Fake

Fake

Chapter Two

Crazy Chances

Hermione woke up the next morning gasping.

She really couldn't help it.

It was like the sky had turned green, and simultaneously she had gone blind.

She couldn't see the green sky, but she knew about it... and then there was the factor of being blind.

From outside her protective blush-red curtains she could hear Lavender chatting exaggeratingly with Parvati, comparing her new boyfriend to several of Hogwarts' other boys.

"Malfoy's hair is not better than Won-Won's, Parvati! Have you gone mad? Malfoy's face is kind of weasel-like anyway."

"No it's not..." Hermione thought, her brain neurons clicking slowly.

Her blissful-sleep expression suddenly cast itself into a stone tablet, telling anyone in the world who cared that Hermione Granger had practically just chosen Divination as her career path.

This was from the girl, 'bookworm' Granger, who had used her Divination book for firewood on a warm September night.

Her traitorous mind had just about called Malfoy attractive.

But she had done much more than that...

Groaning, Hermione stuffed her head into her pillow.

And for good measure, cast a muffling charm on her curtains.

She must have been dreaming the whole thing. There was absolutely no way that she had... oh no...

It must have been a dream.

Such a good dream....

Hermione hit herself with her other pillow.

The stones were seeped with a shattering chill, and like a strong perfume, their chill was volatile.

Draco felt like he had been dumped into an ice bucket.

He was surprised he hadn't frozen to death but then, he'd had Pansy's body heat to keep him warm.

He had carried her all the way back to the common room, muffling her tears with his chest, while his heavy, shocked footsteps had echoed through the halls.

Amazingly, they had made it back undetected.

Well, maybe not so amazingly - junior Death Eaters would have to be careful.

Draco mused that they had probably snuck some of Blaise's pure Venetian wine into Filch's cupboard, with a bit of Sleeping Draught included of course.

The common room had been empty and since Pansy had attached herself to him like a creeper, he had ended up sleeping on the couch, acting like a pillow.

It was quite the degrading job.

One would have thought that some Slytherin over the years would have found a way to get past that bloody staircase.

But at least he had found the reason for her insane hysterics.

And the bare form of it was that she had simply overreacted.

Draco couldn't decide, as he strangled a couch cushion, whether that was a benefit or not.

All she had found out was that she would have to take the Dark Mark.

Draco snorted, causing the girl to shift and then sigh as she hugged his barely concealed waist tighter.

Granger hadn't been so bold...

Snarling silently, Draco ignored this traitorous thought.

Pansy must have known that she would have to get it.

This generation of Death Eaters, the Dark Lord had decided, was to be unisex.

This was opposed to the traditional male-dominance - now the women would have to play a greater role than just hosting parties.

Draco didn't think that was a particularly thoughtful idea, but then lately he had been disapproving of any idea concerning the Dark Lord, even the idea of disapproving him.

He had already told himself countless times that he was insane, but he told himself again, just to make sure.

He sighed, the iced air seeping into his mouth.

Neither Pansy nor he had any choice in the matter.

They said the Dark Lord could read minds.

But he had known that when he had been brought before the creature.

At the time he had been honored that the Great Figure his father gave all of his attention to, whom he had spouted such virtues about, was asking for his audience.

He had been honored above any of his age.

Then he had been given a mission.

Excitement had coursed through Draco's body like adrenaline, drowning out his fear and the pain in his arm, as the thing informed him that the Malfoy name would regain its glory again - Draco would gain glory - and he could arrange for the senior Malfoy to come back to his service.

All despite his father's failure.

The being with red eyes, the personification of power, with skin the color of the scales on the underside of an anaconda, told him he was being generous.

"The Dark Lord," he said, "cannot afford failure."

Draco had known this before and after the meeting.

But now he knew how the Dark Lord got his money back.

No... no he didn't.

Fake dreams didn't prove anything.

Frustrated, Draco tore the couch cushion he had been holding in half.

Its feathers pasted and swirled around him like he was stuck in a fog in this dark, dark common room.

He had been fearful, yet challenged and excited for the chance to prove the worth that his father would have expected.

Draco was not that same person anymore.

For some reason he was now a person who willingly acquainted with Mud... Muggleborns.

Draco was forcefully reminded of the insanity that had just taken place.

Oh Merlin, what had he almost done?

With Granger.

And all of that... drivel he had sprouted about not belonging and acting to throw off the scent of spies.

Of course he belonged.

And yet he didn't.

He acted because there were spies.

Spies that would not even smile in triumph if they sold him out, because it was expected they do so.

Their pain mattered more than his.

Would he really meet Granger?

Once, he would have said no.

Now, he didn't know.

Draco huffed.

Pansy had touched him enough.

He had never really been a nice person.

He pushed her off the couch and stood with the intentions of first, crumpling up that unnecessary note for Pansy, and then falling asleep so completely that either he would wake up in time for the meeting in the library - or he wouldn't.

Fate could decide.

It could decide if he deserved the kind of pleasure he had tasted with the dream.

But Draco never did get to go to sleep.

They stopped him just as he reached the stone staircase.

"Hermione? Hermione... are you awake this morning?"

Startled, Hermione looked away from the spot of sky she had been studying in the left-hand corner of the Great Hall.

Harry was giving her a dubious look, proclaiming that her sanity was being questioned.

Every morning Hermione would look into her friend's eyes, honestly, and see the strength of a stretch of green mountains, but today she saw nothing but an ominous jungle, warning her.

She could not hold his gaze.

Turning to Ron, she was met by the same puzzled look, Ron him having had pulled away from his multitasking concerning Lavender and his dish of scrambled eggs long enough to give her a moment of his day.

He rarely sat near them anymore.

A spark lighted against her veins, acting like a fuse, catching her body afire.

She could feel herself blushing. Having her two friends here, right in front of her, after last night... they made her actions seem shameful.

But why should she feel shame?

Ron had Lavender and Harry she had seen mooning over Ginny.

There was no reason...

Guilt twisted and suddenly she was furious.

"I'm going to go study," she stated stiffly, slamming down her fork.

Sludge her blood had become, slowly igniting a brass fire.

The glass beside her fist tinkled, and then fell over.

"Hermione, do you want me to," Harry said, glancing furtively at Ron whose hair Lavender was smugly twirling round her finger, "come?"

"NO!"

Her friends' stricken faces dowsed the lustful fire in a hiss of pale steam, but it didn't stop her.

"Don't come after me!"

Her robes flying, Hermione hurried along the halls, shielding herself from the tawdry light that was making her feel like a cheap piece of cloth, tastelessly colored, hiding behind a grimy window pane.

But maybe, just maybe he was still there, waiting for her.

Draco's green cloak kept his blood warm, but it could do nothing for his body.

His fingers were dripping threads of ice, slowly losing feeling and mass.

Blaise must have done something to him.

He had come out for a round-the-lake walk, hoping it was too early for dawn. The first step out of Hogwarts had dashed his hopes. The bright, dewy morning had proven dawn was already underway. His inner sense of time had been unbalanced by the lack of sleep.

Therefore, night was lingering in his bones long after it should have already melted away.

But Draco had needed the solitude and the clean air to sort out his thoughts, so he had continued with his walk.

Reason told him that he should be grateful.

He had added madness over his already failing sanity.

He shouldn't have shown it, but they had just kept pushing, and had covered the way out in pitfalls and snares as they had questioned his whereabouts last night when he should have been at their pre-Death Eater's meeting.

Pansy had stayed against the wall - wide-eyed with a Silencio.

On a better morning he would have skirted and bullied his way out.

But Granger must have done something to him.

Because all he had been able to think about was how her eyes looked compared to Blaise's cold ones.

So with a last hope, he had showed them his Dark Mark.

First they had scrambled back.

And then they had leaned closer.

But it had caused needles of ice to go shooting through Draco's veins, slashing at vulnerable pink, bloodied flesh, for in their eyes - eyes already so corrupted - they had seen a beast in him for those first moments.

He had turned numb when they had then turned to him in respect.

He could have cried.

Draco should have been grateful; he was liberated.

From their questions, sneaking, and spying - he should be grateful.

But he wasn't.

He couldn't be.

He couldn't have the only bodies he spoke to look at him like that.

His mind and his body were yearning for the honest, but guarded eyes of Granger.

Sighing, Draco relented.

Everything was getting too dark.

He would need some of her light.

Anyway, he had never fallen asleep last night at all, so Fate must have more than acquiesced with the idea.

Draco felt his body warm, the ice melting from his bones.

Daylight was painting back the black of night.

His decision might not be the best one.

But it made him feel lighter.

So it was a good one.

The sun was glorious now, as Draco took the time to appreciate it.

It was shining on his face through its own shadows, trying to chase the chill away.

It reflected off the frost covered bronze, creating an atmosphere not unlike that created by the dazzling street light on snow.

Already, it was chasing off the lingering darkness. It shone light on his recent thoughts, confirming them as truth, as real.

He shuddered.

But then it reached his other thoughts.

Echoed voices, leaking through the windows and various open doors, signaled the beginning of breakfast. She would be waiting.

At least he hoped she would.

Foolish, she had been so silly.

Already, the echoes of voices were reaching her ears; breakfast was finished.

She had lingered among the volumes, and then searched among them.

He had not come.

Oh, no... she had been so stupid to believe his lies and wishes and underlying promises.

She shouldn't have even stayed; why had she stayed?

In the cover of darkness - such pretense the darkness, it was an ugly beast.

She should have fled from both.

Even as these thoughts ran through her head, her body was sluggish, unrelenting.

Hermione would not listen to that thing that pumped and lumped emotions into feelings, then actions.

Her heart was traitorous; it was cracking in disappointment at this moment, leaving her mind to try and paste its jagged holes.

The library air pleaded against her steps.

But she turned to close the door in its face.

She had been so sure she had seen something change in Draco Malfoy.

The gap between the shutting doors provided one last, futile look.

Foolish, he had been so stupid.

He should have known the time it would take to go about a trip round the lake.

He should have done something!

Anything.

And now his chance had probably just slipped through his fingers.

Upon entering the castle he had realized he had mistaken the voices; they had been fed.

Draco's emotions had flooded the halls, creating a flood before him as he had sprinted toward the library, knocking away those who dared trespass his flight.

But his mistake had cost him.

She hadn't been there.

That or she hadn't come at all.

Draco tilted, bowing against the library wall.

He had somehow ended up in the corner that had caused so many displaced feelings the night before.

Slowly he sank downwards.

Fissures were scaling his mind, widening the lower he slumped.

He could tell her his mistake; she could understand.

In the short trip to the library he had become attached to the idea that there was something between them that... he needed.

But...

What if she hadn't come at all?

He could just imagine her cool distain as he crumpled under her denial.

Then she would run to her friends, laughing at him from behind her dainty palms, telling them of his confession, his foolishness.

That is if she hadn't already done so.

It was a sharp pain.

It was a humiliation.

It was despair.

He couldn't go back now that he had already let go; he didn't want to.

Draco realized he could change.

He had already realized that serving the Dark Lord would eventually mean death for himself - no matter how glorious and powerful the path might be. He found himself uncaring now for that grandeur and that influence, because his task and his nightmares had drained out all the glory and any realization of power from the path of the Death Eater.

But leaving the Dark Lord needed more than the desire to do so.

Desire would lead to an early murder.

So he could not do it alone.

He had thought maybe she would be able to help him get through this.

She would have helped him find the strength, if unknowingly, because she looked so strong.

The task had to be completed because it was his duty to prevent what would happen if he were to fail.

After completing his task there was the chance the Dark Lord would leave him be.

She could have helped him - indirectly of course - kept him sane as he completed the task. And if the Dark Lord would not leave him alone,

Draco could run.

She might have been able to help him there too.

The shadows of the corners seemed to move as he stared at them.

Of course they weren't moving.

But they seemed to be inching closer in jerks that he could not see because they only seemed to move when he blinked.

It was like watching his last hopes fade before his eyes as they swallowed the corner's weak light.

In the shadows lay the ash of old ideals, part of an older self, from where the fire of feelings had burnt them yesterday.

Draco kicked feebly at them and watched the shadows draw back with grim satisfaction.

But he supposed it didn't matter anymore if he still went around saying Mudblood.

Because she wasn't here.

Draco could already feel himself failing.

Suddenly his air was unbreathable; he huddled in their corner, grasping for air, fish-like.

It was her strength he so needed.

"It probably doesn't seem sensible to anybody but me," Draco thought, thinking of his mother's distaste if she ever heard.

But his mother couldn't help him.

Nobody else would help him but Granger.

Nobody else would want to.

But, didn't he deserve to have his taunts and cruelness thrown back into his face?

Didn't he deserve to have his face smeared in it, a bitter-sweet pie clinging to his features?

He deserved it.

He didn't deserve her.

A goddess didn't deserve a fish.

He lay there, huddled, for a long time.

Fate and Time gravely looked on, but they were confident in their plans.

Hermione leaned against the stone wall laughing.

Harry had just said something outrageously funny.

But already she was forgetting what had been said.

Her laughter faded.

Weeks had passed already, but they seemed sludge-like.

They had been filled with classes... studying.

But still, her insanity had not passed.

Every time she thought she had forgotten it, it would start again.

She just could not rid her mind of him.

In little ways it had shown.

She had gotten into an argument with Ron about Draco's 'Death Eater' motives.

She had snapped at Lavender for comparing him to his father, whom she hardly knew.

Ginny had gotten several glares for bringing up the time she had Bat-Bogey hexed him.

She had even defended him from Harry.

The insanity would not leave her.

And what was worse was how he didn't do a thing to dissipate it.

From afar, he seemed nothing but a nasty bully.

But whenever he seemed to catch her scent, he disappeared.

There was not one harsh word or cruel taunt from him to her, not even to Harry or Ron.

"Do you act?"

She had told him no.

That phrase rung through her head.

Had he always been acting?

Catching herself, Hermione frowned.

It was always like this.

Why was she defending Malfoys' actions, when he hadn't even come?

That was that; she couldn't defend that. Her mind though, did not leave it with any lack of trying with its imaginations of him being tied to a chair by Pansy, begging for freedom as she cackled evilly or being attacked by an Acromantula during a late night stroll.

Those being among the most sane of her excuses.

If something had happened though he would have told her... certainly?

Anyway, nobody could act for six whole years.

But there was something that had changed about him this year....

"Hermione, do you know where Ron is?" Harry asked her, leaning against the stone wall besides her.

"He's probably off tearing Lavender's face with his teeth..." she muttered absently.

"You're not still mad at him are you?"

"Mad? Why would I be mad?"

Hermione knew her answer was stiff, but she couldn't help it.

The boy was insensitive to the point of a disease at times.

Ronald had called her a prude, the idiot.

Any girl would take offense, not to mention he had been implying that no one would want her.

Which sort of crushed any love she might have still felt for him.

She had brought up Victor to prove him false, thinking of blond tresses the whole while.

Victor was an anomaly; apparently he had taken too many Bludger injuries to the head.

That or he had been using her.

He had come too close on that one.

Had Draco wanted to use her?

For what?

"Well, I don't know, Hermione..."

Harry's blushing tone brought Hermione back to reality. She brought up her head.

His normally pale skin was creeping towards pink; for a moment, his scar receded, and he was just a regular boy.

"... you know, eh ... I thought you well lik-... argued with him," Harry ended lamely.

Hermione gave him an amused smile, trying to cover up her worry.

So much was on his shoulders; the least she could do was make things easier for him.

"Yes, I did...but we're okay."

Grinning, Harry ran a hand through his already unruly black tresses.

Nervously, he glanced around the courtyard, searching for another topic of conversation to drag himself out of the mess he had made.

Hermione watched him, suppressing a laugh.

His eyes suddenly lighted with obsession as he spotted something across the near empty courtyard.

"Look Hermione, it's Malfoy, maybe if we..."

"No."

Hermione followed Harry's gaze, and met another set of eyes; these were gray and sad.

She looked away, and turned up to Harry's lighted green ones.

"Harry, how long are you going to suspect Malfoy?"

"Until he proves me wrong!" he whispered childishly.

Shaking her head, Hermione left the wall.

"He's not a Death Eater," she said, lowering her voice.

"But..."

"Harry..."

"Hermione, just listen to me. He's up to something! I can never seem to find him on the map, never!" Harry's whisper became fierce.

"Doesn't mean he's a Death Eater."

"But he bloody-near said so on the train here!"

Hermione hugged herself round the waist.

"Let's just not talk about it, okay?" she added as he opened his mouth.

Her voice sounded resigned.

"Okay," Harry managed grudgingly.

He paused.

"I'm going to see if I can detach Ron from Lavender's face long enough for a game of chess."

He looked at her expectantly.

Hermione shook her head and leaned back against the stone pillar.

"You go ahead. I'll see you later."

She closed her eyes and listened as his footsteps fade away.

It was such a cold morning.

Draco wanted to laugh.

It came out as a croak, like he was a frog, perched on a midnight lily-pad, croaking for a lover.

Damn, he was desperate.

He did not know if it was fair, but the girl across the courtyard never left his mind.

At night he sometimes dreamed of her, though nothing like the first dream they had somehow shared.

His dreams of her were animalistic at times; at others, romantic. His mind could never figure out how reality would treat their situation.

If they had such a thing.

She was occasionally protecting his nights... maybe she could do more.

The sun was shining, and he had a perfect opportunity.

Take it, Draco. Just ask her. Just tell her.

After so many weeks....

Slowly his footsteps trailed him across the courtyard to where she stood, eyes closed, her arms wrapped round her waist in such a vulnerable posture.

He wanted to unfold those arms, and wrap his around her instead.

He was a hopeless being.

And it was such a cold morning.

He was taking a crazy chance.

"Granger, I'm..."

Hermione opened her eyes, but she didn't see Harry.

It was Draco.

He had actually come across the courtyard.

And for a moment she wanted to cry.

Couldn't he just leave her alone?

Leave her thoughts.

Leave her mind.

She wanted to pretend him away.

Hermione brought up her eyes, and met his.

Then she died.

For a moment she didn't know this being in front of her.

She had never known a remorseful Draco, never seen a kinder side to him.

It was fascinating.

When she saw his eyes, she saw him; she saw it, for it was there for all to see.

His eyes were rimmed with a confusion of light gray fog; deeper, and it became the wild sea.

It was a terrible and hopeless sea, so savage, but so grand.

His eyes contrasted against his snow pale face and faint under-eye bruises.

The surrounding courtyard was too natural, too ancient to mix with him. Even the bare trees were too long-lived to know the sorrows of his short life.

He looked false, fake.

The world turned him into a false being.

Suddenly a wind gusted from the south, and for a moment the two of them were whipped and remade.

For both the wind held a hint of something different.

Hermione saw a conflicting peace.

Draco saw a painful hope.

The wind had been warm, and when it left, leaving the leaves to lay lazily across the stone cubes of the square, a chill crinkled in their veins.

Absent-mindedly, they drew closer.

Draco stuck his hands in the pockets of his gray fur coat.

Hermione carefully breathed onto her hands.

She had forgotten her coat.

It was a cold morning.

So Draco took off his and offered it to her.

His eyebrows rose when she took it.

She gave him an amused look.

Draco was being pushed by an unknown force, and toward an unknown distance, he could only hope it produced the moment.

The amusement drained from his face.

He didn't know if she would reject him or if she was playing with him.

He knew people could be cruel like that, but he also hoped she wasn't that kind of person.

Her amused look made him lose something, and suddenly he felt like a school boy.

Grinding invisible dirt into the stones, Draco stuck his hands in a different set of pockets.

His eyes stayed down, afraid, as he spoke.

"Granger, I'm sorry. I had...really I did... but I had gone for a walk ... and well... lost track of time. "

It sounded ridiculous once he said it out loud. And he cringed in on himself.

Malfoy pride seemed to have buried itself under the compost heap of his life.

"I was..." he mumbled into the ground.

Then he heard the word crawling - jerking - up from the place, beaten and in pain, from where he had always stuffed it.

"Coward," it breathed with a toothless grin - from a wrinkled face.

So he looked up.

It crushed the air out of his lungs.

He had expected the doubt.

But the... what does one call it?

It was trust.

And when he saw that, he had to smile, oh dear god - for who he always wished for but never believed in - she trusted him.

Not fully or even mostly, but enough.

Simultaneously, they both smiled.

It was a warm day.

The two of them took advantage of the new day.

Carefully, Draco drifted down towards the wilder parts of the grounds, his head down so no one could see his broad grin.

Hermione followed, freely letting herself stalk him, watch him.

His pompous gait led her to a vaguely known clearing at the far side of the lake.

When he slipped into the trees, Hermione stopped for a moment.

Did she still want to do this?

With a nod, she followed her stranger.

In the center of an empire of tall grass, Draco stood, his shoulders creaking with the effort to adjust to its new upright position.

She was wearing those blue, rough Muggle pants, with a purple blouse underneath his jacket.

She was wearing his jacket.

This recent hope of his had come true so soon.

Draco hoped it meant he was doing the right thing.

But it wasn't a doubt that he would worry about, because he knew this was right.

There was absolutely no way it couldn't be.

Then she was in the clearing and wading through the grass towards him.

The two of them were about the same height, with Draco benefiting from male hormones by just a few centimeters.

They could see each other's smile easily.

The tree rustled in laughter with the wind.

They were one, the tree and the wind, just like the earth.

The wind made the tree move, and the tree made the wind sing.

Everything was part of another and it seemed only humans tried to wrench themselves away from that, calling it chance, individuality; their rebellion from the soul was under many of different costumes. This was not the reason why the tree was observing the two humans in the time of declining light, not this day.

The being could feel their energy, the expectance of a stranger that was not strange.

It listened as the witch grew closer to the wizard.

Indeed, it knew of the different humans. There had been a time when it could have spoken to them, though some said that was but a story among the many stories.

In any case, it would have stayed silent.

Its laughter grew as the two stared, searching for something it couldn't recognize beyond a mass tangled strings.

The tree thought it might be Fate or Time, but the wind whipped the thought away.

The humans suddenly blinked together, and stepped away.

There was awkwardness to their bodies.

It roared, its branches aching and bending -- humans could complicate it all too much.

They were so silly.

The wind then wrapped around the tree's rough covering, and all was silent except the breathing of two beings.

Suddenly, the clearing was silent, the wind had stopped, and the sizable birch off to the corner now lay still, as if holding back a breath.

The world was waiting.

It made the awkward silence that much worst.

So he had led them to the clearing, what was he supposed to do now?

An intimate image came to mind, causing Draco's cheeks to tinge.

He couldn't just ravage her now... or could he?

Suddenly Draco realized what he was doing... again.

You want to ravage a Mudblood, a part of his mind thought savagely.

Across from him, Hermione was staring awkwardly at the ground.

Draco had the feeling now that though they gotten to this point, they had no idea what to do. Doubt was being sprinkled on his cerebrum.

Between them hid a wall of some sort...

Then it all went blank.

What wall?

There was no bloody tower of a wall covered in stone that would stop him from ravaging this girl in front of him.

He could ravage whom ever he wanted.

His upbringing was crumbling masonry with great seams and deep Irish-green ivy.

This was no ordinary girl in front of him; she was something special.

A dying wall could not keep her away from him.

He would not let her slip away.

But he didn't think she would take kindly to his ravaging at the moment.

She wasn't just a 'whom ever'.

Draco flopped to the rough, dead grass.

It was itchy, and uncomfortable, but he lay upon his back anyway.

He stared up as Granger gawked at him.

Time stretched for a moment, and then she was down beside him, not too close, but not too far.

"So..."For another moment, words eluded him, but then came inspiration. "What's your favorite color? Personally, I'm a red-green sort of person."

"Red-green? Christmas colors?"

Beneath her stricken tone, Draco barely heard the amusement as she jerked up.

He looked at her, eyebrow raised, until she gave up her strike of disbelief.

She sighed.

"Personally, I'm more of a blue sort of person, maybe a bit of orange."