To Believe A Dragon's Words

DRACO'S DETOUR

Harry glanced at the Draught of Inducius that was simmering in his cauldron with the dangerous silence of a sleeping dragon. Thus far, nothing about the blood-red substance could possibly cause Snape to banish his potion with a humiliating 'Evanesco!', except it being slightly on the watery side, perhaps. He risked a little smile. Perhaps...

"Halfwit," sneered a smooth, frosty voice that belonged to the tall blond Slytherin whom he had just stumbled into. "Don't you dare infect my masterpiece with your contaminating presence."

Harry blinked; a flash of Prefect's badge gleamed on the breast of Draco Malfoy, who, as usual, was wearing the ugly, mocking smirk which he always adopted when speaking with a Gryffindor.

"You're a git," shot Harry angrily; Draco resembled Lucius so much more with each passing day that Harry couldn't ignore the burning anger within him that both father and son were helping the enemy. Draco was Umbridge's lap-dog during their Fifth Year, and Lucius indirectly aided the death of Sirius Black. "Your potion's already contaminated the moment you stirred it."

"Isn't it a pity," Draco continued with fake sadness, "that the number of students with at least an 'Acceptable' for Potions is so meagre, that Snape is forced to combine every student from all four houses? I sincerely hope that you wouldn't die, Potter, or we'd lose a totem for aimless worshipping...."

"Ignore him, Harry," warned Hermione, but a muscle in her cheek tautened. "He's just bitter because his father's finally-"

"I don't need you to rush to my aid," interrupted Harry, leaving Hermione affronted. "You're not my mother, so stow it!" He extinguished the flames encircling his cauldron, and walked swiftly away to the front of the classroom, where Snape would test his potion.

Hermione was left with her mouth hanging slightly open, her face burning with indignance and embarrassment. She could feel Draco's gaze on her, but she could hardly bring herself to look at the gloating ferret. Was he happy that the Golden Trio was falling apart? Perhaps. Whatever Malfoy might be thinking right now, she didn't give a damn. She never did, and she wasn't about to linger around, waiting for him to give a scathing remark. She hurriedly turned away and--

"Ungrateful as well as arrogant," commented Draco casually, though his voice bore an edge that dug into her. "Grades are obviously not a good gauge for common sense." Not too far away, Ron's cauldron turned transparent, to his shock, and Snape's fury. "One thing I must say about you, Granger, is that you sure know how to choose your friends."

Her head was throbbing; the long nights spent on knitting vests and socks for the (hopefully) unsuspecting house-elves was taking a toll on her. And now, with Malfoy's jibes torpedoing into her sanity, Hermione felt her self-control fade away.

You're a Prefect, she told herself and poured a small amount of potion into a crystal goblet, to be tested by Snape. And so is he. The punishment and humiliation that awaits if a Prefect is caught jinxing another is--

"But I don't blame you, Granger. After all, you are a Mudblood."

Hermione was about to slap Draco's pale face, but somebody had beaten her to it. Harry stepped back, shaking his fist with a grim smile on his face, as Snape shouted the fate that awaited his house points. Harry gave Hermione a slight smile. "You're a Prefect," he said before she could open her mouth. "And I'm not. Potter the troublemaker punching a Prefect would make less scandalous news, instead of Hermione the top student, wouldn't it?"

Hermione nodded, her initial anger dissipating. But still, it was incredibly rude of him to-

"Sometimes, Hermione," continued Harry with a wink, "you have to learn to let me mother you."

Her reply was drown by Snape's dismissal of class, and as Ron and Harry rushed her out of the cold, uninviting dungeon-classroom, she failed to hear Draco whispering, "And sometimes, Hermione, you have to learn to not tickle a sleeping dragon."

"Forget about the ferret-faced git," said Ginny cheerfully when Hermione related the incident to her later, with Ron and Harry re-enacting the punching scene with exaggerated theatrics, "you have a dance to worry about."

Dance. For the second time that day, Hermione felt as though the majestic pillars of Hogwarts were crashing down on her. How could she forget the Valentines Day dance which Dumbledore had decided to hold that year? On one hand, it would be a welcomed treat for girls to let their hair down. On another, it would only mean that she would have to prepare for the inevitable. She closed her eyes. And...yes, there was the house-elves to think about. A dance would mean more work for them.

The 'inevitable' came that night. Hermione was finishing her essay on the Vampire Treaty with an 'Outstanding-worthy' conclusion when Ron plopped his gangly frame down beside her, in the Gryffindor common room. Hermione glanced at him severely, and said, "How's your homework coming along?"

Ron's ears turned a definite shade of pink, but he managed an abashed smile. "I actually managed to finish it before you," he said and looked at her hopefully. Despite her tiredness, Hermione was pleasantly impressed.

"That's great, Ron!" she said with a genuine smile. "Shows that if pushed to a corner, you can get things done in time. Well done!"

"Yeah...Listen, Hermione, are you planning to go to, uh, the dance with, uh, anyone?" he asked hurriedly and awkwardly. "The dance. Tomorrow. Umm...."

"I plan to go alone."

"Oh."

The conversation did not go any further, because Ron suddenly decided that he needed to use the Prefects' bathroom, and for the second time that day, Hermione was left alone while her best friend dashed away. It was a feeling that left a hollow sensation inside her. Then again, she did not want to give him any false hopes. Unlike some girls who would readily play a gullible lad into her hands before ditching him, Hermione did not believe in such things.

Outside, the sky was pitch black, with faint hootings coming from the Owlery tower. After listening for the occasional raven's call, Hermione rose half-heartedly. She, too, needed to use the Prefects' bathroom, and she rather hoped that she wouldn't bump into Ron on her way there.

Not surprisingly, there was no sign of Ron as she made her way past the quiet corridors. Then again, mused Hermione's analytical mind, he probably said that as an excuse to end the awkward conversation.

Not that she minded. She didn't really wish to go to the dance herself. It wasn't just the prospect of rejecting Ron's invitation that deterred her; it was the thought of a certain boy holding court with his friends, laughing at her as he flirted with what could possibly be the most hated girl in Hogwarts that made Hermione wish that there was no such thing as a dance that year.

She was so engrossed in her thoughts that she failed to notice that she had walked into a fellow Prefect, the very Slytherin whom Harry had bumped into earlier that day. Naturally, Draco regarded her with the usual contempt in his haughty eyes.

"Must be my most unfortunate day in history," he said in a clipped tone. "Two Gryffindors running into me. What more can a Slytherin ask for?" He raised a long, thin eyebrow at her, and she was mildly astonished to find that his right cheek bore two red scratches.

She automatically averted her eyes from his, and felt a flush creeping up her cheeks. She didn't know whether it was one of embarrassment or anger. "Fine. This time, it's my fault," she snapped irritably and pushed her way past him.

To her surprise, he stood his ground and crossed his arms across his chest. "This time?" he questioned with mock wonderment. "And not the time before? Just this time? Granger, there is such thing as a limit to Gryffindor pride, you know," he tutted in the most annoying voice she had ever heard. "Not that you're worthy of any...."

At this, Hermione, snapped. She had been having a bad day from the moment Harry told her to 'stow it', right up to that precise moment. She returned Draco's lofty gaze with a hard glare and curled her fingers into a fist.

"Don't you dare talk to me about Gryffindor!" she snarled, her eyes flashing angrily. "Especially when you're just a pathetic lap-dog to V-Voldemort, running errand for him on behalf of your imprisoned father!"

Draco's mouth snapped shut with shock; he had never expected her to retaliate that way, and what's more, mention the Dark Lord's name. A light flush appeared on his usually bloodless cheeks. Even I, Draco Malfoy, refer to him as the 'Dark Lord'. And here she is, a Muggleborn....

"Watch your mouth," he warned quietly, though his eyes glinted dangerously. "Higher wizards have died by his wand. Don't assume that just because Potter Dear speaks his name, you-" He broke off when he saw her wand emitting gold and red sparks.

"You can't jinx me, Granger," he said calmly, with the hated confidence in his cold grey eyes. "No magic in the corridors."

She slapped him.

To her chagrin, Draco's hand shot up lightning-fast and caught her wrist in mid-swing, as though he had been expecting it. Hermione felt her eyes burning slightly. Why did he have to be so loathsome? It only things could be different....if only there was an alternate universe where Draco Malfoy wasn't a despicable, hateful ferret, where things wouldn't be what they were right now. If only.

"At least, I'm able to prevent this one from happening," said Draco in a calm voice that was as fake as could be. "You can say that I've had practice."

Hermione tried to wrench her hand from his grip, but for a slender boy like him, his hold on her was unexpectedly strong. "What do you mean?" she snarled, battling her inner desire to set fire to his robes. "What practice?"

"See these?" he asked, inclining his right cheek towards her. "It was Pansy's way of leaving her mark on me. Completely mars my looks."

Despite herself, Hermione smirked. "Charming, aren't you?" she retorted scathingly. "You managed to turned the most loyal fan you every had into a vicious-"

"It was your fault."

Hermione stopped struggling. That was the tops. He managed to find a way to blame her for everything! The audacity....

"How dare you blame me for your own idiocy?" she asked louder than intended. "I wasn't even there. You silver-tongued-"

"She wanted me to go to the dance with her. She assumed that I was going with her, to be precise," interrupted Draco. Hermione tried to look away, but found herself transfixed. "You should have seen her, simpering all over me, giggling like a foghorn. It was disgusting and uninvited."

"I thought that you liked that," snapped Hermione, and with a final wrench, she freed her arm from his grip. "You like having her simpering around you. You like the attention. You liked having someone laugh at your jokes even though they're inane and utterly dull. You liked her giggles, though nobody else can stand them, so don't you dare tell me that you don't!"

"You don't know what I like," shot Draco quietly. "I like you."

Far away, an owl's hoot died away into the darkness of the night. Hermione found herself unable to hold his gaze any longer; she tore her eyes away and stared at the constellations instead. It couldn't be possible, she told herself. This is reality, and this is Draco Malfoy. It isn't a universe dreamt up by a girl who can be too silly for her own good--

"I didn't want to go to the dance with Pansy. Don't you see? I'm tired of pretending. I want to-I want to go with...with you," his voice held no traces of sarcasm or laughter. In fact there was nothing but sheer Malfoy; low and quiet but determined nevertheless. Hermione shut her eyes.

"That's enough,' she whispered to her feet. "That's pure cruelty--mocking my feelings. I know that you're a Slytherin, Malfoy, but this is the pits. Just stop, will you. Please." Her voice was impassive, just as her face was inscrutable.

With you. The words echoed in her head. There wasn't a trace of pretence when he said it. With you.

"A liar, is that it?" he asked, his eyes igniting. "Then I'll show you."

Before her brain could register what he was about to do, Draco bend down and kissed her. All she could taste was the moment - awesome beautiful and dangerously frightening at the same time, but if Hermione were given a chance to give the Time-turner a few turns, she wouldn't change a thing. It was, as anyone would put it, so beautiful that it was indescribable.

In every lie, there's a moment of truth, and as Hermione searched his eyes, she saw not a blond Slytherin jeering triumphantly at her, but the boy whom she had always wanted to see--she saw Draco Malfoy, and the truth.

"I was afraid that you might be going with Weasley," said Draco finally. "Do I still need to be afraid?"

Hermione shook her head at the confident smile he wore on his face. Still Draco Malfoy, she thought. Arrogant, over-confident....

And with me.

Perhaps the Valentines Day wouldn't be so bad after all.

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