Monday, September 13, 1999
Skeeter says I have to be at the Ministry early for a photoshoot. I almost hang myself with my old Hogwarts tie right there.
And when I enter the Atrium and Potter is there... well, icing on the cake.
He's eyeing me while Skeeter bounces around, snapping at her photographer, and touching both of our shoulders and chests far too much.
I thought she'd get the shot of me arriving through the fireplaces and walking to the lifts. I had no idea she'd want me to stand here and be greeted by The-Boy-Who-Lived-And-Died-And-Lived-Again.
Catchy, Skeeter.
Skeeter walks away, saying she's going to ask someone about adjusting the lighting in here. Good luck with that. It's an underground tomb.
"Are you ready for this?" Potter asks.
I glance at him, and he's trying so hard to be a friendly presence, but I see right through him.
"I suppose so."
We're turned, facing the Atrium, watching Skeeter drag a maintenance worker around pointing at lighting fixtures. We're shoulder to shoulder.
"Gowain Robards is quite excited to meet you," he says. "Head of the Auror Department. He's a pleasant fellow. Appreciates hard work."
I nod.
"You'll remember Goldstein. He's up there." Potter shifts next to me. "And I should tell you that Katie Bell is up there too."
Bell. Wonderful. I feel my stomach twist. Why did everyone have to go work for the fucking Ministry.
"You'll have your own cubicle, but you'll probably get dragged into team meetings, and brainstorming sessions, and the like. Oh, and there's a café on this level, just around the corner. Excellent croissants."
And a familiarity sweeps over me. The two of us, shoulder to shoulder. We might as well be standing on footstools, getting our robes pinned. Only this time it's Potter talking nervously, and instead of bragging like I did, he's trying to teach me, trying to make me feel comfortable.
I remember seeing Hagrid out the Madam Malkin's window, and thinking I'd get a laugh out of this boy. I had already known back then that picking at the weaker or lesser was a talent of mine, and perhaps I'd make a friend if he thought I was funny.
I blink to clear my head as Rita claps her hands, shouting at the photographer.
"Thank you for speaking on behalf of my mother, Potter." I feel him turn to look at me. "I'm... very grateful that she didn't have to endure Azkaban for long."
"Of course. Yes," he says. "She saved my life once. Thought it best to return the favor," he says with a smile.
Before it crosses my mind to thank him for speaking at my trial, Skeeter is back. She's telling us to stand in front of the fountain, face each other, and shake hands.
And maybe it's the memory of Madam Malkin's, or it's the absurdity of all this, but Rita sets us up and Potter reaches out his hand, and I say, "Merlin, Potter. Took you eight years to finally shake my hand."
I clasp his hand, and the camera flashes, and Potter snorts. He's hiding a smile when he says, "Think of all the unpleasantness we could have avoided."
I chuckle. Rita asks us to try it again, and then I hear, "Miss Granger!"
I knew I would see her today. But I still feel unprepared for the possibility of spending most of my days with her and Harry Potter.
I turn to see her. Something's wrong with her hair.
Skeeter is dragging her over, forcing her to stand at Potter's side while we shake hands. Her eyes are wide and her shoulders are tense, and finally Skeeter takes her to the side. I feel like I can breathe again. I look down at my shoes, surprised to see Potter's got a matching pair of dragon leather. Hm. Good for him. Finally dressing himself right.
I look up at him and he's watching me. I restrain myself from sneering back at him, but there's something in his stupid green eyes. Like he's piecing something together. I look away. Focusing on my bricks.
"Bozo, that's enough!" Skeeter yells. And the photographer stands at attention. "Let me have a moment with Mr. Potter, and let's get some shots of Mr. Malfoy heading to the lifts! Miss Granger, why don't you escort him?"
She looks like how I feel. She starts to argue, saying she's not on my floor. I try to remember what floor she is on.
And she's being shoved towards me, and we're walking to the lifts together. She's very stiff. And I wonder if she wants nothing to do with me. If she doesn't want to be pictured with me.
Skeeter yells to us to look in at each other, and we both ignore her. I pull the grate open for her, and she looks up at me, like she's surprised. Does no one pull doors for her? She's Hermione Fucking Granger.
She ducks her head and steps through, and I curse my hand that rises to guide her inside, grazing over the fabric of her blouse. She twitches.
I follow her in, and I can hear Skeeter screeching for us to come back and walk to the lifts again. Like we're actors in her little play. I know Granger hates her, and I'm quite done with this charade myself. I continue to close the gates, like I haven't heard her.
She's running after us, telling us to reset, and I feign ignorance, like I don't know how to get out of an elevator.
"Sorry! It's my first day!"
I hate myself as I check to see if she smiles at this. She's letting out a breath she's holding.
It's just us in the lift as it pulls backwards. I'll probably need to come back downstairs at some point. Or I wonder if Skeeter will come up.
Silence. And I'm regretting this as a familiar scent floats through the lift. Trapped in a box with her. I lean against the wall, away from her. I wonder how natural I could make stumbling into her as the lift zigzags, regaining my balance with my hands on her hips, maybe pressing her into the wall, but then I remind myself that Malfoys do not stumble.
I'm about to say... something, when she talks first.
"If you find that Skeeter is being too much of a 'pest,' I find that a jar with an Unbreakable Charm usually does the trick."
The full weight of her suggestion hits me. And I smirk at her as a wave of pride crashes down on me. She's watching the enchanted papers fly out of the lift.
Look at me.
"How Slytherin of you."
She turns to take me in, and I see her eyes barely dance over my body as I lean casually against the wall. I wait for her to prove her rightful place in Gryffindor, rebuke me for the Slytherin comment. The doors close and she looks away. I watch her press her lips together.
"I just... hate her." She laughs nervously. And the sound twists around my ribs, one by one.
"Come now," I say. "I thought Hermione Granger left all her hate behind at Hogwarts."
She's smiling at her feet when she says, "No, there's a special reserve. Only for Rita Skeeter and those who do not appreciate Lance Gainsworth."
She glances up at me and I can't hold back a grin. I should clarify the Gainsworth predicament, tell her that he's my favorite too – maybe she'll gush about the books again, her eyes light and wide and color on her cheeks – but then the lift doors are opening and a floppy oaf-like creature is calling her name.
She tenses.
"I need you," he says, with a grin. She's grimacing, and there's something familiar about him.
"Aiden. Good morning. You remember Draco Malfoy," she says, not looking at either of us.
I'm standing as tall as I possibly can without a thought. He's got at least two inches on me. He's shaking my hand and grinning, and explaining that he went to Hogwarts with us.
That's not why he's familiar.
"And what do you do here, Aiden?"
"I'm on Level 4 with Granger here, working in the Beast division." He nudges her with his elbow. Friendly. Grinning down at her. Potter doesn't even touch her like that.
And it slams into me like gravity.
Weasley. Weasley, who's tall and broad and dopey. Who talks too loud in confined spaces. Who makes her laugh and makes her cry. Who is allowed to touch her.
My eyes drift to her and she's bouncing with energy. She looks awkward and stiff. He's standing close to her still, and his eyes are on her when he says, "You change your hair?"
Weasley who she'd fix her appearance for. Who she'd pull her curls back for.
"Oh, um, yes." She touches her hair. "I mean, no. It's just braided."
I listen as he tells her it looks nice. As she thanks him. And I'm in the middle of their private conversation.
Nothing about Aiden O'Connor in the papers. But she'd be too smart to let anything about the two of them slip.
The lift slows for Level 4. I imagine her box. I open the lid, and shove the both of them inside, giving them some privacy. Giving myself some space.
Aiden grins and says goodbye. She turns and says, "Have a great first day, Malfoy." She's blushing.
Is she embarrassed that I discovered them?
He's guiding her out of the lift, hand on her back, and she jumps. The doors close on the two of them walking away. And I have two floors to dwell on her hair braided back and his dim-witted grin before I arrive at the D.M.L.E. floor, and I head off to apologize to Katie Bell.
~*~
Sunday, December 25, 1994
The bitch won't even look at me.
She had floated down the stairs like she owned the whole damned castle and giggled like a toddler when Krum escorted her into the Great Hall.
I had to ask Blaise who Krum's date was. He laughed at me.
She's been dancing with the Bulgarian for the past hour, messing up the steps, and smiling, and drinking punch.
And she hasn't spared me a glance. Like I'm the one not worthy. And I can't figure out what she's done to herself.
"It has to be a glamour, right?" I watch as she laughs at something Krum says. "She must have cast something –"
"Draco, we all have glamours on!" Pansy laughs. I look at her, sitting next to me at our table.
"What?"
"I've got a Skin Shining Spell and a Hair Holding Charm going right now. I'm sure every girl here has cast beauty spells –"
"No, no," I wave her off. "This is something different. You look as pretty as you always do. But, Granger..." I sneer as she starts swaying to the music. "She's done something drastic." She smiles and touches Krum's arm.
"Are you saying you find Hermione Granger pretty?" Pansy asks.
I whip my head to face her, and she's teasing me.
"Don't be daft. Of course not," I say. "I'm saying she's a filthy, deceiving Mudblood, and she has no right to walk among us like she's one of us."
Krum dips her.
I glare at her as she laughs, hoping she'll feel it, but of course she still won't look at me.
Later on, Pansy and I resume our dancing, and I try to keep my focus on the steps, but she's in the middle of the floor fucking them up. I have to remind myself that she's had no formal training. She's a Mudblood and wouldn't know a waltz if it slapped her in the face.
I glance to Potter and Weasley, slouching and pouting. She's burning bridges right and left it seems. This night is for the champions.
"What's happened to her teeth? That must be it." I spin Pansy in a circle.
"She fixed them months ago."
"What?" I look down at her. She's rolling her eyes at me.
"When you hit her with that beaver spell, or whatever it was, she shrank them down with Pomfrey."
"How is that fair!" I glare at her across the room. "You can't just go changing your appearance all willy-nilly!"
"Draco, can we please talk about something other than the Mudblood?"
I look down at her and Pansy has a brow lifted at me. She's bored.
"Of course," I say. "I'm just irritated by her, that's all."
"Well, obviously. She's foul." She rolls her eyes. "Even all gussied up, she's still just a Mudblood in a dress."
I look over at said Mudblood, and find her blushing at something Krum has whispered to her. I see her mouth the words "thank you" and smile up at him through her lashes. My mind races with all the possible things that could make her smile like that and I look down at Pansy again.
"You look beautiful tonight, Pans."
Pansy looks up, eyes wide. "Thank you," she says. And she looks down at our feet, blushing.
I look over at Krum again. He twirls her. She laughs as she stumbles. She doesn't care that she looks like an idiot, or that her date is clearly more trained than she is.
I look down at Pansy. She would right herself. She would float back into my arms and smile if I reached my arm out to twist her underneath. Her steps would be sure and she would glide, not bumping into the opposite couples, no apologies and laughter.
I hear the Mudblood laugh again, and I focus on Pansy's face, focus on not turning to watch.
The song ends and I take Pansy to the punch bowl, meeting with Blaise and Theo there. I keep my back to the room as Pansy chats with Daphne, and Blaise offers me a smoke on the balcony. They've found a spot that Filch isn't keeping an eye on. I follow Blaise and Theo over to the curtains, and I find a blue dress in the crowds again. I turn away.
Marcus Flint is on the balcony with three Durmstrang boys. He passes me a smoke and I inhale deeply. There is probably some kind of herb in this roll, something from the greenhouses.
"You know Viktor's date?" One of the Bulgarian's asks Flint in a thick accent.
"Isn't that Potter's Mudblood?" Flint turns to me as I pass him back the smoke. "Granger, right?" I nod. "Why isn't she here with Potter tonight?"
I look up and he's directing the question to me.
"How am I supposed to know?" I snarl at him. He lifts a brow.
"She is Mudblood?" Another Bulgarian. "She must be very good in the bed!"
The Bulgarians laugh. Marcus laughs. Blaise and Theo laugh.
I stare at the smoke curling from the tip of a cigarette.
"No, no," Marcus says, and he pulls back the edge of the curtain, revealing just enough of the dance floor to see a blue dress spin in a circle. "She's a prude. Krum's not getting anywhere near those knickers."
She spins into view again, and the dress rises to reveal her calves. I blink.
"Doesn't hurt to try, though," Marcus says. I hear the Bulgarians laugh.
"Not at all!"
I tear my eyes away from her body falling against Krum as she laughs. I turn to see a balcony of boys puffing smoke and watching her chest rise and fall, eyes glinting and smiles tugging their mouths.
How has she done this? This is absolute insanity. She's charmed the room, or slipped a potion into all of our pumpkin juices at breakfast.
She gets swept up into another dance with Krum, and I'm mourning the loss of my respect for him.
The Bulgarians and Marcus talk of something else. I don't listen. I look up to excuse myself back inside, and Blaise is watching me.
As I re-enter, I hear the beginning of strings, and several French girls coo and grab their dates. Fleur Delacour passes in front of me, dragging Roger Davies to the dance floor. As my eyes dart across her body – as they always do when the part-Veela is close by – I wonder if there's something chemical happening with Granger. Some Veela gene, hidden by years of Squibs. It would explain everything.
I find her in the crowd, taking her place with Krum in the circle. The strings buzz. The French Waltz.
She looks around the room for a moment, looking for Merlin-knows who, but her eyes pass right over me. Never looking at me.
She smiles with perfectly sized teeth at Krum. He bows.
Bowing to a Mudblood. The bile rises in my throat.
She curtseys, and it looks like she may fall over. I pace the edge of the couples, looking for Pansy, keeping my gaze on her.
They spin around each other, and I get to see Krum's face. Enamored. I think of Marcus's eyes on her body. The Bulgarians laughing about her in bed.
It doesn't make any sense.
Two couples away from them, a pretty Ravenclaw dances with a Durmstrang boy. I tap him on the shoulder. "Get lost."
He must know who I am, because he moves. The Ravenclaw smiles at me. I think I smile back.
I take her through the steps. She tries to talk to me, but I'm waiting.
And finally we separate. And the Mudblood steps towards me, her smile still on her lips. And she looks at me. And she gasps. Like she's afraid.
You should be afraid of me, Granger. I'm going to discover all your secrets.
I'm looking for it. For the glamour, or the Veela gene. I bow to her, even as it repulses me, and I watch as she presses her lips together and curtseys to me.
She rises, and I still can't find it. I lift my hand, and I realize that she'll have to touch me.
She brings her palm to mine, and I wait. Nothing. Her hand hovers an inch away. I'm relieved, I think.
I turn around her. And I think of Krum spinning her in circles and the breathless smile on her face. She's stone cold now, short breaths coming in rapid succession, and I don't let my eyes wander to her pulsing chest.
We return to our original spots, and I'm turning away to find the Ravenclaw girl again before I realize that I learned nothing, except for the rhythm of her breathing, or the way her neck blushes.
I finish the dance, and return to Pansy's side. Like nothing's happened. Like I just went for a smoke with the boys.
Pansy links her arm with mine, and continues talking to Daphne. I watch Granger as Krum kisses her knuckles, leaving her side. She smiles after him. And I see her eyes search the ballroom.
I look away.
"Draco," Pansy says, and her voice is soft in my ear. "Do you want to go back to the dungeons?"
No. But I also don't know why I want to stay.
"Everyone will still be at the Ball. We'll have the dormitories to ourselves," she says.
I turn to look at Pansy. Her eyes are dark and promising me things.
"Yeah, alright." My throat is dry.
We slip out, and down to the dungeons. She follows me into the boys' dormitories, and her hands are sure as they slip off her gown, and I'm wondering where these glamours are that she's cast. I don't see any difference in her. Not like on Granger.
And Pansy's hands are slipping the buttons from my dress robes, and her lips are kissing my neck and I press my fingers into her hair, not finding any magic there to hold it together.
I jump when she reaches for my trousers, and as she unbuttons them, I pull back to look at her.
"Are you... You want to?"
She smiles at me, and I kiss her. I wonder how's she learned some of the things she's doing, but I don't really care when she takes off her underthings and lays down on my bed. I take off the rest of my clothing and when I join her, she's breathing heavily, and I stare at her face, looking for her Skin Shining Spell. I don't see it.
When we begin, it feels like slipping into heaven, and I try to touch her so she feels as good as I do, but I know this won't take long.
I'm trying to last longer, closing my eyes and trying to think of Quidditch teams, and counting the potions bottles in my trunk, when her fingers thread through my hair. It feels good so I try it on her.
My face is pressed into her neck and I run my fingers through her hair and it's too short. I try again, and the silky strands slip through my fingers, nothing I can hold onto.
I imagine what it would be like to have a fistful of a girl's hair in my fingers, pulling her neck open to me, and I feel my hips snap quickly.
Pansy squeaks, and her pitch is too high. Her breathing is too heavy instead of quick and short. I try to think of what it would be like with someone who whispers into my ear in low tones and laughs when it makes her feel good, perfectly sized teeth smiling up at me.
What it would be like to do this again, and take my time on her body, trying to touch her all over first, instead of jumping right into it. My hand snakes down and her hips are thinner than I remembered, and I'm imagining a slim waist with wider hips, and my fingers squeeze.
My hips are snapping too quickly and I can hear her squeaking under me, and I'm almost done, but wishing that I could have made her cry out too, and maybe she'd squeeze around me until I popped, as I buried my face into her curls –
And I come with a yelp, and her fingers are digging into my shoulders, nails too long, breathing too heavy, and when I've recovered I pull back to look at her.
I don't know why I'm surprised that it's Pansy beneath me.