by Incitata
 
 

Chapter 7
Vengeance
 

‘Nos amis, les ennemis’
(Our friends, the enemy)
‘L’opinion de ces demoiselles’ in Chansons de De Beranger (1832).
Pierre-Jean de Beranger.
 

After twice circling the Gryffindor tower, Draco saw that the shaft of light that shone from
Hermione's window had narrowed to a crack. He pulled up the nose of his broom and rose
above the snow-covered tiles and toothy parapets of Hogwarts. Rising higher, a turn to the
North, then fast into an exhilarating descent. The trees, the castle and the night blurred into
a single streak of dark as the wind tore at Draco’s hair and made his cloak grab at his ankles.

Softly, Draco landed near the broomshed. His breath was heavy but the sting of the cold air
on his warm throat did not bother him; his thoughts were elsewhere. Quickly Draco stored his
ageing Nimbus 2001 in the rack but he lingered, eyes scanning the neat rows of broomsticks.
They were all here, from warped and cracked Cleensweep Threes, through to the latest Firebolt
X-Scream, sleek and polished. Draco thought that he might ask his father for one, it would
certainly knock spots off anyone else’s.

He paced slowly down the aisle thinking of a particular ‘anyone else’. As he trailed his hand idly
over the tail twigs some of the brooms quivered. Those that trembled as his fingers came near, he
knew were charmed to stop less scrupulous students from nobbling a member of a house team.
He reached a very familiar Firebolt that shuddered though he stood almost a foot away. Draco
stopped.

"Potter," he muttered. Potter had been his rival, ever since he’d spurned his offers of friendship.
Once in Diagon Alley before he even knew who the dark haired boy was and then again as they
hurtled toward school aboard the Hogwarts Express for the very first time. At that point, Potter,
and anyone he claimed as a friend had become Draco’s enemy.

"Potters friends …"

The thought of Hermione troubled Draco. She didn’t react as girls usually reacted. Not like
Pansy, who flattered him, or other minor flirtations who melted at the slightest smile. Hermione …
it bothered Draco that he was not the only man in her life … to get rid of them, now that would
be a triumph. The Weasel would be no trouble. What, after all could that gangly, freckled lump
of wizarding dross offer a girl like her? Nothing, Draco concluded. For all her protestations
Hermione was only human and as such she had basic human needs, such as a certain social
standing and at least enough money to live on. Draco Malfoy did not consider Ron Weasley to
be a real threat; besides, if he liked the girl surely he’d have done something about it long ago!

Draco looked again at Potter’s broom. He thought that it might be fun to try and break the spells
that protected it, just to watch him fall on his face in front of the entire school. Draco dismissed the
idea; too obvious, but the muscles that circled his eyes tightened. Hermione denied that she and
Potter had a past, an argument she maintained even after he suggested that it might not be wise to
lie to him. He glared at his own distorted reflection in the polished Firebolt.

Grudgingly, Draco had to admit that Harry Potter was (to a girl) not bad looking. Not only that,
he was famous and not short of money. Draco could simply not believe that in all these years Potter
and Hermione had never been more than friends. For now he refused to let it bother him. Draco
intended to make Hermione forget all the Potters, Weasels and Krums she had ever known; in
time she would admit the truth but for now all he wanted to do was spoil Hermione. Maybe then
she would forgive him a certain truth he was hiding.

As Draco closed the door of the broomshed and hurried back toward the school he wondered
what it was that had led him this way. Hermione did not try to please him or flatter him or even be
pleasant to him; she turned away each extravagant gesture, pulling his attention instead to what she
perceived to be his shortcomings. He had a growing feeling that she was trying to change him
because for each point he conceded she became a little less hard on him; but reform was not
part of Draco’s plan.

Let her try, Draco thought, it was she who would end up changing. He would smooth all those
jagged edges and jarring opinions. In time she would become what he wanted her to be. That was
no easy task. Hermione despised his name, his money and all that he stood for. She had little vanity
to work upon save her intelligence, perhaps a time would come when she would change no more …
but that was not a thought for now, for now all he wanted to do was indulge Hermione, to spoil her
as only a Malfoy could.

Deep in thought Draco joined the last straggling students being ushered up the steps by Professor
Sprout; she gave him a questioning look, which Draco ignored. So I wasn’t at the poxy fireworks
display? Do I look as though I care? he thought. Professor or not, no damned Hufflepuff was
going to question his whereabouts.

Draco strode straight past Sprout, across the torchlit entrance hall and down the small flight of
steps that led to the Slytherin Dungeon; the damp wall that parted at his word was a welcome sight.
He’d come too close to losing something tonight and the familiarity of the long dark common room
reminded him who he was.

But as he gazed around his empty dormitory he found he wondered how she got into her common
room. No doubt some sweeping curtain or chatting gargoyle over the entrance, nothing understated
for Gryffindor. Draco gave a derisive snort but he couldn’t help comparing the silken green and
silver hangings and dark carved wood of his dormitory with the glimpse of plush red velvet he had
seen in Hermione's. His had a masculine strength, flawless, cold and severe, yet his impression of
her room was no less strong, only much more welcoming.

Draco slipped out of his clothes, and threw them over the arm of a straight-backed chair. The
flagstone floor was bare; it chilled his feet. Quickly, he slid in between his cold crisp sheets and
watched the firelight flicker across the tapestry on the wall. All of a sudden his bed felt very large.

~0~

"Is it true?" cried Ron, red faced and breathless, "Hermione, is it true?"

Hermione ignored his question and turned away to tug the heavy curtains across the window.
They trailed all the way down to the floor blocking out the night and all else that lay beyond.
Behind her a candle flickered.

"Is it true?" Ron repeated. There was a desperate edge to his voice.

Biting the inside of her cheek, Hermione let go of the curtain and turned round. "Is what true?"
she asked, hoping that he wasn’t asking the question that she knew in her heart he was asking.

"Him! Malfoy?" the tips of Ron’s ear burned pink but his hands were white, held stiff at his sides
and balled into tight fists.

"Malfoy!" said both Hermione and Harry.

Hermione stared at her friends. Her eyes flicked from one to another. She didn’t know what
to say.

"You and him," Ron accused, he seemed disgusted by the taste of the words. "Together!"

However Hermione had thought her friends would react, this was far worse. Ron glared at her
with a look normally reserved for piles of vomit, and Harry stared at Ron with an expression of
pure disbelief; slowly a pair of green eyes swivelled and came to rest on her.

"Ron, don’t," she heard Harry mutter warningly. "Think about what you’re saying."

A burning sensation rose in Hermione’s gut. It bubbled in her stomach then rose through every
vein until she seared from the top of her head to the tips of her fingers. Then the heat sucked
back, leaving her feeling hollow and cold. Hermione thought she might be sick.

"Hermione," said Harry, "I’m as confused as you are," he was still trying to be supportive but a
more apt word than support popped into Hermione’s mind; denial. Ron could only just force
himself to say it but Harry could not even bring himself to believe it; he’d be angry later when
the truth hit home.

Could she deny everything so that her friends could go on believing her to be the person they had
always thought her to be (the person that she herself had thought she was)? No, what she couldn’t
do was lie to them about it. Her disobedient lips were unable to form the words, she was too afraid
of releasing the tears that burned behind her eyes. Hermione simply nodded.

She could see it in the way his shoulders fell, the way his jaw drooped and that way that his eyes
clouded. Ron had hoped for a denial, regardless of the truth. All he’d wanted was for her to say
that it wasn’t true and instead, Hermione had without words kicked a hole in his reality.

A muscle twitched in Ron’s cheek, "How could you go near that heap of filth?" he spat, "Have
the last six years taught you nothing?" Hermione saw him look at Harry for support but Harry
appeared confused. Harry had been so supportive since before Christmas when she and Ron
had fallen out; it seemed he was having difficulty accepting her repayment. "His type never
change," continued Ron, "I don’t know what he’s got on you, Hermione, what he’s done to
you," Ron's tone was pleading but blood bubbled, hot beneath his skin, "Tell me, I’ll help you …
he’ll hurt you Hermione. Have you forgotten what he is?"

Hermione sucked in a long, painful breath. Her throat was dry and Ron was asking her a question
she’d asked herself a hundred times without finding an answer. There was no help he could give her.
It was too late for that.

"He’s a person, Ron," she said flatly, "Just a boy in our year … is it not possible that you’re wrong
about him? Give him a chance!" Growing looks of amazement told her how futile the argument was;
she might as well try to persuade Dumbledore to marry Voldemort. Nothing would make them see
past Malfoy’s name but she tried anyway. "You just don’t know him …"

"And you do?" Ron threw his arms in the air then dug his hands in his pockets. He shook his head,
frustrated. "I can’t believe I’m hearing this, that whole family’s scum!"

"People can change."

"How can you defend him after the things he’s said, about you, about Muggles, about … us …?"

Hermione chewed her lower lip. "I love him," she said quietly, talking great interest in the pattern
on the thick piled carpet, which she pushed around with the toe of her shoe.

It silenced Ron. He goggled at her as though she’d just hit him with the full body bind.

"Think about what you’re saying," said Harry, cast in the unfamiliar role of mediator. Hermione
knew how it felt to be there, being sensible and advising everyone. Forced to stay calm when really
all you wanted to do was scream. It was usually her place when Harry and Ron fell out or when
they went off on one of their ill-considered jaunts. Not this time. Harry was still speaking, "This is
Draco Malfoy we’re talking about, what’s going on?"

Hermione looked directly into Harry’s bright green eyes, she read confusion, she read betrayal.
Draco was his arch enemy.

"I love him," Hermione repeated, unable to hide that bitter truth from them. A short painful silence
that twisted through Hermione's heart followed.

"C’mon Harry," said Ron through tight lips. Hermione watched in silence as the tall redhead grabbed
his friend’s arm. "Something in here stinks!"

She saw Harry glance back and open his mouth to utter a sentence that never came as Ron 
propelled him through the door.

Shaking and oozing adrenaline Hermione dashed forward and slammed the door. She wanted to
shriek something after them, anything just to make them come back but as she threw herself on her
bed and soaked her pillow with tears she knew that a friendship, forged in the heat of a fight with
a mountain troll, was at an end.

~0~

The days that followed were the worst Hermione could remember. There were, not including
herself, only six people in the Gryffindor tower and none of them would speak to her. If she entered
a room, Ron would stand and head for the nearest exit, abandoning whatever he was doing. Harry
would follow, pausing only to give her a piercing stare. Ginny talked in a loud voice about "Slytherin
Scum" whenever Hermione came near. Hermione longed for the new term to begin if only because
it meant that their hostility would be diluted. There were at least some people who wouldn’t view her
encounter with Malfoy as a sin.

Of course it wasn’t all bad. Draco would fly to her window each night and rattle the handle until she
opened it. He’d done it first when she hadn’t turned up to see him and every message he’d sent was
returned unanswered. Hermione had been too upset to care. When Whimsy had slunk away for the
eighth time without a reply Draco had come immediately. He pounded on her window, ready to
smash in the glass with his fist if Hermione didn’t hear him.

Hair uncombed and face streaked with tears, Hermione pulled back the velvet curtain and saw him
there. The wind whipped his silvery hair about his face as he braced himself with one leg against the
wall. She pulled open the window and looked out impassively.

"The elf begged me to come," he said, nonchalantly but Hermione could tell his concern was true. It
was the most welcome thing she had ever felt. Draco was already half way through the window. He
propped his broom against he wall and folded Hermione in his arms, his thick warm cloak smothered
her, it blocked out everything that was wrong.

Hermione felt relief as she leaned against him. Her legs felt rather weak. "They know…" she managed
to say before her words were drowned by tears. She felt herself guided to the bed and cradled, like a
child in a fathers arms. Draco listened, with a patience she would not have believed possible to each
broken word she had to say. He stroked her hair, her neck, her lips and with a gentle finger he wiped
away each tear until with her cheek damp against his chest, she drifted into an anxious sleep.

Hermione woke. An unfamiliar weight pressed on her stomach. Her eyes followed the narrow wrist
to an arm and all the way up to a pale sleeping face. With his eyes closed and his lips quivering slightly
with each breath he really was beautiful. Taking care not to disturb him she traced the line of his jaw
with a finger catching slightly on stubble invisible even in light. As her finger brushed his lips he turned
into her palm but he did not wake. Hermione brushed the hair from his face with her other hand. She
wanted to kiss him while he slept, while he couldn’t take control but his arm pinned her and she couldn’t
reach without disturbing him. Hermione listened to his gentle breathing and drifted off to sleep again;
when she woke again he was gone.

~0~

The Hogwarts Express had barely pulled into Hogsmeade station when the returning students heard
the news. By the time they piled into the slow moving horseless carriages that bore them up to the castle
the sixth years at least, were buzzing with the news. Correspondence between certain Slytherins had
ensured that there could be no secrets.

At that hour Hermione was in the library at her usual desk where the light was good even when
the days were short. She was completing an Herbology assignment. A footfall behind told her that
she was not alone but Hermione didn’t recognise the step.

"Granger," Hermione looked over her shoulder. She turned he head to look at a heart shaped face
trimmed with neat golden hair; two cold blue eyes stared boldly into her brown ones. "I heard the
strangest thing just now; Mudblood Granger using love potions on Draco Malfoy. Potter not man
enough for you?"

"What do you want Pansy?" Hermione asked in a bored tone, it was an old insult and held little
charge.

"I told you to stay away from him." Pansy laid one perfectly manicured finger in the centre of
Hermione’s parchment; the ink smudged beneath, "break it off now or there’ll be trouble."

"Shove off Pansy," said Hermione, she knew exactly what Draco thought of Miss Parkinson so
the threat was wasted, "It’s none of your business."

Pansy straightened and dragged the parchment off the edge of the desk. Hermione’s quill fell
with it and as they struck the floor ink splattered across her work.

"I gave you a chance, Granger," said Pansy, "you don’t get another. We’ll see how much you
like the real Draco Malfoy." Pansy looked down at the floor as she moved on; she seemed to
take great care to tread on the fallen scroll. "Draco writes the most interesting letters you know!"
Pansy added with a toss of her hair then she was gone. Only a flowery scent, which hung in the
air for several minutes, reminded Hermione that she had been there … the scent and the words.
Hermione had no idea what Pansy meant. She resolved to ask Draco as soon as she could, not
tonight to her regret but in the morning.

She thought about summoning the House Elf and asking her to take a message. Draco had
explained how it was done, along with the peculiar loyalties of the species. Whimsy, who had
entered their service as a willing go between was bound in a way Hermione couldn’t quite
fathom, to both of them. Even so, she could not betray her actual master, Professor Dumbledore.
If Draco was having nearly as bad a time with his friends as she had with hers he wouldn’t be
feeling too happy right now. Draco was not always restrained, he might take it out on little
Whimsy and Hermione didn’t want that on her conscience. Hermione wished that she could go
to Draco as he had come to her but she knew that was not possible; she didn’t even know where
he was.

All Hermione could do was wait and as she waited she concentrated on Pansy’s words … doubts
scuttled like scarabs through her mind; was it a joke? Had she abandoned her friends as part of a
prank? Had he been using her all along?

Hermione bent down to retrieve her quill and scroll, there really wasn’t time to rewrite it now,
perhaps Professor Sprout would understand. Hermione wasn’t practised at making excuses about
her homework, she could tidy it up a little, it would take her mind off other things.

Pansy Parkinson could go to hell. Hermione believed in Draco as she had believed in Ron and as
she had believed in Harry. The morning would prove her right. With that thought she hoisted her
bag onto her shoulder and made her way to her common room.

A murmur followed Hermione across the Gryffindor common room, the ripple grew and by the
time she reached the stairway to her dormitory the words were almost audible. She’d never realised
that so many people knew her, but then, she was a prefect and had a high profile amongst the
Gryffindors; Draco, too was well known here. As a Slytherin Prefect he liked to penalise the
younger Gryffindors for minor infractions. With difficulty, Hermione ignored the whispers that paired
them and condemned them and continued on her way.

Lavender Brown was perched on the edge of her bed fresh from Christmas at home. She was
doing a very convincing impression of a wide mouthed frog.

"Is it true?" asked Lavender as the door clicked shut.

Why, wondered Hermione, was everyone so keen on asking that none-specific but oh-so-direct
little question? Though it galled to see Lavender’s sudden and unprecedented interest in her affairs
Hermione nodded.

"Wow," Lavender gasped and drew closer. "How perfect! I hope you don’t mind me asking but
how does he kiss?" she asked without a shred of embarrassment.

Hermione did mind her asking, it felt awkward to be discussing this with Lavender. It would have
felt awkward discussing it with anyone! Lavender, it seemed was unaware of Hermione’s concern;
she continued her line of probing questions "…Parvati’s sisters friend in Ravenclaw says he’s
surprisingly sensuous. Do you know Mandy Brocklehurst? No? Well, they had a thing a while
back … it didn’t last …"

Hermione’s eyes narrowed; she didn’t like the idea of Draco kissing "Parvati’s sisters friend in
Ravenclaw". Of course she knew that he wasn’t exactly a paragon of virtue, but really, she didn’t
need the details. Past was past.

Lavender was still talking. "… of course I always thought he’d be selfish, rather hard and demanding.
I mean, he’s so aloof …"

"Not at all," said Hermione, quietly; she turned away so that Lavender couldn’t see the grin on
her face or the blush that crept up her cheeks at the thought of him.

"Hermione!" Lavender grasped Hermione's arm and looked square into her eyes. "You haven’t?"

Lavender Brown, Hermione mused, could fairly be described as one of the most annoying people
she knew. Normally she would not be having this sort of conversation with her (or with anyone for
that matter) but Hermione was rather short of friends right now and it was worth a little embarrassment
to stop feeling like such a pariah.

Hermione bit her tongue and smiled very slightly, "I’m not answering that!" she said in what she
hoped was a final tone.

"Hermione!" Lavender actually sounded shocked.

~0~

The first day of a new term dawned with a clear sky and a wintry sun. The snow, which had
covered the school, began slowly to melt. Water dripped down from the eaves, it trickled down
the walls and seeped into the earth to join the great lake at the base of the cliffs. Hermione went
down to breakfast with Parvati and Lavender; she was beginning to learn that even among
Gryffindors, while her former friends might be famous, they weren’t universally popular.

Lavender and Parvati flitted around stopping occasionally to talk to people Hermione did not
even remember having seen before. She waited in the background, offering a weak smile as she
tried to remember name after name. Clearly not all Gryffindors were as insular as she, Ron and
Harry had been.

"Hi Hermione," said Blaise Zabini as she passed the Slytherin table. Hermione looked around
for Draco but she didn’t see him there. Detecting no malice from Blaise Hermione replied, "Oh,
hi," as if startled by the greeting.

The same thing happened as they passed the Ravenclaw table; Padma Patil and her friends
waved at the trio. Again Hermione stuttered a greeting as Lavender and Parvati gushed.

After a walk that seemed to last a week, Hermione, Lavender and Parvati took seats at the far
end of the Gryffindor table, Parvati at Hermione's side and Lavender opposite. They were near
High table where Hermione had a good view of the entire hall; she wanted to be able to see him
come in. Hermione wasn’t hungry but she took a slice of toast and began to apply a thin layer
of marmalade as she listened to the gossip of her friends.

"… and Eloise Midgen covered in bright green blotches …"

"… You’re kidding, that must have been a sight to behold! …"

Hermione nodded every now and then just to remind them that she was still present but her
attention was caught by the arrival of Harry and Ron. The house table was crowded so they
sat closer than Hermione found comfortable. Ron glared at her through narrowed eyes before
turning in his seat to face the other way. No doubt they weren’t too happy about the seating
arrangements either.

Again Hermione's eyes were drawn to the Slytherin table; he still wasn’t there but slowly a
blond head turned and fixed a cold blue eye on Hermione. A nasty smile, visible even at this
distance marred Pansy’s face.

Parvati nudged Hermione’s arm, she pointed to the doorway where Draco entered, flanked
by Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione thought he looked ready to kill someone. Immediately Pansy
rose and went to greet him. She kissed him on both cheeks. Their lips were moving. Hermione
could not hear what they were saying but it was clear that they were not discussing the weather.
Pansy pulled away and after a moment it became horribly clear to Hermione what her destination
was; she was heading directly for the Gryffindor table. Involuntarily Hermione stood, only dimly
aware of Pansy advancing, Draco following swiftly in her wake and the sudden lull in conversation.

"I thought you should witness this, Granger," said Pansy over the head of Lavender Brown.
"Draco has something to tell you." Pansy tossed her head and gazed at Draco, her eyes were
daring him to do something; what that something was, Hermione couldn’t tell.

"Quiet Pansy," Draco said, Hermione recognised a note of warning there that she didn’t like. It
made her shiver. "It’s not the time or the place for this."

Pansy turned and laid a hand on Draco’s arm, "It’s exactly the right time," she said as he shook
her hand away. His lip curled into a rather nasty half smile that exposed a few very white teeth.

"Why Draco, we had a deal," continued Pansy, she rummaged in the pocket of her school robes
and extracted a thick sheaf of letters. Her eyes slipped to Hermione then back to the letters in her
hand. She licked one finger and proceeded to flick through them slowly. "Now let me see, ah yes …
here’s where you raised the stakes …" Pansy extracted a single sheet of paper. Hermione knew
Draco’s writing … it covered each line of this page. "A bet is a bet."

"No deal," said Draco softly, Hermione saw how tense he was, he was fighting for control,
"Pansy, If you continue with this I shall personally strangle you." His eyes caught Hermione’s and
she had the horrible feeling that he meant every word he said.

Pansy dropped the page on the table followed by a large money bag, "You snogged the
Mudblood, here’s the fifty galleons I owe you. You should read that Granger, he doubled the
stakes, the very next morning and from what I hear, he won that one too!"

Hermione’s world had suddenly become very small. She saw Pansy’s triumphant smile. She saw
Draco’s pewter eyes upon her. She saw them shift to Pansy. To the left a scuffle, a blur of red and
black. Draco’s eyes sought out her own then he tore them away.

"You win Pansy," he stated. "I didn’t sleep with her, I didn’t even snog her. I lied." A tight thin
smile that did not reach his eyes settled on his lips. "But then she’s not as much of a fool as you
are … or quite such a slag."

Draco turned to leave but his nose connected sharply with the bony fist of Ron Weasley.

Blood dripping down his chin, Draco pulled himself to his feet. Hermione saw Harry struggling
to stop Ron taking a second swing. Draco touched his fingers to his nose and winced. Hermione
thought she heard him snarl, "You’re dead, Parkinson." then the shrill war cry of Professor
McGonnagall dispersed the crowd more effectively than a water cannon.

"Weasley, Malfoy," the remaining onlookers remembered that they had something rather more
important to do than watch as the black haired witch thundered up to the Gryffindor table.
"Brawling at breakfast. I don’t think I’ve ever seen such behaviour," McGonnagall’s eyes blazed
behind her small square spectacles. She drew herself to her full height and though she barely
reached the noses of the two miscreants she seemed to tower over them. Her gaze flashed from
face to face. "And you, a Prefect, Malfoy. What sort of an example is that to set your house?
Outside at once, both of you!" The Professor pointed a stiff finger at the double doors of the
Great Hall.

Ron moved first and Draco slunk after him. Professor McGonnagall followed and as her tight
black bun disappeared, the hall began to buzz with chatter once again. Hermione lowered her
eyes to the letter that Pansy had dropped in the middle of the long polished table; she snatched
it in her fist and fled.
 
 
 

In Part Eight: Desperado … stalking, soul searching and a bit of none too gentle persuasion.
The things we do for love!

Authors Notes
Erm, I think I did the cliffhanger thing again, whoops!

Sanna, I know you’re going to want to kill me for doing this to them but don’t give up hope just yet ;)

Thank you Squin and Bumblebee for lending me your eyes. Elizabeth, where are you?

Apologies to Salomon, makers of the wonderful X-Scream ski series; way too good for clods like me
to ski on, but I can dream. I thought it would make a good name for a flashy new broomstick:)

If you’re not yet on my update list and would like to be send an e-mail to hyria@yahoo.com or seeker@slytherindungeon.net and I will add you.

Feedback (gushing praise or damning criticism) is always appreciated:)

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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Chapter 8