Draco wanders into the library with Pansy in tow, and Hermione doesn't even notice until Theo waves an arm to motion them over. Hermione chose a perfectly square table when she arrived tonight, allowing for equal sides. Now, she gets to be next to Draco, even if not on the same side. They're each flanked by their real and false paramours and Hermione feels much better about things than she did at lunch. If they could coordinate all four-person activities this way, it wouldn't be nearly as awkward.
Draco still angles his body language towards Pansy and she wants to yank him bodily from his chair and all the way up to the seventh floor, into the Come and Go Room.
Gods, this is stupid. Why are they doing this again? She tries to remember why it seemed so important. Instead, she keeps torturing herself by wearing lacy knickers no one sees and shoes no one appreciates.
Having mentally shoved herself into academic - or, at the very least, intellectual - concentration for almost an hour, Hermione grants herself some leeway. Head facing her book, she lets her mind wander over his broad back and shoulders, over his chest (his clavicles replay behind her closed eyelids a surprising amount of times, her hands roaming over them), and if she watches his fingers on his quill, she might combust.
She stares at her text instead, reading none of it.
A delightful flush spreads through her when this feels like the first week she'd approached Draco, after the first orgasm he ever gave her. It looped on repeat in her head. She couldn't think about anything else. Every lesson, every break. His hands were all she could think about then, big hands with strong fingers, and now is no different.
She hasn't written a single sentence since he sat down.
Right over there, nine rows back and four stacks of books to the right, is their hidden table. Right back there is where they could do anything they wanted, as long as they acted like regular students. Hermione's no idiot - they probably never succeeded with that. If they'd been in the open bit of the library, the jig would have been up. But the idea that they were hiding it and it worked, that they could do whatever they liked with no repercussions - it was addictive.
Because they can't hide it. And there would be repercussions. There have been, for Salazar's sake.
The dichotomy is maddening. It ruins the appeal of the table, an insult that seems almost personal.
Giving herself some looser leeway here too, Hermione lets herself daydream about those early meetings at their little hidden spot. She can pretend they're still doing whatever they like under everybody's noses, right over there.
* * *
He can smell her shampoo. It's lilac, always lilac, and it's so obvious to him. She keeps ruffling her hair with a hand, something he knows she does when she's thinking but also almost absently, as if trying to provoke herself to think. As if it's a call to concentration.
He'd taken the world's longest shower before coming down here. It's the primary reason they're late, and hadn't Pansy given him hell on the way over? Draco knows it's a mistake to rely on the shower to provide privacy, and he spent too long just standing there like a cretin with his forehead against the wall.
Every time he smelled his own shampoo, a musky evergreen sort of scent, he mentally contrasted it with hers. And now he's enveloped in hers. She fluffs her hair and it sends another wave towards him, her lilac deliberately sneaking up his nostrils.
He can't get hard here in the library.
But it's been a very, very long week and a half.
No. No floral temptations, no erectile activity. The bloody thing abandoned him for most of this year, so why can't it cooperate now? Even when 'cooperate' means a lack of involvement, for a change.
And of course Hermione is distracted again. It's driving him batty, trying to figure out what's bothering her. Maybe that'll be his next aeroplane prompt, rather than something about her childhood.
Draco thinks he's seeing things, that his tortured brain is inventing something to entertain him. But it isn't. It's real. A little paper aeroplane lands right in the middle of the table right that second, and before any of the Slytherins can react, Hermione yanks it into her lap.
If he wasn't so practised in watching her expressions, he might miss it. But her jaw tightens just a little and her eyes blink closed twice - as if she's keeping wayward moisture in its proper location. With a swift hand she folds the paper over once in her hands, then twice, and stands from her seat.
"Sorry, need the loo," she says far too casually and before anyone can voice opposition (and why would they, if all she needs is to have a wee?), she flees for the library doors, far too quick.
"What the hell?" Draco asks, trying not to be obvious about it, but Theo has a funny look on his face. He reaches for the textbook in front of Hermione's chair, the one she hasn't flipped a single page on since he sat down.
There are two folded pieces of parchment under the cover. Theo snatches both and unfolds one after the other. Draco watches raptly as Theo's eyes snake around their surroundings without lifting his head.
"What is it, Nott?" he grits out, struggling not to rip the paper from Theo's hands.
Theo shakes his head with an air of indifference that doesn't fool Draco, but he knows to wait. If he can manage. He struggles with it, but eventually, Theo passes his book to Pansy, and the stupid parchment is tucked in it as a bookmark.
Pansy obediently sends it along to Draco. As he flips it open to the proper page, Theo says proactively, "I'll handle it," as if he has a plan for this.
Draco doesn't, but that's a missed opportunity. He ought to. He knew there'd be opposition. Didn't they all? It's why they're doing this, trying to head off that opposition before it becomes serious - or outright hazardous.
'Mudblood'
They can only assume the one clutched in Hermione's hand says the same. Two identical notes giving almost nothing away. His jaw clenches and he forces himself to casually pass the parchment back to Theo with a dismissive shake of the head.
Who could it be? Who's harassing her? Theo can't do anything about it unless they know who it is.
Pansy's eyes are shut and her fingers are pinching her nose. "Can we focus, please?" she reminds them without much patience, and Draco nods in dull agreement, even if his heart isn't in it.
"Yes, we can. List the seven reasons why interspecies Transfiguration is regulated, Pans."
He lets her rattle off an extended answer and tries to look interested. Theo puts up a decent show of re-reading a section in front of him before standing and making excuses about needing a different book.
Draco can hardly concentrate on Pansy's random explanations. He knows Theo suspects the author is nearby. And it should be him searching them out. Someone sent her three notes in under two hours. They lacked variety, but that was probably half the point.
It's upsetting her, of course - at least enough to take a moment to herself out of sight. And if Draco has to tolerate Theo doing everything on his behalf, the least he could have is a private cursing of some arsehole in a back row of the library.
Maybe Theo will give it to him.
Draco can't touch her, can't hold her hand, can't hug her and tell her to ignore whatever idiot prick is sending her this shit. Is this what's made her so preoccupied? Has she been getting these constantly?
He chooses to ignore that he himself called her that word more than once, and more than once to her face. In person, deliberately, just to see the effect it had.
Now it infuriates him. On the heels of his talks with Snape, Draco tries to sort out why.
Is it because she's his, and someone is insulting her - and thereby, him? Is it because her feelings are hurt and he wants to successfully insulate her from anything that might do that? Is it because her own self-esteem might be impugned, and Draco feels an intrinsic drive to boost her up instead of tear her down?
That's different. Even he can admit it. The first two are still a reaction to how it affects him, even indirectly. The motivation of the last one is about her, holding her separate from himself.
Theo said he doesn't see her as lesser. Neither does Draco, but he's known that. Now it matters how he uses it. How he acts on it.
People have told him his whole life that he's better and that people like Hermione are lesser. But her magic isn't. Her intelligence isn't. So what argument do they have left?
Theo's still investigating the library, combing row after row of books. Draco stands and makes a generic statement to Pansy about the loo. She manages not to roll her eyes, but only just, and he drops a perfunctory kiss on the top of her head as he departs.
Taking his time in the hallway, he waits for an opportunity. He needs to make sure there aren't any other girls in the loo ready to exit and stumble right into him as he tries to walk inside. But all is quiet, and after a few moments, he sneaks in.
Her sniffling is subtle but still clear, since he knows what he's listening for. She's in the far stall in the back corner, and he knocks on the door with two knuckles. "Can I come in?"
The sniffles stop and he adds, "before anybody else happens to wander in here?"
He hears the door latch slide and swiftly enters, closing and flipping it locked behind him. Hermione's wiping her eyes and straightening herself up, ready to leave, and Draco isn't ready to let her. Not quite yet.
She gives no protest at all as he pulls her into him, wrapping his arms around her and resting his chin on her hair - finally. Lilac everywhere, and Hermione's smaller arms around his ribcage. Draco sits down on the toilet itself and lets her come to rest on his legs, stroking her hair.
He can't feel happy about why they're here, that she's upset and crying, but he's so, so happy to be able to feel her against him again. Can't he hold her all the time? She should always be right here, on his knees and leaning into his chest, her head tucked against his collarbones while his hands grip her to him.
Her legs and knees are tucked up towards her ribs, and Draco lets her curl into his lap, moving one arm to support her into the ball she seems to want.
"What they said... it's not true," he says quietly.
Hermione chokes a sob and viciously scrapes the back of her hand across her mouth. "You thought so, even last year."
She's still talking, even as he tries to figure out a response to this. "So what's changed? You realise I let you do the same things as the pureblood girls do? Or worse - I do more than they do, so now I'm dirty in a whole different way? Blood, yes, but also - also just me?"
Her attempts to stop crying are entirely futile as she dissolves into fresh tears.
Somewhere deep inside, Draco feels it's useless to combat this while she's so upset. He lets her cry for a while, gently rubbing her back and keeping her tucked into him, until he thinks it might be time.
"I need you to listen to me. Can you?"
He doesn't mean it to come across patronising and luckily, she doesn't take it that way. She nods.
"I was raised by my father and I wanted to be like him. Nothing could be better than being just like he is. I wanted to make him proud, and I'd do anything I thought he'd like. I'd say anything, anywhere, to get his approval. Back then, I didn't see how wrong he was, about a lot of things. I didn't want to think he might be wrong about anything at all, so I never questioned anything he told me."
He gives her time to hear this, but also time for him to gather further thoughts into words. He's never said it out loud like this before.
"I've done a lot of things for my father, things I regret doing. It's been happening for years. But only recently have I really seen how badly he's led me. How wrong he's led our whole family. You are not somehow less, just because you weren't raised around magic."
Hermione starts to cry all over again now, and Draco wonders if he's pushing her back towards the place where he can't get this out, or not in a way she can focus on. He gives her a minute or two, until he feels more sure, and even now he tries to lighten things a bit.
"Theo makes a good run at being the smartest in the school, but I really think it's you and I."
This seems to work. She laughs a little between tearful exhales.
"I mean it, though. I should have apologised before now, because I have said the exact same things to you. I shouldn't have. I only did because my father believed it and I wanted to be like my father. To me, he seemed to know everything. He was the smartest man in the world. I believed everything he told me until I was forced to see something different. You forced me to see that. You did."
She's crying harder now, but Draco can't stop. It has to be said.
"I think Potter's a twat and I'd like a chance to curse him, but I'll try not to. And I'll keep trying not to ruin this - this shit we're all in, because it's my fault and Theo is doing me a favour. A huge one. I can't jinx him while he sleeps. But I miss you and I need you, and can we please, please, meet up tomorrow night? This isn't enough."
He lets his fingers tangle up in her hair, feeling the chaotic mass and trailing it down her back. He wants to grip a fist and feel it connect with her scalp, tilt her head back so he can kiss her neck. He wants to mark her again, feel her heartbeat under his mouth.
Hermione is doing the opposite of these things, curling under his jaw with her chin against her own chest, the tiniest little ball of a witch right on his lap. Her vulnerability inflames something else and he hopes Theo did find the writer of the notes - and sent a specific petrificus totalus their way, hidden deep in the racks of books.
"I'm sorry," he speaks into her hair. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry. This is all my fault."
This absurd situation, yes. But also that he'd driven this prejudice for years, almost single-handedly. He couldn't be top of the mountain in his house without expecting his actions and words to be taken to heart. He'd slandered this brilliant witch for years, and now others are doing it in his stead. Maybe he's being narcissistic, maybe they would have spewed this at her all year anyway, but his actions hadn't helped. He owes her an apology for it.
Hermione inhales through a stuffy nose and works on sitting upright. "Tomorrow, breakfast all together," she says thickly. "And maybe lunch, or maybe we all study out by the oak on the shore of the lake. And then, after dinner, we can meet up?"
She says it with uncertainty, as if Draco would shoot her down. Her brown eyes are big and shiny, looking up at him through her lashes and tears, and he wants to break right here.
"Come and Go Room, 8pm. I'll say whatever I have to."
The loo is still silent and empty, and she stands up off his thighs. It's horrible. He wants to grab her hand to steal just a few more minutes together, but now that he has the promise of tomorrow night, he can manage.
* * *
Theo does not find the perpetrator. At some point he discards the subtlety and capitalises on stomping around the library, confronting every single group of students anyway. He's very vocal about standing up for his 'girlfriend,' and Draco's just as happy to have missed most of this performance in the loo.
Back at their table, Pansy's beyond cross and doing a poor job stifling it. Draco thinks Theo might be overdoing this a bit - at least in Pansy's eyes. He's not sure in what form Pansy might express frustration, but Draco was familiar with a few old ways and is glad he won't be on the receiving end of it for once.
Hermione's still a little flushed but composed. Perhaps she's reading Pansy's mood, too, because she tells Theo to sit back down. They're all reserved now, just working quietly. Draco thinks this study session might not go much longer. He hopes they don't get a fourth aeroplane landing on the table before they depart for the night.
He's irate that someone's overtaken the aeroplane method. It's not like he had exclusive rights to it, but he doesn't want it to have soured Hermione on receiving them. He loves their little notes too much to scrap them now, and if she says she doesn't want them anymore, a little corner of his heart might break off.
She'd mentioned breakfast tomorrow and Draco isn't sure how to work that out. He speaks to the table as a whole. "If we're going to eat together, I thought it would make more sense for Hermione to come to our table. Except now, I'm not so sure."
"All of us moving to the Gryffindor table would be weird," Pansy states flatly.
"Let's keep meals the same for now. I'll eat with Hermione at her table. You two stay with Slytherin," Theo exhales, sounding dejected.
"Then instead of trying to do lunch the same way, why don't we all just study out by the lake tomorrow afternoon? Let's get outside for a while, and out of earshot."
Pansy is less enthused about studying in the grass. "We'll still be visible."
"I know," Hermione says, "but maybe with a little more space, we can all just... talk. Let it be less about forcing the pairings and just the four of us hanging out."
"Let's bring Zabini," Theo suggests.
Draco thinks making the dynamics deliberately include another person would probably help. Hermione looks less confident about this plan but nods. She's still subdued and Draco wishes they were meeting up tonight, instead.
But tonight, he's going back to the Room of Hidden Things. He's been procrastinating this nearly as much as telling Hermione the truth about his Dark Mark. Things are difficult enough, he rationalises, tense enough already. He doesn't want to row with her. And part of him knows it might be a lot worse than a row - she might end things. He wants to think she sees him differently than a bog standard Death Eater, but maybe she won't. It's a risk, too big a risk, and he can't handle that layer on top of everything else.
Not yet.
* * *
Later that evening, once she's gained a bit of distance from it all, Hermione feels a little embarrassed about her meltdown in the loo. She'd acted like it was the first time she'd ever heard the slur. Somehow, seeing it three times in a row had gotten to her. Maybe it was just the addition of Theo during the second one, then Draco and Pansy seeing the third. She couldn't pretend it hadn't happened and her nerves were frayed.
She can't regret Draco opening up to her the way he did, though. It's what she needed from him.
Hermione can't imagine how hard it must have been to be raised the way he had. His father has always seemed authoritarian. She knows from overhearing Narcissa speaking with Draco in the hospital wing how rarely any opposition was voiced. Now that Lucius is in Azkaban, it seems that mother and son are finally able to think and act for themselves.
And Narcissa hadn't seemed opposed to Hermione. She takes her time and ruminates on that whole scene for the first time in almost two weeks. Maybe she will ask Theo about the Malfoys' thoughts on blood purity.
('Openly, it matters that she doesn't')
Hm. Yes. But privately, Hermione could matter to Draco. Narcissa hadn't fought it. There was something else too, though, something about how he couldn't let himself be distracted by her. What did that mean? Hermione presumes academically. But how had Narcissa said it? There had been something else to it. She racks her memory.
('that it's not interfering with your task or otherwise distracting you')
His... task? Hermione recalls flagging this for later thought at the time, but had been distracted herself with the abundance of fascinating titbits Narcissa was dropping. She'd gone right into her current disapproval of Lucius and it had pushed everything else aside.
And now that she's recalling that part, there was something more there, too. Lucius is... worried about how long something is taking Draco.
('Draco is under a tremendous amount of stress that has nothing to do with you')
Pansy's words. Was she referring to Draco's father being in Azkaban? Referring to whatever Narcissa also implied is happening in the Manor? Referring to whatever is taking Draco so long to do?
Her temples begin a low throbbing and Hermione decides to take a soak. Lavender and Parvati are nowhere to be found, so she needn't feel guilty about occupying their shared bathroom.
This does too good a job soothing her headache. She wakes up sputtering water from her nose after dozing off.
* * *
Tired of the constant act, Hermione heads down to breakfast late on Sunday. And it isn't just the act: she's tired in general. Lately, it feels like her brain never shuts down long enough for her to rest. But there are too many things swirling around in there to feel like she makes progress on any single topic in particular. It's exhausting and she needs to sleep. Her cosy pyjamas did an excellent job last night, as soft and snuggly as ever, but she wishes she were with Draco.
It's a little silly. They only stayed in the Come and Go Room overnight a handful of times. It's not like she had the opportunity to get used to it - nor should she. But she always slept so well with Draco.
It has nothing at all to do with the copious physical activity that always preceded it.
And yes, that's absolute bollocks, and yes, she tried her damndest to do it herself, and no, it didn't work.
The castle feels empty and she doesn't mind. Harry, kept interminably late for his detentions with Snape every Saturday, is likely having a lie-in. Cormac continued trying to rally the Gryffindor Quidditch team for extra practice and might have managed. Ron's either having his own lie-in, deliberately pretending to have a lie-in, or trapped snogging Lavender somewhere other than the Gryffindor common room.
The Great Hall is equally thin, small pockets of small students strewn about the four house tables. Hermione suspects most older students are either revising for OWLs or NEWTs, and the rest must be enjoying the sunshine.
She'll be doing that very soon, on the shore of the lake.
Spreading jam liberally across several slices of toast, she mentally sifts through what she'll bother lugging down there to work on. Not a whole lot, that's for sure. Just a few things, and maybe then her focus will return to her.
Not that she minds too much, but spending so much time with Theo outside of lessons is making her research difficult. She needs to find chances to investigate old artefacts of the founders, other things Voldemort might have thought valuable enough to hold a piece of his soul. Maybe she can slip to the library now, before meeting everybody by the lake. No one would blink at her having extra books in tow, much less something as vaguely interesting as historical references to Hogwarts' founders.
She's nearly to the library when she spots Nearly Headless Nick and wants to smack herself in the forehead. Of course; she should ask him. If he doesn't know of anything in particular, maybe he can recommend another ghost who might.
"Nick!"
Sir Nicholas de Mimsy-Portington turns expectantly, expression quizzical. "What is it, Miss Granger?"
"Do you know of any famous belongings or artefacts that were Godric Gryffindor's?"
He strokes his transparent chin and she wonders if he can feel it. "Aside from the Sorting Hat and the sword of Gryffindor, I cannot say that I do."
Hermione knew about the sword, of course, but she'd forgotten the Sorting Hat also originally belonged to Godric Gryffindor. He'd enchanted it when the school had opened to students. It doesn't matter, though - she can't imagine Voldemort could have made it into a Horcrux. Even though she still doesn't know if they're easy to identify on sight, surely Dumbledore would have noticed if it was one. It sits in his office year-round.
If nothing else, having a piece of Voldemort's soul in it would probably make it verbally hostile to most incoming first-years.
"Right. Thanks. Er - what about Rowena Ravenclaw?"
"I'm not the right ghost for that inquiry, Miss Granger. I'm afraid I haven't a clue. You could try the Grey Lady, if you can locate her, but she's very private."
"The... Grey Lady?"
"The ghost of Ravenclaw Tower. She was Rowena Ravenclaw's daughter. Didn't you know?"
Strangely, she didn't. Hogwarts: A History doesn't put much emphasis on the ghosts of the castle, a striking lack of detail Hermione now misses. A whole chapter could be dedicated to the misbehavings of Peeves, and while she's enthralled by the text, it would probably liven up the interest of other readers.
But maybe there are other books in the library that do. Now that she knows one of the founders' descendants haunts the castle, maybe she can find details about Rowena Ravenclaw that way. It can't hurt to approach the query from two angles.
Checking the time, she has a solid hour left before she's supposed to meet Theo. Perfect.
Shouldering her bag to walk faster, she hustles into the library and begins raking the shelves for possibilities. She finds two, and the promise of more - but two is plenty to be carting around with her for now. She found the second one on the lowest shelf and has been sitting flat on the floor for nearly ten minutes. Going to stand, she nearly rises right into Terry Boot, a Ravenclaw in her year.
"Oh! Sorry!"
He smiles easily, extending a hand. His teeth are very white. "Don't be sorry. I didn't mean to creep up on you. Here." She takes his hand and he hoists her to her feet, strong and sure. "What are you looking for?"
"Looking for information on Rowena Ravenclaw," she answers, hesitant. "Her life, generally, or maybe that of her daughter."
She scrunches her nose a little, feeling this is feeble. Why would she be interested in the Ravenclaw house ghost? But Terry takes this in without much fuss, possibly assuming Hermione's already done the same thing for the other three founders.
Sometimes it's handy being such a public swot.
"If you'd like to ask her some questions about her mum, I could introduce you to the Grey Lady, if you want," Terry offers.
Really? She freezes in unexpected hope. "I... would you do that? I heard she prefers to be left alone. I wouldn't want to bother her."
He shrugs with one shoulder, his hands tucked into his pockets. "Can't hurt to ask, can it? It's quiet in the tower right now. Seemed like nobody was around when I came downstairs. Maybe she wouldn't mind a short chat."
"That would be lovely, if you don't mind. Thank you."
They leave the library and turn left. Still feeling like she's somehow imposing on Terry, Hermione falls quiet. She doesn't want to seem like a nuisance.
"Granger," comes a drawn-out growl from behind them, and shivers run down her spine. They both turn, and Draco's eyes are locked on Terry. "I thought you were meeting... Theo. I'm on my way down there now."
"I didn't realise it had gotten so late," she says truthfully. "Tell him - tell him I won't be long."
This isn't close to sufficient and she knows it. His eyes narrow into slits, but he promised not to be a possessive, jealous twat. And there's nothing going on, anyway.
She begins to tell him, "Terry is going to introduce me to the Grey Lady -" for what reason, she can't say, and knows there will be questions later (what is she supposed to reveal? A brand-new fascination with the ghosts of Hogwarts seems just as thin an excuse to Draco as it had to Terry moments earlier), but Terry cuts her off.
"I'm taking Hermione up to our tower. She wants to meet our ghost." He smirks, showing his teeth again, and somehow those two sentences sound provocative. Is he deliberately being an arse? She thinks he is, and curses wizard posturing.
Either way, she can't pass up the opportunity for a personal introduction to the Grey Lady. With a quick glare at Terry, she straightens her shoulders and faces Draco. "I won't be long," she reiterates. "Tell Theo I'll be right down."
She begins walking in the direction of Ravenclaw Tower, determined to get this over with, and feels Draco's cold, silver eyes on their backs.