a/n: I've tried to refrain from pleading, but... please leave reviews! They always brighten my day, even if they consist of nothing more than constructive criticism. I just want to know people are reading. Thanks kiddos.
CHAPTER FOUR: FORESHADOW
The following morning’s light burst through the dark Slytherin common room like a piercing knife. Malfoy awoke slowly, keeping his eyes closed. ‘What time is it?’ he wondered.
He sensed a tall, dark shadow hovering before his face, and he very grudgingly opened his eyes to reveal thin slits of light. Feeling a headache coming on, he quickly shut them; until he felt the shadowed figure move closer.
Opening his tired eyes he saw not the expected fireplace or familiar green sofa, but a seemingly enthusiastic Hermione, smiling brightly, staring at him mere inches away from his face.
Startled, he jerked back, causing a heavy throb to pound through his right temple.
“It’s snowed again!” she whispered excitedly.
Malfoy couldn’t help but let a small chuckle escape his lips. Sitting up, he looked around as if searching for an answer that presumably lied in the thin air.
“What time is it?” he asked groggily, his voice hoarse with sleep.
“It’s time to get up!” Hermione said, a bit too loudly for Malfoy’s taste. “It’s quarter of eight, and we have Hogsmeade today!” she continued shrilly.
“You mind calming down a bit Granger? You’re not helping this migraine…”
“Oh, sorry,” she answered awkwardly.
Malfoy paused- a sudden memory lapsed his mind, one that bewildered him yet made the corners of his lips rise into a half smile.
He remembered last night, falling asleep with her in his arms. He remembered watching her as she slept, cradling her body as if it were a delicate treasure. He remembered leisurely bending down to smell her light, chestnut hair. He remembered who he was, and quickly stood in defiance, as if that would shake the experience out of reality.
Looking around, he saw Hermione’s face full of anticipation. He heaved a deep sigh before saying,
“Hogsmeade, you said?”
“Oh, yes!” She yelled.
Malfoy shuddered, and then, remembering his headache, Hermione hastily fell into a mild whisper.
“Errr, yeah… I, uhh… I figured we’d go… together, you know, since we don’t know anyone else that stayed behind… and I was really looking forward to shopping a bit, and I don’t want to…” she coughed. “…go alone.”
He temporarily considered the look on her face if he’d right out refused to go with her, but he unpredictably found himself much more adept to the look on her face when she was happy.
‘Get hold of yourself Draco,’ he thought glumly. ‘One night of close physical contact doesn’t constitute nasty little thought like that…’
Even though his every thought was still lingering on his father and the war that he’d been sucked into through him, and even though he knew he’d regret it later, he recalled her smiling eyes that could stare a hole into one’s heart, sighed in defeat, and said in spite of himself…
“Alright, then.”
Hermione bounced into the air, hair frizzing madly, squealed in delight and rushed towards the common room’s exit.
“Better hurry! I’ll meet you down in the Entrance Hall at 8:30!” and she disappeared out of sight.
“Wait!” he called out.
She abruptly turned about and peeped her face around the corner.
“What is it?”
Malfoy was suddenly very embarrassed with himself as he realized how humiliating his question was going to be for him.
“Umm… you going to be alright walking up to Gryffindor Tower alone? Just, you know… your ankle and all,” he asked, eyes looking steadfast at the ground.
Hermione smiled cheerfully and said, “Yes, I’ll be fine.”
‘Not that I care,’ Malfoy thought defiantly. Rubbing his temple, he stalked into the bathrooms for a quick shower.
*************************************
Forty minutes later, Malfoy leaned impatiently against the wall beside the Entrance doors. Combing his fingers through his hair for the hundredth time, he thought aloud, “And she had the audacity to rush me...”
“Oh don’t look TOO enthusiastic now Malfoy… you might give off the impression you’re happy for once,” he heard her yell from the Grand staircase.
He meant to retort with something along the lines of his usual sneering remarks, but instead caught himself watching her distractedly as she approached him.
Cheeks slightly blushed, ringlet curls tidy yet hung playfully under her red beanie, and skipping merrily towards him, Malfoy was astounded to conclude that he’d never known anyone quite like her. She’d always been the typical Mudblood: unworthy, dim, arrogant…
Yet he now finally appreciated how unique she really was. He’d never known anyone so cheerful about the smaller beauties in life; he’d never known anyone so strong that they could recognize peril and responsibility, yet remain optimistic about the outcome. He’d never known anyone to be so… intelligent about life, insightful about circumstances… and so gorgeous all at once.
At this last thought, Malfoy literally clapped both hands to the side of his face in amazement, attempting to knock it out of him. ‘Never, ever, allow your mind to wonder that far again,’ he thought viciously.
Hermione grabbed his coat and pulled him along out the doors.
“Ok,” she began in an official tone of voice. “I thought we’d get the shopping out of the way first so we can enjoy the nighttime a bit,” she went on as she continued to hold onto his coat sleeve. “…I always love Hogsmeade when it snows, but it’s particularly beautiful at night. And the two combined is just…” she made a gesture with her wide, sparkling eyes that indicated nothing else compared to this sight.
The rest of the way Hermione wondered aloud what to get Ron and Harry for Christmas, as Malfoy secretly wondered what it’d be like to have someone that cared enough to ponder the issue.
Once arriving at Hogsmeade, Hermione made a beeline for Dervish and Banges. Malfoy remained silent as she bopped around the store.
“Oooo, Malfoy look at this!” she exclaimed. “They’re two tickets to a Chuddley Cannons’ game! You’d never think you’d find this in Hogsmeade… that’s perfect for Ron, he’ll go bonkers,” she finished.
After picking out a Quidditch Tips book and another Broom Servicing Kit for Harry (he’d used up his last one), the two set out into the lightly falling snow.
“So, where do you need to go?” Hermione inquired.
“Nowhere,” he answered dolefully.
Hermione was just about to ask why, when she remembered he didn’t have friends like she had, and didn’t have a good enough relationship with his Mum to buy her anything. And seeing as how his father was soulless…
“Oh, ok then…” she responded uncomfortably. Then, as if fate was steering her thoughts, she got a randomly brilliant idea to brighten Malfoy’s Christmas morning.
“Hey, I’ll meet you in the Three Broomsticks soon, ok? I’ve just forgotten something…” and without waiting for a reply, she shot off in the opposite direction.
Malfoy shrugged and walked solemnly towards the Three Broomsticks, the icy winter wind reddening his cheeks.
***************************************
After sending her presents off to her dormitory with some owls, Hermione finally made her way towards her meeting place with Malfoy.
Forty minutes after separating with Malfoy, Hermione stepped into the pub looking very windswept but cheery, nonetheless. She stressed her eyes in search of his familiar blonde hair, but found none. She took three steps to the left for a better perspective. ‘No blonde anywhere,’ she thought.
Just as she was about to get worried, she noticed a boy of about his stature tucked away in the farthest corner of the pub. His head was hooded and rested on his right hand as if unable to support itself.
Hermione made a little skip as she walked over. Malfoy heard her pulling out a chair and rotated hands so he was facing her.
“Here,” Malfoy muttered as he handed Hermione a hot Butterbeer.
“Thanks,” she smiled. “So, it’s not even two… we have a good three hours to pass before we walk to the edge.”
“Edge of what?” Malfoy asked unconcernedly.
“Of Hogsmeade. You’ll see why later. Anyway, where to?” she asked innocently as she sipped off her Butterbeer.
Malfoy shrugged. He wasn’t much in the mood for trotting about Hogsmeade as if he hadn’t a care in the world. He was rather enjoying sitting in this far corner of the pub, isolated from the world. He’d been forcibly wrapped up in his father’s nonsense much too long to care about snowball fights and whatever else came with being cheery on a winter’s day.
Hermione was slow to catch on to this, but it was evident how apathetic he was at the moment.
“Malfoy, are you ok?” she asked as sweetly as possible without sounding insincere.
He shrugged again.
“Malfoy…” she whispered, clutching his robe. “Please, tell me what you’re thinking…”
Malfoy looked at the ceiling for reassurance. When that failed he looked back at Hermione, and instantly felt obligated to spill his thoughts. He lowered his hood and gave Hermione a meaningful look.
“I’m thinking that… that I hate having to guard my feelings like Gringotts guards gold. It’s ridiculous… truthfully, I don’t feel like being here. It’s too happy, and I can’t stand that sort of atmosphere when I only feel like crawling in a hole and dying.”
Hermione bent her head down, eyes wide in mild shock. She really hadn’t thought Malfoy was all that shaken up about things… he seemed perfectly fine; better, actually, than normal, seeing as how he wasn’t spitting out insults every minute. This, however, was a sign in itself that something was slightly off. Hermione gave herself a mental kick for not seeing it sooner.
She was usually so good with emotions.
“I- I’m sorry, it was really insensitive of me to drag you along like this-”
“No, don’t apologize. Just… let’s just sit here for a while. Maybe I’ll be alright to walk around later.” He laid his head in his folded arms on the table, face down, platinum hair scattered contrastingly across his black robes.
Biting her lip, Hermione took another quick sip of Butterbeer before interrupting his thoughts.
“Really, we can… we can go back, I didn’t even think about… well, you seemed alright, I couldn’t tell anything was wro-”
“I said don’t apologize,” he repeated, head still buried in his arms.
Hermione stopped mid-sentence, mouth still hung slightly open.
Fifteen full minutes passed without a sound coming from either of their mouths. Hermione watched people walk in and out, all smiling and laughing.
She felt an anvil drop in the pit of her stomach as she watched Malfoy stare blankly into nothing. His head was still down, but faced towards her now. She chanced a glance at him, and this time saw he was staring at her; at least, he was until he was caught. She smiled weakly and put her head down next to his, staring purposefully into his eyes.
“It’ll be alright, you know…” she began, never flinching from his deep stare. “It never feels like it will at these points in your life. But the fact that you’ve made it to another one is proof that you’ll live to endure yet another.” She gave a small pause for impact’s sake. “Which, I know doesn’t sound reassuring, but it should.” She wasn’t sure if these words had any affect, but she knew that positive assurance always lifted her a bit.
Then, taking the enormous risk of bringing it up and infuriating him, she recklessly plummeted forward.
“You’re not your father, Malfoy.” She whispered in his ear. “You’re not doomed to his fate. And… and I know you despise everything right now… and you have every right to,” she added hastily, afraid he’d mistake her words for egotism. “…but, I’ve noticed… I’ve noticed that through everything you’ve learned about your father and this war, there’s still… you. There will always be you, there will always be… how YOU turned out, how great of a wizard you are, regardless of your tribulations and upbringing… you still managed to turn out magnificently,” she smiled weakly, placing her small hand on his. “And whether you believe it or not, that prospect demonstrates a bit of hope to me… and makes our circumstance seem much more tolerable. That’s saying some, Malfoy. That’s saying that someone derived hope, patience, and faith… just from you.”
Malfoy came to learn in the subsequent years that nothing anyone could ever say to him would amount to the words Hermione had whispered on that cold December day.
He lifted his gaze to meet hers and immediately recognized the sincerity and hope in her face. No snide remarks came to mind, no hindering feelings of hate were housed in his heart, there was only- astonishment. Astonishment at her… ‘everything’, he thought.
And very reluctantly, he recognized that those were the nicest words anyone had ever said to him.
He suddenly felt like a giant ice cube that was thawing, revealing the warmth that lied deep within.
His stomach did an awkward sort of flip when she strengthened her grip on his hand. Smiling gratefully, he gave a brief nod that made Hermione feel good about herself for the first time in weeks.
His fingers tingled with the need to touch her face, and he only caught them just in time to stop them. His eyes were scrunched into a look of concern, but they expressed only gratitude and amazement. She gave him another half smile and rested her head on his shoulder.
He had just collected enough courage to wrap his arm around her when they heard McGonagall’s voice coming from the opposite side of the fireplace.
“He’d better show, this concerns him as much as anyone,” she spat, clearly displeased.
“He will show, Minerva, I am certain of it.” Dumbledore’s voice echoed.
Hermione shot up. “Shhh!” she whispered to Malfoy. “I bet they’re here on a meeting! If we’re quiet, we’ll find out some information,” she informed him.
Malfoy nodded and Hermione slowly shifted her seat closer to his, in order to fully block them from view behind the fireplace.
“Ahh, Cornelius. How good to see you. Please, have a seat.” Dumbledore said.
“Cornelius? Fudge is here?” Hermione whispered to Draco. “Why, he isn’t Minister anymore…” she continued, clearly bemused as to his role.
“Yes, well…” Fudge’s voice responded. “I have to begin with some…” he sighed as though speaking took a great deal of energy. “…with some terrible news.”
The silence hung ominously in the thick perfumed air of Butterbeer and candy canes. Hermione was sure if he didn’t speak up soon she’d burst with anxiety.
“It seems… well, obviously the dementors aren’t taking orders from the Ministry any longer. Their performing the Kiss was evidence of that,” he began.
Malfoy’s face fell yet his eyes remained creased in concentration. Hermione gave him a nervous glance.
“However, the relatively good news is that they’re not taking orders from You-Know-Who either.”
“How can you be sure?” McGonagall spoke up.
“Because… you know as well as I that the only reason I’m kept in the loop of things is because of my ability to communicate with the dementors… they’ve grown accustom to me, I’d even venture to say they trust my word. I should hope that if they could manage that, you could as well,” he responded spitefully.
“Of course we trust your word, Cornelius. I’m positive Minerva meant nothing otherwise. We were merely wondering how you came to gather this information,” Dumbledore spoke.
Fudge coughed uncomfortably.
“They showed me.” He stated.
“Showed you?” McGonagall asked suspiciously.
“Yes, yes… showed me. They can’t talk, you know… they showed me in a vision…” the last words hung in the air with death’s grip.
Fudge’s voice clearly gave away that dementors’ visions were not a pleasant experience.
“…They want more independence. It seems they’ve grown weary of being pawns in a war that, otherwise, doesn’t concern them. Performing the Kiss without the Ministry’s orders was meant to signal this to us. However, performing it on Death Eaters was meant to send the same signal to You-Know-Who.”
“Is there any chance of winning them on our side?” McGonagall asked hopefully.
“Possibly. We’d need to play our cards properly. Azkaban is their perfect occupation, but they insist on more freedom. I’ve gathered… well, obviously they’re more prone to be on You-Know-Who’s side… but I’ve gathered that if we include them in on… errr, things… they’d remain loyal to us. What I mean to say is we need to give them more prey, allow them to attack Death Eaters at will, without trial.”
“Impossible! You know this!” McGonagall huffed.
“If we allow Justice to be tampered with and tainted by Voldemort, through any means, we’ve already taken the first step toward failure, Cornelius,” Dumbledore sighed.
“But what of the ones we know to be Death Eaters, for certain? Malfoy, for example… clearly he was no loss to the wizarding world, other than to perhaps You-Know-Who himself! And that’s not a bad thing, I don’t mind saying!”
Malfoy suddenly became very tense.
An instinctive wave of fury broke out through his veins. His rational mind screamed that he’d already known this; that he should be prepared to hear such things, especially when he knew them to be true. This rational part, however, was being crushed by the innate sense to physically injure anyone who spoke ill of his family.
Hermione felt him stiffen. She immediately wanted to dart out of the pub. She closed her eyes in aggravation with herself for putting him through this.
“Malfoy, let’s go…” she whispered.
“No.” he spoke so clearly and firmly, it startled Hermione. She blushed a little, embarrassed, then quickly looked away.
It seemed their brief conversation led them to missing a part of Dumbledore’s.
“Right, well… moving on… how’s Potter?” asked Fudge.
“He is doing well under the circumstances,” Dumbledore replied calmly.
“The poor boy has been through so much, it’s hard to imagine it’s really just begun,” McGonagall sounded very shaky.
“Harry is an individual, not a wager, and quite the multifaceted one; by far one of most extraordinary people I’ve had the pleasure to know, and I feel slightly ashamed to speak of him in the abstract. However, I cannot address this subject too thoroughly. Preparations and plans for his fight are kept strictly between him and myself, and to whomever he chooses to divulge it. I shall only say that it has grown more and more apparent to me that he, indeed, was meant to be fall of Voldemort.”
Fudge let out a small hiss at the sound of his name, and a deep intake of air could be heard from McGonagall. Aside from this, however, the silence was deafening.
Malfoy looked over to Hermione. She was shaking and her eyes had once again become glossy with the need to cry. She hung her head down, keeping her gaze away from Malfoy’s.
And though she was shaken, she couldn’t help but feel immensely proud to be Harry’s best friend at that moment.
“Well…” Fudge spoke at long last. “Have you gathered and further information on ‘HIS’ plans?”
“Directly after the battle at Hogwarts, Professor Snape was sent on a highly dangerous mission to learn of their plans,” McGonagall began.
“So that’s why Snape had to leave,” Malfoy thought aloud.
“…so he’s been trailing them for the past couple days. However, we just got word about an hour ago that he lost them, but it seemed that they were moving in our direction. I’ve ordered the immediate lockdown of Hogwarts. Professors are out right now to ensure that the children head back to the castle.”
Hermione gave Malfoy a dark look. He nodded and the two quietly slipped out of their corner, crawling toward the door.
Taking a deep breath, Hermione abruptly stood and ran out the pub, Malfoy hot on her trail. Once in the snow, however, she didn’t stop.
She ran for ten full minutes, all the way to the edge of Hogsmeade. Night had just begun to fall.
Breathing heavily, Hermione stopped and flopped down in a tall mountain of snow. Still catching his own breath, Malfoy said,
“You think they’re coming?”
“I don’t know, but I’m not going to stick around to find out. There’s a path here behind this hill… it leads to the back of Hogwarts, straight to the Quidditch Pitch. It’s faster,” she panted.
He gave her a nod of consent before grasping his side and sitting next to her.
“So, this is the edge?” he asked.
“Oh! Yes… here, follow me,” she said running up the hill. The last thing Malfoy wanted to do was walk more, but he followed obediently.
Once he reached the top, he grabbed a ball of snow and pushed his hot face into it. Hermione giggled, but tugged impatiently on his robes.
“What?”
“Look…” she whispered in astonishment.
Malfoy turned around as he wiped his face clean of snow. But he stopped in the middle of this action, hands left covering his cheek, when he finally saw what Hermione had been marveling over.
It was a bird’s eye view Hogsmeade, standing atop the steep hill. It seemed quietly ablaze with small dots of Christmas lights and glistening, powdery snow. He instinctively gasped at the breathtaking sight before him. The illumination was reflected in the light flurry that continued to fall from the now inky sky. Every house looked as if it had been glazed with icing and gumdrops, for nothing was left uncovered by either snow or lights. The gentle contact of the flurries on his face made his body quiver in wonder. The faint scent of Butterbeer and candy canes lingered from the pub, and he took a great intake of air to heighten his senses. Though very quiet, Malfoy could almost hear the distant sound of a Christmas carol playing in the background, as if magicked there by the sheer splendor before him. The village became, in that moment of time, so much more- it was the exact vision of beauty that Malfoy could never have placed unless he’d seen it firsthand.
But then he glanced to Hermione, who stood smiling silently in awe- eyelashes fluttering, curls askew across her face, which was lightly lit by the glow of Hogsmeade- and he realized that she was even more beautiful than the overwhelming sight in front of him. Malfoy unwillingly took notice that he was much more content on watching her than it.
Snow flurries had gathered in her curls, and this combined with her rosy cheeks made her resemble a stunning porcelain doll, only without the phony outfit and artificial, insincere smile. She looked as if heaven lay in front of her and nothing else in the world made her happier that to be in its presence.
“Now can you see why I brought you here?” she asked so quietly, Malfoy’s ears strained to make out the words.
“Yes,” he whispered back.
“Gorgeous, isn’t it? It’s simply… breathtaking.”
“Yes,” he whispered again, still looking at only her.
“It’s just… I mean, have you ever seen anything more beautiful in your life?” she whispered rhetorically.
“Yes...”
Hermione snapped out of her trance and faced Malfoy. He was staring right at her… ‘Had he been talking about me?’ she asked herself incredulously.
Malfoy felt a tight, gripping yearning in his chest that hadn’t been there before. ‘Ooh, kiss her before you explode… kiss her!’ his mind roared achingly.
Taking a timid step closer, Malfoy couldn’t believe what was going through his mind- what was going through his heart… another cliché began to make sense to him: We are all afraid of the unknown.
And love was something he’d never experienced, which spoke volumes about how terrified it made him. This, in effect, was the reason he’d been so reluctant to accept the feeling.
Malfoy blocked everything from focus other than her soft features and soft soul that peered through him out of her russet eyes.
He offered her a weak smile, not knowing that he was also beginning to offer her his heart.
He hadn’t spoken in several long minutes, but words were useless at moments like these. She read his expressions as easily as she read letters on parchment… eyebrows wrinkled in wonder, she leaned a bit closer, his eyes silently pouring out every insecurity that he’d harbored for so long, but had covered up so well.
His display of vulnerability was endearing to Hermione, as she felt deeply humbled by it. They were so close, if she reached out just a little, she could feel his soft, ivory skin…
She faltered for a moment, unable to shake the shock of what, she was sure, was about to happen next…