by Incitata
 
 

Chapter 3
Strange Allies
 

"We’re strange allies,
with warring hearts"
The Space Between
Dave Matthews Band

Sometimes it is necessary to take refuge, sometimes it takes
a glimpse of another world before we appreciate our own.
 

Hermione sat at the side of her bed with her arms wrapped tight around the pillow in her lap. She
flopped back and dropped the pillow over her face but it couldn’t block out her thoughts. She was
alone in the sixth year girls dormitory. There were only five other people in the Gryffindor tower,
Harry, Ron, Ginny and two first year girls who Ginny appeared to have adopted.

It didn’t feel like Christmas.

Having dismissed the idea of staying in bed until next term Hermione rolled off the edge of the bed.
The wooden floor was cold against her bare feet though a fire burned in the grate filling the room with
a pleasant crackle and smell of oaky smoke which disguised some of the winter chill. She quickly
exchanged night-clothes for a pair of faded Levis and a loose white shirt. She didn’t tuck in the hem.

With a sigh Hermione dumped her patterned winceyette pyjamas in a heap by the head of the bed.
She glared at them.

That’s me isn’t it? Comfy cotton. Not taking her eyes off the offending garments. Nothing daring
there. Not the sort of person to risk everything on a whim. So why, clever clogs, are you doing
just that?

Hermione distracted herself from that question by bending down to pull on her boots. She eyed the
stack of presents at the end of her bed wanting to scoop them up in her arms and carry them through
to the boys dorm. Much more fun to open them with friends, but Ron wasn’t speaking to her.
 
 

"Ron. Ron, please wait." She’d had to run to catch up with him.

"Need someone to yell at?" his scowled. His eyes seemed to be studying something far above
her head.

"Ron., I’m sorry. It was a lovely thing you did. I just …"

"I know, you just want to sort out your own problems. Be my guest Hermione, sort away!" he
scratched his freckled nose as he continued. "I don’t know what’s got into you recently. You’re
a nice girl Hermione and a good friend but I don’t know what to say to you any more. I want
to help but I can’t until you want me to. I…"

"No. I want to …"

"Sorry Hermione. Not until you’ve sorted yourself out … I don’t want to destroy what little
we have left."

"… apologise."

"It’s not enough."

"So it’s all my problem?" Hermione said softly. She felt flint strike flint within her. That spark
took hold, kindled by confusion. "Take a look at yourself Ron before you lay all the blame on me.
You haven’t got a clue what you want so how the hell could you possibly help me? I came here
to apologise Ron, to thank you for your help but you’ve just reminded me what a pig headed,
self obsessed, parrot faced wassack you are! I don’t want your help, now or ever. I don’t need
it. I don’t need YOU!"

Tears streaming down her face, Hermione pushed past Ron and through the small crowd of
vultures in human form that had gathered, attracted by her shrieks. She ran left, right, until
she came to the deserted Divination corridor. Finally she paused for breath slumped against
the wall. Still shaking with rage and indignation she bit hard on her knuckles to stop herself
from crying all over again.

What on earth would he think if he knew what had really happened?
 
 

It was all Hermione remembered of the last day of term.
 

~0~

THRUMP. Hermione looked round. "Crookshanks, is that you?"

THRUMP. There it was again. It sounded like someone kicking … the door.

"Come in." Called Hermione.

"Can you open the door for me?"

"Two secs." Hermione pulled on her other boot and clumped over to the door. She twisted the
smooth round knob and the door swung open to reveal Harry cradling three brightly wrapped parcels
in his arms. He shuffled in leaving the door ajar and dropped the lot on the bed. He sat down beside
the heap.

"You’ll break your neck on that!" Harry was pointing at the floor.

"What?" Hermione looked down at her feet. "Oh, the lace! Thanks Harry." She bent down to tie the it.

"This ones from me." He the blue one. "That’s from the Weasleys and the other one’s from Ron. He
told me not to give it to you but I think deep down he’d like you to have it."

"I’m not sure I want it." She rummaged in her trunk and extracted two packages, one small and
square, the other long and flat. "For you and Ron. Tell him he can burn it if he wants to." She handed
them to Harry and sat cross legged on the rug. "Pass me a pressie then!"

Hermione began to peel away the shiney blue wrapping.

"Just rip it off," Harry suggested. He was already examining the apple sized crystal ball Hermione had
given to him. "Very … erm … practical … thanks." he muttered.

"Spoils the surprise." Hermione slowed down a little just to emphasise her point. "Wow, a Moke skin
money bag. Thanks Harry. And I’m sure this huge book of revision questions will come in very handy!"
she added without a hint of sarcasm.

Fudge from Mrs Weasley, a portable wireless tuned to the World Wizarding Network from the
parents. There was only one that Hermione hadn’t opened; a small squashy green one.

"You should take this back Harry." She held it out.

He shook his head. "If you don’t want it you’ll have to give it back yourself. I’m not taking sides.
Open it and come down to breakfast."

Hermione laid the parcel aside. "I’ll have breakfast up here," she said as Crookshanks slipped in
through the open door padding softly across the floor. He muzzled his way into her lap. "You go
with Ron. There’s no point in us all falling out."

"C’mon Hermione, it’s Christmas. Can’t you two just forget it?"

Sadly, she shook her head and looked down at Crookshanks. There was some comfort in the low
Rrrrrrrr Rrrrrrrr of the large ginger cat. "It’s not that easy Harry," she explained, "I wish it was but we
both said some things … I don’t think we should see each other for a while, until we’ve both calmed
down. If he ever calms down."

"Don’t be daft. He’ll come round." Harry slipped off the bed and knelt down beside Hermione. She
felt a strong arm around her shoulders. "Give it a few days we’ll all be back to normal, hey?"

You wouldn’t say that if you knew what I’d done.

"Thanks Harry." Hermione squeezed out a weak smile. "Cho’s lucky to have you. I’ve got a lot of
work to do this holiday anyway. You keep Ron out of trouble … and come up and see me when
you get the time."

As Harry closed the door behind him Hermione tore open Ron’s green present and threw the paper
to the floor. It was a scarf. A scarf that shimmered in the winter sunlight and slipped through her fingers
like water. Silk and Demiguise the tiny label announced. How long had he saved for this?

"Oh, Ron."

A tear flupped down and sank, deep into Crookshanks soft fur.
 

~0~

Hermione heard the boys before she saw them. She threw open the diamond paned window and
looked down into the courtyard. Big kids chucking handfuls of snow at one another. Ginny’s squeal
as Ron dumped a pile of snow onto her head. She wanted to join them but if she broke this exile
and went down there Ron would storm off. Better to take the time to work out a plan of action. At
least she wouldn’t be disturbed by …

"Hermione."

Oh no.

"I thought you’d gone home for Christmas." Hermione said, a feeling of apprehension building. She
did not turn round.

"Change of plan." Draco shrugged. "Shit happens."

"What do you want?"

Draco rested his shoulder against the window frame and stared at Hermione, she could see him
lurking like a spectre on the edge of her vision. He continued to stare until she looked at him. "Not
down there with your friends?" His left eyebrow arched. "Come to think of it you weren’t at
Christmas lunch … not feeling sick are you?"

"Do you want to get to the point?" she regarded him with scorn. Draco Malfoy was, thought
Hermione the only person their age she knew who wore robes out of term time but not school robes.
These were a thick, rich black that swirled and clung on command . They seemed to be a rebellious
statement to the other students in Hogwarts who jumped into Muggle clothes the minute the train
carried their fellows away for the hoilidays. To Hermione they spat; I am nothing like you! The
sentiment was echoed in the studied drawl of their owner:

"Ah yes, you have some very important staring out of the window to do. Don’t let me disturb you. It
just occurred to me that you’ve missed almost every meal for the last few days. Not pining for someone..."

"Funny, you look different without your goons." Hermione wanted to hurt him for all the trouble he’d
caused. At that moment she would happily have pushed him out of the window and listened gladly as
he landed far below with a satisfying crunch. Somehow she didn’t think she would get very far with that
plan so she resorted to his own weapon of choice. Words. "Looks like they couldn’t wait to get away
from you. Now, I thought you all dropped dead if you were apart for more than ten minutes…"

"Ts, ts, ts!. Well you should know that isn’t true," his words mocked but Hermione noticed a fleeting
tightness around his eyes, something she had never seen before. "Besides, it doesn’t work that way
Hermione," it was the first time she’d looked quite so closely. "When did you stay here just ‘cause
Potter did?"

"I’m here now."

"And the previous five years?"

"You’ve got a short memory Malfoy," she’d stayed in the second year when Harry and Ron had
sneaked into the Slytherin common room ‘disguised’ as Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione would have
been with them but for an accident that confined her to the infirmary. The memory of those unfortunate
weeks partially transformed into Millicent Bulstrode's cat still made Hermione want to twitch her tail in
irritation. She supposed that Draco remained utterly ignorant of the polyjuice incident and saw no need
to enlighten him now. Hermione drew in a breath and attempted to be pleasant; "Why are you staying?"

Draco turned away. He folded his arms on the window sill and kicked the wall with one foot. His
attention seemed to be somehwere deep in the grey winter sky. Hermione could not see his eyes, only
the movement of his jaw as he spoke. "My parents decided to go to the Urals … without me."

"Don’t you usually have Christmas at home?" Hermione imagined a rather Victorian Christmas.
The gilded façade of a well mannered ‘model’ family warmed by a blazing fire. There was a huge
Christmas tree, family friends coming to call…

"Sometimes at home, sometimes elsewhere … usually they tell me. But not this year…"

… the image of a cluster of his parents Death Eater friends robed and masked, knocking on a huge
door ready to come a-wassailing popped into Hermione's mind. She snorted loudly at the absurd image.

"What?" Draco’s eyes narrowed. His enjoyment of laughing at misfortune appeared not to extend to
his own.

"Nothing," Hermione fought down a chuckle. "Why are they going to the Urals? Vampire country isn’t
it? Not exactly hospitable at this time of year, or ever."

"I didn’t ask." He replied pointedly turning his full glare upon her.

"I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to pry. I just thought …"

"You still have to know everything don’t you?" he cut her short. "Always another question. Well
here’s one for you Granger, if you’re so bloody clever." Low steady voice, almost melodic. "Why
do those people down there, the ones that you’ve lived the last five years with. Why do they not
understand you? Why do they not tell you what they truly feel?" His eyes flashed the hue of honed
steel only twelve times sharper. "How can you continue to call them your friends when they are
content to leave you here alone?"

"I didn’t come here to debate philosophy." The questions were unfair but they were the same
questions Hermione had been asking herself all morning. She did not want them asked by Draco
Malfoy. Hermione bit her lip before responding to her smooth tongued interrogator. "If all you’re
going to do is taunt me Malfoy, give up. It won’t work."

Hermione watched as he turned away from the window. He leaned back against the bare stone
wall and folded his arms, still speaking in the same even tone. "Have you ever been truly alone
Hermione Granger? No-one to rely on but yourself? No Potter, no Weasley to run to your rescue?"

"I’m an only child Malfoy, if that’s what you mean!" she bristled. "At home there’s only me and
my parents, I’m quite happy with my own company."

"Then we have something in common. Now why don’t you stop being an ass." He swung himself
round and placed one hand at either side of the narrow window frame. Trapped, Hermione looked
up at him. "You’re not exactly my first choice of person to spend the Christmas holidays with and
I suspect I’m not yours but it looks like neither of us have much choice and I’m damned if I’m going
to spend the next week with a bunch of first year girls." Draco’s tone slipped seamlessly from
mocking to commanding with practised ease.

"Well you really know how to make a girl feel wanted." Hermione guessed that he wasn’t used to
argument but if he thought that she was going to roll over he’d better think again. She shifted suddenly
and knocked his left arm out of the way. He keeled forward but recovered quickly his balance.

"Apparently I do," Draco carefully placed his hand back against the wall as if in anticipation of a
second assault. "You might be surprised."
 

~0~

It has long been assumed that the Astronomy tower is the favoured meeting place for illicit assignations
among the more adventurous element of the student body. Yet at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and
Wizardry, those young adventurers who actually want to keep their liaison a secret, who do not relish
the idea of the caretaker Mr Filch or his nosy cat Mrs Norris invading on their most intimate moments
choose a less symbolic location …

"What is this place?" asked Hermione as the door clicked shut. She dropped her bag beside the door
and slid the bolt home. Desks were stacked haphazardly against one wall, three wobbly piles of chairs
against another. The floor was carpeted only with a thin layer of dust and a wide empty fireplace grinned
vacantly from the far end of the room. There was little evidence to suggest that anyone living had been
here recently.

"An old classroom," replied Draco, "I found it a few years back." He strode across the room disturbing
the dust which filled his wake with spirals that curled slowly up toward the beamed ceiling. Draco scraped
a chair along the floor and stood on it while he opened the high windows just a gap. A brilliant blade of
light cut through the dusty air but without this aid the winter sun could barely fight its way through the filthy
panes.

Draco hopped down from the chair. "There used to be an old mirror in here, right where you’re standing.
Strangest thing. I think it showed the future. Would you believe I saw my own wedding day? Extraordinary
thing really. I mentioned it to my father, he told me not to go skulking around the school at night …"

"Really?" Hermione muttered. She suspected that she had heard of that same mirror. Harry had
encountered it back in his first year… was that really Draco’s hearts deepest desire? She resisted the
temptation to ask him the identity of his bride.

"Yes, miserable old sod, as if he didn’t when he …

Hermione sighed and retrieved up her bag. She walked toward the fireplace. One thing that was
becoming apparent about Draco was that he had a fondness for lecturing. As she took her wand
from her bag she wondered where he had picked up that habit. She squatted by the grate and in
a few seconds Hermione had a small fire burning. "That’s better." She straightened and tossed her
bag into the corner. "Did you bring a rug?"

"… he told me that in his third year he … What?"

"A rug! I don’t really want to sit on a cold stone floor."

"Hmmm. No. I did go to the kitchens and order the house elves to bring food, should be here any
minute."

"Well, I’ll sit on a plate of sandwiches shall I?"

"Honestly Hermione, I don’t think that sarcastic tone suits you." Draco removed the robes from
around his shoulders and spread them on the floor. Beneath them he wore black. It was a sharp
contrast with his colouring. She watched as he sat down, the bluish flames made his skin glow.

"Come, sit."

"If you promise not to tell me what suits me and what doesn’t."

"Promise!"

Hermione sat as bidden right leg curled beneath the left. She pointed her wand at the dancing
flames. They grew and a spread a little further. "There’s an awful chill in this room." She remarked.

"Hmmmmm." Draco reclined fully, leaning his weight on his elbows. His legs stretched out, feet
very near the flames raised a few inches on the hearth. "Why do you suppose they call it Boxing
Day? My father has often asked me this quesiton but so far I havn’t managed a satisfactory answer.
Do you …"

Hermione interrupted unaware of the glare he gave her for interrupting his speculation. "Because
traditionally boxing matches and other sporting events, horse racing, football matches things like
that were held the day after Christmas. It’s just a name that we’ve picked up from Muggles."

"Boxing matches? What’s that?" he enquired though his tone was disinterested.

"Two men wear padded gloves and they beat the hell out of one another in a series of rounds.
Barbaric really."

"And Muggles call that sport? Damned uncivilised if you ask me. Is it any wonder that …" he did
not complete the sentence, instead a tense silence settled with the dust.

"That what?" Hermione was curious as to what he was reluctant to say about to say about Muggles
and their pastimes.

"Nothing. Where’s that ruddy little elf with the food?"

"Probably terrified to come near you, Draco," Hermione was about to say something more but
stopped herself. They’d agreed not to let their prejudices get in the way but there was one thing
that Hermione was curious about. "Can I ask you something?"

"Go ahead." He continued to focus on the dark ceiling.

How to phrase it? Maybe he would just laugh at her and refuse to comment. "Why are you here
Draco, with me? Your family has certain associations and I don’t think they’d like it."

"There’s no-one else around to talk to," he continued staring into the darkness. "Consider it an honour."

Arrogant swine. "I’m so grateful!"

Was he joking? Hermione wasn’t sure.

"Ts, ts, ts! Sarcasm again!" he said, honey sweet but with a growing undertone of warning. "I know
what you want to ask; Is my father a Death Eater. Am I a Death Eater?" A soft low chuckle emerged
from Draco’s throat. "Well, as if I’d tell you!" He swung his left arm out so that it landed heavily in
Hermione's lap. "Take a look. It will answer part of your question."

Hermione hesitated. His directness unnerved her. It made her question her own assumptions.
This tactic worked on Hermione where more subtle attempts at manipulation would have failed.
She wondered, was he always this candid or was it something he had designed specially for her.
Slowly she rolled the sleeve of soft black stuff up his arm, the muscle flinched at her touch. Draco
did not resist as she tuned is arm so that it lay palm up. Hermione bit her lower lip as she slid his
sleeve up a little further, all the way up past the elbow. She realsised that she had been holding
her breath only when a ragged gasp spilled from her chest, a diver emergng from the water. His
skin was unblemished.

"I told you that you couldn’t be right about everything!" Still he did not look at her but Hermione
saw that he was smiling. It wasn’t a warm smile. He drew back his arm and carefully rolled down
the sleeve and placed it behind his head.

"Have you ever studied the basic techniques behind the organisation of terrorist groups? I’m sure
you must have, I believe it’s a common way for Muggles to press their cause when they are in
disagreement with the majority. Take one cause and one charismatic leader. Trusted followers
are recruited, only the leader knows who they are. Many families will be unaware that a member
of the group lives in their midst. Loyalty and ability must be proven. In other cases the entire
community knows who is involved but there is no evidence so there is nothing that the authorities
can do to them …" Hermione realised that Draco was no longer talking and that he was staring
at her, she focussed on his lips as he spoke. "Don’t look so shocked Hermione. I’m a realist, not
a romantic. If you don’t want to hear the answer, don’t ask the question."

Glare met glare …… In the next few seconds several things happenned. A House Elf, younger
than any Hermione had ever seen (and clearly too curious for it’s own good) popped into view
bearing a try four times its own width. A low table appeared and the creature set the tray down.
It grinned awkwardly from beneath a large hat carefully folded from an old copy of the daily prophet.

Draco raised himself and aimed a sharp blow at the elf and Hermione lunged forward to knock
him away. They landed in a tangle of limbs and his hand met with empty air. The creature was gone.

"What did you do that for?" Hermione screeched pulling away from Draco as quickly as she could.

"Badly trained thing like that wouldn’t last a minute in our house, sloppy little …" he looked at her
as though she’d just exclaimed; "Hogwarts; A History? Never heard of it!".. "They’re not meant
to be seen. Oh come on Hermione!" his voice cracked like lightening through the charged air.
"Where do you think you’re going?"

Hermione ignored the question. She was already on her feet. "You obviously think you can abuse
anyone or anything. I don’t want to be part of that."

"Sit down and listen to me," he commanded.

Hermione remained standing. She watced him unfold himself, flip lightly to his feet. His eyes burned
like magnesium, bright against the dim light. He stood away from her regarding her critically. "Do
you want me to lie to you Hermione? Do you want me to make you believe that I am what I am not? …"

"Of course I don’t …"

He talked straight over her pacing about the room with his hands clasped loosely behind his back.
"… I could do that, but I thought you valued honesty and honesty means seeing all the less pleasant
aspects of a person does it not? I’d hate you to have any illusions about me. Why don’t you just
accept that I know things that you do not such as the fact that there is only one way to train a damned
House Elf? There’s a lot you could learn from me."

"Maybe in your twisted little mind, Malfoy."

"You’re here because I’m different, because I’m not a nice guy, because I’m so different to your
dear friends. You’re intrigued, by my world and you’ve been given a chance to look into it and you’re
taking it. Maybe it makes you feel good to get one over on Weasley."

"I think I should go." Said Hermione.

"As you wish," Malfoy grinned then sat down and began to help himself to sandwhich. He waved a
dismissive hand in her direction. "Do close the door on your way out."

Hermione was tempted to give him a good smack, hard, right on the side of his overinflated head.
What had she expected, him begging her to stay?

"Fine!" Hermione snatched up her bag and stormed toward the door. He appeared not to notice
her. She paused in the doorway and turned, pointing her wand at the fireplace. A wide jet of water
shot out extinguishing the flame with a hiss. She let it widen into a spray and adjusted very slightly
the trajectory. Draco yelped as the freezing rain covered him. Hermione smiled and slammed the
door behind her.

With great amusement Draco sought her out the next day and took her down to the kitchens. There,
with apparent sincerity he had apologisd to the House Elf and Hermione had agreed that they might
continue to share lunch in the empty classroom.

Hermione thought that the drenching had done him some good.
 
 
 

Authors Notes: There’s a little extract from my all time favourite insult, we it when I was about
ten --- You great idle, spawny eyed, parrot faced wassack --- What’s a wassack? I have
absolutely no idea!

Someone asked if they had gone further than making out. Well, I’m leaving that to your imagination.
I happen to be terrible at writing sex scenes, also I want to leave it open though there is a very strong
implication.

In Part Four: Vengeance, Quote – Nos amis, les ennemis
                                                       Our friends, the enemy
                                                       ‘L’opinion de ces demoiselles’ in Chansons de De Beranger (1832).
                                                       Pierre-Jean de Beranger.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and related characters are and remain the property of J K Rowling, Bloomsbury or Scholastic Books. Harry Potter characters, names and related indicia are trademarks of Warner Brothers © 2000/2001. No infringement of copyright is intended by this fic.
 

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