Eight and Eighth--Chapter 20
Title: Eight and Eighth
Author: Marmalade Fever
Characters: Draco Malfoy, Hermione Granger, and more.
Genres: Romance, Drama, weird combo of in-Hogwarts and post-Hogwarts, and Humor. I can't write a fanfic without humor leaking its way in.
Spoilers: DH (though no epilogue)
Overall Rating: PG-13
Summary: Up from the ashes of seventh year grow the roses of the eighth. Eight students return for their final year at Hogwarts, and Hermione Granger would never have thought Draco Malfoy would or could be one of those roses.
Chapter 20--Triangles
Hermione waved her hands in front of Amorell’s face in a manner that was not exactly meant to be violent but was as she accidentally smacked Padma in the face. The other girl sent her a glare, but otherwise she appeared to be fine.
Amorell blinked, muttered “Finite incantatem,” and a raucous of voices began immediately, all in mid-sentence.
“-was that for?” Harry was asking Ron.
“-nald Weasley!” August was berating.
“-in the nose!” Hermione was shouting to Amorell. She physically flinched at the sound of her own voice. It was amazing what an hour without the ability to speak could do to a person.
“Oh my!” the ministry official cried, covering her mouth with a short-nailed but well-manicured hand.
It didn’t take long for Amorell to snap into action in a way that none of the class had ever witnessed from her before. “Mr. Potter? Take Mr. Malfoy to the Hospital Wing. Mr. Weasley, an explanation for this blatant show of intolerance, if you will!”
Hermione watched on as Harry hauled Malfoy to his feet. The blond boy was blinking dazedly, apparently just regaining consciousness after being out of it for a few seconds. A thick stream of bright red blood was dribbling down his lips, over his chin, and onto his robes. He wobbled, but Harry caught him. Odd, Hermione’s feet were moving of their own accord, and she caught Malfoy’s other arm.
Ron shook his hand, wincing, and he sent Hermione a frown. “Why does your parchment-” he began, but he stopped himself, sending a reflexive gaze to August.
“How should I know?” Hermione asked. Well, she did know… but she wasn’t about to tell Ron of all people!
“What about your parchment?” Harry asked, catching Malfoy again as he slumped.
“Something stupid, that’s all!” Hermione said. “Come on, let’s get him to Madam Pomfrey!”
Harry nodded reluctantly and they set out on their journey. The fact that Amorell had not asked Hermione to go along was stuffed into a far corner of her brain.
O
Draco thanked any deity he’d ever heard of that Madam Pomfrey knew how to fix broken noses without said noses ending up Eloise Midgen-style. He sat on one of the hospital wing beds, wiping blood from his mouth and sporting a black eye that would be gone within the hour.
“Really,” Potter was asking, “what was on your parchment?”
“It was nothing-he overreacted. You know how Ron gets. It was stupid, really.”
Draco snorted and then winced considerably. Not a good idea, apparently. A lovely globule of blood and mucus slipped down the back of his nose and into his throat. “Some hypocrite he is, anyway,” he stated.
Granger sent him a pleading, furious, skeptical look, all wrapped up into one. “What do you mean?” she asked carefully.
“I mean, I saw him snogging Moon in the library yesterday. Bloody hypocritical of him, reacting the way he did.”
Potter had this odd expression on his face, as if he were trying to put together a puzzle that wasn’t entirely making sense. “How is that hyp-” he began.
Granger’s eyes went wide. “He what?”
“Slipped his tongue down her throat in between Historical Fiction and Greek Mythology. It was too much of a sight to behold-had to shut my eyes lest they become imprinted with the grotesque image.”
She stamped her foot, her cheeks turning red. “Is that-Harry, do you know anything about this?”
Potter opened his mouth and closed it again. “He didn’t tell you?”
“Tell me what?”
Potter shifted from one foot to the other. “He and August got together over break. She, er, came over to the Burrow for Christmas dinner.” He winced away automatically, seeming to expect a verbal assault, but Granger was biting her lip, her eyes squeezed shut.
“The jumper,” she murmured. “The journal. Hmph!” She opened her eyes. “So that’s what he meant when he wrote me about being friends. It means he’s moved on.”
“Well,” Potter began, lifting one finger in the air, “not completely, apparently… if I’m getting the whole hypocritical thing right.” Granger looked as if she were about to refute anything that came out of his mouth. “I mean, he did defend you.” Granger relaxed.
“Defend. Right.” She breathed a sigh of relief.
Draco was torn between correcting the Boy-Who-Got-Much-Glory and protecting himself from another broken nose-whether from Granger for spilling the beans or Potter for having the audacity to like his best friend, no matter if the kind of like had not been specified on the parchment.
Stupid word: like. Like, really stupid.
Potter checked his watch. “We should really get to Potions. Candanver might be awake today.”
“Doubtful,” Draco muttered, hopping down from the bed.
Potter shook his head. “Saw him drink two mugs of coffee this morning.”
And that was as civil as the two of them got.
O
Candanver was out like a light when Hermione, Harry and Malfoy arrived in the dank Potion’s classroom. Ron was missing, but Ginny had saved them a bench-them excluding Malfoy, who wandered off to sit by himself, having more or less been exiled from the Slytherin House.
“I heard Ron punched the daylights out of Malfoy,” Ginny said calmly, not even bothering to make a potion. “Looks like he has some daylights left, though,” she added, sending Harry a teasing pout.
Hermione made a fuss over getting out her cauldron and ingredients, trying to stay out of Ginny’s line of questioning.
“I do like his black eye, though,” Ginny added.
Harry shrugged lightly. “It’s starting to clear up. It was worse a few minutes ago.”
“So,” Ginny asked, setting her elbow on the tabletop and her head in her hand, “what started it?”
“Ask her,” Harry replied, and Hermione felt a lead weight drop into her stomach as he jerked his thumb in her direction.
“Well?” Ginny asked, as Hermione continued to flip through her textbook, trying to find an agreeable potion.
“It’s stupid, really,” she reiterated. She paused briefly to chew on her lip, trying to decide whether to tell the truth or no. She wasn’t exactly known for her acting skills, and no doubt Ron would be more than willing to clear up any confusion for them later. “You had Amorell’s class this morning, right?”
Ginny nodded. “Find someone who something-somethings like you. Yeah.”
“Right,” Hermione said, clearing her throat a little. She cast a wary gaze in Malfoy’s direction. No doubt he was listening in. “So line twelve….”
“Twelve?” Harry asked. “What one was that? The one about pets?”
“Er, no. It was the, er, find someone who likes you one,” she admitted.
Ginny covered her mouth and snorted. “Seriously?” she asked, her voice carrying a little too far for Hermione’s self-comfort. “So what? You signed his parchment for him? Goodness knows no one else would. The git,” she added.
Hermione felt something like guilt curdling in her stomach along with the remains of her lunch. “Um, no. See, he signed mine.”
“Only after you refused to sign mine,” Malfoy’s voice floated from a few seats forward, though he hadn’t exactly raised his voice. It was at a normal speaking level.
“So,” Harry said, moving one of his fingers one way and the other in the opposite, “he signed your parchment voluntarily, admitting to liking you?” Why wouldn’t anyone keep their voices down? “And Ron obviously overreacted.” A light seemed to go off in his head. “You don’t think Ron thought that meant Malfoy likes you in a boy-girl sort of way?”
It wasn’t so much a matter of thinking as knowing. “Probably,” she admitted. If only they knew. Thank Heaven they didn’t.
Harry cast a cursory glance in Malfoy’s direction. “You don’t suppose he does, do you? That’s a sick idea,” he mumbled, thankfully too low for anyone besides them to hear.
“Why sick, exactly?” she asked, trying to beat down the blush that was rising on her face, the indignation that Harry thought it was wrong for Malfoy to like her, and the very odd and very sudden daydream of she and Malfoy huddled together in the Common Room with a good book and a cozy blanket. She blinked.
“It’s Malfoy,” Harry responded, shrugging. “Though I must admit, the irony is kind of nice. Him liking you after all that’s been said and done over the years.”
Ginny nodded in agreement before suddenly looking up at Hermione and pointing. “Merlin! That day! That day when Ron and Harry weren’t here and Malfoy came over and-Merlin! He convinced you to break things off with Ron! Hermione!” she said, looking close to something between laughter and shock.
“What’s this?” Harry asked, looking supremely confused.
“Malfoy came over and started telling us all about how Ron had kissed August-just after Hermione and I had been talking about their relationship and how she was starting to doubt it….” Ginny looked stunned. “I thought he was just being a git. He was being a self-promoting git! He hasn’t done anything else, has he?”
“For the love of Hogwarts, keep your voice down!” Hermione fumed, now positively beet red. Malfoy was half-turned in his seat, watching them.
“He has, hasn’t he?” Ginny asked, obeying Hermione’s request. Harry was staring down Malfoy now.
“No,” Hermione said, though it sounded feeble even to her own ears.
“Nothing?” Ginny asked skeptically. “No weird looks or anything?”
“Nothing,” Hermione garbled. She turned back to her textbook and flipped to the index with shaking hands.
Malfoy was still watching her.
O
Well this was an interesting turn of events, Draco pondered. He supposed that if he had ever wanted any sort of relationship-creepy word, that-with Granger, her friends would have had to find out eventually, but the knowledge that they now suspected he did have feelings for her was not exactly sitting well with him.
At least no one else seemed to buy that explanation. Well, no one besides Astoria, that is.
“So, Weasley punched you, did he? I wonder whatever for,” she mused as they sat in the Great Hall.
He didn’t respond. He was really starting to hate mealtimes. She was the only one who’d sit next to him, and that certainly wasn’t his choice. Thankfully, she, the underhanded and sneaky Slytherin that she was, only engaged him in conversation when it suited her.
“You can’t tell he did much now. That’s lucky for you. Wouldn’t want it getting far that you were manhandled by one of those brutes.” She took a dainty sip of pumpkin juice, dabbing her mouth with a napkin. “Did she at least mother you a bit about your injury?”
Draco closed his eyes. He could almost imagine he was elsewhere this way.
“Aw, silence. I’ll take that as a no.”
Had Granger mothered him? She’d been concerned enough to accompany him to the Hospital Wing, but it wasn’t as if she’d done so much as apologize. Of course, she’d been a little preoccupied with playing cover-up-the-big-fat-mess. But she’d definitely looked guilty, hadn’t she?
“Think of the bright side. If the great red Weasel takes a pillow and smothers you in your sleep, she’ll probably allow herself a tear or two at the funeral out of pity.”
Ability to ignore over. Draco swung himself in his seat to face the impudent Sixth Year. His eyes slanted, his brows lowered, and his nose wrinkled up. “I’d watch what I say if I were you.”
She had the audacity to laugh. “What? You can’t use your wand, you can’t exactly access your vaults, you haven’t got anyone willing to do your dirty work anymore, and you’re far too noble to hit a girl. What would you do? Or, more importantly, what worse could I do? I’d watch what I say if I were you.”
And she turned her back to him as if he were some common fool with a half-rate pedigree and half a knut to his name.
To think she’d once entertained ideas of dating him.
O
Hermione felt awful. She couldn’t manage to stomach more than a roll at dinner, and the conversation going on between Harry and Ginny concerning whether or not Malfoy did fancy her was certainly not helping her regain her appetite.
Once Ron arrived, the two hushed. He looked warily around before sitting between Dean and Harry, averting his eyes from hers.
Hermione cleared her throat after a moment of everyone at the table looking between them. “So you’re with August now?” she asked, making a brilliant attempt at appearing to be nonchalant, pushing a piece of chicken around her plate.
Ron didn’t reply, tugging at his collar a bit, but he did nod.
“Good,” she said, and she was genuinely surprised at how sincere she sounded. She didn’t feel sincere. Not really. She made a jab at her chicken with her fork, and the prongs clinked against the china. “How’d you get together?”
Ron made a show of spooning mashed potatoes onto his plate as he spoke, not making eye-contact with her. “Met up at Diagon Alley when I was with my mum and she was with hers. They got to talking, and the two of us got a bite at the Leaky Cauldron.” If there was anything more to say about it, she was going to have to get the details out of either Harry or Ginny-or August herself, she belatedly realized-because Ron was certainly not looking keen on discussing any more details of his new relationship with her.
Hermione reached to fill her water goblet, and her bracelet tinkled against the handle of the pitcher.
Did it really have to remind her of both of them?
The tiny silver figurine glinted in the light, and Hermione stopped to glance across the Great Hall. Malfoy seemed to be giving Astoria Greengrass the cold shoulder and otherwise appeared completely bored. There wasn’t so much as a trace of evidence that he’d had a broken nose earlier in the day.
Why hadn’t she just signed his insipid parchment? He wouldn’t-correction, probably wouldn’t-have signed hers if she had, then Ron wouldn’t have seen Malfoy’s initials and subsequently seen red. Then again, he might have signed Malfoy’s parchment later…. That wouldn’t have gone entirely well either.
She wasn’t deep enough in denial to be unable to admit to herself that a main contributor of her stomachache was due to the fact that she’d not only been the instigator of Malfoy’s injury but also the instigator of a different type of injury. An emotional injury.
She did like him. On some twisted level of reality within her brain, shelved at the back next to the realization that House-Elves really didn’t want to be freed, was the tiny and meek acknowledgment of this truth.
He’d had enough emotional injuries lately as it was. It had not been so very long since she’d overheard him crying. No matter if he had been a git over the years, he still deserved some form of friendship. Some admission of being cared for by someone in this school. Perhaps not even so much as cared for as not disliked.
Merlin. At this point, he probably counted her as a best friend, considering his relationship with her compared to his relationship with the rest of the school. And she hadn’t exactly lived up to the part.
“So why’d you do it?” Dean asked, and Hermione was snapped out of her reverie. She caught on quickly enough as Ron laid his right palm on the table. His knuckles looked bruised.
“He’s a slimy git,” he offered, not sounding the least bit convincing and actually just a tad resigned. Hermione silently thanked him for not going into detail. The last thing she needed was for the entire student body to be whispering about a love triangle that-to their knowledge, anyway-didn’t have any basis other than Ron’s quick jealousy.
O
Draco made his way into the Common Room after having taken care of the day’s homework, and he was surprised to find Potter sitting alone there. The black-haired boy cleared his throat. “You got a minute?”
Draco nodded briefly.
“I just wanted you to know, whatever that was about earlier, I’ll make sure Ron doesn’t do anything to you while you’re unarmed.”
Draco’s mouth thinned into a straight line. “Appreciated.” He retreated to the spiral staircase, pausing briefly when he reached the foot of the stairs to listen to the light-hearted giggles echoing from the girls’ dormitory.
O
It took Hermione three books from the library before she found just the right spell, and she memorized it quickly before making her way to the Owlery. The floor was strewn with droppings and owl pellets and more feathers than could stuff a pillow.
She felt incredibly nervous, sneaking about behind Harry and Ron’s backs. But at the same time, the nerves were cancelled out by the relief she felt at doing something to assuage her guilt.
The spell was simple, not so different from the other flower-conjuring spell she’d used the last time, and the purple hyacinth dropped into her hand easily. She took a piece of scratch parchment from her bag and wrote down its name, affixing the label to the stem before dropping flower and all into a piece of brown paper, rolling that up, and neatly sealing the ends and sides with a bit of Spellotape.
She hesitated a bit before writing “Draco Malfoy” on the front of the package and attaching it to an anonymous school owl’s leg. The owl flew off into the already-gathering swarm of delivery owls, ready to greet the students at breakfast.
O
Draco actually jumped when the tawny owl came into a landing in front of him, barely stopping before it reached his plate. It stuck out its leg, looking completely bored.
Draco gave the thing a bit of sausage and removed his parcel. It wasn’t from his mother, anyway. Who’d be sending him post? Goyle?
His name was written in precise handwriting, and he blinked. He knew that writing. He still had the “love-in-a-mist” label she’d given him.
The flower had a straight green stem and a cylindrical grouping of blossoms in a crisp shade of lavender. “This is a purple hyacinth.”
There was a snort beside him, and he found a fifth year boy leaning over him. “Hey, look, Malfoy’s got a flower. Isn’t that sweet?” he cooed. “You got a secret admirer, do you?”
While outwardly he was scowling, inwardly, he wondered if he did.
O
Draco’s finger slid down the listing in the herbology book, and he stopped at the correct entry.
Purple Hyacinth: please forgive me.
O
A.N.: There was some scene I wanted to put in there, but now I really can’t remember what it was. Huh. Oh well! This is now officially my second longest fic, and it should move up to longest if I have anything to say about it!
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