Weep No More

By the time Draco had managed to sneak Hermione out of Hogwarts castle, he had realised it would be much easier on him if he simply did what the Mudblood wanted. If she wanted him to hold her hand, he would do that. If she wanted a chocolate bar, he would buy it. If she wanted to sit on the dirty ground and whisper about some kid who got his head chopped off, he would let her. But, Draco drew the line when she asked him to carry her the rest of the way to the dress shop. Not only was she too heavy for him, but it would also be degrading if someone saw them.

So, it took practically forever for him to drag her to Madam Theresa's Dresses for Ladies. Lucky for him, he was able to figure out Hermione had a soft spot for chocolate. A little bit of chocolate and she would behave. Draco promised to worship any Chocolate Deity once this was over.

A bell rang as they entered the shop. It was small and set off to a side of Hogsmeade where most students didn't wander. Madam Theresa was clucking over a witch, telling her yellow was not in season. A small house-elf wandered around, taking measures and bringing in new dresses.

"Stay here," Draco told Hermione, as he went to talk to Theresa. "Stay out of trouble!"

"Master Malfoy," Madam Theresa said, battering her eyelashes as he approached. "Such a pleasure to see you so soon!"

Draco gave a curt bow. "I'm looking for a dress for my friend." He nodded towards Hermione. "Something simple, nothing fancy. If you have anything in red and gold, I'll take it."

"Let me go check the back," Madam Theresa said, giving the house-elf a sharp kick. It dashed away to find a suitable dress. "Is this your new girlfriend, Mr. Malfoy?" she asked sweetly.

"Wha - no! She's a friend of mine. It's, er, her birthday," Draco mumbled. If his father heard he was buying dressed for a Mudblood...

A sudden clang was heard, and Draco turned around immediately. Hermione had entangled herself in some dresses and was crying softly. Draco rushed to herself, cursing every god and goddess he knew.

"What did you do, Granger?" he demanded.

"Oh, horrible, horrible," she murmured. "Seven little wizards chopping up sticks. One chopped himself in halves and then there were six," she recited. Her eyes rolled backwards and she fainted into Draco's arms.

"Granger! Granger!" yelled Draco, frantically. Great, now he'd definitely be expelled. "Get her some water," he spat at Madam Theresa.

The older witch just stared at Hermione's limp form. She opened her mouth, but no words came out. The house-elf, with a dress in his arms, ran off for a glass of water.

Finally Theresa spoke, "Is she - is she a Seer?"

"Of course not," Draco barked. He wished he hadn't left his wand in the dormitory.

"But how would she know...." Madam Theresa looked pale. "Master Malfoy, this shop use to be an execution cellar for He Who Must Not Be Name's victims. They would chop us the bodies and burn them."

"She probably read it in a book," said Draco, grabbing the glass of water from the house-elf.

"It doesn't appear in books!" Madam Theresa screeched. "There was no evidence, so no one could claim it for history."

Draco stared in disbelief at Hermione. No, she wasn't a Seer. It must be an effect of the potion. He'd have to let Pansy know. Hermione stirred in his arms and opened her eyes. Good, at least he wouldn't be expelled for killing a student.

"Save that dress for me," Draco told Theresa. "I'll come for it after." He gave her two galleons and pushed Hermione out of the shop.

"What about the pretty dresses?" Hermione asked, pouting.

"We'll have to buy them another day."

"Father, I want a dress!"

"Shut up, Granger."

Hermione's bottom lip quivered, tears slowly poured down her face.

Draco sighed. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean that. Daddy will buy you a dress later. Let's go to Hog's Head. I'll buy you a chocolate ice-cream," he said, forcing a smile on his face.

Hermione beamed and started to skip along side him.

^*

Lucky for Draco, Hog's Head was full of people so almost no one gave him a second glance. Ordering an ice cream for Hermione and a Butterbeer for himself, he gave five galleons to the owner of the pub and asked for a private room with a Floo network. The owner was more than glad to please Lucius Malfoy's son.

"Best room we've got, sir," the owner said, as he opened the door to room number twenty-four.

"Thank you. Make sure we're not disturbed," said Draco, giving him another five galleons. "I'm expecting Ms. Parkinson. Make sure the minute she gets here, she knows where I am."

The owner nodded and scampered off.

Draco looked around the room in disgust. It was small, shabby, had only one bed and a couple of chairs. Well, it didn't matter. All he needed was the Floo network. He knew Pansy would be researching in her bedroom. She loathed being in the library with so many first and second-years.

"Sixth-year Slytherin female dormitories!" he said, throwing red dust into the fire. He just needed to talk to her, no need to go over there himself.

Pansy's annoyed features suddenly appeared. "Yes, what - oh, Draco!"

"Pansy, have you found something yet?" Draco asked.

"No." Pansy glared. "It's not that easy you know."

"Have you come upon any potion which side-effects include Seeing the past or something of the sorts?"

Pansy looked questioning at him, and then her face brightened. "Yes, I have! But... Draco, it's such a complex potion. Do you think you could have done it?"

"Just get me the antidote. Floo over to room twenty-four of Hog's Head, all right?" barked Draco.

Pansy nodded and suddenly her head left the flames.

Draco sighed and looked over at Hermione. She was lying on the bed, gazing up at the ceiling, muttering something to herself.

Draco felt his skin crawl. Something about her was weird. The way she kept talking about kids dying, streams of blood and the grim. "The grim... it's real." Those words had chilled him to the bone. He never thought Granger was the one to believe in Divination, but her talking about the grim... No, it had to be the potion.

"That's a lie," Hermione said, her voice rising. Draco looked at her quickly. "There is no such thing as the Irish Curse. It's fiction." Her voice was still childish and she kept looking at the ceiling.

Draco didn't ask what the Irish Curse was. He didn't care. He was tired, hungry and in need of a bath. Too much touch between the Mudblood and him had happened.

There was a sharp knock on the door. Draco froze, and then relaxed. Pansy probably had a problem with Flooing, and had to walk here instead.

Draco opened the door, ready to grab the antidote from Pansy's hands. Instead, two brown eyes stared at him, surprised. Draco stumbled backwards. Freckles, red hair, glasses. Draco groaned; it was a bloody Weasley. Which Weasley though, he didn't know nor did he care.

"Malfoy?" the Weasley asked, glancing at him. "What are you doing here?"

"Who are you?" Draco demanded.

The Weasley puffed out his chest. "I'm Percy Weasley, and I'm here doing something for the Ministry. Shouldn't you be at --- Hermione?"

Draco cursed the Chocolate Deity and proceeded to slam the door on Peter - er, no, that's not it - Weasley's face.

Weasley pulled out his wand. Fuck.

"What are you doing with Hermione?" Percy asked.

Draco didn't flinch. "None of your business, Weasley. Who I wish to sleep with is none of your business," he barked, trying not to be disgusted by his own words.

Percy pushed Draco away, and approached the bed. Something felt wrong here. Why would Hermione be with Malfoy?

"Hermione? It's me Percy," he said softly.

Hermione cocked her head to one side, and looked at him curiously. She raised one finger and touched his lip. "The little wizard," she whispered.

Draco froze. Percy shot her a confused glance. Pansy appeared suddenly, cursing and dusting off soot.

"What? Who in hell is he?" Pansy said, gesturing to Percy.