"An ocean never stays calm for long."
"Good lord, Draco, finally you're here. It's as if you disappeared from the face of the earth this past week!" exclaimed Pansy upon catching sight of Malfoy's sleek, muscular figure in the corridors of Hogwarts.
"I don't need you following me around like a lapdog," he snapped back through gritted teeth.
"Whoa, easy there, mate."
Theodore had just appeared, covering the distance between them in long strides. His eyebrow was raised, a sarcastic air contorting his features. Draco hadn't had the pleasure of enjoying his friends' company lately; he had been preoccupied. With Granger. He had followed their advice and his stupid friends were back at it, wearing silly smiles on their faces. He wasn't fooled. They wanted answers. And as strange as it was, Malfoy, for once, needed to stop and confess his doubts. There were myriad things gnawing at his mind, but showing vulnerability had never been part of his daily routine. And he couldn't see how to defuse the bomb raging in his head. With his muscles tensed under the weight of emotions, he continued on his path, his limbs stiff.
Nott, discreetly observing him, lowered his gaze to the ground, seeming to understand the situation. Pansy, oblivious, continued fervently exclaiming complaints about his lack of empathy towards their group of friends.
"You should've given us updates, for heaven's sake! I thought you'd been kidnapped. Blaise thought you'd tied Hermione to the bed to ravish her all day long, while Theo... Theo thought you were keeping a low profile, as if you were on fire."
Malfoy forced himself to remain silent, though the twitch against his cheek betrayed his amusement. Blaise was absurd, and Pansy was always anxious. He didn't blame them. Last year, Hogwarts had brought Draco its fair share of boredom and pain, and his friends didn't want to leave him alone with such a heavy burden on his shoulders. Times had changed, but Malfoy's ways persisted. He faced his difficulties alone, without anyone's support. Solitude accompanied each of his steps. Only his mother had managed to draw out some vulnerability from the Slytherin. But just barely.
He muttered under his breath and continued his advance. Today, the trio had class with Sybill Trelawney. He hated the subject of Divination. Crystal balls and fortune-telling were just a bunch of nonsense to Malfoy. Their group had simply refused to attend fifth-year classes, which had led to them needing to catch up. As if interpreting tea leaves and palm lines could change his life!
Draco only realized with a certain delay that Parkinson was still gesticulating with enthusiasm.
"You have to tell me all the details. Luna said she couldn't get a word out of Granger, so I want answers!"
"You're talking to Lovegood?" Theo choked on his words.
Draco followed his friend's hilarity, a mocking smile playing on his lips.
"So what? Do I need permission from both of your esteemed heads to talk to other students?"
Malfoy burst out laughing at the situation, while Nott sulked in his corner, suddenly silent.
"As I was saying," Pansy resumed in a sugary voice. "I need details. Maybe Granger is good at keeping her mouth shut, but I fully intend to squeeze every last bit of information out of you, Draco!"
"And why would I tell you what's going on between Hermione and me?" he grumbled annoyed.
"You're in trouble," Nott muttered after his words.
Pansy's eyes widened and sparkled. Malfoy cursed under his breath as he watched her.
"I knew you were spending all your time with her. Wait until I tell Blaise, he'll laugh so much!"
"You won't say anything to that idiot," the tall blond retorted firmly, coming to a sudden stop.
"And why not?"
Pansy took great care to examine her forest-green nail polish. Draco knew exactly what she was trying to do. Blackmail didn't work with him. Taking a deep breath to remain impassive, he blurted out in one breath, in a monotone voice:
"Because Zabini is in no position to give me advice about girls. The proof is right in front of my eyes."
Nott covered his face to ineptly stifle his laughter. Pansy, stupefied, couldn't utter a sound. Then, finally realizing his words, she turned crimson.
"What does that mean, for heaven's sake?"
"It means if you want to know more about my situation, you have to keep it to yourself. I don't want Blaise to make a mountain out of it and blab it to anyone."
"Is it that big of a secret? I don't understand..." Pansy sighed suddenly weary. "It's almost like you're ashamed to be seen with Granger."
Malfoy turned angrily to face her, fists clenched. Theodore cut him off before his future angry tirade by placing his large palm on his shoulder.
"Draco is entitled to his privacy. And besides, he's not ashamed, otherwise he wouldn't bother seeing her. He just takes care of those he loves."
The Slytherin remained silent, suddenly tense. He wasn't in love, for heaven's sake! He just had an obsession with the Gryffindor. She was pretty, intelligent, and annoying with her silence and legendary determination. Nothing more.
Avoiding Pansy's gaze, who was now studying him with gentleness, he thought. It was true that he had been gentle with her. Tender even. His dreams kept him awake, and there was only Hermione's presence, no one else. Maybe he was beginning to be infatuated with her? He couldn't say. They were just superficial feelings; there were greater agitation and problems than the frantic beating of his heart when he thought of her. And he had worse than his insatiable desire to bed her and take care of her. The threat of a murderer lurked on the horizon, and the danger facing his friends and family took precedence over everything else around him. He needed to stay grounded in reality. Even if Hermione was now immersed in it.
"Draco," Pansy began.
"Pans, drop it."
"If you don't open up to anyone, how are you going to rid yourself of your worries?"
Alone, he thought bitterly.
Nott resumed his path towards the Divination class, silent.
"Does she make you happy at least?"
More than I've ever been, Malfoy wanted to reply, but he didn't have the strength, because admitting it to himself would concretize what was happening within him. And reigniting the flame of his obsession for Granger put him in a bind and plunged him into his fears. He had the ability to destroy everything, and Hermione was his downfall. Because instead of behaving like the monster role he had been relegated to, he was blossoming like a flower nourished by the sun. And his sun was Hermione Granger. And he wasn't ready to cast a shadow over her presence. Not yet.
Under his silence, Pansy rolled her eyes. Catching Theo's gaze, Draco attempted to convey his thoughts. His friend nodded, his body tense, and in less than an instant, they entered the lair of the most atrociously boring class in the universe. Malfoy would open up tonight. To Nott and no one else. His friend had understood, and with a tight stomach, he walked down the rows to settle at a desk, his brain in turmoil. He was still thinking about her. She didn't leave his mind. And the more time passed, the more he realized she wasn't the poison, but perhaps the solution. The key to unlock his heart, long closed and double-locked. But did he even have the strength to give her such power? To be stripped of all defenses?
____________
Hermione had just been summoned by the headmistress, and each meeting turned her stomach. Before, there was only anxiety about being assigned additional tasks and homework that she would have otherwise enjoyed completing. Now, she was left only with fear and a bitter taste in the back of her throat.
There were far worse things than irritating readings or discreetly observing the students of Hogwarts. She had a mission, and as important as it was, it had to remain secret. With ears perked and eyes fixed on the horizon for any clue, Hermione had to do everything in her power to extract information from the Prince of Snakes. The man who made her heart flutter at the slightest glance and whose every word was finely intertwined poetry in black ink. The Slytherin had started this ritual in recent days. He would leave a note under her door, then vanish to who knows where. Apart from their occasional encounters, Draco didn't seem to live in their dormitory. He disappeared at nightfall.
Another mystery to solve, she thought.
Fingers intertwined in a sign of apparent stress, Hermione forced herself to relax with a bitter sigh. She hated the task that burdened her, weighing on her shoulders to the point of exhaustion. She had made no progress in her search. She couldn't see the light at the end of this infernal tunnel. How could she extract such information? Malfoy never spoke of his mother, so finding out where she and the former Death Eaters were seemed impossible to find out.
"Miss Granger."
Hermione jumped so forcefully she nearly hit the ceiling. McGonagall had just appeared in her cat form. The yellow eyes analyzing her with blatant scrutiny made her shiver.
"Headmistress," she whispered in return.
With a nod, Minerva resumed human form, her nostrils flaring until her face bore the signs of fatigue. Glasses perched on the tip of her nose and squinted eyes, the middle-aged woman seemed lost in thought.
"We'll have to be discreet, Miss Granger. Where we're going, danger lurks."
Hermione raised an eyebrow, confused.
"Didn't you want me to report on the situation?"
McGonagall waved her words away, exhausted.
"It's not necessary. I suspect that despite the urgency of the situation, you haven't been able to extract any further information from Draco Malfoy."
The Gryffindor's shoulders sagged with relief. If she wasn't summoned to discuss such matters, what did Minerva want to discuss? Was she offering her a reconnaissance mission? Didn't they already have a team for this task?
"One of my spies has just been attacked and is currently at St. Mungo's for emergency medical treatment."
Hermione swallowed hard, suddenly attentive. She didn't have time to offer words of comfort before McGonagall continued in a gentle voice:
"The situation is becoming more concerning, Miss Granger. I need you by my side as we assess a very recent crime scene. And I'll need your expertise."
"How can I be of help?" the young woman breathed with agitation.
The Hogwarts headmistress smiled tenderly.
"I've asked Professor Slughorn to brew us some Polyjuice Potion. Our mission will be simple: we must infiltrate one of the former hideouts where the last murder took place to discover traces of magic and gather information about the perpetrator of these attacks. Your sole role will be to recite detection incantations, is that clear, Miss Granger?" She raised her voice to ensure urgent comprehension. "I will take care to make us as discreet as possible with protective spells. If I recall correctly, according to Snape, you excelled in the field of dark arts, is that correct?"
Hermione swallowed hard at her words. She couldn't recall ever receiving compliments from her former professor, and reliving his absence clenched her stomach. She eventually nodded.
"Before tracking Horcruxes with Harry and Ron, I wanted to research magical profiling and how to trace certain... darker particles."
"Dark magic, indeed. And it will be very useful during our stay, as the murders are imbued with this dark form."
"Do you think the murderer or murderers could have created...?"
"No," McGonagall sighed, suddenly stressed. "I hope for all our sakes that they haven't. It would only further complicate matters for us. But the magic used to kill... it was of inhumane violence. And I'm afraid I need your help at the moment."
A wave of nausea threatened to make Hermione lose her lunch, but she gritted her teeth in response. McGonagall was counting on her. She needed to prove herself worthy of this mission. She preferred to plunge into the danger of this quest rather than continue to deceive and betray Malfoy.
"Can I count on you, Granger?"
"Yes, McGonagall," Hermione replied determinedly.
The headmistress relaxed, leaning back against the desk, a finger pressed against her temple.
"I would like not to have to plunge you into a situation that carries risks and promise you that this is a temporary task, without obstacles, but..."
Minerva fell silent, thoughtful.
"There's no need to reassure me. I understand the risks I'm taking by agreeing to assist you. And besides, it's about helping a greater number of people, isn't it?"
The headmistress's lips trembled with emotion, and tears filled her pupils.
"You're brave, Hermione," whispered the former Gryffindor head.
Without a word, the middle-aged woman dusted herself off and locked her burning eyes with Hermione's.
"If any danger arises, I want you to promise me that you'll flee, even if it means leaving me behind in the process."
Hermione couldn't muster the strength to utter a word, her chest gripped in a steel vise.
"Is that clear, Miss Granger?"
McGonagall had resumed her authoritative tone, but Hermione understood the situation. So she nodded, with a false sense of resignation. If the headmistress thought she would run at the first sign of difficulty, she was wrong. But Minerva needed this answer, so she gave it to her, even though the taste of lies lingered in the back of her throat.
She had already lost enough loved ones. She wouldn't let McGonagall sacrifice herself for her. This was an important task, and she wouldn't turn a blind eye to the possibility of receiving a killing curse. With her blood pounding in her veins, Hermione clenched her fists with a sweet determination.
"How can I make my departure inconspicuous?"
The headmistress of Hogwarts offered her a mischievous smile.
"I suppose you haven't read the latest article in the Daily Prophet, have you?"
Hermione raised an eyebrow, skeptical. No, she hadn't kept up with the latest news in the wizarding world, too preoccupied with the presence of a Slytherin sharing her den and her heart.
"Ron Weasley has just been injured in Quidditch. And worried about your friend, you're going to visit him in Ireland to check on him."
Hermione gasped in surprise, suddenly uncomfortable. How would Malfoy react to the news? Merlin! she thought. Ron was injured, and she hadn't heard about it. She felt overwhelmed with guilt. While she should be worried about her friend, all she could think about was Draco.
"Molly Weasley is planning to help us arrange for the next Daily Prophet to write an article about your unexpected visit to the hospital. Of course, as you must understand, we won't actually go to Ireland."
The young Gryffindor forced a smile, her heart heavy with emotion.
"When do we leave?"
"Tomorrow morning, at dawn," concluded the Hogwarts headmistress with an authoritative tone.
Merlin, thought Hermione. What kind of mess had she just gotten herself into?