Framing Harmony

Chapter Three: Right behind You

"His hair was black, his eyes were blue

His arm was stout his word was true

But how I wish I was with you..."

-Siuil a Ruin- Traditional Irish Song

Hermione Granger woke in the exact position in which she fell asleep. Sprawled along the floor, she found herself with her hair spread in a tangled fan around her. Crookshanks was curled up asleep on her left arm. She vaguely remembered him curled up on her chest, as cats tended to do when it was the least convenient. The book she had been reading was lying open beside her, in front of the now dead fire. With no House-Elves to tend it, the chimney had sooted up awfully. Hermione started to move. She wasn't sure of the time, but she did know that her neck was in such a position that moving it felt like needles in her bones. She wasn't sure what had possessed her to borrow Ginny's book; she had enough to read. There were essays to write, extra lessons to learn, and things to investigate. Hermione slapped the book closed with a half-hearted whack. She almost forgot herself when she stretched, arching her back, chest first, with a loud moan. She felt her spine crack into place as the cat rushed away from the movement. Hermione, with her fingers tangled in her mess of hair, hummed lightly to herself. The song had haunted her for a few days now, though this wasn't as unusual as all that. Songs got stuck in people's heads all the time. Hermione rubbed her eyes and glanced at the painting above the fireplace. These paintings really have a mind of their own! The painting Draco had managed to grip tightly a handful of her dress satin, just above her painted buttocks. With a shrug, Hermione picked up the book and made her way to the dorm, the words to the song she was humming escaping her quietly. It was two in the morning, she had discovered, and she had Runes in the morning.

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Draco rolled over for what felt like the hundredth time in the past two minutes. Blinking the sleep from his eyes, somewhere deep down he felt something was missing. He flexed his hand. It felt as if he had been holding on to a handful of something soft, and had let go suddenly. What's more, there was a darned song stuck in his head. He remembered it too, the one they were playing at the wedding last year. Merlin save me! Am I to be haunted by Muggle music now? Draco rolled over again, and still it was there. He blinked. Nothing had managed to keep him up before, not like this. The strangest thing was, the only way he could describe the problem, was that he was feeling lonely. He groaned to himself, not caring when one of his roommates threw a pillow across the room at him. I really should buy a cat or something. Draco stretched out full, stomach leaving the bed as his back arched. He was awake now. That meant laying in the dark with... Goyle let out a snore to end all snores. Draco sat up and swung his legs out of bed. There had to be something he could do. Something that wasn't laying awake, taking bets with himself about whether the windows would shatter before Crabbe joined the chorus.

He pushed himself roughly to his feet and left the room, dragging his robe from the end of his bed as he walked. He took the corridor between the dorm and the common room in only a few steps, his robe fully tied as he emerged. He found the outer robe of his uniform on the common room couch where he'd left it. It was the cleanest item of his uniform he had left; everything else was casual wear, underclothes, or Quidditch uniforms. Draco looked around at the mess of a room. He couldn't stand it here, not in this dump. He'd go to the owlery, write to his father to send an Elf for himself. He left the room in its dismal state, ignoring the protests of the portrait on the door as he yanked his over-robes on.

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Hermione rushed down the stairs from the dorm. Runes in the morning! She pulled on her dressing gown as she ran, her slippers half falling off her feet. She had Runes in the morning and hadn't even studied. She pushed her way through the portrait hole and made for the library, leaving one slipper where it fell.

Somewhere in the corridor by the Slytherin common room, Draco Malfoy heard a voice inform him that the best route to the owlery at this time of night goes right by the library, and the girl in the painting by him formed herself in front of the frame of the landscape she formerly occupied.

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Harry dipped his toe into the lake. It was tingly, like putting his foot in a glass of cola. It was strangely warm too, and thick. It sent a shiver up his leg. Another feeling washed over him, warm and fluffy up his other leg and along his body, heavy on his abdomen then chest. The heavy feeling spun, tiny little pressure points chasing each other around as they settled above his heart. A fluffy stroke crossed his chin, resting under his nose. The warm fizzy water suddenly grew cold on his foot. He felt the heaviness on his chest press rhythmically down on him. What the hell kind of dream is this? Harry was only vaguely aware of his thoughts as he took another step into the cold water. The Giant Squid sprang from the water as nimbly as a dancer. It was a lot smaller than he remembered, about the size of an average human. It lifted two of its tentacles, opening its mouth wide. The sound that came from its mouth was a mixture of a growl and a contented purr. The sound rang through his head until it faded slowly into a low drawn out 'meow'. Meow! What the heck? This time, Harry couldn't ignore the sound of his own voice and jumped out of the water. The heavy feeling moved and the fluff under his nose stroked along it. The tingling in his nose came as a shock, and shot out before he had a chance to stop it. The heavy feeling dug in its claws with a loud yowl.

"CROOKSHANKS!" Harry shot upright suddenly, sending the cat flying across the room. Harry stared the cat down, ignoring the fact he couldn't see it as anything more than a ginger blur. Crookshanks just sat and meowed. Harry replaced his glasses on the bridge of his nose and stared, narrowing his eyes at the disturber of his sleep. In defiance, Crookshanks turned a circle and sat again, staring back.

"Get out." Crookshanks mewed and tilted his head. Harry frowned. "That only works on Hermione. Go bug her." Harry flung his blanket up over his head and lay down. After a long pause, he let out an exasperated sigh. "You're still there, aren't you?"

"Harry, stop chatting up the bloody cat and go back to sleep," Dean moaned from his bed across the room. Harry swung his legs out of bed and rubbed his eyes, mumbling various curses in Crookshanks' direction. He stood up, wearing only the bottom part of his new blue pyjamas. He picked the cat up roughly in his arms and took it into the common room. With as much force as sleep would allow him, he threw the cat forward to the couch, barely missing a large book resting open on the couch.

"Now get to bed, you stupid thing!" Harry shooed Crookshanks away from the couch toward the girls' dorms. Crookshanks ran by a slipper, left lying haphazardly by the portrait hole. Harry recognised it with great clarity. He'd given those slippers to Hermione as a gift for Christmas. He frowned at it. Everyone had said that it was a silly gift to give your best friend's girlfriend, though Hermione had hinted for months before. She seemed happy with the gift, though evidence seemed to indicate otherwise, if she was willing to leave them lying around the common room. Harry picked up the slipper - all blue with white Chinese dragons embroidered on them. They were Muggle slippers, admittedly, but he saw no point in buying Hermione anything she couldn't show her parents, although he had charmed them not to smell, after some not-so-subtle hints from Lavender. He looked around for the other one, lifting robes and couch cushions and anything else there was about the place. He naturally piled what he picked up neatly. If living with the Dursleys had done nothing else for him, it had made him freakishly neat in many respects. He kept what he knew belonged to boys in one pile, girls in another and what he wasn't sure of in another pile. He never found the other slipper, but he did find the left sock Ron had lost last year. Always the way.

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Draco followed another corridor toward the Owlery. It wasn't the right corridor, not by a long shot, but he was compelled that way somehow. This was the way to the library, he knew. He continued on, no real thought of turning back toward the Owlery in his head. He wasn't sure why he was headed toward the library either. It didn't really matter why, as long as he could make up a good excuse if he got caught. The one thing he was most glad of was his ability to avoid entanglements with other students.

That was until she appeared.

She was waddling hurriedly toward the library, mumbling loudly. She didn't seem to notice that she was missing a slipper or that her hair was a tangled mess. She didn't seem to notice that what she was mumbling didn't make any sense, nor did she seem to notice when she barrelled head first into him.

"Sorry," she said. She continued on as if nothing had happened. This just would not do! No rotten little Mudblood was going to muss Draco Malfoy's pyjamas and get away with it.

"Slow down, Granger!" Draco called after her, reaching out a hand quickly to catch her wrist. Her skin was smooth beneath his hand, though he didn't truly notice. It felt as if he'd had his hand on that skin for a very long time, and had simply applied pressure.

"What is it Dra... Malfoy?" Hermione turned with a snap. The fact she had almost said his name had made him double take, but the look of anger in her eyes had an effect he didn't expect- it actually hurt. He tried to ignore it by looking her up and down, scrutinising her Mudblood person. The annoyance in her showed, from her tight arm muscles to her shuffling legs. Somewhere deep down, he had a feeling he knew exactly what those legs felt like to touch.

Her foot tapped sporadically, and she held herself as if she was in control, as if his hand were nowhere near her. The oddest of all was, she was shivering, and blushing. "Well?"

The words caught in his throat, and he choked a little. He had no idea what to say, for the first time in his life he had no clue. "Is the one-slipper thing a trend to you Gryffindorks or is it a Muggle thing?"

Hermione looked down with a gasp, grabbing the slipper roughly in her free hand and yanking it off her foot, stamping it down with a dull thud. It was not a bad looking slipper, for Muggle junk, and had a charm set on it to keep it smelling like vanilla. Draco breathed deep as she waggled it under his nose. Vanilla was suddenly intoxicating to him, and it was making him hallucinate. What she said not only hurt, but also made him want to say 'sorry'. No you don't, Malfoy, she's hexing you with foot odour!

"And furthermore, Malfoy, it is none of your business how I wear my slippers, whether on or off!" She pulled her arm from his grip roughly. He held his arm there for a short moment, and as the mist lifted from his mind, he realised suddenly that he didn't have a bout of overwhelming hate take over his senses. It unnerved him, and almost made him think he was in some kind of nightmare. "What are you doing out of bed anyway?"

A thousand things went through Draco's head. He contemplated everything from the truth to a narky comment. He contented himself with a scowl and a simple change of subject. "Probably something more productive than you."

"Is that all you could come up with? You're more pathetic than I ever could have imagined!"

Ouch. Think of a comeback, Draco, you know you want to. Draco frowned harder. Whatever was blocking his anger was starting to melt. "Actually Granger, I was going to the Owlery." The TRUTH! What are you thinking, Malfoy! "I'm writing to my father to rectify the problem that you caused! You probably hid the House Elves in your enormous robes and smuggled them out."

"I caused? How dare you suggest that! I never..." Hermione let out something between a roar and a snort. It was an incredibly unattractive noise. "You really don't deserve a response, you really don't! And stop that infernal humming!"

Draco hadn't even noticed he was humming. He studied his vocal chords; he hadn't been humming, not even a little. "Granger, seriously, you really have to see somebody. You're hearing things."

"I beg your pardon! That humming is coming from you!" the all too familiar voice of the school's most annoying painting said.

Draco turned around, first intent on sarcasm, then on the study of Sir Cadogan, chatting to some non-existent force. He shifted the over-robes he had roughly put on to search for his wand in his dressing gown. His dressing gown pocket, though full of things like used tissues, contained no wand. "Come here, Granger."

"Why?"

"Can't you do what you're told just this once, or has your life with Potter eradicated your respect for authority?"

A harrumph heralded her submission, though she moved very quietly. He had noticed it before, but now he felt perhaps he knew why. Granger wasn't such a goody goody after all. It did make sense, Potter and Weasel hadn't enough brains between them to come up with some of the stunts Draco had heard rumours about. "It really is too early in the morning to argue with you, Draco." Hermione moved in next to him, seemingly oblivious to the fact she'd said the word 'Draco' without either venom or spit. She planted her hands on her hips and stared at the painting. "Am I looking for anything in particular?"

"No, that's the point. Whom, in the name of Merlin, is that fool Cadogan talking to?"

"Are you sure it's only me hearing things?"

"Shut up. Listen." The voice talking to Cadogan wasn't actually in the painting, but slightly outside of it, as if there were a person under an invisibility cloak. Draco instinctively reached out and grabbed at the air. Nothing. Not even a stiff wad of air to send his hand through. He remembered the prank Potter had pulled the year before, but even he couldn't be stupid enough to be busted twice, surely.

"It isn't Harry, if that's what you think."

"And you'd know that, how?"

"Well for a start, the voice is a girl."

"And?" This time he did hear her walk, and smelled the rush of vanilla breeze, and felt the whack on the back of his head as a slipper flew at him.

"If all you called me over for was to insult my best friend then..."

"The voice stopped."

"It stopped?" Curiosity seemed to take over malice as she approached the painting. "Sir Cadogan, who were you talking to?"

The painted Knight turned to Draco and Hermione flipping his visor up from his face. He spoke with a rasp, "Pleasant girl, quite pleasant. Said she was going to bring some life into the school. It's about time, too. And you were humming, by the way."

Hermione spent most of what Sir Cadogan was saying mumbling something about a Laura. Draco spent most of it waiting for Selena to arrive. When he mentioned the humming, they both snapped out of their contemplation.

"Told you so," Hermione said, turning to walk away, picking up her slipper swiftly. She walked toward the library, holding her robe tightly around her.

"I can't help if the song's stuck in my head." He took a deep breath. "Right behind you." Draco shook the haze from his head and turned to walk, remembering the owlery was most definitely not in this direction. In the morning, I'm going to see Madam Pomfrey to see if she's got something for insanity. Stupid Granger has to be such a pain! Draco ignored Cadogan's lecherous comments as he walked on. A loud padding noise interrupted his complaining brain. The sound stopped as suddenly as it began. He turned to face the source, to find Hermione pelting her way down the corridor.

"Hide, you fool, there's someone coming!"

"Filch?" Draco asked, already running. Hermione grabbed onto his wrist and dragged him behind a trophy cabinet. How could I have forgotten the teachers?

"I don't know!" Hermione peeked around the edge of the trophy cabinet. The voice that started around the corner was not one Draco recognised, not that that surprised him, he didn't pay much attention to people who weren't him.

"What possessed you to do that in the first place?" A female voice said. Her tone, though essentially flat, gave away the reprimand the other person was getting.

"That isn't any of the teachers," Draco whispered. Hermione shushed him with a flick of her hand. She managed to hit him lightly on the nose. He rubbed it absently, and chalked it up for later reference.

"You shouldn't ask stupid questions, Aunt."

"McCallum?" Draco whispered. He ignored the frown Hermione gave him. One half of his brain was already plotting revenge on her for the events of this evening. The other half was plotting revenge on Draco for the events of this evening.

"Don't you dare talk back to me, you insolent little boy! I swear you get more like your mother every day."

"Isn't that a good thing?"

"Don't talk back!" The female voice cried out, without echo in the empty stone halls. "If I find out it was you who brought us here, McCallum, by the keepers you will find yourself becoming more like your father!"

An audible gulp rang through the hall, followed by a scared squeak.

"Exactly." The sound of shuffling footsteps speeding up to a run filled the corridor once the woman had spoken. Draco ventured a peek around the corridor. Timothy McCallum, the Slytherin Chaos Keeper was running from a woman in a black and blue cloak.

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Hermione, living on no sleep and even less food, spent much of her Friday evening elbow deep in washing detergent. After much negotiation between the prefects, the Ravenclaws had agreed to join what the people of the two houses now called "the cleaners league". The Ravenclaws, agreeing to tidy up in exchange for clothes cleaning filled the common room. Most were carrying bundles of clothing, some in blue bags, and others in red. A few levitated bags of rubbish, and yet more were waving wands about frantically, cleaning implements floating about the place like something out of fantasia. The Patil sisters each carried a large garbage bag, four drifting in mid air behind them. Hermione pulled a strand of hair from her face. She was now perfectly convinced her arms would be purple from the red and blue dye by the end of the evening. The Quidditch match was going to be the next day, and a party had been organised in the Gryffindor common room for the evening after. They had invited the Ravenclaws and some of the Hufflepuffs to that too. The Hufflepuffs refused before Ginny had gotten the sentence fully out, and had requested that they not only drop the matter, but also 'stop talking to them all together'. Hermione took out her wand, quickly glancing over the brightly colored lettering labelling each bathtub. Each was labelled by year and house. Hermione muttered a few words and the water within began spinning. She hadn't yet perfected the spell, and despite her best efforts, robes often shot across the room. Once the spinning had begun, Hermione drew in the washing from outside, ducking a wad of sodden robe from "R-4^th yr".

"Ginny! The rope went slack!" Hermione looked down along the wall of the tower, watching as Professor McGonagall picked some of the Quidditch uniforms from her windowsill. Hermione winced as the older woman yanked the entire line into her arms and left the window. The students hadn't quite gotten around to telling the teachers of their endeavour yet, in fear perhaps more work would be put upon them. As it was, many of the teachers had attempted to become the kitchen staff as well but failed. Professor Snape's leek and onion soup was legend for just how sick it made everyone. Flitwick's roast didn't even bear mentioning.

"It what?" Ginny asked, pushing past a Ravenclaw boy and his self-operating broom.

Hermione flicked her wand quickly, the spinning ceased, "McGonagall's coming up." Ginny didn't respond, but ran out of the bathroom, crying out a warning of the teacher's approach as she went. The common room erupted in yells of instruction from prefects. Hermione couldn't help but wonder at the organisation skills of the students. She only hoped McGonagall saw it that way, and not as an opportunity to lecture them on rules of house separation.

"Hermione Granger!" McGonagall's voice echoed through the common room. Hermione winced despite herself; they were going to cop it and cop it hard. "Miss Granger, have you managed to gain access to the laundry?"

Hermione opened her eyes sheepishly, glancing worriedly at Padma Patil and Gregory Pierce clutching their sacks of rubbish, and a dark haired girl fidgeting with the pile of Quidditch uniforms. Hermione breathed out hard. "Professor?"

"The laundry, girl! Have you managed to get into the laundry?"

"No, Professor, we use the bathtubs to wash the clothes. Is there some trouble?" Hermione took the washing that Professor McGonagall handed her and placed them on the couch nearby, ready to be sorted later.

McGonagall looked around, obviously in a fluster, "Nobody can get in, Miss Granger, not even Professor Dumbledore. Now, carry on." McGonagall seemed more distracted than was really necessary. "And as nice a gesture as it was to wash the Slytherin uniforms, would it not have been better to wash your own?" With that, she left the common room, fidgeting with the hem of her sleeves. Hermione looked to the pile of robes the dark haired girl was sorting. There, though Hermione was sure it had not been so a moment ago, was a pile of emerald green and blue robes.

"Mongrels!"

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"And you say they were Harry's when you washed them?"

"That's right."

"And now they belong to Malfoy?"

"Exactly."

"And when were you let out of St. Mungo's?"

"Ron!" Hermione threw the bundle of green at Ron, then taking particular delight in watching him attempt to struggle out of, and as a result become more tangled into the knot of fabric. Once he had made his way out, he pushed the fabric away as if it burned.

"Malfoy germs!" he yelled shaking his head rapidly.

Hermione rolled her eyes and took up the Quidditch uniforms roughly. "Grow up, Ron. I'll see you at the match." Hermione gathered the bundle and left the room, leaving Ron to his own devices. He was already starting to wonder about her, but having Malfoy's robes smell like his girlfriend was almost too much to bear. It's only because she washed them, it's only because she washed them.

"Hey Ron, can you pass me that pot of red paint?" Lucy pierce awoke him from his round of self-assurance. He picked up the nearest pot of paint he could find and buried his chin in his hands.

"Yellow works, too." Lucy took the paint from his hand, obviously exasperated. She stretched over and took the red paint. She smelled like solvent and turpentine. No matter how many potions and things that could be given to her, she had always said that 'the smell is what makes it real'. The problem was, even the painted figures were repulsed by the smell.

"Couldn't you charm that stuff or something?" Ron wrinkled his nose until it hurt, his face now aching from the effort both of thinking and trying not to smell the problem. He didn't truly care if he offended Lucy, not really.

Lucy dipped her brush lovingly into the paint, "Now where would the fun be in that?" Lucy stroked a thin line of paint carefully onto the dress of a Slytherin girl, who looked none too pleased with it for some reason.

"What's wrong with her?"

"She's just annoyed I can't get any metallic copper paint. Remember, Yvette's dress was that hideous colour, made her look like a cheap Christmas decoration."

Ron tried to force back the laugh, he really did. It did not work.

"Yeah, she did look like shite, didn't she?" Ron collapsed back into a world of thought. Dean and Seamus walked in carrying a jug and an Irish drum thing Ron couldn't quite remember the name of. The common room harp, which had been moved here by Dumbledore after the Fluffy encounter- a time Ron still flinched to remember- was the object of their movement. Ron greeted them with a grunt that impressed even him.

"Shouldn't you be at Quidditch?" Dean said, taking his seat by the harp. Seamus smacked him on the arm with his free hand. Ron didn't care really.

"Nah, pulled me off the team, put Elisa Chambers in instead, though I actually don't remember her being at tryouts." Ron shrugged absently. He had more important things to think about, something told him.

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"Snape to McGonagall! McGonagall to... Hazelwood! Hazelwood has the Quaffle! Weasley calls for it, Filch is taking up the bat!" Aaron Moon, the Hufflepuff commentator, cried out into the sonorous charmed microphone. The entire school had gathered to the Quidditch pitch, nobody would dare to miss it. Draco moved forward to the edge of the Slytherin box. It was jammed between Gryffindor and Hufflepuff, and Draco could hear every shout from them.

"Give it over, Hazelwood!"

"For the Love of Merlin!"

"Ouch, that had to hurt!"

The thump even made Draco flinch. Filch was ruthless with the bat. Erikka Hazelwood had given in and thrown the Quaffle to the Weaselgirl, and Filch had, in one fowl swoop, managed to slam the Bludger into Erikka, slam her into Kevin Donaldson, and then get them both tangled in each other's clothes. Draco laughed out loud. When Granger had brought a large pile of green uniforms to him, he'd thought it odd, especially since every Slytherin player was wearing theirs. Just to shut her up, he'd helped to turn them red again. It was highly more difficult to do than he would have thought. He thought it was lucky Erikka got stuck in a Ravenclaw; it would be an awful waste of energy if she'd torn through Weasley's. Not that either of them having their clothes torn off was a bad thing. Control yourself, Draco, your thoughts show in these trousers.

Draco felt a nudge from somewhere behind and to the right of him. A little Hufflepuff kid, had to be first year, was nudging him. "Donaldson doesn't seem to care, does he?"

"Buzz off, you, or I'll tell her what you said."

"And?"

"And, smart-arse..." Draco pointed to the scene unfolding before them. As was a tried and true Slytherin strategy, Erikka had literally torn herself away from the blue-clad Donaldson, leaving bits of broom twig and fabric tumbling toward the earth. She grabbed hold of his bat in one hand and broom end in the other. She looked pissed off, and the Hufflepuff boy looked scared.

Of course he should be scared, I taught her that move. Draco blinked at his own thought, all right, so I did not, but near enough to. Erikka had now a tight hold on Donaldson's broom, dragging him through the air, eventually half throwing him toward their own goal. Draco grinned to himself. He knew this strategy well. Donaldson was now in charge of hitting the Quaffle into Erikka's hands.

"Weasley ducks a Bludger from Sinistra, ducks another from Filch, and intercepts the Quaffle from Snape and... What's this? McGonagall and Flitwick playing dirty? McGonagall knocks Elanor Branstone and leaves Flitwick free to chase the Snitch. Potter and Flitwick race for the snitch! Potter, Flitwick, Potter! Ginny Weasley takes the Quaffle through and - Score! Ten points for the student team! And... Who's that on the pitch? What's she doing?" The game halted for a moment. Someone was on the pitch; a black speck of human had just spread its arms and dropped them suddenly.

A wave hit the stadium; one by one people were dropping out of sight, brooms flying about like crazy. Draco had barely time to frown in puzzlement before he felt a draft around his chest. That's not right. Goyle dived behind the bench beside him. Draco looked down. His clothes were gone, and what's more, they'd been replaced by...

"PINK BUNNY BATHERS!" Hermione Granger screamed, clutching herself desperately. Most of the females around him had been taken by the force of the pink bikini. Don't look, Draco, it just isn't Malfoy to display little Malfoy, even in the sleeping bag.

Draco rethought it repeatedly, studying the pink rabbits chasing each other around his ballet pink Speedo. He ducked as quickly as he could. As he looked frantically for his robe, a familiar giggle rang through the entire stadium.

"Bitch!"