Chapter 9: The Spells
Draco did everything he could not to watch Hermione Granger's delicate ankle dance ever so slightly as she absentmindedly crossed her left leg over right, her foot dangling gracefully into the aisle. She had her head propped up on her left palm, biting lightly on her lip while tapping her cheek rhythmically with her finger. Her usual mass of curls was pulled back, strewn over her shoulders. Every now and then she seemed as though she might glance to her left, to where he was leaning against the window, and he would instinctively look toward the ceiling, the floor, the back of Zabini's head – anywhere to prevent meeting her eye.
It seemed that whenever he did, he was revealing a bit too much for his liking.
Eventually Snape swooped into the classroom and Granger immediately straightened, her hand reaching instinctively for her quill. Draco, remembering himself just in time, held back a laugh.
"Today," Snape began, letting his eyes sweep over his classroom, "We will be turning our attention to nonverbal spells."
Draco watched as Granger's eyes lit up; he thought she saw them flick back and forth rapidly as though she was skimming an imaginary book. She'd no doubt be scanning the archives of her mind.
Reading a book is one thing, he thought, smirking. Performing . . . quite another.
"This lesson is to help prepare you for the Dueling Tournament, as the seventh year students will no doubt be employing them when possible," Snape continued. "Consider it a favor."
He paused, lip curled in what appeared to be his version of a joke.
"What is a nonverbal spell?"
Granger's hand shot up, disturbing the desk and causing Draco to jump in alarm. The bounce of her ankle threatened to redirect his attention yet again.
Snape merely looked at her, pursing his lips impatiently.
"Mr. Malfoy."
Draco tipped his head back slightly, sighing in frustration. Granger looked at him urgently, as though every moment he didn't speak, the world came that much closer to collapse.
"A nonverbal spell is exactly what it sounds like," he said, trying to keep his voice even and free of sarcasm. "The user merely focuses on the spell mentally without saying anything aloud."
Snape inclined his head, an unfriendly affirmation. "And what is the advantage of a nonverbal spell?"
Granger's hand sliced menacingly through the air again. She uncrossed her legs entirely this time, scooting to the very edge of her seat and very nearly forcing Draco to jump out of the way of all her eager limbs.
Snape sighed deeply. "Miss Granger, please tell us as quickly as possible," he said curtly, "lest you explode in the process."
She blatantly disregarded the slight. "With a nonverbal spell, your adversary has no warning about what kind of magic you are about to perform, which gives you a split-second advantage."
"Correct," he said, nodding.
Draco gradually tuned him out as the lecture continued; Snape was wise enough not to invite any more answers from the audience, which kept Granger calm – in a sense. She was now furiously scribbling notes, all entirely illegible.
Draco had become extraordinarily accustomed to confining things to the depth of his mind as of late, so this shouldn't be too difficult a lesson. He was reasonably confident that his magic wouldn't be adversely affected by restricting it to the confines of his thoughts.
He snorted a little as he watched Weasley, whose eyes were almost entirely glazed over; there was a mind that needed all the help it could get. If Weasley's mouth opened any wider, he would surely start drooling.
He'd better pay attention, Draco thought smugly. Granger won't be doing his homework for a while.
He eyed her again, inconspicuously (he hoped). He had been shamefully relieved when he'd found out idiot Weasley had nearly tripled in idiocy and gone for daft Lavender Brown. If Weasley had ended up with Granger . . .
Well, then that would probably be the smartest thing he ever did, Draco admitted. So obviously that wasn't going to happen.
" – We'll start with disarming spells," Snape said loudly, his voice slicing through Draco's thoughts. He gestured to either side of the classroom. "Form two lines."
Stepping back, Snape cleared the front of the room of its desks and chairs, raising his hands to lift a long, narrow platform out of the floor. There was an elaborate x on either side.
"What?" Draco said blankly, blinking.
Granger looked at him sharply. "We're doing nonverbal spells – "
"You don't have to start from the beginning, Granger, I get the gist of it," he snapped. "What are we – "
She shrugged. "Practicing." She stood then, walking to the left side of the classroom. He followed, groaning.
Snape placed himself atop the center of the platform. "Disarm only," he said tersely, "Nonverbally." He glared at Potter. "That means no words."
Draco snickered; Granger turned around sharply, whipping him with her errant curls as she glowered at him. He shrugged, smirking.
It seemed that this, too, they were doing elimination style, in the vein of the tournament. He and Granger sat closest to the back of the class, and were closer to last; they stood quietly as Zabini disarmed Patil, and then Potter disarmed Zabini.
"Nott," Snape called, as Potter remained.
Theo leapt gracefully onto the platform, grinning devilishly at Potter as he took his spot on the opposing x. He mouthed something to Potter that Draco didn't quite catch, but Potter clearly didn't take it well.
"Expelliarmus!"
Potter had roared it; idiot.
"I thought I made myself clear," Snape said, fixing him with a glare that was seemingly reserved for Potter. "Would a dictionary help?"
Potter only yanked at his tie angrily, not taking his eyes off Theo.
"Very well," Snape conceded, "You can forfeit this round."
Potter turned on his heel and jumped from the platform; Draco watched as Granger attempted to catch Potter's eye. He seemed insistent, though, on skulking off to a corner with Weasley, brooding moodily in a way only Potter knew how. Granger frowned, deflating ever so slightly.
And so it went with a number of students until Granger stepped hesitantly onto the platform. Theo sidled over to Draco, having since been disarmed.
"How do you think she'll do?" he whispered, an odd mix of curiosity and doubtful sarcasm.
Draco shrugged. He had never been all that impressed with Granger's singular ability to recall knowledge in class; reciting a textbook didn't really require all that much skill. In many ways she also possessed that insane lack of subtlety that was so quintessentially Potter. But considering she'd disarmed him and threatened him at wandpoint only a matter of days ago, he figured he owed her the benefit of the doubt.
Snape turned to the opposite side, pursing his lips. "Miss Brown," he said flatly, "Get up here."
He really has a gift, Draco thought. Always the most natural pairings.
Lavender smiled obnoxiously at Granger as she clambered onto the platform, her long silver earrings dangling. Draco remembered that Lavender had had a fondness for Divination, and he couldn't help but think of Professor Trelawney's mindless drivel when he took stock of what he considered to be cheap, fortune-teller jewelry. He was, after all, a Malfoy. He had exceedingly distinguished taste.
He rather disliked excessive jewelry. He appreciated a girl with a no-nonsense air about her – though, come to think of it, he really didn't know that many.
Maybe just one.
Draco had never had any specific problems with Lavender Brown; she was a Gryffindor, which made her useless, but she was also a pureblood, which made her relevant. He was finding, though, that it wasn't all that difficult to root against her.
Lavender had scarcely made eye contact with Granger before her wand flew perilously through the room, ricocheting off the back wall. Draco watched with amusement as the smile quickly drained from her face; she merely gaped at Granger, who was pleasantly wearing the slightest brush of a triumphant smirk.
"Very good, Miss Granger!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed, walking in just as Lavender's wand collided with the back wall.
"Yes," Snape said, unimpressed. "Quite a feat – "
"Perhaps someone from your house, Professor Snape?" McGonagall suggested, smiling shamelessly.
He scowled at her. "Parkinson," he said, snapping his fingers and pointing.
This, too, Granger made short work of. Pansy had barely raised her wand before Granger voicelessly sent it hurtling onto the floor. Her heart wasn't in it this time, he thought. Pansy's wand had only gone a few feet.
Her dark eyes shot daggers at Granger, but Pansy stepped down with slightly more dignity than Lavender.
McGonagall smiled broadly at Granger. "Well done, Miss Granger!"
Snape turned, considering his options. "Next let's say – " he said, ticking off the heads in the crowd, smiling slightly to himself.
"Weasley, shall we?"
There was an explosion of whispers among the Gryffindors.
"Is it just me, or is something going on here that I don't understand?" Theo whispered, glancing uncertainly between Granger and Weasley.
Draco leaned back to whisper a response. "Weasley and Granger had an embarrassingly public row the other day," he said simply. "Probably to do with him and Brown."
Theo swatted Draco's shoulder playfully. "Draco Malfoy, you gossip!" he proclaimed, in a perfect imitation of a dowdy housewife.
"I know," Draco said, rolling his eyes. "The intrigue."
He looked over at Granger, whose normally golden brown eyes were stormy with conflict. She seemed to be trying to appear normal, but he'd become accustomed to her body language over the last several days. Her shoulders were tense, her knuckles white, and her stance aggressive – Yes, he thought, running through his catalogue of her emotions. This is angry Granger.
This is Granger right before she shoves a wand between your eyes.
Weasley had the sense to look wildly intimidated as he stepped up, his gangly limbs dangling limply.
"I'll count you off this time," Snape announced. "One. Two. Three – "
Snape's throaty last count had barely come to a close before Weasley's eyes went wide, his wand hand slicing upwards seemingly of its own accord. His forearm came crashing into contact with his forehead before the wand itself flew behind his head, clattering to the floor at Potter's feet. Granger's chin jutted upwards haughtily as she watched Weasley struggle to collect himself.
McGonagall glanced quickly between Granger and Weasley, startled. "That was – very interesting indeed, Miss Granger."
Snape's lip curled as he let out a throaty hum. "Mmm, well. It was certainly not a fair fight," he said, his voice sliding melodically over the words.
McGonagall looked sharply at him. "It was your choice, Severus."
He shrugged innocently. "Was it?"
She merely glared at him, tight-lipped.
"How about stepping down to give someone else a try, Miss Granger?" McGonagall called, scanning the crowd. Draco let out the breath he'd been holding when the stern eyes beneath her tortoise shell glasses settled on him. "Ah – Mr. Malfoy."
Granger turned to look at him, frowning uncertainly.
"Go on, then," Snape called, gesturing. "And we'll pair you with – "
"If you don't mind, Professor?" McGonagall interrupted briskly, catching Snape's gaze hovering on Potter. "Perhaps Mr. Malfoy can step up with . . . ah, Mr. Zabini, why don't you join him."
Blaise cocked his head at Draco, smirking. Draco sauntered to the platform, brushing shoulders with Granger as she dismounted. She nodded cordially at him, and he inclined his head apathetically in response. He leapt up lightly, settling himself, while Blaise lagged slightly in reaching the opposite end. Draco couldn't help glancing in Granger's direction during the second's worth of advantage he had over Blaise; he noted, with pleasure, that she was backing away slowly, seemingly unable to look away.
Her attention, surprisingly, did wonders for his concentration. He closed his eyes briefly as a notion struck him. He clenched his fists, concentrating.
He would be breathing heavily as Snape counted to three. He would panic. His normally confident expression would contort in confusion. His wand hand would drop. And in the moment his wand lowered, Blaise would beat him to it, disarming him effortlessly.
He willed all of his energy into crafting the vision, and then looked directly into Blaise's eyes.
Zabini smirked, suddenly confident. Draco kept his features placid, immovable.
Snape swooped towards the center of the platform. "Wands up," he stated flatly. At Blaise's nod, he counted: "One. Two. Three."
Expelliarmus, Draco commanded instantly, blinking once as he felt the spell rush through him. Blaise's wand ripped from his hand, nearly yanking his shoulder out of its socket. Startled, Blaise shook his head vigorously, as though trying to clear a fog in his mind; he seemed as though he genuinely could not believe his eyes.
Draco smiled triumphantly. He had the benefit of knowing his opponent thoroughly. Blaise took advantage of weakness, and nearly always underestimated his opponents when given doubt. It was what made him lousy at wizard chess.
Blaise narrowed his eyes, questioning. Draco merely shrugged, though he was fairly certain he hadn't fully wiped the jeering smile from his face.
Snape, meanwhile, regarded him with a mix of suspicion and genuine surprise. Draco stepped off the platform, sidling next to him.
"Is that about right, Professor?" he asked quietly, smirking.
Snape lifted his chin, looking down his hooked nose at Draco. "It'll do," he said simply, leaving Draco to rejoin Theo.
"Excellent work, Mr. Malfoy!" McGonagall exclaimed, her long sleeves flapping enthusiastically. "I think our sixth years are well prepared, don't you, Professor Snape?"
He smiled insincerely. "Yes, all two of them," he said, peering around at the remaining students. Everyone shifted uneasily under his gaze, including Granger; she seemed uncomfortable with the praise, which struck Draco as unusual. Maybe she just didn't like being grouped into the same category he was.
"Class dismissed," Snape announced lazily. "Please employ every effort to maintain undisputed control of your own wand for the remainder of the day."
McGonagall shot a look at Snape, raising her eyebrows. Draco, for his part, turned quickly to exit, as he was once again in a hurry to revisit his usual extracurricular project. He gathered his things and turned toward the door, waiting behind a herd of meandering students.
Granger, who had begun walking toward Potter at Snape's dismissal, was already looking at him when he allowed his wandering eyes to settle on her. She had a whimsical half-smile on her face, her brow raised quizzically.
"That was rather unexpected," she said quietly to him, edging alongside him as they attempted to navigate the bottleneck toward the classroom's exit.
"I told you, Granger," he said simply. "I'm full of surprises."
. . . . . . . . .
"You did something different with Blaise, didn't you?"
They were sitting with their potion again. Hermione had begun to find it a decisively less horrific task than she'd ever expected – but then again, she could never have predicted the series of events that had transpired over the last few days. She never would have expected that her best friends, who were normally so comforting and reliable, were now such a source of angst and frustration that she took solace in the still fairly obnoxious presence of Draco Malfoy. Hermione was surprised to find that she had come to find these sessions with him oddly calming. Either there was some therapy in their constant bickering, or she was – as she suspected was the case – slowly going mad.
"What do you mean, Granger?" he asked, not looking at her. He was sitting in a desk and not on it, for once, and had his head leaned back, face aimed at the ceiling. She had learned that his inattention did not necessarily mean he was uninterested. She'd begun to suspect he'd been making a concerted effort to refrain from eye contact when he didn't feel like being honest with her.
"When you disarmed Zabini – he looked genuinely shocked, it was odd. And you – you were smiling, like you knew," she said, stammering as she struggled to find words. "I mean – come on, Malfoy, you know precisely what I'm saying," she said finally, exhaling impatiently.
He lifted his head to squint at her. "Honestly Granger, I'm completely adrift."
She rolled her eyes, and she did endlessly when she was with him. "There was something different about the way you disarmed Blaise – "
"Do you also want to explain the 'something different' about the way you disarmed Weasley?" he asked, sitting up straight as he interrupted her.
She felt herself turn pink. "I – that is entirely beside the point, Malfoy – "
"Is it?" he mused, toying with her. "I believe you also smiled after that particular contest." He brought a finger to his lips, mockingly tapping them twice. "I wonder what could have been different for you with Weasley?"
"Oh come on, Malfoy!" she exclaimed, frustrated. "Do we have to do this every time – "
"It's an innocent question – "
"I think it's been a long time since you did anything innocent, Malfoy," she said, narrowing her eyes.
He tossed her his typical Malfoy smirk. "Come now, Granger," he said irritatingly. "We really don't know each other all that well."
"Fine," she said, throwing her hands up in defeat. "Let's talk about Ron and me."
He blinked, genuinely surprised. "You – really?"
"Yes," she demanded. "Let's get this out of the way so that I can ask you a proper, academic, magic-related question."
"Fair enough," he said, grinning. "How did it feel to humiliate Weasley in front of the entire class?"
"I didn't – "
"No, wait, scratch that," he said quickly. "What felt better, humiliating Brown or humiliating Weasley?"
"I'm telling you, I didn't – "
"Wait," he said, putting up a hand to stop her. "I actually only have one question."
She sighed. "Yes?"
He leaned forward, propping his chin on his fist. "If not for Weasley deciding to fuck Lavender Brown when you two were so clearly – "
"Get to the question, Malfoy!" she snapped angrily.
"Fine. If not for that," he asked, a rare moment of sincerity showing on his face, "Would you have let him disarm you?"
She opened her mouth quickly, then closed it again, hesitating. She had not been expecting this question.
"Why – why would you think – "
"Face it," he said, shrugging. "You've covered for Weasley for six years. You've bailed him out at every turn. You confounded someone for him, Granger."
"Stop bringing that up, I did not – "
"I'm just asking a simple question," he said quickly, shrugging. "It shouldn't really require this much thought to answer it." He slid out of the desk, standing over the cauldron and briefly inspecting its contents.
"Supposedly," he continued, "and I assume you would agree, you are an extraordinary witch. Weasley is, at best, a mediocre wizard."
He looked up suddenly, catching her eye. She wished she'd known it was coming. Looking into his eyes was like being hit with a sudden, glacial frost; it sent a thunderous shudder up her spine, invading her brain, and poisoning what precious good sense she had left when he was around.
"Just tell me you wouldn't have let him win," he said finally. "For your sake, say it out loud."
She paused, cursing whatever higher power might be listening for their part in allowing Malfoy to occasionally force her to see reason. Because he was right, of course. Even by the greatest of stretches she was a far better witch than Ron, even in an alternate universe where he had actually done the reading and she had recently been in a coma. Even in the most positive light she could shed for him, she knew he would have ultimately fumbled with the nonverbal spell. By comparison, such things did not happen to her.
I would have, she sighed, hating herself. I would have let him disarm me.
"I . . . "
"It's fine, Granger," Malfoy said curtly, leaning back on the desk. "You've just said plenty."
She bit her lip. "It's not that I would have, I don't know, rolled over or anything – "
He shook his head, either feigning disinterest or truly uninterested. "Haven't I told you, Granger, that it doesn't matter what I think?"
"He's my friend!" she insisted, running her hands through her ponytail. "I would have tried to help him."
"You do know that in the long run, you're just creating more work for yourself," he said, rolling his eyes. "When Weasley inevitably comes to his senses, he'll come back and want you to solve his problems for him again."
She scoffed. "What do you care?"
"I don't," he said, shrugging. "I have more important things to worry about."
"I guess that's true," she replied softly. The words came out before she considered their consequences, and he looked at her sharply. She willed herself not to look at the shadows under his eyes.
There was a long silence as they both considered how to move forward. She coughed once, quietly, giving her the chance to cover the flush coming over her cheeks.
"Don't forget how this works, Granger," he growled.
"How what works?"
"We argue a bit, and we try not to kill each other," he said matter-of-factly. "And then we go back to our very separate lives."
"Right," she said quietly, nodding. She made every effort to roughly shove aside the inexplicable ache she felt at his words.
"Unless," he said unexpectedly, "You've already told Potter."
She glanced up quickly. "What?"
He shook his head. "Look, we both know what you saw," he said impatiently. "And we both know Potter wants that information."
"I keep telling you – "
"I'm not an idiot, Granger," Malfoy snapped. "I don't know why I can't seem to make that clear to you. You're not very well equipped to lie to me, either – "
"I didn't say anything," she said harshly, temper flaring. "I'll keep your secrets, Malfoy."
She realized then that they were both standing. It seemed that no matter what, they were always returning to the same combative positions. She wished she had the ammunition to light a fire in him tonight, since she wasn't totally sure she was fully opposed to the way they usually ended.
Instead, though, it seemed a brief moment of mutual respect had overtaken his usual urge to pin her against something. She realized, hazily, that that was probably a notable improvement, but found herself disappointed. She watched his Adam's apple as he swallowed slowly, with difficulty. His grey eyes never left hers.
"Good," he said brusquely, relaxing his stance.
"Well," she said, not ready to collapse back into silence, "How did I do with Pansy?"
"Fishing, are we, Granger?" he said, allowing them to fall back into their normal rhythm.
She shrugged innocently. "You seemed to have been watching pretty closely," she said, fighting a smile. "Surely you have an opinion on me disarming her."
He sniffed. "I have no opinions on Parkinson."
"Oh, but that's not quite true, now is it?" she tutted.
"Ah, you're fucking with me now, are you?" he said condescendingly. "Good girl."
She laughed. "Oh come on Malfoy, it's only fair. You're always on me about Ron – "
"Weasley is such a little shit – "
"Oh, and Pansy's such a catch?"
"No," he admitted, "But I never tried to pretend she was."
"Right, you only – "
"Granger, if you're going to recount my indiscretions, it's going to be a long night," he said, cutting her off.
"So true," she said, "and I wouldn't want to put you through the pain – "
"But really," he interrupted suddenly. "Why Weasley?"
She rolled her eyes. "I don't really want another round of rapid fire questions, Malfoy, I got your point a long time ago – "
"No," he said, shaking his head. "I'm serious. I mean – you'd do . . . you'd do anything for him, wouldn't you? Or you would have, if he hadn't gone and lost his damn mind."
"Yes, I would, and for Harry, too," she admitted, nodding. "I'd die for them. But that's what you do for people you love."
He nodded slowly, biting his lip. She suspected she'd hit a bit close to home on that one.
"But to answer your question . . . I don't know," she said honestly. "Romantically, anyway, I don't. Part of what it is with Ron is really just the history. So sometimes, I'm just not sure. I can't give you a list or anything."
"Too bad nobody's written a book about it," he said, cocking his head. "Eh, Granger?"
"Very funny," she said, wrinkling her nose. "I think everyone was just so cruel to me at first – and then Ron and Harry . . . sometimes, I almost feel that I owe them, for allowing me to have any meaningful relationships at all."
He was quiet for a moment. There was a softness in his eyes, briefly, that departed moments after it arrived.
He threw his shoulders back suddenly, stretching. "That is unbelievably sad, Granger," he announced finally. "It truly was a tragic bedtime story."
"Bedtime story?" she asked, startled.
He pointed to the potion. "That's rose gold enough, don't you think?" he said, gesturing. "I think we're done for the evening."
"Oh, hmm," she said, nodding. "I suppose you're right."
She watched him gather his things. He had removed his sweater and tie hours ago, and wore only his partially buttoned oxford. It was, perhaps, the Malfoy version of loungewear. His shirt remained tucked into his trousers, the plain black leather belt sitting invitingly on his hips. She bit her lip, trying not to let her mind wander to the last time she'd had her hands on him.
She remembered what she'd meant to ask him right before he pushed open the door.
"You used legilimency on Blaise," she called, waiting.
She saw him straighten, though he kept his back to her.
"You implanted a false vision, didn't you?" she said, pressing him.
He tilted his head towards her and paused, placing his hand on the doorframe.
"Don't lose sleep over it, Granger."
He pushed the door open and then it was over. She survived another night of potions with the insufferable, intolerable, and inexplicably enticing Draco Malfoy.
. . . . . . . . .
a/n: Been getting a bit of filler out of the way for these most recent chapters but hope you're all still enjoying it! Thanks again for reviewing!