We'll Always Have Paris

Author’s Notes: First, I want to thank Rhysenn for her extremely helpful assistance with this chapter. She doesn't even read WAHP, so I owe her a great deal for really helping me get this that way I wanted it. Also thanks to Jules just because you're a lot of fun and you introduced me to the wonderful world of Jessica Trent when I really needed a break from everything! Second, this chapter is dedicated to every single Harry/Hermione fan who’s given this fic a chance. So to Liss, Libbie, Seakays, Elia, and all the other H/Hr shippers who have indulged their inner D/Hr shipper with some doses of WAHP, in the immortal words of crooner Barry Manilow: This one’s for you, wherever you are!

And now, let the wild rumpus start!

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We'll Always Have Paris
Chapter 14

Yesterday, all my troubles seemed so far away
Now it looks as though they’re here to stay
Oh, I believe in yesterday.
--“Yesterday” by The Beatles

“Harry Potter! Harry Potter! Wake up, Harry Potter!”

“Wh- what?” a groggy Harry mumbled. He picked his head from the table and straightened his glasses which had fallen lopsided as he slept, using his arm as a pillow, in the common room. Harry had wanted to wait for Hermione to return from her mad dash to the Prefects’ office in order to discuss his odd conversation with Draco earlier that evening, but he must have fallen asleep. He sat up and Dobby’s large, bulbous eyes came into focus. A loud yawn escaped him. “Dobby, what are you doing in here?”

The house elf tugged hastily on Harry’s robes, trying to get the young wizard to follow him. “Harry Potter, you must come with Dobby quick. Your hernia is leaking.”

Harry thought he must be in the middle of a very strange dream, but then again, he always felt that way when Dobby was around. “My what is what-ing?” he asked as he followed Dobby to the portrait hole.

“Your hernia is leaking in the Astronomy Tower, Harry Potter. Dobby spotted her when Dobby was readying to clean the Tower stairwell. Come quickly. She is most upset and it is past curfew,” Dobby urged as he held on tightly to Harry’s hand and led him down the hall toward the Astronomy Tower.

Harry stopped so suddenly, the tiny house elf jerked backwards and landed on the floor at the boy’s feet with a dull thud. The sleepy cloud which had blurred Harry’s perceptions drifted away and he could finally translate Dobby’s odd message. “Hermione’s crying? About what?”

“Dobby does not know, sir, but she leaks much more than Dobby has ever seen, sir. Please hurry, Harry Potter,” the distressed elf implored, obviously troubled at finding a crying girl when all he wanted to do was clean. Harry looked at his watch; it was almost midnight. She’d been gone for almost an hour.

“Thanks, Dobby. I’ll go find her,” Harry said, helping the elf to his feet and patting his head in a familiar gesture. He took off for the tower, his long legs carrying him swiftly to his friend. He didn’t bother trying to move stealthily, even though one of the professors could be out patrolling the halls. His only concern was Hermione.

As he neared the open door to one of the tower rooms in the tower, Harry slowed his pace. He could hear Hermione’s voice, but she didn’t sound like she was crying. From her high-pitched overly excited, fast-paced rambling, she sounded extremely pissed off.

And he was right.

As Harry climbed to the landing, he paused outside the door and peered inside. Hermione was pacing the floor so quickly her robe floated behind her; it eerily reminded him of Snape. She was positively livid. Even in the shadow of the darkened room, whose only illumination was a few rays of moonlight through some narrow windows, Harry could see her flushed cheeks and heaving chest. She wasn’t mumbling, yet he had a hard time understanding what she was saying because she was speaking so rapidly; she’d also punctuate certain words as her heels clicked loudly against the stone floor. The only phrases he could distinguish were “rat-faced bastard,” “damned tart,” and “stupid, stupid, stupid.”

Harry inhaled deeply and entered the room, uncertain if she would be happy to see him or lash out at him like a wounded animal trapped in a cage; he had a feeling who it was she was so upset about. He cleared his throat. “Erm, Hermione, is everything all right?” he asked as non-threateningly and gently as he could manage.

She whirled around, her eyes blazing with fury. At first she looked like she was going to rip his head off with her bare hands at intruding, but when her troubled eyes met his friendly ones, her hostility receded a bit. He approached her cautiously and as he got closer he could see the splotches on her face and the moist dew on her long lashes. She had obviously been crying as Dobby had reported, and from the looks of it, the house elf hadn’t been exaggerating about its intensity. The closer he got to her, the angrier he felt with the rat-faced bastard for making Hermione feel so dreadful.

She sniffled loudly and wiped her eyes with the back of her shaking hand. “Harry, what are you doing here?” she asked, her voice scratchy and strained from sobbing. “How did you know I was here?”

Suddenly Harry felt very nervous, like he was intruding on something very personal and shouldn’t be there. His palms started to sweat and he felt like he’d just eaten a giant bowl of cotton balls. “Dobby. He was up here a little while ago, and he saw you … er … crying. He came to get me in the common room.” He watched Hermione, trying to gauge her reaction, but she had none. She just stared at him, practically through him. He pointed at the door. “I can leave if you want me to, if you’d rather be alone,” he offered.

Hermione let out a loud, mirthless chortle. “Don’t bother,” she answered bitterly; the dimming fire in her eyes were reignited. “I might as well tell you now, since the whole bloody school will only find out tomorrow anyway – that is, if they didn’t already know.”

“Find out what?”

She threw her arms into the air with a resigned, defeated smile. “That you were right … about all of it. About him,” she spat derisively, the pain in her voice evident. Her breath hitched in her chest.

“What happened?” he asked as he closed the door behind him, flicking his wand toward it to place a silencing charm on the room; Filch barging in under these circumstances could only make matters worse. He inhaled quietly as he moved so close he could see fresh tears pooling beneath her red-rimmed eyes. Dear God, what did Malfoy do to her? “Tell me what he did, and I’ll fix it. I swear,” he promised adamantly, and he meant it. If he had to tear up every stone in Hogwarts to find that sodding wanker, Harry was determined to make Malfoy suffer for whatever it was that he had done to Hermione. No one hurt Hermione this badly without paying severely for it.

Her emotions changed quickly once more. Now she looked like a child, a lost, lonely little girl who had no idea how she’d ended up at her current position. Her shoulders hunched forward in defeat and her frazzled hair hung limply over her shoulders. When she spoke, Harry could hardly hear the soft, raspy words. “You can’t fix this, Harry. Nobody can.” Then she sank to her knees onto the floor; it seemed even standing had become too much of a burden.

Harry’s mind raced, completely confused and unsure of what to do; he just knew he had to be there for her no matter what. Falling to his knees in front of her, he gripped her by the arms firmly but gently and bent his head so he could look at her face. Her vacant eyes stared unblinkingly at the ground in front of her. “I can’t help you if you don’t tell me what he did to you,” he reasoned gently, smoothing her disheveled hair with his hand.

Squeezing her eyelids tightly shut, she took a deep breath and began, “He … he … and … Lissanne … ” As she sputtered out the few words Harry could discern, her ragged breathing increased and he realized she was starting to hyperventilate.

He soothed her by running his hands up and down her arms as he shushed her calmly. “Slow down, Hermione, and breathe or else you’re going to pass out. It’s going to be all right. I’m here.” Slowly, she opened her heavy-lidded eyes and met his gaze, then nodded at him and took in a long, slow breath as Harry did the same as a show of encouragement. He smiled a little at her and said, “Now try again. What happened?”

She repositioned herself from her knees so that she was sitting and scooted to a nearby wall, resting her back against it. As she moved, she took Harry’s hand in hers and pulled him next to her side, wrapping her fingers tightly around his. She shook her head quickly as if trying to shake the cobwebs out of it. Finally in a hollow voice she said, “I went to the Prefects’ office to get the schedules. When I opened the door, I saw a girl’s bare back on the couch and she wasn’t alone. When she spoke, I recognized the voice as Lissanne, but then she moved so I could see who she was with.” She paused her story as a haunted memory rose unbidden in her thoughts … smooth, milky skin, tangled limbs, and pale blond hair. “And it was him. They were shagging on the couch, and I walked in on them.”

Getting pummeled in the stomach with a Bludger the size of Fang could not have stunned Harry more. His mind reeled with the news; he could only imagine how much worse it was for Hermione. Neither of them said anything for a few moments, the aftershock of her bombshell still quivering in the thick air. As Hermione squeezed his hand, he squeezed it back. She dropped her head onto his shoulder and let out a long, wheezing breath. Harry had suspected Draco had been up to something sneaky, but he never expected it would be that. Finally, he found his voice. “Are you sure it was them? There are a few Prefects in the school, maybe it was just dark and you saw wrong.” But he doubted it; it could have only been him.

A single, bitter laugh escaped her lips as she rolled her dewy eyes. A sardonic grin spread across Hermione’s features as she turned her face to look up at Harry. “Oh, it was them all right. Believe me. That bitch couldn’t wait to let me see who she was with. She slithered off him like she was some … some …well I don’t know what, but whatever it was it was vile and slutty.”

“What did Malfoy say?” he asked, betting it was pure venom and terribly hurtful.

She shook her head sorrowfully. “He didn’t say anything at all. He just looked at me like I was … nothing,” she finished, choking back a sob. “When you first showed up, I thought it was him at the door, coming to explain or apologize or something.”

“Would you have accepted it?” he asked neutrally as he stared at a crack on the floor, wondering if she’d forgive him or demand the prat’s head on a silver platter. Then his eyes turned to meet hers once more, searching for truth in her reply. “If it was him, slithering back for a second chance?”

She reacted as if he’d just slapped her hard across the face instead of asked her a logical question. “Of course not!” she cried indignantly. “After what I saw …” She laughed woefully, her eyes narrowed in disgust. “The really pathetic part is that all the signs were there, and I was just too stupid to see what was right in front of my bloody face. All those little looks between him and that tart, all the times he’d insisted her flirtations were harmless, all of their little ‘study sessions’ … they could have been carrying on for months and I was just too blind to see it.” Her cheeks burned hotly again in agitation; her voice escalated in volume, spitting the words out like they were poison.

“You trusted him, Hermione,” Harry reasoned, pissed at himself for not doing a better job of shielding her from that conniving, untrustworthy, treacherous piece of scum. Yes, Hermione was headstrong, and yes, she was stubborn … but she could also listen to reason, and Harry should have tried harder to remind her what Malfoy was really like. But it was too late for admonitions now; the damage was done. He sighed as he acknowledged, “Hell, he even had me convinced for a while that he wasn’t such a prat anymore, but I never expected he’d do anything like this. Even for Malfoy, this is disgusting.”

Her body crumpled against his side in exhaustion, all vehemence gone. “It was so awful, Harry. I don’t think I’ve ever felt so stupid and angry and hurt and pissed off all at once like that in my life.” She paused for a few seconds and wiped her moist eyes with the back of her free hand. With an anguished sob, she continued, “God, I fell so hard for him, Harry. I truly thought it was love. I really did. I actually thought he cared about me … that he might even love me back. I’m such a fool. You and Ron saw right through him; you knew he’d do something like this, but I didn’t want to see it. I could feel something wasn’t normal, but I ignored it. I should have known,” she said resolutely.

“Why should you have known?” Harry rested his head on top of hers, which lay heavily against his shoulder. “He played the role of the dutiful boyfriend quite convincingly. He manipulated you, Hermione, and he’s a master at it. There was no way you could have realized what he was doing.” Harry didn’t know if he was helping, but he hated that Hermione was blaming herself even just a fraction for what that spineless, mindless sod did to her.

“I should have,” her voice croaked. “It’s so obvious I’m not the kind of girl he would ever fall for. He hates Mudbloods like me and he always has. Like two months in France could change that. And look at me, with my bushy hair and funny looking face. What could he possibly have seen in me in the first place? It was so obvious from the beginning.” She tried to brush the new tears away but there were too many. “I was probably some weird sort of conquest for him. Let’s see how far I can get with the prim and proper Gryffindor before tossing her aside for a real girlfriend….”

Harry’s heart twisted at hearing her say such fallacious things about herself. He turned, grabbed her by the shoulders, and looked her square in the eye. They looked so sad and forlorn, and Harry hated that their usual sparkle had vanished because of a bastard like Malfoy. “Don’t say that – any of it, because it’s not true,” Harry ordered her firmly. “You’re so much more than that ponce could ever hope to deserve, Hermione, and when he gets old and shriveled and is left penniless and alone, he’s going to realize what a treasure he threw away. You’re talented, intelligent, and the most beautiful girl at this school … and you’ve got more class and elegance than all of those sodding Slytherins rolled together.” He didn’t care that he was saying more than he’d dare under normal circumstances. “And as for not whoring yourself to every guy in your house, I hardly consider that a bad thing. You are a wonderful friend and an amazing person, and I wouldn’t change a thing about you, Hermione Granger. You’re perfect already.”

Her lips curled up in a weak smile, but her eyes were expressionless. “Thanks, Harry. That’s sweet of you to say.”

His hand trembled imperceptibly as he cupped her face gently in his hand and stared into her bloodshot eyes. “I’m not just saying it – I know it.”

She laid her head on his shoulder with a shuddering breath. “I’m not feeling all that wonderful right now,” she said softly as another wave of sorrow overtook her.

Harry wrapped his arm around her shoulder and held her close to him. The shock over what she’d told him had passed; now he was beyond furious and wanted revenge. “Hermione, I’m not going to let him get away with treating you like this. I’m going to go and get Ron, then we’ll head down to ….”

With a sudden movement, she looked up at him with horrified, pleading eyes, the likes of which Harry had never seen before. She clutched his knee next to hers with a firm grip. “No, Harry, please don’t leave me yet. Stay with me? I know it’s late….”

At that moment, he wanted nothing more than to hunt Malfoy down like the animal he was and make him hurt in ways not even a Slytherin could dream up. But he knew Hermione needed him more … and he’d get Malfoy soon. Very soon. If he had anything to say about it, that slimy, two-faced git would become very familiar with the beds in the hospital wing. He settled in closer to her and hugged her to him. “You don’t even have to ask, Hermione. I’ll stay as long as you want. You can talk if you like or we don’t have to say anything at all.”

Hermione relaxed into him, exhausted at the cruel twist she’d experienced in the past hour but relieved to have a friend like Harry. He sat against the wall with his legs stretched out in front of him so she swung her legs over his lap and rested her head against his chest, like he was one of the big squashy armchairs in the common room. She wanted to ask him if he was comfortable or if he wanted her to move back to the way they were sitting, but the words would not escape from her paralyzed lips. Flashes of what she had seen in the Prefects’ office flitted painfully into her thoughts. She couldn’t speak. Then she heard Harry’s kind, calm voice, breaking through the sharp, aching memories. “It’ll be okay, Hermione. I promise.” She could do nothing in response but cry.

They must have sat against the bumpy, unyielding wall for quite a while, because Hermione could barely feel the cold of the stone floor on account of her numb backside. She wasn’t even sure if she had been conscious the whole time or if either or both of them had drifted off to sleep at intermittent times. All she could feel was the soothing rhythm of Harry’s hand as he trailed it up and down her back or rubbed it round and round in relaxing circles. She burrowed her head into the space between his neck and his collarbone, her ear resting above his heart. It pulsated against her cheek, calming her and telling her that she was with someone who truly cared about her and who would never hurt her – not for any reason. Harry would always be a part of her life, no matter what; she valued his friendship so much more than she ever thought she did.

Harry was nothing like Draco.

Before she knew it, a comparison of the two boys raged in her mind. Draco was cruel; Harry was kind. Draco was deceitful; Harry was honest. Draco’s eyes were cold and harsh; Harry’s were tender and open. Draco’s hands were smooth and refined; Harry’s were calloused and strong. Draco’s body was angular and sharp; Harry’s was firm yet soft. Draco smelled like expensive cologne and spice; Harry smelled like cool, fresh rain. Draco’s skin was warm to the touch; Harry’s was hot yet quivering. Draco’s lips were smooth and supple; Harry’s lips were chapped and trembling.

Harry must have dozed off for a bit, but he was uncertain for how long. He awoke to Hermione’s soft murmurings, a dull pain already forming in his lower back, yet he didn’t dare make a move and disturb her since she had finally calmed down. Sometimes she had sobbed so hard she had gotten hiccups from her ragged breathing. Sometimes she just sniffled and leaned heavily against him for support. Her soft voice upset his light slumber; she was muttering like she was reading off a grocery list. Was she talking in her sleep? He didn’t know. He started to shift his legs to circulate the blood a bit; Hermione’s legs had been lying across them, and as a result, they were now prickly with pins and needles.

Then she began moving her delicate hands and his movements ceased instantly, frozen in disbelief. She held one of his hands lightly between hers, rubbing her fingers over his palm saying something that sounded like “so strong.” Then she nestled her cheek against his neck, inhaling deeply, murmuring more words so softly he couldn’t distinguish what they were. She turned her face and placed the softest of kisses on his neck, so soft he wasn’t even sure if it was real or imagined, but when she breathed out hotly against him, the sensations her breath stirred were too genuine to be imaginary. When she brought her lips to his, he almost lost it then and there, but he didn’t.

He knew this was a bad idea. He knew she probably didn’t even realize what she was doing. He knew she had just experienced something traumatic and was only reacting to being so mixed up and confused she didn’t even know it was him she was kissing and not Draco.

He knew all of these things.

But his sixteen-year old body was pressed firmly against the girl he had been dreaming about for months, her full, warm mouth kissing him sweetly. He could resist the Imperius curse without batting an eye, but he couldn’t resist her. He should stop, he needed to stop … but he couldn’t.

She hadn’t meant to actually start kissing Harry – at first. Her exhaustion and fatigue were blurring the lines between consciousness and dreaming. She’d just been thinking of Harry, only thinking, but then her actions echoed her thoughts. The Astronomy Tower was freezing, but his body was so warm against hers. She wanted to be wrapped within his warmth and feel the safety of his arms circling her. With Harry, Hermione had always felt secure and comfortable. After several hours of feeling that the past several months had been a complete lie and that nothing in her life made sense anymore, she needed to feel something real … and Harry had always been true to her.

Their lips quivered as they brushed against each other for the first few whispery kisses as the dreamy curtain disappeared with each shaky breath. They pulled back just far enough so they could open their eyes and look across the short distance between them and see into the other person’s surprised face. But it was a pleasant surprise.

At first he’d kissed her back hesitantly, uncertain, but as her lips began moving against his, an intense burning pooled in his stomach and his heart pounded rapidly in his chest. When their lips separated, he got a close up view into the dark, sorrowful depths of her eyes. He could practically see the heavy sadness lurking behind them. She had been hurt so deeply; he wanted her to feel better … even if it meant getting stung a bit himself. So he reacted as he always did when faced with the unexpected …

He went on instinct.

His hand slid up under her long, soft hair to grasp her neck as he leaned into her touch. He shivered as his skin brushed against her smooth skin and realized in all the years he’d known her, he’d never once touched her like this. As he tried to calm his breathing, he gently pulled her face to his once more, bridging the scarce distance between them. This time their lips met with less trepidation. As their mouths opened to deepen their kiss, he could taste the salt on her lips and tongue from all the tears she had shed in the last couple of hours.

Hermione looped her arms instinctively around Harry’s neck as he wrapped his arms tightly around her waist. She didn’t object as he pulled her onto his lap to bring their bodies closer together. There were too many sensations and emotions passing between them for Hermione to grasp how she was feeling. She was confused, depressed, comforted, and tired … for starters. She ignored everything except how soothing it felt to be wrapped in her best friend’s arms for a reason other than crying herself to sleep. She paid no attention to anything except for the way his bangs tickled her eyelids when they brushed past, how his glasses bumped softly into her cheek as their lips moved together, how his hands gripped her hair tightly as he wound his fingers through it, and how his chest quivered each time he inhaled. It felt so peaceful.

Kisses were like fingerprints – unique to their owner -- so Hermione didn’t have to keep her eyes open to know the boy whose tongue was gently brushing against hers wasn’t Draco. This young man was Harry Potter, the boy she’d wanted to kiss for so long before she’d got messed up with a Malfoy. In all the times she dreamed of kissing her best friend, it was never under such circumstances, but it was better than she’d ever imagined. It was sweet and tender with all of the charged uncertainties that first kisses behold.

Harry’s breath was ragged against her lips, soft, hot puffs escaping as he moved his trembling mouth to align with hers. The bottoms of her feet tingled as his fingers knotted in the depths of her hair, keeping her face pressed to his, wanting more of him. The frames of his ever-present glasses pressed gently into her cheek as their faces moved closer together … a stark reminder it was Harry who was currently fogging her thoughts and making her insides gurgle with excitement.

And it made her feel good. A new surge of emotions swept through her body, feelings that Harry’s sensuous lips and strong hands were stirring up inside her. She felt desirable, trusted, valued, and vindicated. Then her little voice started talking to her: Why should you care if Draco was off shagging some two-bit tramp? You don’t need that pompous bastard. There are plenty of other boys who would be interested in you. Harry’s kissing you – quite eagerly – isn’t he? Harry – Draco’s number one enemy, one of your dearest friends, whom you’d trust with your life … who loves you like a sister … who’s probably only kissing you like this because he knows how you’d flip out if he rejected you after that pretentious EX-boyfriend of yours.

Hermione jerked away instantly. Harry was her friend; she shouldn’t use him like this to get back at someone. It wasn’t right.

Quickly, she pried her lips from Harry’s and pushed herself far enough away so she could look at him fully. He was out of breath, his eyes dazed from the sudden stoppage in their kisses, but he didn’t appear upset at her snogging him against his will. He looked troubled, his warm, green eyes seemed to be silently wondering if she was all right. She peered for a few long moments into his soulful, patient, familiar face and knew it would be easy for her to fall back on her old crush for him – her white knight, her saviour. She pulled gently on his arm, untangling it from her hair, knowing Harry only kissed her back to make her feel better in her time of need. She didn’t want to abuse their friendship by placing him in an awkward situation, and though their kiss had started out as a way of comfort, it had slowly degenerated into a means of revenge. She would not be a party to twisting something as wonderful as their friendship into something ugly like Draco had done with her. As Harry peered questioningly into her eyes, she finally said as she took his hand in hers. “Harry, I’m so sorry. I didn’t mean to start kissing you like that. It just sort of … happened.”

Harry took a deep breath as he stared at the young woman who was still dangerously close enough that he could close the gap between them in no time at all. He hated himself for it, but he had enjoyed kissing Hermione. It never would have happened if she hadn’t been deeply distressed over Malfoy, but the fact remained that she’d kissed Harry back. For a few brief moments, the only two people in that tower had been him and Hermione … at least until Draco’s spectre had intruded and ruined it. Harry couldn’t help but feel guilty that amidst all her sadness, he’d gleaned a few moments of happiness. As he looked into her welcoming, soft eyes framed with her dark lashes, for a few seconds he entertained the idea of telling her the truth – that he wasn’t sorry at all about finally kissing her, that he’d wanted to do it for so long, and that ever since she’d told him she’d had a crush on him he’d kicked himself in the arse every day for having been such a dratted fool.

But he exerted some control … finally.

That was the last thing she needed from him right now. She needed her best friend, not more romantic confusion. “It’s all right, Hermione.” His eyes closed to clear his mind. This wasn’t the place and certainly not the time to burden her with his feelings for her. But there would be a time for it … someday. “You have nothing to apologize for.”

She looked at him in astonishment, an embarrassed flush to her cheeks. “I practically molested you, Harry. I think that deserves an apology.”

He shook his head, his hair even messier from her slim fingers. He tried to stop it, but his cheeks pinked up too. “It’s not necessary. I’m still in one piece, and no worse for wear.” Her chocolate gaze reflected uncertainty. “Besides, what are friends for if you can’t depend on them to be there for you when you need them most?”

She chuckled a bit as she slid her legs from on top of his and sat next to him again. Once free, Harry moved his knees up and down since his legs were stiff from being stationary for so long. “I think you went above and beyond your duty as a friend tonight, even for you. First, you find one of your best friends in the midst of an emotional breakdown, and then she sobs uncontrollably on your shoulder for a couple of hours before practically attacking you. You’ve definitely earned your stripes tonight.” She tried to catch his eyes in hers, but he was skillfully avoiding them.

He shrugged, his hands busy as they rubbed his legs to help get the blood flowing again. “It could have been worse,” he commented with a wry tone, a small smile prying his lips upwards.

“Really? How?”

“It could have been my other best friend in the Astronomy Tower,” he cracked with a broad grin, finally turning a relaxed gaze to her. They both laughed nervously for a moment before Harry added, “Ron’s not my type at all. He’s too tall.”

Hermione pushed herself up, stretching her legs as she stood on her feet for the first time in hours. Still laughing at the thought of Harry with Ron, she extended her hand to Harry and helped him to his feet. “I promise I won’t tell him he hasn’t got chance with you. You know how touchy he gets,” she quipped.

As Harry stood, he shook his feet a bit and leaned back to stretch his sides and back. “You’re right. I think that’s a secret best kept as a secret.”

An awkward silence hung in the air after their jibes at Ron subsided. She stepped up to him and looked hopefully up into his face. “Harry, I promise it won’t happen again. The kissing, I mean. I don’t want this to change our friendship. I hope you know I didn’t mean to take advantage …”

He silenced her by pulling her into a friendly embrace. “We’re good, Hermione. We’re good.”

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Draco stood in front of the closed door for several long, drawn out minutes, not moving or even flinching. Just staring at the door, his back to everything else in the room, ruminating on the scene that had just played out before them. It had taken less than a minute for the drama to unfold, but there would be no encores tonight; Hermione’s stellar exit had guaranteed that. He hadn’t bothered to put his robe on even though the fire was dying in the hearth, leaving the Prefects’ office chilly even for March.

Lissanne sat on the couch watching him as he stared at the large oak door, unsure of what she should do or say. His lack of reaction frightened her. Finally, she slid one arm and then the other through her robe and approached him slowly. “Draco,” she said hesitantly. “Are you all right?” He didn’t reply so she moved to stand in front of him, putting her body between him and the door.

Her heart almost broke open at the sight of him.

The candles cast an eerie shadow over his face so it no longer looked like a face but a grotesque mask. His lips were set in a grim line, his jaws clenched so tightly they twitched at the stress of his teeth grinding together, his eyes belonged to those of a wounded beast that knew its hunter was about to finish it off. Heavy tear drops were pooling under his glassy eyes, looking like they were preparing to escape any second, but a shaking hand wiped them away before that could happen.

He hadn’t moved his gaze from the door until she spoke again. “Draco, you had no choice. This wasn’t your fault.”

With no emotion at all, he turned his haunted eyes to her and answered simply, “Yes, it is. All of it.”

“This vexes me, Draco. I’m terribly vexed,” Lucius began, his voice controlled and eerily calm. His father had said little to him in the carriage ride to Hogsmeade, making the awkward, tense silences especially excruciating.

They made their way into the Inn and back to one of the private dining rooms with few words spoken between them, the proprietor fussing about Malfoy Sr. and his son as proprietors often did. Draco knew from experience it was best to wait for his father to initiate the discussion when it was going to be unpleasant, yet he was in for another surprise that day when instead of sitting at the table and picking up his menu to order dinner, Lucius pulled a cigarette case from his inside pocket and held it out to his son. “Grab hold, Draco. We’re going someplace with a little more privacy.” Draco did as he was told and in moments, he and his father were standing in his father’s study at Malfoy Manor.

Draco took a few moments to look around his father’s study at all the family portraits which hung on the dark, burgundy walls. While most subjects of old wizarding portraits would sneak away for a few moments rest, the Malfoy ancestors always kept watch over their study. It was a grandiose, extravagant room, which reeked of old money; the unflinching glares from generations of Malfoys only added to the intimidation. And today, that sensation was more palpable than any other time Draco could recall. He always felt conflicted in the study -- he was proud to be a part of his strong, powerful wizarding lineage, yet their daunting history and menacing presence could overwhelm any man.

Draco swallowed hard before speaking, because he knew being with Hermione was right and he hadn’t gone into it on a whim. He’d just have to find some way to convince his father -- no matter how long it took. “Father, I know what you’re going to say.” He knew this would not be an easy conversation to have with his father. He promised himself in the carriage that he would always remain calm … no matter what his father said.

“Oh really?” Lucius replied, walking over to the bar, picking up some amber liquid, and pouring some smoothly and slowly into a crystal glass. His hands were steady.

“Yes.” Draco hoped that if he sounded cool and sure, he might actually begin to feel that way. “You’re wondering why I was with Hermione on the Quidditch pitch after my game.”

Lucius brought the glass to his lips and took a small sip from the glass. “I’ve known about your little Mudblood girlfriend for quite some time, Draco.”

Draco was stunned; he’d assumed since he hadn’t heard from his father since before Christmas that Lucius hadn’t known about Hermione. “How did you find out?” Draco asked, his voice quavering. “You were out of the country.”

“Bad news has a way of travelling fast, Draco, and after your little spectacle at the Yule Ball, I was inundated with owls from your mother about your dalliance with that Granger.” Lucius hissed Hermione’s name with venom. He peered over his glass at his son, casting him a patronizing glance. “Honestly, Draco, a Mudblood?”

“You don’t know a thing about her, Father. Hermione’s not a piece of filth,” Draco defended adamantly. He knew he was in for an uphill battle if he was going to get his father to listen to reason, but that didn’t mean he was going to sit back passively and let his father insult Hermione either. “We became close while we were in France on the exchange programme.”

“I don’t care if she became the youngest Minister of Magic in the history of the Ministry.” Lucius was unmoved. “I forbid you to see her anymore. She’s still a Mudblood, Draco. She’s beneath you.”

“She’s one of the brightest witches I’ve ever met. And that’s just one of the things I see in her.” Draco could feel his resolve strengthening. He pictured the way Hermione had looked when she had said so happily that she loved him. He was not about to give that up.

“But she’s not of pure blood, Draco,” Lucius drawled. “You know that a Malfoy can never be publicly involved with anyone of impure blood.” He smiled knowingly. “I confess we’ve all kept women of … lesser stature, purely for amusement, of course. What else are they good for? Remember, Draco, I was sixteen, so I remember what it felt like, and girls like that Granger are sometimes necessary to alleviate certain urges.”

The superficial, parental tone in Lucius’ voice sickened his son. Draco was gripping his fists so tightly, he could feel the nails digging into his palms. He stood with his shoulders thrust back proudly, hoping it would give him some leverage against the onslaught of disparaging remarks he was certain to face about his choice in witches. Even though it stung, he looked directly into the fire in the ornate fireplace-- hot flames licking each other sharply, fiery embers crackling without warning, and the once strong wood turning into fragile ash.

His father’s sharp, silky voice dragged Draco’s attention away from the fire. “When your mother informed me that you were dating Granger openly, I cut my business trip short to see you myself.” An irritated tone seeped into the elder Malfoy’s cool voice. “And after that little display at the end of your Quidditch match, I see that your mother wasn’t exaggerating. I can’t tell you how disappointed I am, Draco. I thought I had raised you to have better judgment and surround yourself with the right people and act properly. Your behaviour in recent months has done a great disservice to our name — you are aware of my efforts to restore the greatness of our family.”

This was Draco’s opportunity to tell Lucius what he had learned from his trip to France. “Father, don’t you see? My involvement with Hermione has improved me. She brings out the best in me. My grades have improved and she pushes me to do better, and I think I’m more comfortable with her than I’ve ever been with anyone. She understands me in a way that no one ever has.” He paused, struck by the oddity of what he was about to say, that the first person to hear the words would be his prejudiced, Mudblood-hating father instead of the girl they were meant for. “I love her.”

Lucius was unimpressed. “Spare me the declarations of love, Draco. I still forbid you to have any further contact with her.”

Thrusting his shoulders back defiantly, Draco stared directly into his father’s chilled glare. “I will not!”

A mirthless, surprised laugh filled the room. “Are you — defying me?”

“Yes.”

“So you’re choosing that Mudblood over our family, over everything that I’ve taught you to believe?” Draco eyed his father carefully as he slowly set his glass on a nearby table and rose elegantly from his chair. Lucius moved to the fireplace and gazed proudly up at the portrait of his own father, a stern, unforgiving, haughty expression which Draco had tried to hide from for years. His grandfather had died when Draco was only a child, but one of his first memories of sitting in Father’s study was of trying to escape from Grandfather’s steely eyes. There was never a place to hide.

Draco tried once more. “Father, if you only gave yourself a chance to know her, you would see that she’s so much more than you ever imagined.”

Lucius gazed meaningfully at his son. “But she doesn’t fit in with my plans for you, Draco. Her presence in your life will only interfere with the arrangements I have so painstakingly made.”

“What are you talking about? What plans?” Draco asked, confused.

“I didn’t want to tell you earlier. I wanted to wait until the end of the year to inform you of some very exciting developments.” An ambitious gleam radiated from his usually cold, sharp eyes, and Draco had an uneasy feeling that whatever this plan was, he wouldn’t like it. Not one bit. Lucius continued, “And you won’t only be a part of it — you’ll be at the very centre.”

“What is it?” Draco asked breathlessly.

Lucius approached Draco with a languid smile, “You are going to be the instrument that will allow Lord Voldemort to take what should have been his sixteen years ago. And how …”

“Voldemort?”Draco interrupted, unable to control himself. “He Who Must Not Be Named? You told me after the Triwizard Tournament that you weren’t happy about his return, that it created problems for wizards everywhere! Didn’t you tell me that we were only supposed to pretend to owe allegiance to him because of our family’s reputation with Dark Arts? Now you’re saying that... you’ve been loyal to him all along?” Draco stared at his father in shock and dawning outrage. “I thought you wanted to start a new era for our family. Was that whole speech you gave me a lie?”

With a dangerous glint, Lucius smirked haughtily. “My dear boy, that was when our plan was created!”

“That was almost two years ago.”

“I know, and it has taken that long for everything to come full circle. And it has. I found out today that all of our hard work has paid off.”

Draco shook his head, running his hands nervously through his hair. “I can’t believe you’ve been lying to me all this time. How could you, Father? He’s insane. I thought you wanted something better for our family.”

“Draco, you always were an idealist,” Lucius replied mockingly. “I thought I had rid you of that flaw years ago, but now I see that filthy Mudblood has undone all my efforts. But she will not destroy our plans —we’ve come too far.”

“What are these great plans? This great vision you have for me?” Draco needed to know.

“I had a meeting with Mr. Maximillian Jensen this morning … and it was very informative.” Lucius’ tone was very business-like and crisp; he eyed his son pointedly. “He seems to have taken a liking to you ever since your meeting with him in Paris, and he and I have corresponded several times in the past few months. So of course, he was very happy to clue me in -- under the strictest confidence of course -- on something which should make you very excited. As you know, Mr. Jensen is on the Board of Governors at Hogwarts, and the final interviews for Head Boy and Girl were conducted last week. Though the announcement will not be made official until the Graduation Ball, the Board has already made their selection.” He paused for effect. “And you have been chosen as the next Head Boy, my son. The final piece has fallen into place.” He smiled with great satisfaction. “So you now see why it was so important to keep from you the truth about where the Malfoys’ loyalties lie.”

“No, Father, I don’t quite follow you on that,” Draco said frowning.

“Remember, Draco, I was on the Board of Governors for many years. I’ve sat in on many Head Boy and Girl interviews. One thing the interviewees are not told about is the charms placed around the room to gauge the truthfulness of their replies. Do you remember them asking you about your feelings toward the Dark Arts and Muggle-borns?”

“Yes …” Draco replied slowly as the memory of his interview flitted through his thoughts.

“Well, if you had known about our allegiance to the Dark Lord and had then lied, they would have known immediately and you would have been eliminated as future Head Boy,” Lucius explained rationally. “After former Head Boy Tom Riddle turned out the way he did, the Board of Governors had wanted to ensure that it wouldn’t happen again. The improved charms were part of their more stringent selection process. So it was crucial that you believed the arrogance and open hostility toward Mudbloods and half-bloods was purely an act. You truly needed to believe in your answers. Becoming Head Boy was a necessity, Draco. Understand that.

“As Head Boy you will have access to people and places and information that our side hasn’t had while the Dark Lord has been strong enough to take his rightful place. You will know passwords to Dumbledore’s office and other highly secured places in the castle as well as the headmaster’s schedule before the rest of the school finds out. You can pass this information on to me so that Lord Voldemort can strike at the proper moment. And as long as Dumbledore is in charge at Hogwarts, there will be resistance to the Dark Lord. It may have taken two years to make this happen, but you will be honoured and respected as no other young Death Eater before you. Your position as Head Boy and the information you will provide will help defeat Dumbledore and destroy the institution so esteemed by all the Mudblood lovers and dregs of the wizarding world.”

Draco shook his head in disbelief. Lucius had delivered the news Draco had been aching to hear the entire school year: he was going to be Head Boy! But in his very next breath, Lucius had twisted the news and tainted all of Draco’s joy by letting him know it had come at a costly price: his freedom.

“No, no, that’s absurd, Father. You can’t possibly want me to do any of that. It’s insane!” he exclaimed vehemently. “I won’t become Head Boy just so I can pass information on to you. I’ve worked too hard to earn back some respect and admiration for our family — I won’t let go of that. Not for this.’

“When you get older you’ll understand that sometimes you have to act for the greater good, and I acted appropriately considering the delicate and important nature of this situation,” Lucius answered calmly. “You can’t imagine how proud I was when Maximilian informed me that you were going to be Head Boy. He contacted me for lunch to give me the good news, so I returned home immediately.” He turned and looked expectantly at his son. “I have informed the Dark Lord of this new development and he is equally pleased. He is keen to meet you, having followed your achievements and growth in these last few years.”

Draco felt like retching; it was all too much. But a vision of Hermione floated once more into his thoughts, along with the knowledge that she would be one of the first Voldemort would eliminate if given the opportunity to take over at Hogwarts. “I won’t do it. I refuse to be a pawn for you … or anyone else.”

“Oh yes, you will.” Lucius’s voice dropped, dangerously soft. “I won’t allow your feelings for a Mudblood to destroy everything I’ve built to ensure your future, and mine. You are a Malfoy. Your allegiance and loyalty is to your family. She is nothing to you,” he practically spat.

“My allegiance is to myself, and I won’t do this,” Draco said, determination in his voice. “I won’t give Hermione up or use any position I’ve gained to do what you’re trying to make me. I don’t think …”

Any pretense of calmness Lucius had been displaying during their conversation evaporated at Draco’s words. In seconds, he was inches from his son, grabbing the younger man’s jaw roughly in his strong, bony fingers. He glowered cruelly into his son’s stunned eyes.

“That’s right, you don’t think,” he said coolly. “I will do your thinking for you. You’re only sixteen — you do not have the skills or experience to know what decisions to make. What you should do is what I tell you -- and I am telling you to get rid of that girl.” He spoke the last words slowly and clearly, allowing no room for argument.

Quite suddenly he released Draco’s face from his harsh grip, changing his demeanour effortlessly, as if they were only chatting about the weather. “Besides, you’ll have more important things to focus your attentions on in the coming year. That girl has a reputation for poking her nose in where it doesn’t belong, not to mention that she is best friends with that Potter — and I won’t have them sniffing around trying to disrupt any of our plans. I have every confidence that you’ll come to your senses and see that I am right, Draco, that my way is the best way for you.” His tone implied that the discussion was over.

But Draco couldn’t let it go. “What if I don’t want to? What if I want a different life from what you’ve set out for me?”

“What makes you think you have a choice in the matter?” Lucius’ voice was sharp. “You gave up that choice the minute you kissed a Mudblood in front of the entire school. Let me make this clear — anything that happens from this point is a direct result of your actions. Any repercussions that fall upon your Mudblood friend are all a result of your improper behaviour.”

“What repercussions?” Draco asked slowly.

Lucius walked to his imposing mahogany desk and slowly opened the middle, creaking drawer.“I’ve met a lot of Muggles over the years, Draco. Most of them are no better than vermin -- filthy, mindless louts who have no appreciation for the finer things in life.” He pulled a thick file folder from the drawer and tossed it to Draco. “Your Mudblood girlfriend’s family is of the vermin variety.”

Draco opened the file and began looking through its contents. It was filled with wizarding photographs of people who resembled Hermione and reports written by different people, judging from their penmanship. The reports had dates and times and references to “Subjects” and what these subjects did during the day. And it seemed very thorough; some of the dates were from the beginning of the year.

Lucius pointed at the dossier in Draco’s hands. “Creatures of habit. That’s what the Granger family is. The whole lot of them, from the grandparents down to the grandchildren. Going about their business like they don’t have a care in the world.” As Lucius’ voice slowed down to emphasize his point, Draco looked up from the pictures filled with friendly-looking, decent people - Hermione’s family. His father had such loathing in his eyes, Draco knew better than to speak. “Don’t they realize what a dangerous world they’re living in? All the crime and disease they’ve infested the earth with. Bad things happen to good people all the time. People get murdered, raped, incurable diseases, and all sorts of other nasty things for no good reason.” He looked meaningfully at his son, long and hard. “Things that can’t ever be explained or solved.”

Draco’s eyes dropped back down to the photos. On top was a picture of a baby with an old woman - Hermione’s new niece and her grandmother. For what seemed the hundredth time that afternoon, Draco was stunned beyond comprehension. He knew his father would follow through on his loosely veiled threats; when he was just a child, Draco had often overhear his father and his friends discussing of some of the ways they would harass Muggles - and the Muggle police would never find out how. Draco tore his eyes from the file. “Not even you would be so cruel to do such horrible things to a child.”

His father waved casually. “What’s one less Muggle in the world, Draco? A Muggle child is nothing; it has less worth than a house elf.”

“But how … how did you get these pictures? How did you …” he stammered, glancing down again and leafing through the endless pictures and sheets of parchment.

“Oh, Draco, there’s so much you don’t know, so much I want to teach you. Shortly after I confirmed your mother’s report, I started keeping tabs on the Granger family,” Lucius explained nonchalantly. “You see, it would be too predictable to get to Granger while she was here at Hogwarts. She is too well protected, especially considering her close relationship with the Potter boy. I did not want it to come to this.” And in the back of Draco’s mind he knew his father truly believed that this sick, twisted solution was for the best. “But I knew the best way to resolve this situation would not be to get rid of Granger, but rather to get rid of those she cared about the most. She is just one, and as you have noted several times today, she is quite capable of defending herself. But her family can’t be protected every second of every day— not even Dumbledore could manage that. Everyone can be gotten to, Draco. It’s just a matter of time.”

Lucius let the words sink in, giving Draco time to process what was going to happen. “But this is a last resort. I have much more important things to be preparing for and I don’t want to waste my time exterminating a few Muggles when there is so much more at stake, but you’ve left me no choice. After you leave here, I will either be contacting the individuals who’ve kept such close eyes on Miss Granger’s family or I will not.” He leafed calmly through the thick dossier, pausing to look closely as his eyes studied the photographs. “Have no doubt, any misfortunes which may happen to find the Grangers will be untraceable. The Muggle authorities are no match for a mind like Lord Voldemort.”

Feeling weak kneed and nauseous about what lay ahead for Hermione’s family if he didn’t do as his father instructed, Draco sat heavily into a nearby chair. He tried to speak, but his mouth was too dry to form any words. He swallowed hard then whispered, “I can’t believe everything you’ve told me has been a lie. I can’t believe you are still a Death Eater.”

His father came and stood directly in front of the chair, looking down at his son. “Understand, it hasn’t been a lie. You heard what you wanted to hear, and you know I’m right. Think back on our conversations, son. You chose to hear what you want to hear. A weakness that has fortunately served our Lord well … for now. You will have to pay much more attention from now on. We have a lot of enemies, Draco, and your new position as Head Boy will mean even more eyes will be watching your every move.”

Dropping his head into his hands, elbows resting on his knees, Draco sullenly asked, “How much time do I have to decide what I want to do?”

“There is no time, Draco. One way or the other, a decision will be made before you leave here this afternoon. Either you do as I ask, or you resign Granger’s family to their fate. What do you choose?”

“You’re telling me either I side with you and Voldemort, or else sign the death warrants of Hermione’s family. That hardly sounds like a choice,” Draco responded acridly.

“You had a choice, Draco, you just made the wrong one. And this is what happens when you make bad choices.” To Draco, it almost seemed like his father was enjoying this display of power, but then Draco remembered something his father had told him once, “My role made people fear and respect me. It gave me control over them, and that is where real power comes from.”

It was all about power.

Then Draco realized that there was really one thing in this entire situation he could control. He could protect the Grangers and Hermione by doing this one thing, by giving her up. How could he live with himself if he knew he had refused his father because of wanting to be with her, at the same time causing the misfortune that would befall her family? Hermione valued her family, and Draco understood how deeply family allegiance could run. He’d applied for the Beauxbatons programme to restore some faith in the Malfoys in the wizarding world. Most of their world feared them and distrusted them, but they were still his family. He’d be devastated if tragedy of such a magnitude would befall his dysfunctional relations; he couldn’t bear for Hermione to have to experience such torment firsthand.

He felt powerless; his father had won and gotten his way. Draco knew it, knew he had been living a fantasy all these months, dreaming he could be with Hermione and that they would stand up to anyone who tried to prove otherwise. Draco was only one wizard. While- many of the teachers at Hogwarts had grown to respect his academic improvements in recent years, he knew most weren’t overly fond of him as a person, so he couldn’t go to them for help. In fact, that would probably make things worse.

Finally, Draco raised his eyes to look at the man in front of him, the man he used to admire beyond all others, the man who now repulsed him. Draco knew he needed to plan this out carefully in order to protect Hermione and her loved ones, and he would need time to make it convincing. He fiercely pushed away the soft memory of her saying “I love you.” Her words had subconsciously been replaying in his head over and over.

“How am I supposed to do this?” Draco finally said, wearily. “Hermione’s not stupid. If I break up with her after going to dinner with you, she won’t let it lie. She’ll come after me for questions and not rest until she finds out what’s going on.”

Lucius grabbed the file and returned it to its place in his drawer. “I have faith in you that you’ll come up with something convincing. Surely she can’t be the first girl whose heart you have broken.”

Draco stood from his seat, nervous at what lay ahead. “But she’s different. I’ll need some time -- -at least until the end of the term,” he tried to bargain and,- if he was honest with himself,- wanting to have as many moments with Hermione as he could grasp.

But Lucius had other plans. “No. You can have a week. Do what you must in that time, but do it in the next seven days. And I don’t think it needs to be said that telling her about our arrangement would automatically set things in motion you don’t even want to think about.” He walked back to his son and spoke in a low, quiet voice. “Let me make myself clear, Draco. If at any time I get the slightest hint that you’ve gone back on your word and tried to inform your Mudblood, or anyone else, of our plans for the future, the Granger family will suffer for your weakness. Don’t test me on this, Draco. You should know by now that I don’t take kindly to being played. If you were anyone other than my son, I would have acted much more swiftly.” He paused. “What happens next is all up to you.”

Appealing to his father’s keen attention to detail, Draco pointed out, “A week? That’s not nearly enough time. I can’t execute a plausible plan that would make Hermione believe it was over between us in less than a week.”

“I have every faith that your Slytherin cunning hasn’t been completely evaded you. I’m sure you’ll think of something worthy of a Malfoy.”

“But, Father, please …”

Lucius threw his hands up in mild disgust. “I’ll give you two weeks, but no more. If you have not broken it off with her two weeks from tonight, I can guarantee that your Mudblood will be receiving bad news the following Sunday morning. And make no mistake, it will be on your conscience. You have the power to prevent these events.”

Lucius eyed Draco sharply for a long moment, and shook his head.

“You knew something like this could happen when you got involved with her; you knew associating with a Muggle-born girl would never be acceptable in our family. You have brought this upon yourself, Draco. I’m just disappointed it had to come to this, especially at a time when my attentions should be focused on more pressing matters.” He paused and looked almost thoughtfully at his son. “I really do think this is best for us, Draco. This is the only way.”

^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^^

“Draco, you did what you had to do,” Lissanne offered helpfully, drawing him from his reverie. “And this is for the best. You know it’s true.”

“That doesn’t make it any easier, Lissanne,” Draco snapped irritably, his eyes flashing dangerously in her direction.

She knew from the beginning this would be the most difficult part, the post mortem, so she gave him a wide berth. Cautiously, she moved back to the couch, being certain not to touch him physically even though she wanted nothing more than to take his pain for him. “Did you really think it was going to be easy?” she asked carefully.

Her question spurred a reaction. In exasperation he replied, “Of course not, but …” His throat was so tight, he practically choked on his words; he closed his eyes in contemplation. “But I’d been exhausting so much energy these past weeks trying to make sure everything went as planned, I suppose I never stopped to think of what it would actually feel like when it happened.” He paused for a few moments before adding in a thick voice, “I didn’t want to think about it.”

“You love Hermione, don’t you?” Lissanne asked in a firm tone, sitting up straight on the couch, hoping he’d draw some strength if she remained resolute. “You did this to save her, Draco.”

“You know I love her,” he replied defiantly, his body a tense lightning rod of emotion. “Do you think I’d put her through this if I didn’t?” He ran his hands through his hair in agitation, grasping the ends with his fingers. “God, did you see the look on her face, Liss? I’ve never seen that look in anybody’s eyes before.”

That wounded, haunted look in his silvery eyes would be there for a long time, she realized.

She took a deep breath and motioned for him to come sit next to her on the couch. He spun around to the door in defiance. Then slowly, hesitantly, his feet shuffled to the door. With a quivering touch he raised one of his usually graceful hands and set it trembling on the harsh, unforgiving oak. “Do you think I should go after her? Just to make sure she’s all right,” a desperate, lost voice asked … but both Slytherins knew the answer.

Lissanne still couldn’t believe it was possible that Draco had fallen in love with a Mudblood. After she’d found Draco by the lake two short weeks ago after his meeting with Lucius, and she’d finally gotten her friend to confess what was distressing him so profoundly. He’d tried to shoo her away, yelling and screaming for intruding on him when he’d wanted to be left alone, but she was as stubborn as he … maybe even more. She’d pried most of the painful details from his proud mouth, but Draco had flat out refused to explain why his father had coerced him to end his relationship with Hermione. When she’d pressed him for details, he’d lashed out at her like a violent, fire breathing dragon. The only thing Draco’d repeat was that if he didn’t end it, Hermione’s family would suffer. His visibly shaken, tormented behaviour made one fact crystal clear: Slytherin Draco Malfoy was seriously in love with Gryffindor Hermione Granger.

It had taken most of the night, but finally they’d mapped out a plausible plan to keep Hermione’s family safe. Draco had been adamant that above all else, their safety was his top priority; he cared nothing for his own peace of mind or happiness. And it required more than just him breaking up with his girlfriend.

He had to make her despise everything about him.

Draco had felt if Hermione suspected Lucius was behind their break up, she would persist until Draco confessed everything to her. He and Lissanne had tossed around a lot of ideas that night which might have worked; everything from hexing Ron Weasley so badly he had to be sent to St. Mungo’s for treatment to poisoning Crookshanks. Finally they’d realized the cruelest, most sure way of keeping her away from him was to make Hermione believe that her loving, patient boyfriend was a lying, duplicitous, cheating bastard. It wasn’t an original idea, but they both knew its effectiveness would hinge on its execution.

So it was decided; the plans were set in motion. With only two weeks, they had to make it convincing. Draco would continue on with Hermione as he had been since December to not raise any red flags that his conversation with Lucius had been nothing more than uncomfortable and unpleasant; certainly not as disruptive and troubling as what had actually occurred.

Lissanne’s four years at Durmstrang had proved to be an asset for the most critical aspect of making everything believable: Hermione had to catch them in the act. Casual rumours or innuendo would not do. A handy little charm was widely used by many Durmstrang students on their teachers or other students in order to get rid of them for a while. It was similar to a Muggle-repelling charm, but on a much smaller scale to make it less easy to detect with magic. An object could be charmed and activated from a different location, which would make the holder of the object suddenly remember something very important they absolutely had to do without delay. With the aid of some personal effects or strands of hair, the charm could even be set for a particular person so that if someone else other than the intended had picked it up once it was activated, the charm did not take effect. Draco had decided the Prefects’ office would be a good place to stage their lurid scene. During the meeting, he would ask Hermione to borrow her favourite quill which she always used without fail. He would accidentally drop it on the floor and place the charm on it while bending under the table to pick it up. Then, once she was back in her dormitory and a reasonable amount of time had passed, Draco would activate the charm from the Prefects’ office. He knew her well enough that she could not let an evening slide by without doing some studying either in the library or her common room, and she always chewed on the end of her quill by way of habit even if she was only reading a book. The perimeter spell they’d placed around the nearby hallways was simple enough that Draco and Lissanne would know when Hermione was coming near so they could take their positions.

And it had worked. Flawlessly. Their cunning and duplicitous natures had served them well.

When the candles had flickered that Hermione was drawing near, Draco’d flinched quite noticeably. With a few deep breaths, he’d removed his robe and said in a detached voice, “Let’s get this over with.”

It was over so quickly, it almost seemed it hadn’t happened. She’d barely shed her robe and climbed on top of him when the door had opened, revealing an apologetic Hermione, excusing herself for interrupting the office’s occupants. Even from across the room, the Gryffindor’s red-cheeked face glowed in the candlelight. Draco had asked Lissanne to speak to Hermione; he wasn’t certain if his voice would fail him and ruin everything. The immense pressure he’d borne for two weeks had taken its toll on him; every morning before breakfast Lissanne had needed to charm the dark circles from under his eyes.

But he hadn’t caved. He’d given an award-winning performance, one none of them would forget for a long time.

Draco leaned against the door heavily with one hand as the other lightly caressed the roughened, uneven oak; Hermione’s horrified, shocked, sickened face at finding him with the girl he’d sworn for months was nothing more than an old friend was scorched into his memory. He’d spent so much effort into playing a role for two weeks, he couldn’t afford to stop and think about what it would actually be like to hurt Hermione so profoundly. Nothing else had mattered other than making sure no one had found out what he was up to and that those she loved were protected. But now he knew true anguish, and it was worse than any physical torture that could be inflicted.

Living through thirteen days with the knowledge his father had bestowed upon him was awful in and of itself. At every turn, he’d wanted to tell Hermione all about what he’d had to do, wanted her to help him figure a way out of this mess, but he couldn’t risk it. He didn’t trust the teachers enough to recognize this wasn’t a game or something which could be cleared up with a call to the Ministry. And most of the teachers would have doubted him anyway … including Dumbledore. Their blind faith was only reserved for Harry Potter and his followers. Every time he’d imagined going to the headmaster, his father’s words would ring in his ears … Everyone can be gotten to, Draco. It’s just a matter of time. The only way he could survive was to act like a little Lucius Jr.

Draco had observed his father’s detached demeanour and smugness for sixteen years – enough time to study how to imitate him perfectly. That was the only way he could handle it all – to just act as Lucius would in this situation and fall back into old patterns of not getting along with Hermione’s friends. That had actually been the easiest part. When Harry had come to find Draco after his Quidditch practice, Draco had taken all of his rage and frustration which had been building up and funneled it into some exceptionally nasty remarks to the boy wonder. Just seeing Potter acting all concerned over Hermione had infuriated Draco beyond any of their previous skirmishes because he’d just wanted to scream, “Don’t tell me that you’re trying to protect Hermione, because you don’t have a fucking clue about what’s going on! Not even you can save her this time!” But he’d held his tongue … to a certain degree … and stepped into the castle, knowing he was probably about to send the girl he loved right into that four-eyed prat’s waiting arms.

And how he did love her. When Hermione’d told him she’d felt the same after his Quidditch match, he really thought he might burst with excitement. But he never got to say it back to her, not once. Unfortunately for her, his silence had turned out to be a tactical advantage, making her question his feelings for her. He could see the confusion lurking behind her warm, chocolate brown eyes, the doubt over whether or not she should have said it at all. He’d just prayed she wouldn’t repeat it, for his sake and hers, before this nasty business was through. However, when she did say it again while they were studying, it was the closest Draco had come to confessing his sin. He’d had to turn away from her, knowing if he continued to stare into her sweet, trusting face, he’d ruin everything. When he’d asked her not to say “I love you” again because he couldn’t say it back to her, he wasn’t lying. There was no way she could know that being unable to return her affection was destroying him inside. He’d thought he’d never feel a deeper pain than he had at that moment … until tonight.

As she ran from the Prefects’ office, from him and what he’d done, Draco knew unerringly that he’d deserved every filthy, snide comment the Gryffindors had ever thrown at him. Even more.

Lissanne watched the young wizard before her, waging an internal battle which could never result in a victory. She reached out to the proud, brave casualty of war to offer him some solace. “Draco, you don’t have to go through this alone. I’m here for you … for whatever you need. I can help you; I can help you forget her,” she promised, her dark, sultry gaze looking unblinkingly into his eyes. “All you have to do is ask.”

Draco pushed himself slowly from the door and turned his face to look at the girl without whom he’d doubted he would have been able to keep his sanity during this whole ordeal. His mouth twitched as a tear broke free from its weak dam. “Thanks, Liss, but nothing will ever make me forget.”

To be continued …

Chapter Notes:

• The line “This vexes me, Draco. I’m terribly vexed,” is a quote from the film Gladiator.
• I know I’ve heard the line “Everyone can be gotten to” before, but I can’t find it anyplace other than an episode of The X-Files as spoken by the well-manicured man. If you know of a more accurate source, please let me know.
• Congrats to the 11 people on the WAHP yahoo group who guessed that “Draco loves Hermione desperately but broke her heart because Lucius told him to do it.” You all get a gold star!
• Huzzah! to the unregistered reviewer at Schnoogle who guessed my Roswell fanaticism would strike once again … Draco staging a scene where Hermione would walk in on him in bed with another (but with different motives) was inspired by one of my favourite Roswell episodes “The End of the World.” And no, it’s not one of my favourites because Jason Behr is wearing tight leather pants during half of it and is shirtless in a scene … although that is definitely a plus!
• Harry offering to fix Hermione’s problems is a subtle attempt to show Harry isn’t perfect. It is a common error among men to try and “fix” whatever problems the women in their lives are experiencing. This doesn’t work. Ever. But unfortunately it takes most men many years to realize this, and so it’s a constant battle between the sexes. I thought it fitting for a teenage Harry to say this to Hermione since he’s not as enlightened as he will be in future land! I just wanted to add this bit in somewhere and this seemed like the best place for it.

Thank you to everyone who reviewed chapter 13! I know that one had an awful cliffhanger, but I hope 14 explained why events had to unfold as they did. So, no cliffhangers this time around. The last few chapters had them, and I felt a little guilty about that. Thanks for all of your support! And I'd really like to thank the fun people at fanforum.com for welcoming me so warmly at the Leather Librarian thread! Most of them there firmly understand my Roswell addiction, and us Roswellians have to stick together. Yay!