a troubled, misunderstood soul. Someone who needed the right woman to save him from himself. If there was anything he knew without a doubt, it was that he needed to be the one to save himself this time around. She was a interesting diversion, if anything, but he was still resolute in the fact that he was responsible for his own life.
Miraculously, he had made it to the Room of Requirement with the waning strength left in him.
When he saw her standing in front of the Vanishing Cabinet, running a hand along the lacquered wood, he sharply sucked in a breath at the sight.
She had her back to him, her hair reflecting the subdued lighting of the room. She was in a black sleeveless cocktail dress with a large, structured bow resting on the small of her back. He saw the barest hint of pale, not quite as freckled skin when she brought all of her hair to one side. As she turned, he heard a faint clack from her modest peep toe heels and the dress's just above the knee skirt seemed to circle out like a bell at the movement. She looked like the Christmas present he didn't know he needed.
She smiled when she saw him and he could finally breathe normally again. If she could look at him like that, then maybe he was like all those cliched protagonists. Maybe he didn't mind a little saving.
"You look like hell, Malfoy."
He found himself silently chuckling at her honesty. The weeks he had been spending helping her with Potions and listening to her rant let him know that her words contained no malice. Either way, though, she was right.
When she went to sit in her usual chair, he noticed that she had placed a small table between their normal spots. Atop the table were various food and drink, plus enough cutlery, plates, and cups for two people.
"Don't just stand there, you berk. Slughorn only served questionable finger foods and I'm starving."
He nodded, not knowing what to say. He didn't want to admit to throwing up his dinner, or that he was having trouble eating, in general. If he did, Merlin only knows how she'd react to the news.
He didn't trust his body to handle richer foods, so he nibbled on a dinner roll and washed it down with water. The fact that he didn't immediately gag was a good sign, so he finished the rest of the roll and waited a beat. He wanted to ask what she was doing here instead of being with her boyfriend, who he had spotted next to her at the party.
"I know you're curious, so go ahead and ask me," she coolly stated in between bites of food.
He took another sip of water, finding that his mouth still had the cottony feeling it normally did after he vomited. "Why are you here?" If it was any other year, he would've cringed at how soft and meek he sounded, but he didn't trust his voice or his body at that moment.
She leaned back, wiping her hands on the napkin in her lap as she did so. "Would you believe me if I said I wanted to see you?"
"That doesn't really answer my question, Weasley." He said it as evenly as possible. He didn't dare think about what her answer would mean for the real task ahead of him. This new chance at life had already given him enough hope to endure. To give him more would feel like some sick joke because he knew what would eventually happen when Potter finally did what he was born to do. That's who she was waiting for. He would do what needed to be done with her and then let her live the life she was expecting to lead.
"You'd think that after these past few months you'd know me better than that, but it seems like you have a lot to learn." She smiled and he could feel warmth surging through him. It made him oddly hungry, but he wasn't complaining. "You know how things are with me and Dean. He got weird when Harry actually showed up to the Christmas party and I didn't want to deal with another fight about his insecurities. And Harry was being weird about you, of course, so I didn't want to hang out with him. And then Hermione was doing everything in her power to not be near her date since she thought she could make my brother jealous by inviting McLaggen." She paused to huff and roll her eyes. "I'm the only one with any sense of subterfuge in my family, so she'll eventually learn that she needs to hit Ron over the head if she wants to get anywhere with him."
"The irony of Granger liking your brother is not lost on me," he replied, carefully eating some of the side dishes she brought over.
"They're both smart," a pause as she laughed at his own eye roll, "but their intelligence lies in different things. Hermione's a walking encyclopedia on magical theory and history. While Ron is impossible to beat at wizard's chess and could probably recite Quidditch Through the Ages as well as the stats for any given team without blinking. He'll do great working for the Games and Sports division of the Ministry, or even as a Quidditch coach, but conventional learning isn't exactly his forte."
"Well, when you put it that way, I see your point," he said with a wry smile. "So you decided to come here in hopes that I would because?"
She sighed, unsure how to phrase her thoughts without seeming cloying. In the few times he did decide to give her insight on his life, she knew that his fraught relationship with Pansy only got better when the older girl backed off a bit. He was already weirdly skittish around people this year and she didn't want to add to it.
"I decide to stop by here because I really did need something more substantial to eat, but," another sigh, "I was hoping you'd be here because you actually listen to me. I know a lot of it has to do with why you're so exhausted all the time, but whatever change has happened to you has seemed to make you more receptive to dealing with me. And I appreciate it. You don't treat me like I'm fragile."
Her last statement came out as a whisper and he instantly knew what she was referring to. She didn't have to explain because he knew. He was curious if anyone around her had seriously talked to her about her experience as a first year.
"And I still feel normal around you, so I guess we're even, Weasley."
She smiled at him again and could feel the self-loathing wash over him anew. She genuinely enjoyed his company, but she would run screaming if she knew the truth of his situation. He was lucky that he hadn't been called while she was with him. Grabbing one's left forearm due to searing pain wasn't exactly subtle.
He looked down at his watch, grateful that it was getting late. "We should probably leave before curfew starts."
"Oh, shit!" She glared at the small chuckle he gave at hearing her curse. "I forgot how late it was." She waved her wand to clean up the table they had been using.
He stood up, hoping to leave before her, when he heard her call out to him. She walked towards him and, before he had time to protest, wrapped her arms around his neck to pull him in for a hug. His hands itched to feel her, to know what she was like pressed against him. Even her brief contact told him that she was so warm, so soft, and it made him want her by his side for as long as she would let him. Her hair brushed against his cheek, allowing him to smell her. She smelled woodsier than he was anticipating; an interesting mix of something peppery and earthy, with the sticky sweetness of vanilla.
She stepped away, cheeks pinker underneath the blush she had applied for the night. She surprised him again by chastely kissing his cheek, suffusing him with a warmth he hadn't felt on his face for what felt like ages. If his skin didn't look so sallow, one might even say he had blushed at her contact. She whispered "Happy Christmas, Malfoy" into his ear before leaving.
He was grateful she didn't turn around to see his reaction. He couldn't move; rooted to the spot where she had left him. His eyes had gone wide and his brain couldn't formulate any kind of coherent phrase. While his only experience with a girl thus far had been, unfortunately, with Pansy, he at least had some sense to know that a girl didn't do that with just any boy.
Once he was out of his trance, he grabbed a nearby pillow and pressed it to his face. He shouted a muffled "Fuck!" as he bent down.
He knew he was playing with fire when he decided to keep meeting with her, under the excuse of helping her with Potions. He hadn't gotten anywhere else with the prerequisites, but, for some reason, he allowed her to keep meeting with him even if she didn't need help. He figured something would trigger the second one considering her initial presence helped him discover the first one. But if this was the path through which he had to meet the next one, he couldn't bring himself to find out what it was going to be.
There had to be another way.
A/N - Thank you to everyone who's reviewed or even shared the posts I make on Tumblr whenever I've updated this story! It's such a huge boost of encouragement and I appreciate you all!
I've made some changes within the next few chapters that I'm excited to have y'all read!