Chapter 29- Overcoming the Fear
On Monday morning, when Draco broke the news that he was back on the Quidditch team and that Baddock was going to be demoted to reserve Seeker, the Slytherins were ecstatic. They even overlooked the fact that Hermione was going to be sitting behind with him. In fact, they did not seem to care at all, except for a few Slytherin girls, who were giving Hermione disapproving looks, most notably Pansy, who looked like she was ready to tear Hermione’s hair out if she had a chance.
Hermione, however, had her own problems to ponder over. The mere thought of having to ride with Draco during Quidditch practice at the end of the day was making her insides squirm. She had spent most of her Monday dreading the last bell of the day. Though the fact that Harry and Ron were both avoiding her like she was a contagious virus did help distract her (they had sat at the other end of the Gryffindor table during lunch), that did not last long.
Before Hermione knew it, lessons had ended and she was being led to the Slytherin changing room by Draco.
“Granger, you look like you're going to heave your lunch out,” Draco commented as he sat on a bench in the changing room and did up the laces of his Quidditch shoes. Around him, the other Slytherin players were filing in.
Hermione was sitting next to him, looking very pale indeed. “Do I?” she squeaked, her voice an octave higher than usual. “I guess I am a little…nervous.”
“Ha!” Jinx’s voice rang out from Hermione’s finger. “That is quite possibly one of the biggest understatements I've ever heard!”
Hermione had decided that it would be a wise move to bring the mood ring along with her. After all, when under the influence of the Silencing Charm later on, Jinx would be very useful in conveying her feelings to Draco as they soared through the air.
Draco, however, was not too keen on the idea. “Did you have to bring her along?” he groaned.
“Just what do you mean by that, Blondie?!” Jinx demanded. “I swear, if I had hands I’d shove a stick so high up your””
“Jinx!” Hermione gasped, looking down at the pale face in her ring. “I told you not to quarrel with him.”
The mood ring narrowed her eyes in frustration. “He started it,” she said, pouting slightly.
“Malfoy, will you just leave her alone?” Hermione beseeched.
“By all means,” Draco grunted.
“We have real problems to deal with now,” Hermione continued anxiously, as though she had not heard Draco.
“Namely the intense feeling of dread that is currently pulsating through Hermione’s veins,” Jinx supplied, turning a shade of violent purple. “I tell you Blondie, she’s terrified as hell.”
“That’s ridiculous. There’s no need to be afraid, Granger,” Draco said, dismissing Hermione’s anxiety with a wave of his arm.
Licking her lips, Hermione clasped her hands together in front of her. “Well, that’s certainly easy for you to say. You're not the one scared out of your wits of flying at maniacal heights.”
“I’ll see the rest of you on the pitch in fifteen minutes!” Draco shouted to his teammates, causing Hermione to jump (“Darn it, Blondie! The girl’s already edgy as it is! Do you have to scare her by shrieking like that?”). Then, he led her out of the changing room and on to the field, his broom hoisted over his shoulder.
“You know Granger,” he said, walking to the middle of the vast green pitch, “there’s nothing to be afraid about. It’s not like you're going to fall and your head’s going to break open or anything. That rarely ever happens in Quidditch. Sure, there have been a couple of deaths over the last few centuries, but nothing serious...”
Hermione grimaced. “Thank you for your very comforting words, Malfoy,” she said dryly. “I'm definitely feeling a lot better now.”
Jinx rolled her eyes. “Very helpful indeed, you dummy.”
“Look Granger, the point is, I'm not going to let you fall,” Draco told her, without trying to beat around the bush. “Hang on to me so that you won’t topple over. Anytime you feel queasy or nauseous, just jab me in the back, all right?”
“Do my ears deceive me, or is Draco Malfoy actually being considerate towards me?” Hermione questioned, eyeing Draco with an amused expression on her face.
Draco rolled his eyes. “Don’t give me that look,” he said, disguising a chuckle with a snort. “I'm not being nice or anything. I just don’t want to be responsible if anything happens to you. The last thing I need is you being sick all over me.”
“And here I thought you were actually making your first attempt at being gracious,” Hermione mused, purposely heaving a loud sigh.
“Dream till the cows come home, Granger.”
The Slytherin team ambled out on the Quidditch pitch after fifteen minutes, all looking exceptionally happy as the assembled in front of Draco.
“As all of you know by now,” Draco addressed his teammates with an authority Hermione was all too familiar with, “I'm back on the team.” He paused as a few cheers erupted. “And it’s mainly because Granger here is going to try flying with me again,” he continued as the cheers died down. “She has given her consent to ride behind me and is quite prepared this time round.”
Beside him, Hermione tried not to make it too obvious that she was trembling slightly as the Slytherin team inspected her intently.
“She’s not going to scream like a banshee again, is she?” Nott asked, eyeing Hermione coldly.
Draco shook his head. “No, she’s going to put a Silencing Charm on herself.”
Nott glowered at the Head Girl. “Is it permanent, by any chance?” he said, and the other Slytherins sniggered.
“No, Nott, it isn’t,” Draco replied flatly, without (Hermione was pleased to see) cracking a smile.
“How come she agreed to ride with you, Draco?” Crabbe inquired, gawking at Hermione stupidly.
“Yeah, how come she agreed?” Goyle repeated, egging Crabbe on. It was amazing how the two of them could have the exact same expression on their faces, right down to the last muscle.
A murmur rose through the Slytherins, each of them considering Crabbe’s question.
“There’s no point wondering about such questions now,” Draco told his teammates loudly so that his voice was carried over their whispers. “What is important is that I'm back on the team and that we need to win against…” He threw Hermione a quick glimpse, choosing his next words carefully. “…that we need to win our next match.”
His teammates nodded in agreement. They seemed to radiate a certain confidence that was lacking when Draco was absent from playing.
Training started shortly after Draco had briefed his team about their formation and strategy. He instructed them to start with a few simple warm-ups and then turned to Hermione.
“Ready to fly, Granger?” he asked, glancing at her warily.
Hermione took a deep breath. The butterflies in her stomach were on a rampage. “No, but then again I don’t think I’ll ever be ready, so let’s just do this.”
Performing a Silencing Charm on herself, Hermione clambered onto the broom behind the team captain. She was having qualms about putting her arms Draco’s waist, but as soon as she recalled her previous flying experience (which was not too long ago), hesitation was flung out of the window. As Draco hovered above the ground, Hermione’s survival instinct kicked into gear. She held on to his waist like her life depended on it (well, technically it did).
“Calm down, Hermione,” Jinx coaxed. Her voice sounded slightly distant because Hermione’s finger was currently resting in the front of Draco’s waist. “Deep breaths, now. In, out, in, out…”
Draco took his time bringing his broom up to higher altitude. He did not want Hermione panicking because, from the way her arms were snugly wrapped around his waist, he could tell that she was truly agitated. He took a moment to admire her courage. Overcoming a phobia was no easy feat. A true blue (or, in this case, red) Gryffindor.
“All right there, Granger?” Draco called out.
It took a while for Hermione to realize that, despite her attempting to answer his question, no words were coming out of her mouth.
“I think she’s quite all right, Malfoy!” Jinx answered for Hermione, who sighed with relief for having brought the mood ring along. “Still hanging on at least.”
For the next fifteen minutes, while the rest of his team warmed-up, Draco maneuvered his broom slowly through the air to allow Hermione time to get used to the sensation of being in the air.
This isn’t too bad, Hermione thought to herself. As long as I don’t look down or to the side or anywhere else except at Malfoy’s back, I can just pretend that I'm not flying at all! Or so she tried to convince herself over and over again.
However, once the actual practice, that is, once several different balls were launched into the air and were zooming about in all directions, things took a different toll.
“Pretend that the balls don’t exist, Granger!” Draco hollered over the wind.
How many things do you expect me to pretend?! Hermione wanted to shout as her grip around Draco’s waist tightened. Pretend I'm not riding a broom, pretending I'm not soaring through the air… why don’t I just pretend this is all a bad dream?!
Unfortunately, Draco was not gifted in Legilimency, so there was no way he could read Hermione’s thoughts.
Fortunately, Jinx was very sentient to her owner feelings.
“Blondie!” she spoke loudly, becoming a fiercer shade of purple than before. “I don’t think the whole ‘pretend the balls don’t exist’ approach is working out too well!”
A sudden rush of movement from beside Hermione distracted her attention from Draco’s back. Before she could stop herself, she turned away to look at the source of the distraction.
It was then that Hermione’s panic raced to a whole new level. The rushing, blurred images all around her made it impossible for her not to notice the fact that she was airborne. Her whole body went rigid.
“Red alert, Blondie!”
She could not stop herself from clutching Draco’s waist tighter still, and a silent scream escaped her lips.
Draco gasped for breath as Hermione’s arms held on to his mid-section in a vice-grip. “Granger…I...can’t…breathe…”
So the screaming was no longer a problem, but apparently there was a whole new issue that needed to be dealt with.
“Try shutting your eyes this time,” Draco suggested as his broom floated over the Quidditch pitch during Tuesday’s practice.
After Hermione’s panic attack the previous day, Jinx had advised that they give it a rest. Draco had complied with the fact that the Head Girl had had more than enough flying for the day.
Hermione had been apologetic about the whole incident, but oddly enough, Draco was not as mad as she had expected him to be. Therefore, today she was determined to try her best.
“Now there’s a good idea, blond boy!” Jinx chortled in agreement. “Finally, some inventiveness is spewing from that otherwise dormant brain of yours.”
Obeying, Hermione quickly closed her eyes.
However, this seemed to make matters worse. Impairing one of her senses made Hermione keenly sensitive of her other senses. Now, more than ever, she was aware of the wind rushing at high speed pass her face and this made her highly nervous. Moreover, not being able to see what was going on around her, that is, not knowing which direction the various Quidditch balls were headed, she felt tension pile in her stomach like bricks.
Again, instinctively, mechanically almost, her hold around Draco’s torso tautened.
“Oh dear Merlin almighty,” Jinx groaned, glowing the same ominous purple as she had the previous day. She looked up at Draco from Hermione’s finger. “I guess by now you're quite familiar with what this color signifies.”
Feeling his mid-section constrict, Draco decided that it was time to stop flying before Hermione suffocated him to death.
Bloody hell, he thought as he slowly brought the broom to a halt on the ground, who would have thought Granger had that much strength in her? He sighed. This is going to be much harder than I thought.
By the end of the week, Draco’s eardrums were fully intact.
He could not say the same thing about his ribs though. He was certain Hermione had broken a couple for him during Quidditch practice. She was still having some trouble with trying not to squeeze the life out of Draco.
Friday’s training ended on the same note. The moment Draco’s broom picked up some speed, Hermione would panic and instantly her arms would contract in an astoundingly tight grip that would threaten to cut off Draco’s air supply.
It had taken Hermione the entire duration of dinner to calm herself down. She had been trembling like a leaf since the training session ended.
“I'm never going to get use to flying!” Hermione whined as she threw herself onto the large blue couch in the Heads’ common room that same evening. “The books I borrowed from the library don’t seem to be helping either,” she added, motioning at the large stack of books on the study table.
Draco glanced at the pile on the table. Flying Made Easy, 101 Ways to Conquer Aviophobia, Harold Yeats’ Complete Guide to Flying… And the list went on. He had warned her that day in the library that flying in theory and flying in practice were two completely different things.
“Well, I believe theory is an immense tool in assisting practice,” Hermione had told him haughtily as she pulled off as many books on flying from the shelves as her arms could carry. “The same should apply to flying.”
Obviously Hermione had been greatly mistaken.
Dropping onto the sofa beside Hermione, Draco sighed lightly. “I guess it would be pointless for me to say…” He paused to look at Hermione, who had her face buried in a cushion. “I told you so.”
Slowly removing the cushion from her face, Hermione glowered at Draco.
“Quit annoying her, Blondie,” Jinx scolded. “She’s having a tough enough time as it is.”
“Having troubles?” Salazar Slytherin drawled from his portrait.
“Again?”
“Still not getting the hang of flying then, Hermione?” Godric Gryffindor inquired, a look of genuine concern on his painted face.
Hermione shook her head. “Not really, no,” she replied, looking slightly dejected.
“I'm sure you will eventually,” Gryffindor offered kindly.
“Thank you,” Hermione told the portrait, forcing a smile. “I think I'm just going to head to bed now.”
Draco arched a single blond eyebrow. “What, no homework?”
“No, I think not,” Hermione pressed her lips together. It was a little unbelievable, but she did not think she was in the mood for work. “Sleep is definitely in order now.”
Hermione changed into her nightie first (unfortunately, it was the sheep one” a point that Draco promptly noticed) and then they headed to Draco’s room.
Climbing into Draco’s bed first, Hermione placed her wand on the bedside table, after which she twisted Jinx off her finger and placed her next to it.
“Don’t worry too much, Hermione,” Jinx told her softly. “There’s always tomorrow. And it will take time to overcome something like that.”
Draco started to undo his robes (and Hermione, still not quite use to it, turned away slightly). “The ring’s right, you know,” he said matter-of-factly.
“And the blond dummy finally admits that I'm right!” Jinx yelped triumphantly.
Rolling his eyes, Draco threw his robes off and sat at the edge of the bed.
And that’s when Hermione noticed it.
Bruises.
All around Draco’s midsection.
The blue-black marks contrasted sharply against the pale of Draco’s skin.
“Did…did I do that?” Hermione asked, her eyes widening in horror.
Draco’s eyes followed Hermione’s line of vision, and realized that she was staring at the light bruises dotting his ribs. “Souvenirs,” he said wryly. “Courtesy of you, of course.”
“Oh my goodness!” Hermione squealed, her hand covering her mouth. “I'm so sorry!”
“You should be,” Draco drawled. “But they don’t really hurt that much. It’s more important that you get used to flying so that I can actually play a proper match without passing out due to lack of oxygen.”
Hermione’s expression changed from one of horror to one of sheer determination. “I resolve to try harder tomorrow, for sure. If it means that much to you,” she added in a lower tone.
Draco shot Hermione a look and got up from the bed. “Get up,” he said, or rather, ordered.
“What?”
“Come on, Granger,” Draco urged. “We’re going flying.”
“What? Now?” Hermione stared, her face paling somewhat at the prospect of flying again.
Draco’s expression was deadpan. “Yes, Granger, now. This instant. Now get off your arse.”
“Blondie, you're raving!” Jinx exclaimed from this nightstand. “I think she had enough of flying for the day.”
Ignoring the mood ring, Draco dragged Hermione out of the bed and threw on the first shirt he got his hands on when he opened his cupboard. Then, before Hermione knew what was going on, he grabbed his broom and the two of them were out of the window.
“Hey! Hold on a minute you two! Hey!” Jinx called out. She pouted when she realized that they had not heard her and had left already. “Darn it all. I always miss out on all the fun.”
Stars dotted the night-sky, like diamonds scattered across black velvet. The moon hung in its full glory, a large, white orb veiled behind a wisp of clouds. A gentle draft blew across the grounds, teasing the stillness of the night. It was really quite romantic.
At least it would have been had Hermione not been fretting for her life and had Draco not been trying to calm her down.
“Can you relax, Granger?”
“I'm trying to!”
“I'm moving at snail’s pace, you know. It really isn’t that scary.”
“You're not helping!”
Draco sighed. This was, apparently, not working out. Hermione had her arms around him tightly, and if he increased speed, Draco was sure she was going to use the death-grip on him.
In addition, he was certain she was going to scream soon.
He tried to think of something. Fast.
The Quidditch pitch came into view and Draco decided to land. He allowed Hermione to get off before dismounting himself.
He noticed right away that she was quivering slightly. Then again, it could be the fact that she was wearing only her thin, cotton nightie with socks on a cold Friday night. Her sheep nightie, with the large pink pom-poms for button.
His favorite nightie.
“Are you all right?” Draco asked, trying to prevent his eyes from wandering all over her body.
“It’s in the middle of the night. I'm wearing, well, nothing warm,” she said, scowling as she noticed Draco’s eyes flicker over her nightgown, “and I just zoomed through the sky at Merlin knows what speed. Do you honestly think I'm all right?”
Draco arched his eyebrow. “First, it’s only nine o’clock. Second, it’s not my fault you're not wearing anything warm. Third, I was certainly not zooming. I was riding as slow as it is physically possible on a broomstick.”
Hermione rolled her eyes and folded her arms in front of her chest. “So, what are we going to do now?”
“We are going to teach you how to fly, without having you hyperventilate and kill me in the process,” Draco told her, sounding like he was explaining to a complicated magical theory to a harebrained five year-old child. “Did you bring your wand?”
“Considering you practically hauled me out of bed, no,” Hermione snapped.
Reaching into his pocket, Draco produced his own wand. “Luckily, I did,” he said, aiming it at Hermione. “For your information, I'm going to do a Silencing Charm on you, before you start snapping at me and presume that I'm going to hex you.”
Hermione, who was indeed going to ask Draco what in the world he thought he was doing with his wand pointed at her, closed her mouth and allowed him to perform the spell.
After pocketing his wand, Draco mounted his broom, and waited for Hermione to do the same.
“Now, I'm going to start slow,” Draco informed her, hovering an inch or two above the ground. “Put your arms around me, and anytime you feel like I’m going too fast, well, just squeeze. You know what I mean.”
Hermione narrowed her eyes. She knew what he meant all right. She was pretty good at squeezing in fact.
As promised, Draco maneuvered the broom slowly towards the sky. Gradually, he coaxed the broom higher and picked up some speed.
Hermione felt that same sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as the wind started to whip around her face. The broom was moving faster and as it did, panic crept into her every nerve of her body, causing her whole being to stiffen.
She squeezed.
Immediately, Draco lowered his speed. “Granger, I have an idea!” he shouted over his shoulder. “I want you to close your eyes!”
Frowning, Hermione had no idea how that was going to help, yet she did as she was told.
“Assuming your eyes are closed,” Draco went on, “I need you to relax.”
How am I suppose to do that?! Hermione wanted to ask.
As though to answer her question, Draco said, “Forget about everything else and concentrate solely on your breathing.”
Hermione took a deep breath and steadied her breathing.
“Focus on the way you're breathing, the way the air enters your windpipe, travels down to fill your lungs, nourishes every cell and then slowly leaves your body.”
After a few moments, he felt Hermione’s arm loosen slightly from his waist. He took the opportunity to accelerate a bit.
“Continue to focus on your breathing,” Draco instructed, “and be conscious of only yourself and your body, and nothing else.”
Eventually, Draco could feel Hermione’s body relax behind him. Little by little, he sped up. There was no resistance from his passenger as he did so.
Hermione was actually feeling very much at peace. The cool night breeze gently kissed her face, swept through her hair and caressed her body. She loved the feeling. She pulled herself closer to Draco.
Without having to concentrate on his teammates and the Snitch, Draco properly noticed the close proximity he was in with Hermione for the first time. The hairs on the back of his neck were standing, as if electrical charges were passing through that little distance between him and Hermione. He could feel the heat radiating off her body as she shifted nearer and was acutely conscious of her hands resting on his torso, which was bare as he had forgotten to button his shirt.
Hermione, evidently, had realized the same thing as her hands slid across his midsection. It was not a deliberate gesture; she simply wanted to get a better hold on him when she felt her hand come into contact with bare skin.
His shirt was unbuttoned.
She had always expected his pale body to be ice cold, but it was surprisingly warm to touch…
A jolt of something that was clearly not panic rushed through Hermione, causing her heart to pound in her chest. Her eyes flew open, but instead of experiencing the usual sensation of aviophobia, Hermione was more engrossed in the person sitting in front of her. She was more aware of their propinquity, of the way his hair and (unfastened) shirt billowed in the wind, of his toned abdomen…
She thought back to the time she had snogged him and shuddered as another jolt passed through her. She remembered the sensation of his lips against hers. It was difficult to decide which intrigued her more” the fact that his lips were nothing at all like how she imagined them to be (cold, hard, rough) or the fact that they were much more than what she had imagined them to be (incredibly soft, inviting, tender). She had been drunk” insanely drunk in fact” but not drunk enough to forget that feeling.
She shivered.
Why was she suddenly recalling that fateful evening? Maybe the atmosphere was indeed romantic… Or maybe the night air was simply clouding her brain and senses.
Willing herself to shut her eyes again, Hermione attempted to bring her attention back on her breathing and on relaxing herself. Perhaps, she reasoned with herself, perhaps flying wasn’t too bad after all.
It was only when her feet touched the soft carpet of Draco’s room did Hermione open her eyes again. Holding on to Draco’s shoulders, she got herself off the broom, and then felt a wave of sudden vertigo. Apparently, flying still had an effect on her. She swayed on the spot.
Draco quickly dismounted and rushed forward to steady her.
“Thanks,” Hermione mumbled as he led her to sit on the bed.
“You're not going to be sick all over me, are you?” Draco asked, only half-joking. He moved away from her warily.
Hermione narrowed her eyes at him. “No, I'm not. But if you're going to be a prat, I just might.”
Draco threw his hands up in mock surrender. “Well, since you didn’t attempt to suffocate me while we were flying just now, I guess I’ll try to be civil. To repay the favor.”
“Finally!” Jinx’s indignant voice floated from the nightstand she was on. “You're back! You two have been gone for an awfully long time.”
“Have we really?” Hermione asked, glancing at a clock on the wall. Indeed, it was almost eleven.
“Well, come on then,” Jinx urged, an eager expression on her small face, “put me on, Hermione! Let’s not waste anymore time.”
“Why do I have to put you on?”
Jinx rolled her eyes impatiently. “Because, silly, I want to know how your little romantic broom ride went.”
Hermione flushed and Draco cleared his throat somewhat nervously.
“She doesn’t need to put you on for you to know that,” the Head Boy said, leaning his broom against the side of the bed. “I came back in one piece, doesn’t that tell you enough?”
“Well, you are in one piece today, but bear in mind that there weren’t balls whizzing around me to distract me,” Hermione reminded him, throwing him a dirty look. “And you weren't chasing after the Snitch at breakneck speed either. Once those conditions come into play, I don’t know if things will be the same as they were today.”
Jinx, however, was not entirely concerned about all of that. She was dying to know Hermione’s mood. The two had not been arguing when Draco landed in the bedroom, and that was always a good thing. It led Jinx to wonder if their broom ride on an evening like this had evoked any unexpected emotions…
Before Jinx could express these sentiments, a harsh voice floated from the common room.
Hermione’s ears pricked and she sat up straighter. “Did you hear that?” she asked, her brows knitted.
Draco did hear it. Someone was shouting. “Maybe it’s the portraits.”
Listening closely, Hermione’s frown deepened. “The portraits? Calling your name? At this time of night?”
Indeed, now that Draco listened carefully, he realized someone was calling his name. He stood up and trotted into the common room, Hermione following behind.
“Ah, I see you finally decided to join us, Draco,” Salazar Slytherin said gruffly, stifling a yawn. “You have company.”
Draco and Hermione saw a familiar head sticking out of the fireplace. Lucius Malfoy was staring at them with an exasperated look on his face.
“I have been shouting myself hoarse for the past few minutes. Were you two temporarily deaf? ” he said in an accusatory drawl. Then, the exasperation vanished from his face and was replaced by an expression of amusement. “Just what were you two doing anyway?”
Draco knew exactly what his father meant from the suggestive tone in his voice. “Nice to see you too, father,” he said dryly, partly to divert his father’s attention and partly because he meant it.
“I do not have time for niceties, Draco,” Mr. Malfoy snapped. “Money’s a wasting. All I have to say is that I have arranged an appointment for you with one of the Healers at St. Mungo’s, daughter-in-law. Healer Gregory King.”
Puzzled, Hermione stared at the elderly man in the fireplace. “What?”
“Gregory is an old friend of mine,” Mr. Malfoy resumed. “He has helped many people cope with their drinking problem. I am confident he will be able to help you too. We have an image to uphold, Hermione, and I'm sure, as future daughter-in-law of the Malfoy household, you will learn how to cultivate a sense of refinement in your demeanor.”
From the portrait above, Salazar Slytherin’s eyebrows shot up. “Drinking problem?” he repeated quietly, looking deeply pleased. “So the rumors are true...”
Godric Gryffindor appeared to be rather shocked. “That man is delirious! Can you imagine Hermione having a drinking problem? That is preposterous!”
Hermione gaped at Mr. Malfoy. Apparently, her plan to get him off her back had spectacularly backfired. Oh dear Morgana, it was not at all easy to sway this man.
“Well, I have to go now,” Mr. Malfoy told the two before Hermione had time to respond. “I can hear your mother calling. I will send you a letter enclosing the details of the appointment soon, Hermione,” he added before disappearing out of sight.
It did not take Draco long to figure out the implication of the expression on Hermione’s face. “I guess convincing my father you were a raving alcoholic did not work out too well.”
Letting out a rueful sigh, Hermione began heading back to Draco’s room when a thought struck her. “Malfoy, do you think it’s possible that your father tore those pages out?” she blurted.
For a moment, Draco was convinced that it was his father. But then he let the question turn over his mind and he started to look skeptical. “My father’s in France, Granger. Besides, it wouldn't be possible for him to disguise himself as a student to borrow the book.”
“Polyjuice Potion,” Hermione said promptly, snapping her fingers.
Draco was still doubtful. “You seriously think my father would go to France, brew a Polyjuice Potion, which takes time to brew, by the way, then come all the way back here to get the book just to tear the pages out?” At this point, he paused, realizing that that did sound possible. His father, as the two of them knew by now, was desperate to get his way.
“It makes sense, doesn’t it?” Hermione asked upon seeing the look on his face.
“I suppose it does,” Draco agreed with a nod. “But would he take the trouble to do all of that? And how would he have known about the book in the first place?”
“Well, maybe he didn’t do it himself,” Hermione mulled. “Do you remember he told us that he has his sources that help him find out about us? Maybe his informant is a student, and it was this student who found out about the book and helped him get hold of it, and then tear the pages out. He would have the motive to do so. He would not want us to discover what that chapter was about, especially if it contained a possible information on getting rid of the Love-Knot.”
It was one hell of a conspiracy theory, but Draco found himself wondering if it could be possible. He sat on the edge of his bed and thought through what Hermione had said. It did seem to make sense. And yet…
His father could not possibly have done it, could he?