Chapter 14: The Seven
. . . . . . . . .
Day 1
She wiped the sweat off her forehead, grumbling. "I can't believe it has to be so hot in here."
He made a face as a drop of perspiration dripped perilously down his back. "My fault," he said between gritted teeth. "Had to pick the hardest potion with the highest possible melting point."
She sighed, a tiny laugh escaping. "I don't know," she admitted. "I kind of like it."
"What? The heat?"
"No, of course not," she said impatiently. "This, the potion. It's a challenge."
"True," he said, nodding. He stood from where they were crouched around the cauldron, reaching for one of the many vibrantly colored vials of liquid. "Here, move over a little bit."
He brushed her arm as he leaned over, tipping the contents of the vial into the rapidly bubbling concoction before them. He smelled a little bit like leather and jasmine – masculine, with a sweet finish. Sophisticated, like him.
She glanced back at the textbook and frowned. "We have to add the wormwood essence next but it will become a vapor, if we try to pour it in at this heat – can we cool the potion first?"
He shook his head. "No. If we do that, the remaining potion will solidify." He cocked his head to the side, thinking. "Keep stirring," he instructed, taking hold of the next vial.
He muttered something that she couldn't quite hear, and then flicked his wrist gracefully, his long fingers resting on his wand lightly like a cellist on his bow.
She watched as the air around them seemed to swirl, wrapping itself tightly into a small cyclone, spinning above the cauldron. It knitted itself into a narrow, cotton-candy-spun funnel, with its tip no more than a centimeter above the reach of the bubbling potion. From her vantage point she could see that the inside was crystallized, as though lined with icy stalactites. He steadily rotated his wand, maintaining the revolution of his tornado-like creation, while he used his free hand to pour the wormwood essence into the mixture. When the last drop had emptied, he flicked his wrist again, blinking from the effort.
"Malfoy, that was – that was amazing," she said, mouth agape. "Your spell work – it's beautiful. Really beautiful."
He shrugged, trying to hide his smile. "It was basically a refrigerated straw, Granger," he said matter-of-factly. "You could easily have done it."
"But I didn't," she reminded him. "That was a good idea."
He groaned. "Stop it, Granger," he said grumpily. "I don't know how to handle you being nice to me."
She smiled at him.
. . . . . . . . .
Day 2
"You know, I never thanked you for scolding Weasley the other day," he said offhandedly. "Those two are the living worst."
She laughed. "They have toned it down a bit since then, haven't they?"
"Not nearly enough," he muttered. "How Weasley gets any action is beyond me – "
"Hey!" she exclaimed, her cheeks burning. "He's – he's not that bad."
"Ah," he said obnoxiously. "I forgot that you two used to – "
"Oh, shut up, Malfoy! It's not like you haven't made poor choices yourself, what with Pansy Parkinson and heaven knows who else – "
"Pansy's not nearly as bad as Weasley."
"Pansy's an idiot!"
"Weasley's an idiot – "
"You're an idiot – "
"A handsome one, though," he said, grinning. "Don't argue."
She rolled her eyes. "It was just the one time, anyway. With Ron."
"Was it – " he stopped, not sure if he wanted the answer. "Was it your first time?"
"That's private, Malfoy," she snapped. But he gave her a knowing smirk, and she threw her hands in the air in resignation. "Fine – yes."
"I'm sure it was magnificent," he said happily, as though taunting her was bringing him unimaginable pleasure.
"What about you?" she broached casually. "Are you – "
"If you want to know if I'm fucking anyone right now, Granger, the answer should be an obvious no," he said bluntly. He didn't see her mouth twitch, and wasn't aware she was fighting a triumphant smile. "And if you're asking about any other time, you should know that you probably wouldn't like the answer."
"Well it's not fair," she pressed. "I told you, now you have to tell me."
"Why do girls always want to do this," he muttered to himself, sighing. "Fine. It was Daphne Greengrass, at the beginning of fifth year."
"Really?" she said, her eyes wide. She thought back to the conversation she overheard between Pansy and Daphne. "And Pansy wasn't mad?"
He shrugged. "As far as I know, Pansy doesn't know," he said, unfazed. "I didn't tell her, anyway."
"But – you've slept with Pansy, right?"
"Yes," he said, upset that she wanted to rehash his sexual history. He didn't want to discuss other girls – not with her. "Twice."
"Just twice?" she marveled. "Then why does she prance around like she owns you – "
"The Parkinson bloodline is . . . admirable," he said evasively. She frowned. He was clearly uncomfortable with the topic. "My parents – they would like me to be with her," he admitted. "I always assumed I would have to marry her, someday."
"Have to?"
"Well I don't particularly want to marry her – would you?" he asked pointedly.
She laughed nervously. "No," she said. "I suppose not." She straightened, not willing to talk about blood. "Who else?"
He raised an eyebrow. "Do you want there to be someone else?"
"What?" she exclaimed. "No, I just assumed – I mean, you are – rather infamous – "
He sighed. "Millicent Bulstrode. Tracey Davis. Lisa – "
"Okay, I get it," she said, cutting him off quickly. "The rumors are true."
He spread his hands apologetically. "I, um – I've never been particularly serious about any of them, if it helps."
She bristled. "Why would that matter?" she demanded.
"I didn't – and I still don't – care about any of them," he said, looking at her intensely. "But you – you're in love with Weasley, aren't you?"
"I'm not!" she said, agitated. "I never – "
"You don't have to lie," he said quickly. "You don't have to deny it."
She looked at him, genuinely confused. "Well," she said slowly, choosing her words carefully, "I think maybe I did – or I thought I did. I feel like I was supposed to be in love with him."
He frowned slightly. "Supposed to?"
"Yeah," she said. "We're all so close, you know. It felt like I should be with Ron."
"And now . . . ?" he trailed off innocently, as though he wasn't aware of the impact he'd had on her.
"Well for one thing, look what he did to me!" she said, suddenly emotional. "With Lavender, rubbing it my face – "
"True – "
"He's – he's careless, you know?" she said, eyes flashing. "He's lazy, with me – with our friendship. And you know, maybe I wasn't perfect, but he still shouldn't have – "
"Stop," he said forcefully. "You – you're – "
He cleared his throat awkwardly.
"I'm what?" she said, eyes wide.
"You're fine," he finished anticlimactically, refusing to meet her glance. "There's . . . there's nothing wrong with you."
"Nothing?" she echoed, smiling.
"Besides the obvious," he grumbled. "Too much hair. And poor taste in men."
"Thanks, Malfoy," she whispered, touching his hand.
. . . . . . . . .
Day 3
They were lying on the cold floor, shivering in the moonlight.
"Cross potion maker off the career list, then," she said, teeth chattering. Today, the temperature had to be drastically decreased, another inexplicable aspect of the potion's creation. They'd finished the complex incantations and were now exhausted, waiting for the potion to return to its golden hue.
"You were considering it?" he mumbled back, blowing warm air onto his hands and rubbing them together.
"N-no, I suppose not," she said, shaking as a draft came in through the open window.
He sat up, removing the wool vest of his uniform. He quickly transfigured it into a large blanket, tossing it over her. "Here," he said. "I'm getting a bit tired of all the bloody noise you're making."
She smiled shakily. "Thank you." She pulled it around her tightly, surreptitiously – she hoped – breathing in his smell. "Won't you be cold?"
"I'm fine," he said, shrugging. "Tell me about your list."
"My career list?"
"Yes."
"Well, I don't know," she murmured, her face half buried in the blanket. "Sometimes I think I'd like to work in magical law. Sometimes I think it would be interesting to be an auror. Sometimes the Ministry."
"Ruled out international quidditch superstar, then?"
She laughed. "I'm absolute rubbish on a broom."
"Not everyone can have my catlike reflexes," he said kindly.
The sound of her giggle was muffled by the wool. She pulled her chin out from under the blanket, looking at him purposefully. "What about you?"
"What about me?"
"What's on your list?"
A dark look crossed his face. "I don't have one."
"You don't?"
"No. I mean, I don't really need to, do I?" he said truthfully. "My father doesn't exactly work. He held figurehead positions, mostly."
"Well, is that what you want to do?" she asked, a look of genuine curiosity on her face.
"No," he said simply. "I don't think it matters, anyway."
She pursed her lips. "Surely you've thought about – "
"No, I mean, I thought about it – well, I used to think about it," he said, bringing his legs to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. "I guess I just don't really see too far in the future, anymore."
She kept quiet, waiting for him to decide he was ready to continue. They were silent for a few minutes.
"There will be war," he said hoarsely, his voice cutting through the frosty silence. "There is war. It's everywhere." He shook his head, resting his chin on the tops of his knees. "I don't see a world where I have a future I can choose."
"That doesn't mean you won't have a future, Malfoy," she said gently.
"What am I supposed to do, Granger?" he asked seriously. "Let's say I don't die. And let's say the people I love don't die. Then what do I do? Just . . . get a job? Have children?"
"Yes," she said urgently. "Yes."
"If – if the Dark Lord falls, my family loses everything," he said, his voice breaking. "If he succeeds, there will be nothing left that's good." He tilted his head back, taking a gulp of the frosty night air.
"There's just no point making a list," he said finally. He wasn't looking at her.
She looked at him sadly. "Malfoy," she said, her voice barely audible.
He turned his head.
She lifted her arm, raising the blanket, and gestured for him to join her. "Come on," she said. "It's cold. And we have another hour before we can heat it again."
He thought about it for a minute before scooting himself towards her, closing the space between them. She reached her arms up and he lay on his side in her embrace, his forehead touching hers, while she slipped her leg between his. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath, throwing his arm around her waist and pulling her closer.
"Only because it's cold," he warned.
"Mmm," she murmured. "It's freezing."
. . . . . . . . .
Day 4
Tears of laughter were streaming down her face, and he was gasping for air, too out of breath to finish the story.
" – and then, Theo shows up" – another peal of laughter – "and he's wearing my grandfather Abraxas's spectacles" – more laughter – "and he's – "
She cuts him off. "Does Theo" – laughter – "even wear glasses?"
"No!" – laughter – "and he comes into my grandfather's study, ten years old wearing a ninety year old man's oversized bifocals" – extended laughter, lasting at least two minutes – "and Abraxas says, 'Son, are those my glasses?'"
"He didn't!" she howled. "Ouch, my stomach – "
"He did, and Theo says" – pause while he choked out a wheezing cough – "Hold on, I can't breathe – "
"My face actually hurts – "
"Theo says 'Sir, these are obviously my glasses – are you blind?'"
It took at least ten minutes for them to be able to sit up straight without clutching their sides from laughter; she was wiping tears from her cheeks while he kept pulling at his mouth, trying to relax his overtired smile.
"I can't believe he did that," she said, still grinning.
"Theo and I were constantly up to no good," he said, running his hands through his hair, smiling at the memory. "We both got away with so much, too. For a while, anyway."
"It's hard to think of Theodore Nott as good-humored," she said, smirking.
"Theo is actually quite charming," he assured her. "But – the circumstances were never right for you to know that."
"Why did you always spend all your time with Crabbe and Goyle, then?" she asked, wrinkling her nose.
He shrugged. "Foolish youth," he said simply. "They made me feel important, I suppose. Theo wouldn't have put up with it."
"I'm surprised anybody could," she said, giggling. "You were such a prat."
"Well, I appreciate the past tense, Granger," he said, tipping an imaginary hat to her.
She sighed. "Could you have been like this, always?"
"Like what?"
"Like you are now, with me," she said, blessing him with her charming smile. "Maybe we all could have been friends – "
"Who, you and me?"
"Well, yes," she said. "Yes, of course, but I meant all of us – Harry, Ron, Theo – "
"Well, if you recall," he said quickly, correcting her. "Potter is the reason we're not friends, not me."
"You were so rude to Ron!"
"So? Weasley was rude to you, at first!" he retorted quickly. "He was awful to you, and you decided it was best to just go ahead and fall in love with him."
"Oh, stop, that was different," she insisted. "You were such a snob already – "
"Yeah, well I was also eleven years old," he said, rubbing the back of his neck. "With no siblings or cousins or anything. I just assumed he'd want to be my friend. And then – he didn't. And I didn't understand."
Despite his admission, she smiled at him. "Little Malfoy not used to being rejected, hmm?" she teased. "Poor little rich boy."
He shoved her playfully. "The point is, I don't think we were meant to be friends, Granger."
"Just as well," she said, shrugging. "I'm not sure you and Ron were meant to get along under any circumstances."
"I take that as a compliment," he sniffed.
. . . . . . . . .
Day 5
He had just finished a complex incantation, giving her a break from the three she'd done just prior. The potion was extremely draining, and they had to alternate the spell work. She'd spent her time in silence thinking about him, as usual.
"Do you think we should call each other by our first names?" she asked delicately.
He paused, looking at her underneath a heavily furrowed brow. "No."
"What?" she asked, startled. "Why not?"
He shrugged. "Hermione is a silly name."
"What!" she exclaimed. "And Draco isn't?"
"It's very regal," he said, smirking. "What's your middle name?"
"It's Jean," she replied. "A very normal name."
"So colloquial."
"Colloquial – Malfoy, you are a raging snob."
"Yes," he said, nodding. "I'm aware."
"What's your middle name?"
"Lucius, my father's name. And Abraxas, my grandfather's."
She rolled her eyes. "You really are wizard royalty, aren't you?"
"Royalty? That's a muggle distinction."
"True. But you're like – Prince William."
"Prince William?"
"Yes," she explained. "He's the grandson of the queen."
"Is he quite as dashing as I am?"
"He's a bit younger, so, I suppose not."
"Is that your only reason?"
"Let's say it is, shall we?"
"Fine," he conceded. "But let the record show – "
"Yes," she said, exasperatedly. "The Slytherin Prince out-dashes the Prince of England. This round, anyway."
"Is his father as rich as mine?" he said, exaggeratedly boastful.
"Honestly, probably not," she said, laughing. "I can't imagine the life you must have lived."
"I was – quite adored," he admitted. "What about you?"
She eyed him carefully. "You want to talk about my filthy muggle parents?" she asked harshly.
He flinched. "Sorry – forget it."
They were quiet for a moment.
"My parents are dentists," she said finally. "They attend to people's teeth."
He cocked his head at her, contemplating this. "Without magic?"
"Yes, without magic. Sort of – they do have nitrous oxide, to make people feel more comfortable."
"And then, what – they just pull teeth out?"
"Yes," she laughed. "I mean, I suppose so, if you put it that way. A bit more to it, but that's fine."
He smiled, picturing it. "What was the rest of your life like?"
"Well, I'm an only child – "
"Me too – "
"I know, Malfoy, that's why we argue so much," she said with an added eye roll for emphasis. "Anyway, it was just me and my parents. We're very close."
He had a strange look on his face.
"I assume it was similar for you, right?" she said, leaning over to catch his eye. "You and your parents are close."
"Um," he said, stumbling. "Yes – I suppose. I am quite close to my mother. And my father – well, they are both very important to me."
She frowned. "You're not close to your father?"
"I – I'm not really sure," he said. "What kinds of things did you do with your father?"
She bit her lip, thinking. "Well, he and I took camping trips together," she said. "And last summer he taught me to drive a car." She smiled. "He was very patient about it – I'm absolute rubbish, of course."
His eyes were vacant, as though his mind was very far away.
When he finally spoke, his question surprised her. "Do you know what I saw, the day Lupin brought in the boggart?"
"No," she admitted. "I don't, actually."
"My father," he said simply. "With a look of disappointment on his face."
She was quiet. "We were younger, then," she said. "You're a better man. You don't need his approval."
He shrugged. "I suppose I do have more pressing fears, now."
She nodded. "I had failed all my exams," she said, remembering her boggart with a lighthearted laugh.
"Of course you did. I can't imagine it's much different now."
"Very different, actually," she said, biting her lip. "I think death clouds my brain a bit more than it used to."
"What would you see now?"
They looked at each other and realized the answer at the same time.
. . . . . . . . .
Day 6
She was scribbling onto a spare bit of parchment, as though an idea had come to her head.
"Malfoy," she called, "Why would anyone combine dragon's blood and acromantula venom with fire seed?"
"Crushed or whole?"
"Crushed."
"A healing potion," he said. He was cupping his mouth with his hand, thinking hard. "Those first two are rare ingredients though – that would be one hell of a potion."
She murmured her agreement. "What kind of ailment, do you think?"
"Not a normal one," he said adamantly. "That would be – fuck, I don't know. For a cursed limb or something."
Her mouth fell open a little bit. "A cursed limb?"
"Yeah, a really dark curse, too, I'm guessing," he said, furrowing his brow. "Really dark. Really powerful."
"Hmm."
"Why? Thinking of doing that one next?"
She threw her head back with a loud groan. "Absolutely not!"
He grinned. "Never again, right?"
She shook her head. "Never again."
"I can't believe we're almost done," he said, leaning over and inspecting the cauldron. "Did you speak to Snape and Slughorn about reviewing it?"
"Yes," she said primly. "The day after tomorrow we're meeting Snape in his office in the evening, after the first round of duels."
He sat up quickly. "I'd forgotten about the duels," he said. He rubbed his forehead, sighing. "Just one more thing to think about, I suppose."
"What are you worried about?" she said with a snort. "You're the top of your house, you'll get through the first round no problem."
"And after that?" he asked, eyeing her with a smirk. "Are you planning to destroy me in the house competition?"
She laughed. "Oh, I would love to," she sang melodically. "Unfortunately I don't know that I'm such a fantastic dueler."
"What are you talking about?" he exclaimed. "You disarmed three people in a row before they even knew what was coming – "
"Yes, but that was an assignment. A tournament is different, I'm not very creative."
He scowled at her. "Sod off, Granger."
"What?"
"You could light everyone in the room on fire with just your pinky finger and you know it," he said pointedly. "Don't give me that shit."
"Malfoy, even you've said that just knowing about everything from books isn't enough!"
"Yes, and I stand by that, obviously, but you're more than just books."
She looked up at him sheepishly. "I am?"
He threw his hands in the air, tossing his head with frustration. "If I need to tell you that, Granger, you're not the witch I thought you were."
She smiled a little, inclining her head in forfeit.
"You're the witch who stuck her wand between my eyes and told me she was better than me," he reminded her. "I like that witch. She could win a tournament."
"Though," he said, preempting her response, "that was not a fair fight, so don't expect to get by me so easily this time."
She shook her head, beaming. "We'll see."
A narrow gust of wind circled her, pulling her towards him until her chest bumped lightly against his. She looked down, realizing suddenly that he'd had his wand in his hand.
"Well this isn't fair either, Malfoy," she said, looking up into his eyes.
He licked his bottom lip slightly before biting down on it. She held her breath, watching his adam's apple dance as he swallowed carefully.
"You're right," he said, taking a step back. His eyes were glinting mischievously. "I'll wait."
. . . . . . . . .
Day 7
He stirred it one last time. "Grab my wand for me, would you?"
She handed it to him. "Why, do we need to change something?"
"No," he said simply, cuffing his left sleeve. They both conspicuously avoided looking at his Mark. Using his wand, he cut a shallow line into his wrist, drawing blood.
"Malfoy," she said, horrified. "What – "
"Just testing," he grunted. "Put a drop of the potion on it." He clenched his fist, drawing his veins to the surface.
"What if it doesn't – "
"It'll work, Granger."
She eyed him skeptically for a moment, but then turned to the cauldron, filling a small glass dropper and returning it to him.
"Ready?" she asked hesitantly.
"It's that or keep bleeding!"
"Fine," she said, holding her breath as she let the drop fall.
They watched in fascination as the wound slowly began to stitch itself up, drawing the skin together. It looked like an invisible hand had taken an invisible thread and slowly sewn the wound shut, and as the last moisture of the potion was used up, his skin glistened, freshly cleaned.
"It worked," she breathed.
"We did it," he said, looking into her eyes. "I guess" – he coughed, his throat dry – "I guess we're done."
"I guess so," she said slowly, reality sinking in.
They packed up sluggishly, moving about the classroom as though in a daze. They both lingered needlessly, floating around to check things that weren't there, absentmindedly cleaning off unused desks, asking questions that had been answered twice. When it was finally obvious that there was nothing left to do, they both picked up their things and wandered to the door, dragging their feet.
"Should we, um," she started, her eyes flicking to his face nervously. "Should we just – go, then?"
"Yeah," he said uncertainly. "Let's – I'll walk with you."
They walked in silence up the stairs. She enjoyed being in his presence, even when they weren't speaking, and he liked the comfort of having her beside him. They reached the fifth floor landing and stopped again – her room was first, on the left, and his was down the hall, on the right.
They looked at each other.
He let his bag drop from his shoulder as she rushed into his arms, pressing her lips to his and entangling her fingers in his hair. He wrapped his arms around her waist and swept her up, her toes dancing above his feet as he lifted her. He kissed her like he'd never kissed anyone before, not even the way he'd kissed her before. He was drowning in her, aching for her, entwined with her, and she matched him in intensity. He pulled away to hold her face in his hands, stroking her cheekbones, cherishing the moment he had with her. She turned her head and kissed his palm, closing her eyes.
They jumped apart as a door shut down the hall.
She looked guiltily at him. "I suppose you're going to tell me this is a bad idea," she said, biting her lip.
"Yes," he said, expressionless.
She sighed. "It's so weird, knowing I won't see you tomorrow night."
He was silent for a moment, taking in the look of her face in the dim lighting. She was more than a beautiful girl, that Hermione Granger. She was opalescent, sparkling, iridescent. She shone.
"Do you want to see me tomorrow night?"
She leaned forward, grabbing his hand. "Yes," she said, her eyes wide.
He kissed her fingers softly before pulling away. "Then you will."
. . . . . . . . .
a/n: An expanded one-shot of Day Four, in which Draco tells Hermione a story from his childhood, can be found in my drabble collection, Amortentia, as chapter 8.