Future Parents Program

Chapter Four: Breathe!!

Malfoy was on the warpath.

He stomped through the empty halls, his anger almost a visible entity. He was going to find that little wretch and shake her until the spell on her teeth wore off. How dare she, Malfoy fumed. How dare that little Muggleborn upstart humiliate him like this? Draco Black Malfoy never forgot a wrong done to him, and this was as wrong as it got. The moment would be forever burned into his mind.

He'd been standing by the podium. His senses had been reeling from the emotional trauma. Visions of little buck-toothed, hairball children had been warring with plans to get him out of this, many involving some sort of broken limb (not always his own), while he waited along with everyone else to see what reaction Hermione would have.

SHE LEFT.

She left! Left! Left him at the alter! Ok, the podium, but that wasn't the point! The bloody damn point was that she had slowly stood up from her seat, looked right at him, and told Dumbledore in no uncertain terms that though she appreciated the offer, she would have to decline! Then she'd strolled out of the Great Hall without so much as a by-your-leave.

Malfoy growled furiously at the thought.

He'd been dumbstruck. Couldn't have moved his feet if someone had decided to revive the witch hunts of old and told him he had a ten second head start. The buzzing in his ears deafened him to the gasps of the student body. Even the Treasonous, Treacherous, Transfiguration professor's jaw had dropped. Potter looked like he was taking it worse than Malfoy was. The other boy had been on the verge of fainting from the shock at his friend's audacity. He hadn't even had the guts to follow her.

Malfoy had followed, but you could be damn sure that guts had nothing to do with it.

A solid three minutes had passed before the astonishment had given way to white hot fury. The professors had been so unsettled by the interruption that they had failed to really try to explain the program, opting instead to get the feast started. Draco had bypassed the table entirely and now there he was determined to search every square inch of Hogwarts until he found her and let her know just how much she should "appreciate the offer".

Starting with the library.

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Well, wasn't this just a wonderful start to the school year?

Hermione watched the lightning slice the air like a hot angry knife, the storm mimicking the emotions that boiled beneath the cold surface. She stood on the balcony railing of her new room. The ledge was no more than exact length of her feet, giving her just enough to balance on.

Or jump off of.

Hermione's lashes lowered. She contemplated the hundreds of feet of air between her and the lake below her tower. The smooth black surface of the Black Lake shone brightly with each bolt in the sky. So dark and consuming, she mused.

Her attention flickered to the presence behind her.

Dumbledore stood at the French doors. "Tempting fate, Ms. Granger?"

"What do you want?" she asked in a colorless voice.

The old wizard glided forward a few steps. "In all my academic career, I believe tonight was the first occasion at which a student walked out of the Great Hall in the middle of the opening ceremony."

Hermione gave no visible reaction but continued to stare into the eye of the storm. There had been a time when she would never in her wildest dreams imagined anyone openly defying the unspoken laws of the opening ceremony. But she had done it. "Did you expect me to sit there demurely and accept this?"

"Does the thought of young Mr. Malfoy offend you so much?" the old man asked in an attempt at humor.

"Don't," she said quietly. "Just don't."

There were only three people in the world who truly understood the extent of Hermione's ordeal during the war. Other than herself, Dumbledore was the only person left alive who could claim that truth. And he had betrayed her.

The unspoken accusation hung heavy in the air between them. She didn't see the pain in the Headmaster's eyes but heard his heavy intake of breath. "Hermione," he said kindly. He had long given up addressing her by her last name in private. "I am not doing this to hurt you. I have a genuine interest in beginning a program that will teach our students about the real world. It will take the brightest of my bunch to refine the idea into an acceptable form."

Hermione turned to the side and began to walk the ledge. He moved with her. "Are you suggesting that Pansy Parkinson is one of your brighter students?"

The former teacher chuckled. "Miss Parkinson has her specialties, as does Neville and the rest of the chosen."

Abruptly Hermione spun dangerously on her heel and crouched down so that she and the Headmaster were eye level. "What are you playing at, Professor?" she asked. The air crackled with an intensity that rivaled the worst storm. Dumbledore could feel the energy radiating from the young woman in powerful waves, completely at odds with the blank mask that never really left her anymore.

Albus Dumbledore was a very old man. He had been present at many of the countless events that had shaped the world into what it was today. He had taught hundreds of students, watched them as they grew from the scared eleven year olds that first stepped through the Great Hall's doors into young men and women to be proud of when they stepped out those very same doors for the last time. He knew, however, that this group held a special place for him. Events had thrown them into an uncertain world before their time, almost from the moment they had entered Hogwarts. They had been stripped of their youth while still trapped in the bodies of the young.

He looked at the witch before him. Some more than others.

Silently he reached out and tucked a curl behind Hermione's ear in a fatherly gesture. He was utterly serious when he said, "Hermione, I realize that my actions seem callous in regard to your situation, but I truly feel that you were meant to be a part of this. It might be the chance for normalcy that you've been searching for."

A trace of humor flitted across her face, turning a corner of her lips up into a shadow of a smile. "Draco Malfoy as the father of my temporary baby is NOT normal by any stretch of the imagination, Professor Dumbledore."

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled merrily. "Normal is overrated, my dear. Now," he continued, holding out his hand to hers, "let's get you down from there. We have to fill you in the particulars."

She stood to her full height and looked at his hand. "I can't guarantee anything."

"I'm not asking you to do anything more than to trust me. And to try," he told her.

An endless moment passed as she stared at his hand, lost in her thoughts. Could she do this? Could she really place herself in such a vulnerable position again? She looked at Dumbledore's face. There was no avoiding it, she realized. Her loyalty demanded that she do anything he asked of her. She lifted her hand.

The old man had never steered her wrong yet.

Hermione put her hand in his.

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Was it possible to die from too many shocks in one day? Draco would have to research that one later. Just as soon as he could get his body to function again.

Malfoy would have said he was dreaming except for the fact that he was positive he had just come from the deserted Great Hall. He still had the plate of food in his hand to prove it. He had arrived at the common room reserved for Head Boy and Girl to find no password had been chosen yet, so the portrait had let him in without a second thought. After searching for over an hour with no success, he'd decided to change tactics. Why go to her? Why not wait in the common room. She would have to ask Dumbledore eventually where her quarters were, since the professors liked to keep things like that hidden.

First he'd get some food. Then he'd wait. Then mayhem. A logical, strategic course of action. Sounded like a good idea to him.

His ideas weren't worth spit lately.

His grip on the goblet in his other hand tightened. This is what he got for wondering about her, for dreaming about her, for secretly wanting her to be happy about being his significant other in the program. This is what he got for falling in love with the enchanted swimming pool and deciding to eat there rather than his bloody room. He could see the Daily Prophet headline now. "Detour Kills Malfoy Heir: Sensory Overload".

Why was Hermione Granger naked?

Breathe, damn you. Breathe! his inner voice shouted at him.

She lay on her back, hair fanning out around her while she floated among the enchanted blossoms that decorated the water. A veritable water nymph in a magic water garden, Draco thought dazedly.

Draco was afraid. Afraid that if he blinked then he would find that what he was seeing was real and that his dreams would be forever haunted by the image. Afraid that if he blinked then he would find out it wasn't real, and that he would never be able to see such a beautiful sight again. She stared at the ceiling charmed to appear like a forest canopy over a woodland pool, the water deafening her ears so that she hadn't heard his approach. Draco took the opportunity to indulge his inner voyeur.

He couldn't decide if he was relieved or disappointed to realize that Hermione wasn't actually naked, but noted that she was damn close. They called those scraps of cloth a bathing suit? What kind of people were these Muggles, anyway? Hedonists? She was going to get cold. A brief image of hardened nipples flashed through his mind's eye.

Great Glorious Gods. He'd die.

What a way to go, his inner voice sighed. Draco mentally snorted. I thought you wanted me to breathe so I wouldn't die?

Of course. Wouldn't want you to kick off too early. We might miss something truly worthwhile.

Even his inner voice, his mental guide, his supposed conscience, was a Slytherin.

By the way, you can blink now. And ease up on the goblet. It's going to shatter.

Draco turned his attention to the chalice and quickly loosened his hold. Cheeky bastard had been right. His silver eyes swung back to the pool. Nothing but water. He hurried to the edge of the pool, crouching and frowning in consternation, disappointment weighing in his chest while he struggled to see beneath the blossoms. Had it been his imagination, after all?

Son of a blast-end skrewt's bastard, his inner voice swore viciously.

You're the one who told me to blink!

I didn't know you'd muck up even that simple thing!

I am NOT having this conversation, Malfoy mentally stated, cutting his internal conversation short. Wonderful. Now he was having discourses with himself.

Damn Granger. It was all her fau-

A hand suddenly shot out of the watery depths. In the blink of an eye it latched onto Draco's belt, perilously close to unmanning him. Malfoy didn't even have time to yelp before water closed over his head and he found himself struggling to untwist himself from his robes as he sank.

Something caught his robe and pushed it out of the way for him. He didn't hesitate--he grabbed whatever it was and held it against his body, determined that if he was going to go down, someone was bloody well going with him. Draco opened his eyes...and stared into the amused brown eyes of none other than Hermione Granger. His mind blanked.

He was holding her in his arms.

Granted, it wasn't exactly as he'd imagined it would be. The whole possibly dying a horribly watery death aspect had never really come into play in his musings. Somehow, though, Draco couldn't seem to mind. All that he could think of was that this was a perfect moment and he would kiss Potter before he would willingly ruin it.

He stared at her intensely. He watched the amusement leave Granger's eyes under the unexpected onslaught. Every inch of his body burned where it touched hers. She felt so soft, with her own special warmth that had nothing to do with the enchanted pool. They turned slightly, Granger's hair floating up to envelope them in their own private world.

He could have watched her for an eternity.

But it was not to be.

Very few people really knew Draco. People knew what he wanted them to know. They knew that he loved Quidditch, that he trained hard so that he could one day see Potter suffer the most humiliating defeat in his lifetime. They knew he was cold, tough, wily, and ruthless.

What they didn't know was that Draco Black Malfoy couldn't swim.

Judging by the burning in his lungs, Hermione Granger was about to find that out.