by Incitata
 
 

Chapter 8
Desperado
 

"Called you so many times today
And I guess it’s all true what your girlfriends say
That you don’t ever want to see me again
And your brother’s gonna kill me and he’s six feet ten"
Can’t stand losing you: Sting, 1978
 

Hermione looked down at the crumpled piece of parchment that lay across her knees. The
words, blue black ink, in a fine angular hand seemed to blur together making it rather difficult
to read. Hermione wiped her eyes and traced her finger along the soft crease that split the
stiff parchment; it had been folded and unfolded many times before she laid eyes upon it.
Somewhere a pipe rattled and clanked before settling with a soft gurgle. In the bright lamplight,
Hermione began to read;
 

My dear Pansy

I’m sure you are wondering why I was not on the train to London. Let me tell you. The
most inconvenient thing has happened. My blasted parents have decided to go away for
the Christmas holidays and at the last minute I was forced to stay at school. Needless to
say I am fuming, I have written to the Goyles to see if Gregory can return but I’m not
really hopeful. Vincent of course is obliged to accompany the rest of the Crabbes on a
trip to Norway so there is no point in trying him. I fear I’m in for a rather dull time. The
only other people here are a group of very annoying first years who have dogged my
every step since the train left this morning.

This brings me round to a way that my time here might be made more interesting. I know
how disappointed you were about the night of the Christmas dance, how all your efforts
could not ruin my plan. Pansy, if only you had enlisted the inestimable Zabini to help you,
she proved most resourceful and was, ultimately the cause of your defeat; indeed I owe
my triumph to the dear girl. No doubt she will exact some form of payment for her services
in the future, but I digress.

That same boredom which seized me at the beginning of the term is on me again and
whilst the delectable Hermione proved most willing I can’t help but wonder if she has
more to give. I know I turned down your wager claiming that I would not sully my person,
but now that the halls and corridors are quiet, I am tempted.

I don’t think for one moment that it will be easy; if I fail you will have one hundred
galleons and I will forfeit my virtue. If I win of course, I will have your money and the
pleasure of seeing Potters scrawny face when he hears the news.

Do let me know what you think of the idea, I know just how eager you were for this only
a few days ago. Anything for something to do over the next few weeks.

Yours, et cetera.

Malfoy
 

Hermione blinked. There could be no further doubt, there it was in his own writing. Pansy had
been telling the truth; she’d probably even done Hermione a favour, not that the knowledge gave
the Gryffindor any comfort. As she placed her feet against the grey cubicle door and leant her
head back against the cool porcelain cistern, Hermione thought it was strange how calm she felt.
If anyone had asked her how she would feel if someone had used her in this way she’d have told
them that she’d be a bit upset but that she wouldn’t let it bother her. That would of course have
been a lie, she expected at least to cry.

A shiver ran down her spine but all Hermione’s tears had fallen when she lost her friends, there
were none left within her to spill for Malfoy.

How could anyone be so callous? Not just about her, though his writing barely acknowledged
that she was a person. Not even about his own friends who he seemed to consider to be there
for his own convenience, but about himself. Surely no one could really be that detached.

Well, Hermione reflected, Pansy Parkinson is welcome to him. Presumably Pansy had a warped
view of what she should expect from a relationship. If it was overbearing arrogance and utter self
absorption she wanted in a partner then she was looking in the right place. They could both grow
old and ugly making cynical bets with one another.

Hermione caught the edge of a thumbnail between her teeth; it was torn and kept catching on her
robes. Half an hour of picking at it while she brooded had only made the split worse. She chewed
thoughtfully on the nail, it provided a focus other than the bold script that lay on her lap.

How could she had have been such an idiot? The nail gave way with a sharp, wet Shclick!
Hermione was half inclined to find Draco and tell him just how much she now hated him, how
she hoped Ron had broken, beyond repair that narrow, straight nose that he spent so much
time looking down.

The severed nail fell soundlessly to the tiled floor as Hermione’s limp arm flopped down to her
side; the only thing she felt was empty. Really, she had thought there was something else there. Not
necessarily something good or tameable but something that only emerged when he allowed it to,
something … exciting.

When Draco had approached her it was like having her fantasy man walk into the room. A face
for so long unattainable and full of disdain was suddenly turned her way wearing a smile that held
deep and dark promises. Draco, she found was addictive. Not at all healthy or wholesome but
moreish, he had a mystique and Hermione couldn’t get enough of the attention he lavished upon
her. Though it annoyed her, he simply exuded confidence. It wasn’t false, he really did believe
that the world owed him something just because his name was Draco Malfoy. Hermione didn’t
like to admit it but she couldn’t help but be impressed by that attitude, it certainly got him what he
wanted.

"Bastard." she gulped, as single tear rolled down her cheek and fell on to the crumpled page.
The ink spread within it, splitting into blue and black and purple, rather like a bruise; the words
that blurred hurt as much.

Hermione hated herself for what she was thinking. She’d welcomed him while she trampled
over dear sweet Ron who’d always been there for her and Harry who was goodness personified…
but, she reasoned, Harry had never so much as looked at her, not like that anyway. And Ron,
well Ron hardly knew what day of the week it was when he looked at her. Why couldn’t he have
just said something, stopped treating her like one of the lads? Then all this would never have
happened … it was all Ron’s fault!

If Ron wasn’t such a twit Malfoy would never have stepped out of her darkest and most secret
dreams to take her hand and show her things that intrigued and disturbed her.

Hermione felt a little sick. Potions was the first lesson of the week and of the term. She couldn’t
face two hours in that room, below ground in a cold and airless dungeon, with Snape peering
over her shoulder and making unpleasant observations. And what ammunition he’d have today!
There couldn’t be a soul in the school, living or dead, who hadn’t heard what happened.
Hermione couldn’t face that … she couldn’t face Malfoy leering across a cauldron at her.
Wherever McGonagall had taken he and Ron they’d still make it to class; Hermione very much
doubted that they’d fall off a cliff or walk under a bus on the way down.

For a moment Hermione wondered if she could transfigure Malfoy into a ferret, she remembered
that he made a good ferret … then she could lock it in a cage and fling it in the lake! Shaking her
head, Hermione folded the letter and slipped it into her pocket then got to her feet and straightened
her robes.

Instead of making her way down to the dungeons, Hermione did something that she had never
before done on purpose. She tramped up the stairs along the familiar path to Gryffindor Tower;
where, sick with guilt from playing truant, she locked herself in her dormitory knowing that she
would be alone until the end of the day.

~0~

Professor McGonagall marched Draco Malfoy and Ron Weasley up the marble staircase and
down corridor after corridor until they reached her study on the first floor.

"In," she said tersely as she held the door open for the boys before closing it firmly behind her.
"Sit down." McGonagall waved them to two plain wooden chairs before going to open the window
to let some air into the stuffy room.

"I’ll get you for this Weasley!" hissed Draco under his breath whilst McGonagall’s back was turned.

"What, for improving your profile?" replied Ron coolly, "I’d like to see you try."

"It’ll be my pleasure," Draco was about to say more but McGonagall was standing behind her
desk facing them.

"You can take that expression off your face, Mister Malfoy," she snapped, "This is no laughing
matter. Now, perhaps one of you would be good enough to tell me what is going on?"

Draco shifted uneasily in his chair, maintaining a tight-lipped silence. McGonagall’s eyes passed
over him and settled on his adversary, "You, Mister Weasley?"

"Nothing Professor," said Ron, his eyes narrowed.

"You punched Mister Malfoy in the nose for nothing? I am surprised," McGonagall’s head turned
suddenly, then she pounced, "Malfoy?"

"It was nothing," Draco replied, stiffly; his words at least corroborated Weasley’s story. At
school even the deadliest of enemies maintain certain rules and not telling tales is one of them.

"Well then, as you are both so keen on making a fuss over nothing I will determine your
punishment. You will both spend the next three nights in detention and I am taking fifteen
points from Gryffindor in the light of Mister Weasley’s unprovoked assault."

Too right, thought Malfoy, feeling his lip twist involuntarily, Why not make it thirty?

"I suggest that you don’t look so smug Mister Malfoy, I am recommending that you be
suspended from the Slytherin Quidditch team until you learn to demonstrate behaviour
appropriate for a Prefect."

Draco’s eyes widened; he hadn’t even done anything. "My father," he began but McGonagall
cut him short, her eyes sparked like struck flints, "Your father will hear about this, make no mistake,
as will yours, Weasley. If either of you decides that you’d like to tell me what was going on I may
reconsider…"

Neither boy said a word though they managed to exchange poisonous sidelong glances as
McGonagall watched.

"Very well, I will write to your parents at the end of the day if neither of you has decided to
come to your senses. Get off to class both of you," McGonagall stood and waved an irritable
hand at them. "And Malfoy," she added as she held the door wide open, "go to Madam
Pomfrey first, she’ll be able to stop that bleeding."

"Yes, Professor," Draco muttered obediently, feeling a fresh trickle of blood begin to ooze
over his lip, he didn’t need someone who looked as though they regularly sucked lemons reminding
him. What, with the deep, dull throb that pulsed at the front of his head he could hardly forget it.
Draco walked slowly, watching Weasley’s quickening step; his hand crept toward his wand but he
was aware of Professor McGonagall’s sharp eyes upon his back. By the time Draco turned the
corner, Ron was out of sight.

Draco paused at the top of the marble staircase; he wasn’t going to the hospital wing just yet.
He stormed straight down to the Slytherin Dungeon, drips of bright blood marking his passage.

"Shit, shit, shit!" the words punctuated every step. As he reached the stretch of wall that concealed
the entrance he glanced down at his hand. It was slick with his own blood. "Lacertus atrioli," he
spat to open the door, streaking the floor with crimson.

The Slytherin Common room was deserted which was good because Draco was in no mood to
exchange civil words with anyone. He stalked across the low silent chamber and went straight
through to his dormitory. When the door swung shut the first thing Draco did was to kick over
Crabbe’s bedside table sending an assortment of photographs and an alarm clock scattering across
the flagstone floor. He wanted to grab Pansy and smash his fists repeatedly into her face then he’d
start on the rest of her. Draco continued to fling every movable object at the wall. He pummelled
Goyles mattress and ripped the hangings off each bed, flinging them down beneath his feet.
Eventually he slumped to the floor with his back against the polished wooden door and wiped his
bloody hand across his sweaty forehead.

A burning that felt horribly like tears pushed at Draco’s eyeballs. He dug his fingernails into his palms
and gazed at the scene of destruction; he hadn’t lost control like that since the OWL results came out.
Then he had wanted to kill Hermione. If she didn’t exist then he would likely be top of the year, and
he wouldn’t have to endure yet another lecture from his father. Back then he’d passed through the
white rage and taken refuge in a sort of daze in which he’d walked and walked until he found the cliff
path. He’d had every intention of throwing himself off but the cliff had opened up behind him and in
that cave he’d recovered his wits.

But Hermione didn’t understand that, she never would even though he’d taken her there.

"Why the hell would she want to understand?" Draco asked no one in particular, "You’ve
screwed up, Malfoy." he told himself as he pinched the bridge of his nose between two fingers.

Unwelcome words crept into consciousness, words spoken in cold, cutting anger. Words
spoken by his father. "My, my. You really do have an unfortunate knack of souring the most
amicable relationships, don’t you, boy? … Oh, stop snivelling you insufferable little brat!" his
father’s anger was not something that Draco liked to attract; it was subtle and it was
dangerous, and quick though his reflexes were, Draco had never yet managed to dodge his
father’s hand. Draco leaned heavily against his palm; yet again his father’s words were true.

When he raised his head, Draco’s hand was wet. His nose had stopped bleeding though the
tang of copper mingled with salt lingered on his tongue.

~0~

It was hard even in a building as vast as Hogwarts to avoid someone, particularly when that
someone shared some of the same classes; Potions, Care of Magical Creatures and Arithmancy.
Knowing that she couldn’t avoid all those lessons Hermione had taken to leaving quickly (in the
case of Potions) or lingering to talk to the teacher (in the case of Arithmancy and Care of Magical
Creatures); in this way she avoided Malfoy.

It was even harder to avoid people who shared a common room. It wasn’t that Hermione didn’t
want to see Harry and Ron, it was just that she felt very uncomfortable around them.

For a whole week Parvati and Lavender had insisted on treating Hermione as though her parents
had just died; As if losing a boyfriend is the end of the world she’d protested. I’m not bereaved;
I’m not even bothered. Draco is a git, end of story; I’m not going to give him another thought!

That had given her friends an idea for a new tactic, which was really beginning to get on Hermione’s
nerves; they were trying to set her up with Justin.

"Go on ‘Mione," as Lavender insisted on calling her, presumably because Hermione contained too
many syllables. "He’s fancied you for ages, only he thought there was something with you and Harry."

"Harry!" Hermione rolled her eyes, "Why do people always think I’m seeing Harry?"

Lavender and Parvati glanced at one another. It was for this reason that Hermione dashed out of
History of Magic the second the bell had stopped ringing, and it was then that Harry caught up with
her.

"Hermione," said Harry, looking rather sheepish, "You got a moment?"

She was surprised to hear his voice but she nodded. "I have a free period, I was going to spend it
in the library."

"I’m sorry, I’ve been, erm, busy," he said.

"Nice try, Harry," Hermione replied as she tied a long shimmering scarf around her neck. They
walked side by side into the courtyard; it was cold outside and a few resilient patches of white
still clung to the ground in the shadiest corners. It was here that Ron and Ginny and Harry had
had the snowball fight that she’d watched. Hermione raised her eyes and looked past Harry,
straight up at the little window where Draco had come upon her at Christmas, when all she had
wanted was to be with her friends down in the courtyard. Hermione blinked, thinking that she
saw movement up there, but it must have been the reflection of a bird, or a cloud or of sunlight.

Hermione lowered her gaze and sat on the low wall and dropped her bag at her feet, "I thought
I was persona non grata," she said, and tried to catch Harry’s eye.

Harry’s cheeks reddened.

Feeling guilty?, Hermione thought, watching Harry’s breath spiral in steamy fingers against the
cold air.

"I, well. I was surprised…" he said slowly, pushing his glasses a little way up his nose. "I can’t
say I’m sorry that it didn’t work, but Hermione, you deserve better treatment than that, what he
did…"

"Did Cho ask you to speak to me?" Hermione asked, rather more directly than usual; she didn’t
feel much like sparing his embarrassment.

Harry nodded, "I didn’t think you’d want to speak to us … me, after the way I reacted, but Cho
thought you might be feeling a bit…"

"Sorry for myself?"

"Yeah,"

"I’m fine. I should have seen it, Harry. But I can handle Malfoy, I can handle a dozen Malfoys!"

"What a horrible image," remarked Harry, "one’s bad enough! But if it makes you feel any better
he’s been suspended from the Slytherin Quidditch team, they’ve got some no hoper as Seeker,"
Hermione didn’t want to talk about Draco or about Quidditch; that stupid sport had started all this
anyway! Something in Hermione’s gaze must’ve shown her annoyance because Harry quickly
changed the subject, "I’m just glad you’re okay, we … I’ve been worried. You’ve missed classes
and that’s just not like you."

Harry was as easy to talk to as ever. For a moment Hermione wondered why he’d never … then
she released an almost wistful sigh and pulled herself together. "To tell you the truth, Harry, I don’t
know what’s like me anymore but I’ll be okay. And Harry, you don’t have to be nice." she
smirked and pushed a strand of hair behind her ear. "Really, you can be as annoyed as you like…"

Harry grinned. "He’ll kill me for telling you but Ron’s annoyed enough for both of us," he reached
out a hand and touched the scarf that was wrapped around Hermione’s neck, "Isn’t that the scarf
Ron got you for Christmas?"

Hermione nodded. To someone watching from above the gesture would have resembled a caress
but to Hermione it was just an ending of hostilities. "Take care," said Harry, then he hurried off to
Divination.

This time Hermione was sure that she saw a movement behind the small diamond paned window
half way up the castle wall. She got to her feet but everything was still. Puzzled she continued on her
way to the library.

~0~

"Miss Granger," said Professor McGonagall. The lunch bell had just gone and Hermione was keen
to get away by herself for an hour, she’d thought a lot since Harry had spoken to her the previous day
and she had a growing, niggling, uncomfortable feeling that she was being watched. She had sworn
not to let Malfoy bother her but she couldn’t help thinking that he was around more often than he
ought to be. Almost every time she turned around he would be watching her from a doorway, or
walking by, or flicking slowly through a book in the library.

"Yes Professor McGonagall?" Hermione responded, not quite brightly.

"Miss Granger, Hermione. If you have a moment I would like a word."

Hermione surmised that she didn’t really have a choice, "Of course."

McGonagall waited until the last student had filed past, then she looked very seriously at
Hermione with beady eyes. "I know that you’ve been … ill, at the beginning of this term, some
of the teachers have said to me that your marks have been lower than usual," the phrasing was
so careful that it was painful. It seemed to Hermione that McGonagall was doing anything to
avoid accusing her of skiving; somehow she knew that McGonagall had made the connection
between herself and Malfoy and was choosing to be tactful, but as far as Hermione was concerned
she was okay and doing just fine. The professor seemed to think otherwise, "If there is something
bothering you…?" McGonagall might as well have been sitting by the edge of a pond holding a
rod.

"There’s nothing bothering me, Professor," Hermione said, "I’m sure I don’t why you think
there’s a problem," Hermione thought of Draco’s words, about lying; she was lying now, to
McGonagall and to herself but she wasn’t going to take notice of anything he’d said.

Professor McGonagall gave Hermione a long, searching look; she clearly didn’t believe a
word Hermione said but long experience had taught her when not to pry. "Very well, Miss
Granger," she said, eventually. "I trust you will have no problems with the seven foot composition
I set this lesson."

"None at all," replied Hermione with a very small smile, then a thought occurred. "Professor,"
she asked, "Would it be possible for me to use one of the Transfiguration classrooms to work
in? The library closes at eight and the common room is very crowded in the evenings … It is
quite hard to work in there with all the babble…"

The teacher’s face relaxed a little, maybe because she’d once been in Gryffindor she understood
how crowded the tower could be, "Why of course, Hermione," McGonagall said kindly. "I’ll leave
classroom three unlocked for you, but don’t devote all your time to work. Remember, your house
mates need you too."

Hermione forced a smile, certain that some her housemates would like her to drop dead round
about now. "Of course Professor, it’ll be a real help."

There was no way Malfoy would find her there and the solution also seemed to cheer up
Professor McGonagall. Hermione supposed that noisy distractions were an acceptable excuse
for sliding marks. Now maybe she could do something about them. After all Hermione still
hoped to be Head Girl next year, and it would be unfortunate if she didn’t come top for the
sixth year in a row.

Back to what I’m good at, thought Hermione with grim determination, Model student, good
grades, perfect prefect, Head Girl. It sounded rather like a mantra. She didn’t ask Malfoy
and his crooked opinions into her life, and if he thought she was going to let it ruin her record,
well he had another thing coming.

Hermione was not going to think of Malfoy ever again.

~0~

Lavender had not taken Hermione’s hints regarding Justin Finch-Fletchley seriously and as she
passed the Hufflepuff table that night…

"Hermione," said Justin, breathlessly. "So sorry to bother you but Lavender said…"

Hermione’s brow wrinkled, Arrrggghh, How tiresome! Justin was nice enough, he had a mop
of curly brown hair that fell over his eyes, a wide, slightly ruddy face and a cheerful hearty manner;
if he hadn’t turned out to be a wizard Hermione thought he would probably be playing rugby for
Eton by now.

"… that you might come to the Quidditch match on Saturday … with me. I know Gryffindor are
playing but I’d rather support them … you, than Slytherin."

Hermione took a deep breath. "Thanks Justin. I’ll see you by the broomshed." she moved swiftly
on with no intention of doing any such thing. For some reason she hadn’t felt able to disappoint
the earnest young Hufflepuff. He’ll get over it, she thought, secretly hoping that Justin wouldn’t
be too disappointed when she didn’t turn up.

The Gryffindor went straight from the great hall to classroom number three. Hermione’s footsteps
echoed down the empty corridors; no one ever came here at night. There would be no distractions,
no Lavender, no Parvati, no Harry, no Ron … the door swung open without a sound … and no
Malfoy and his … Hermione dropped her bag on a desk and remembered that she wasn’t thinking
about Malfoy.

As far as you’re concerned he never existed, she told herself, Draco who?

Hermione sat and drummed her fingers on the desk, "Git." she said, and took out a large pile of
books, a fresh roll of parchment, a quill and a small bottle of brownish ink. Hermione lay a large
volume; Squaring the Circle and Dividing the Pi: An Arithmantic Perspective by Dr P. R.
O’tractor. She opened it then leaned forward and began to explore its yellowed pages, taking
notes along the way.

A strange prickling feeling crossed the back of Hermione’s neck; she looked up for a moment
but there was no one there. Brushing her hair behind one ear she returned to her work.

~0~

He watched her quietly. In lessons she surrounded herself with others, talked to the teacher and
sometimes, she did not turn up at all. Draco could not get near enough to speak to her and after
three nights stuck with Weasley, helping Argus Filch clean out toilets, Draco thought he at least
deserved a word; it was her stupid friend that had caused it.

He wrote a note on heavy paper and sealed it in a bright blue envelope with a large dollop of
purple wax. He called Whimsy who returned just minutes later holding four torn squares of paper;
the seal hadn’t even been broken. Draco threw the shreds at the elf who promptly vanished. Now
the little blighter would no longer appear when he summoned it. Hermione, it seemed wasn’t the
only one who had decided not to take any more of his abuse.

Once, he had found her in the library, alone at that desk; it was late afternoon and in the fading
light she looked tired. He approached quietly and laid a hand lightly on her shoulder. Hermione
did not even turn her head, she simply pushed back her chair and without pausing to collect her
things, she stood and walked away. It was as though she could smell him; she didn’t even have
to look.

Another time he waited there for an hour, flicking through the pages of a book and ignoring the
glares of Madam Pince who seemed to feel he was making the place look untidy. Hermione had
walked in and walked right out again. Draco dropped the book on a table and started after her
but the old vulture blocked his way and made him put the book back on the shelf.

Everything and everyone seemed to be conspiring against him.

Draco followed her about the school in the shadows, waiting for a moment to speak with her;
a moment where she couldn’t get away but always she seemed to be with someone.

But eventually a moment came.

Draco saw Hermione slip into the empty Transfiguration classroom, it was Seven O’clock
and she could be here for no other reason than to work alone. Through the tiny glass pane in
the centre of the door he watched as she began to unpack her books, as she sat down at a
desk facing the door and brushed her hair behind one ear. His fingers were splayed across
the door and his breath was heavy. Anyone else, he thought would take the hint and leave
her alone but no, he was Draco Malfoy and his family was denied nothing – so he’d been
taught. He could see her fingers tracing their way along a wide yellowish page of some
unspeakably large tome; Draco imagined it was skin, his skin and that it was he who drew
that interest from her eyes, not a bunch of words written by a mad magician.

Hermione looked so composed, as if nothing had affected her. Had he really expected red
eyes and tears? Draco wasn’t sure, but she was a picture, enraptured in her work; so relaxed
and natural. Draco absorbed every shift, every blink, every time her brow wrinkled then
smoothed as she tackled each challenge, lit always by soft flickering lamplight.

Draco closed his eyes and opened them again slowly, had he possessed an eidetic memory it
would have been imprinted there forever. His hand reached for the door handle but his fingers
froze against the cold metal. He could watch her and surely she loved him, otherwise she
wouldn’t be sitting there, allowing him to see.

His muscles were stiff from standing so still for so long but as Hermione extinguished the lamp,
Draco retreated into the shadows. She came out of the classroom and carefully closed the door.
A heavy bag was slung over her arm.

Hermione glanced suddenly over her shoulder and Draco gasped. He thought she’d seen him.
He pressed back into the niche he shared with a statue of a wizened witch and released a sigh
as she moved on.

~0~

Saturday came. Most of the school had made their way to the great oval playing field to watch
the match between Slytherin and Gryffindor. Draco was in a foul mood. Professor McGonagall
hadn’t been bluffing when she threatened to have him removed from the team. A note had
arrived that very morning in Dumbledore’s handwriting reminding him that until staff were
satisfied that he was "…setting an example befitting a Prefect…" he would not be allowed to
play. It occurred to Draco then, that calling Madam Pince a snaggle toothed old hag in front of
a group of second years hadn’t been such a good idea.

Growing bored of slouching around an empty common room, Draco walked about the school
and came to lurk sulkily in the courtyard. At least the sun was warm there and the sound of cries
and cheers from the Quidditch pitch would not carry that far. He spent a few minutes kicking
stones at a wall then he caught sight of someone else who would usually have been occupied
with Quidditch, Hermione.

Draco ambled toward the door and followed a safe distance, he was becoming remarkably
good at it; not that trailing people is a useful life skill unless one plans to become a spy. Still,
it was the only way he could be near her. Hermione appeared to be going to that classroom
again. Draco hung back; he knew the way so there was no need to get too close.

The view through the small window was just as he had imagined; there she was, at the little desk
with her books and her brains. A stream of sunlight poured in through the mullioned window,
lighting the dusty air, which shimmered like a veil. Why not do it now? he thought, she’ll either
listen to you, or she won’t and there’s no one around for her to run to, he added.

Reaching out an eager hand, Draco twisted the handle and pushed. Hermione looked up.
Draco smiled.

"Hermione," he said, stepping forward, "You’ve been avoiding me."

"Very perceptive, Draco," she replied, Hermione immediately returned her attention to the books
which she pulled one by one from her bag, placing them in a neat pile on the desk. "I don’t have
anything to say to you and I find silences rather awkward, don’t you? Feel free to leave!" her voice
sounded strained, as though it took some effort to keep the tone even and light. Draco pushed the
door closed behind him then he walked slowly into the room; his pace was measured and designed
to intimidate. It appeared to be having the desired effect.

Draco paused with his hands behind his back; he observed Hermione as she continued to ignore
him. Hermione pushed back her chair. "Well, if you won’t leave, I will," she got to her feet and
moved quickly toward the door, "I’m sure Professor McGonagall will be interested to hear that
you’re harassing me." she was almost at the door.

Draco quickly processed her words, Harassing? That was hardly fair!

"No!" Draco grabbed her wrist as she reached for the door handle and spun her round to face
him, her own momentum threw her up against him. Draco’s hands pinned her arms to her sides
and he used his body to push her against the door. He pressed hard with his chest and hissed
into her face. "You are going to stay here and listen to me, I don’t care what sort of a bastard
you think I am, but you are going to stay here and listen to every word I have to say, even if I
have to knock you out and tie you up; and don’t think that I wouldn’t do it."

Draco felt Hermione’s body tremble against his and he closed his eyes. Her fear surprised him,
he didn’t want to terrify her; he pulled back a little but kept his hands firmly on her shoulders to
stop her from running.

"Let me go, Draco!" Hermione said through gritted teeth. He suspected that he was hurting her,
but if that was the only way he could make her stay, so be it.

Draco shook his head. "Not until you’ve listened to me," he said.

"Make it quick!" spat Hermione.

Hesitantly Draco lowered his hands to his sides, he hooked his thumbs in his belt and looked
down at Hermione. She breathed deeply, as if gathering something from the air around her then
she rolled her shoulders and slapped Draco hard across the cheek with the back of one hand.

"How dare you try to bully me!" she raged, reminding Draco uncannily of an irate Professor
McGonagall. He lightly touched his lip, suspecting it may be split. Draco stepped back and
seized both of Hermione’s wrists, just in case she fancied a second try. "Let me go!" Hermione
protested, struggling against him.

Draco shook his head and almost lifted her off her feet, "If you keep doing that you’ll hurt
yourself," he warned as he pulled the wriggling Hermione across the classroom to a chair. Holding
her wrists in one hand he shoved her into the chair and held her there with the other. When she
had stopped struggling he spoke again. "Stay there and listen to me, I’d prefer it if you didn’t take
another swipe,  I’m feeling a bit delicate." he tried to make light of his battered face.

Draco knelt down between Hermione’s knees, still restraining her hands with his. "I’ll make it
quick," he said, not sure how to deal with the appal that darkened her eyes. "Yes, I made and
won a bet to get off with you at the Christmas dance, and if you had any idea of the effort
required …" Draco shook his head, Hermione wouldn’t see two months of spreading rumours
as a positive thing … Really though, he thought, she should be flattered! he’d never before
made so much effort for another person.

Draco pursed his lips, "Bad choice of words," he said, almost apologetically then he smiled
thinly, "Pansy, of course was livid, but then she’s never quite forgiven me for dumping her and
she really can’t afford to lose that sort of money. Of course she wanted the stakes to be me if
I lost. Like an idiot I agreed but the idea of Pansy again … I have some taste!" Draco snorted
then caught sight of Hermione’s face. Deciding that he might not look as well with missing teeth
he returned to his explanation. "Anyway, I won. Fifty Galleons. Only you and I know what
really happened out there by the lake. To win, all I needed was a kiss and I’m not given to
sullying peoples reputations undeservedly and you my dear…"

Hermione's knee lifted sharply.

It came dangerously close to Draco’s chin. He placed his free hand on her knee and pushed
her leg firmly back to the ground. He was rather pleased that he hadn’t allowed her enough space
to move it more decisively.

Draco waited until he had her full attention, "Now, now Hermione," he might be desperate but he
was determined to stay in control. "Listen now, and if you feel the need to beat me to a pulp later,
I won’t resist," he lowered his eyes, and added, almost playfully, "much!"

"I tried to explain all this to you the day after, I don’t know why … but I felt a little guilty about
what I’d done. I forget precisely what I said … but you wouldn’t listen to me and like an ass I
kissed you. I bet you weren’t expecting that … certainly, I wasn’t." he laughed humourlessly,
"then that Weasley idiot turned up, just after you’d declared that you would never love me. That
hurt, Hermione, leaving me without hope. I wasn’t at all pleased with you!

"The letter was written just after that," Draco looked again into her eyes. They were hard and
almost black even in the morning light. He’d hoped to see something that might hint at forgiveness
or even at understanding but he saw nothing but qualities usually associated with obsidian and
similar minerals. "Think about it. All my friends had gone home, you had rather annoyed me and
I needed something to entertain me … and do try to be objective, otherwise you’ll misunderstand.

"I misunderstood, I realised that after an afternoon with you." Draco looked away in case his
eyes gave away too much, "What Pansy didn’t show you was the next letter telling her that the
bet was off, that I simply couldn’t do such a thing. Yes, against my own will I actually liked
you … I still do. I warned her that I wouldn’t allow her to do this, but like I said, she is still a
bit obsessed with me. I understand that she has made some rather unpleasant threats to you,
Hermione. … Do tell me and I’ll take them into account when I deal with her."

Draco looked up into a pair of wide shocked eyes, "What the blazes do you mean, deal with
her?" Hermione gasped, Draco felt her wrists twist in his grasp but not enough to break it. He
groaned, but inwardly her reaction pleased him. If Hermione was really that horrified she would
have tried a little harder to get away and he would have let her go; "Say the word, Hermione,
and I’ll not lay a finger on her."

A particularly satisfying image of Pansy, her eyes and cheeks swollen, bloody lips gasping for
breath as his forearm pinned her against a wall by the throat, edged into Draco’s mind, another
well aimed kick and … his eyes narrowed … Just tell me that you’d like me to kill her, he
thought. Draco was twice Pansy’s size but as far as he was concerned that just gave him an
advantage. Hermione’s approval would just …

"Lay a finger …" Hermione spluttered, pushing hard against Draco. The idea seemed to be
giving the Gryffindor some trouble.

"After what she’s done to you?" Draco suspected that there were several nasty things Hermione
would like to do to Pansy Parkinson but he didn’t think she’d ever be willing to admit it, she was
too much of a hypocrite for that. Much easier to appear offended when he expressed the
sentiment. "I’m surprised that …"

Hermione interrupted, "After what you’ve done, Draco," she protested.

He blinked, not so long ago he’d have liked to do the same to Hermione, a bit of revenge for
every exam in which she’d bested him; for one moment Hermione’s face replaced Pansy’s and
Draco’s fingers tightened around her wrists, then Hermione’s sharp voice dispelled the bruised
image, "You are unbelievable! How can you even talk about such a thing?"

Draco’s gaze faltered, "For you!" he said in astonishment, releasing Hermione’s hands as if she
were on fire. "Because she tried to humiliate you in front of the entire school." I'm trying to
protect you, you little idiot, he muttered beneath his breath. Can’t you see that?

Hermione shot to her feet, watched by Draco who remained on his knees. "First you bet that you
can snog me, then you bet that you can sleep with me, all the while claiming that you are in love with
me. Confronted about it you deny that you’ve been anywhere near me and then you tell me that
you want to beat up a girl because she put you into an awkward situation …" Hermione’s voice
had reached a pitch rarely heard by anyone but bats, "You utter … utter … shit!"

"Not at all," Draco pulled himself to his feet, knocking the chair over in his haste. He moved
toward Hermione but she had ensured there was a desk between them, he couldn’t reach her.
Draco leaned casually against the desk and looked down at his feet hoping that he looked
unconcerned. "I told her it was off, that I couldn’t do that to you. And I told her what I’d do
if she persisted … I’m a man of my word, if nothing else." he dragged a hand through his hair
and glared at Hermione, "Do you have any idea what I am saying Hermione, when I say that
I love you?" he said it very slowly as if talking to a halfwit.

Silence.

That was answer enough for Draco. She really did not understand. What was the bloody point
of trying to explain? How could a damned Mudblood even come close? … What ever had he
been thinking? "That’s it then." Draco shrugged; he smiled nastily, "I wish you luck in rebuilding
your friendships. And believe me, you’ll need it." he shoved his hands in his pockets and stepped
toward the door.

"You complete …" Hermione shrieked, but she didn’t finish her sentence. She darted round the
desk and lunged at Draco. Hermione thudded into his back and knocked Draco heavily to the
floor. Hermione fell with him and he lay stunned for a few seconds as her fists whacked his head
and his chest, then, as he recovered his breath, he swung round and wrestled her to the ground.
He straddled her chest but threw most of his weight forward to grind her flailing fists against the
rough stone floor. Her legs kicked but he didn’t need to worry about them. Draco pressed a little
harder, just to make sure he had her full attention.

"Stop it, Hermione," he growled, his lips almost touching hers "stop it right now." Draco was
used to violence, he had been on the receiving end more than once and he knew perfectly well
how to use it effectively against another, with or without assistance, but he’d never, ever found
the experience particularly pleasurable. Necessary, but never thrilling, and certainly not erotic,
but with Hermione trapped beneath him …

Draco shuddered and made a strangled noise that sounded like "Urgh!" He was disgusted with
himself at the thought, the idea that he might have to bash a girl over the head to get her was
something new to him and he didn’t like it; it was so base. He opened his mouth to speak but
he caught Hermione’s eye, her gaze was filled with defiant amusement; she seemed to find his
confusion entertaining.

"What do you want, Malfoy?" she asked.

He hadn’t expected the question, he hadn’t expected any questions. Draco looked at her with
what he feared might be a rather gormless expression. "You turn from threats, to reason, to foreplay
with barely a thought … have you ever looked at yourself?" For a girl pinned to the floor beneath
a young man in a rage, Hermione sounded remarkably glib, "If you could see what I can see right
now …" she shook her head, spreading the swathe of brown hair out further across the dusty floor.
A citrus tang tickled Draco’s nostrils; like her words, he found it very hard to ignore. "maybe then
you’d understand yourself. But no, tell me what you want … if you know what you want, that is."

Draco looked down at Hermione who was looking up at him through astonishingly calm brown
eyes.  Against his will the corners of his mouth twisted into a smile. "I know what I want," he replied,
perhaps she had already beaten him, he thought, for now. "but I think if I pursue it, I might get
hexed … to Hawaii … and back …" he let it hang there. The words were still fresh in his memory
and if she was half the woman he thought her to be Hermione would recognise them.

Hermione didn’t reply. She appeared uncomfortable but Draco didn’t relax his hold, flat on the
floor and above her head he could see what her hands were doing, he wouldn’t release Hermione
just yet, in case she tried to attack again. He raised one eyebrow as he waited for her to say
something … anything.

The words that eventually came horrified Draco.

"You’re wasting your time, Malfoy. You might find it nice in Ohua, I don’t know. But if you try
anything like that my boyfriend will knock your head off."

"Your what …?" he exclaimed, rigid.

"I don’t think he’d be too happy about you holding me here either." Hermione’s stony gaze did
not waver.

"Potter?"

"Why do you people always jump to that conclusion?" Hermione shook her head. The look in
her eyes was cold, piercing, and utterly sincere. "not Harry you idiot. Justin!"

"Justin?" Draco sat up giving Hermione room to twist, she knocked Draco sideways and scrambled
backwards. Draco fell clumsily, banging his elbow hard on the floor.

"Yes," Hermione said determinedly, as she got to her feet and began to hurriedly stuff books into
her bag. "Justin."

"Who the hell is Justin?" questioned Draco, incredulous. There was something calculating in
Hermione’s eyes that he hadn’t noticed before. If she wasn’t always so righteous he’d have
thought she was … no, that was ridiculous. Draco watched foolishly as she zipped up her
bag, pulled it on to her shoulder and stood facing him with her wand held in her fist.

"Justin Finch-Fletchley" Hermione replied lightly, tightening her fingers around her wand. "He’s
in Hufflepuff."

If Draco had been eating he would have choked. "When …?" he managed to say.

"Hard though it may be for you to believe, Malfoy but some people aren’t ashamed of being
seen with me. They don’t mind if their friends know we’re going out. In fact they quite like it.
Now if you wouldn’t mind getting out of my way I need to meet him. Gryffindor are going to
wipe the floor with Slytherin and I really don’t want to miss that!"

Hermione pushed straight past Draco and bolted through the door. Draco followed anxiously
a few seconds behind. "Hermione! What about us?"

"What about us?" she replied, in the most heartless tone she could muster.

Justin Finch-Fletchley was about to get the surprise of his life.
 
 
 

In Part Nine: Quincunx … Draco, Ron and Harry finally agree on something but Justin
Finch-Fletchley thinks that Christmas has come again!

Authors Notes
That must be the longest one so far. For anyone who’s interested the password to the
Slytherin Dungeon translates as Lounge Lizard.

A huge thank you to everyone who has reviewed so far. I hope you are enjoying reading
TdF as much as I am enjoying writing it. Stick with me, please. As usual, if you’re not yet
on my update list and would like to be, send a note to either hyria@yahoo.com or
seeker@slytherindungeon.net .

The biggest thanks of all go to my growing tribe of Betas; Bumblebee the grammar fiend,
Squin the plot bunny and Daphne for a good all round pair of eyes. This is the second chapter
on which they’ve been at work (the things people will do for a sneak preview;)).

And to anyone else who has trouble with McGonagonagonagonagonall’s name, I can’t spell it either!

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.
 

Back to Chapter 7
Chapter 9