We'll Always Have Paris

Author’s Notes: I’d like to thank my amazing betas for their gracious help with this chapter in spite of their incredibly busy lives. For many people the beta process only lasts from the time they receive a new chapter, but, unfortunately for Plu and Liss, I call on them all the time for help. So thanks, dears, for everything from Professor Snape to working out the end of this chapter. The opening lyrics for this chapter are from Nine Inch Nails because if Draco ever listened to Muggle music, he’d have listened to Nine Inch Nails an awful lot in the months leading up to the Leaving Ball! Thank you.

We’ll Always Have Paris
Chapter 16

head like a hole
black as your soul
i'd rather die
than give you control
-- “Head Like a Hole” by Nine Inch Nails

Even though he strode quickly and determinedly down the vacant, stony hallway, Draco took extra caution to make not so much as a whisper of noise. If anyone spied him this close to his destination … well, he didn’t want to think of the ramifications.

For the past three months, it seemed Draco had done nothing but think. About Hermione. About her laugh, her smile, her frown, the scowl of righteous indignation she got whenever Potter or Weasley teased her during meals, her apparent indifference toward him during their Prefects’ meetings. He probably shouldn’t have experienced such relief in recognising that her behaviour with both Potter and Weasley had not extended beyond the realm of platonic, but he couldn’t help himself. They were still the Gryffindor Three, not the Gryffindor Couple and the Third Wheel. While his heart seeped like an open wound at the realisation that she moved further and further away from him every day. He was nonetheless pleased to see her move on. She wasn’t aching and distraught over any unfortunate or unexpected accidents befalling the Grangers. It had cost him the one shining light in his shadowy life, but he’d made the right choice. Of that, he was certain. If faced with the same situation again, he would act no differently.

When Lucius had first handed down his dictate, Draco hadn’t had time to think. The price of the smallest misstep was too costly. The situation had demanded blind obedience for no other reason than that was what Lucius had expected from his son. Until his experiences at Beauxbatons and with Hermione, Draco had unfailingly followed Lucius’ orders and guidance without question. Defying him at such a precarious time, uncertain of the outcome and whom to trust, would have incited vengeful wrath in the elder Malfoy. In addition, executing the plan had required Draco’s entire focus and concentration; deliberating alternate solutions was a luxury.

Although satisfied, Draco had not rejoiced in his success. The loss of her presence in his life had touched the inner threads of his soul, creating a gaping hole that would never be sewn shut. Yet he still needed to maintain the façade of the untroubled playboy, two-timing the pristine Gryffindor with an amoral Slytherin. He and Lissanne had convincingly kept up the charade for several weeks; even Pansy, who had initially extended friendly overtures to the well-connected Lissanne Sheldon after her transfer from Durmstrang, had grown haughtier than usual, feeling betrayed that Lissanne would dare seduce “her” boyfriend. It was common knowledge to everyone in Slytherin house that Pansy’s greatest desire remained reconciliation with Draco. Lissanne had assisted him in keeping up appearances, asking very little in return. If he’d paid more attention, he probably would have recognised the effects of their pretense on his friend, but in his single-mindedness, he’d ignored everything. Until late one night several weeks after breaking up with Hermione.

Several Slytherins had brought back some cases of Butterbeer from a clandestine trip to Hogsmeade. With Professor Snape as the head of their proud house, it was expected that most Slytherins would excel at making potions. After adding a few ingredients of their own, the harmless beverage had become quite a potent brew. Naturally, a raucous party had erupted, with randy revelers pairing off in darkened corners or behind the heavy, drawn curtains of their four posters. What had started out as keeping up appearances had evolved into keeping up something else entirely.

She felt so heavenly under his hands, so soft, so warm, so breathless, panting huskily against his neck as she moved his hands over her body where she wanted him to touch her. Her hair was like expensive silk between his fingers; he wanted to drown in it. When she lifted his shirt over his head he didn’t protest, and when his frustrated fingers grew tired of trying to unbutton each small pearl on her blouse, he grasped it roughly and pulled until he heard soft popping sounds. A lightning bolt of need burned in his veins, flooding his senses with intense pleasure. It felt glorious, touching her and stroking her again as she begged for more of him. “Draco,” she gasped. “Oh, Draco, please. I want you so much.”

He brushed his searing lips against the tops of her exposed breasts. “Mmmm, Hermione, I want you too,” he moaned in response. “So much it hurts.”

“I’ll make you feel better, love. I’ll take away your pain,” she promised, dragging his lips to hers, pouring her life, her strength into him.

From beyond their cocoon of heightened sensation, shocking reality thrust its way inside – the girl writhing beneath him was not Hermione. His eyes darted open and he pushed back instantly, releasing Lissanne from his desperate embrace. Draco blinked several times, replacing the dreamy vision of his Hermione’s lust-filled, heavy-lidded chocolate eyes with flecks of copper and gold in them with his dear friend’s almost black, almond-shaped eyes.

After that, Draco had abruptly terminated their public displays of affection. He owed so much to Lissanne; shagging a girl while imagining she was someone else was no way to repay a friend. His abominable behaviour had prompted him to step back and recognise that Lissanne’s motivations had lain in something more than just friendship. He had refused to allow this catastrophe to injure any more hearts. He had apologized as best he could under the circumstances and suggested that they ease back on their highly public “relationship.” Though the scene hadn’t been an emotional firestorm like those with other girls, Lissanne had shed a few tears. But she’d understood from the beginning who had captured his heart.

Since Draco often tired of girls after a few weeks, none of his housemates assumed there was anything peculiar about the reversal of their relationship. Freed from keeping up any more pretenses, Draco had occupied his time by preparing for the upcoming end of term exams, and his final Quidditch match against Hufflepuff.

As the intense interest surrounding his split with Hermione had waned, Draco had finally allowed himself some time to think about the other pressing matter arranged by Lucius: Draco’s future appointment as Head Boy. With the date of the Leaving Ball looming on the horizon, Draco had set his mind on finding ways to prevent that without jeopardizing the bargain he’d struck with Lucius. No matter how many scenarios he’d played out in his head - and there were scores of them - he’d finally admitted he needed additional assistance. But what if he trusted the wrong person? What if his actions turned everything turn to ashes?

Lucius’ manipulation had succeeded, because he’d left Draco with little recourse and no time to plan a proper counter attack. After weeks of intense pondering, Draco took a page out of Lucius Malfoy’s Exploitation Cookbook.

All these things passed through Draco's mind as he walked the empty corridors, until he arrived at his destination. The door opened at his approach, just as his cohort’s reply owl had assured him before turning to dust in his fingers. With one final deep breath, Draco pushed all his lingering doubts aside. The time was now.

“The Leaving Ball starts in less than an hour.”

“Yes, I know,” Draco replied evenly.

“Your owl sounded urgent.”

“It is, sir.”

A pregnant pause.

Decked out in his finest dress robes of sapphire blue which perfectly matched his bright, clever eyes, the curious Headmaster motioned for the Prefect to take a seat in front of the large mahogany desk. Professor Dumbledore fixed Draco with a penetrating but benevolent stare. “Very well, Mr. Malfoy, what is on your mind?”

++++++++++++++++++

The year was finally over … well, almost. After the Leaving Feast tomorrow afternoon, all the students would be off for summer holiday to rest up before the start of the next term. As the unexpected events replayed through her mind like a Muggle movie, Hermione sighed heavily. She’d started sixth year nursing a crush for her best friend and somehow ended up falling in love with her worst enemy. She doubted even the best seer could have predicted that.

As she sat next to Harry at the small table with several seventh year Gryffindors and their parents, Hermione couldn’t wait for this Leaving Ball to be over. Since this was their last Hogwarts ball, most of the seventh year students were excited and in festive moods. But the Prefects were mostly edgy, anxious for the announcement of who would be named Head Boy and Girl. The Leaving Ball was only for seventh years, their families, the sixth year Prefects, and the Head Boy and Girl candidates. Both Hermione and Harry had tried to finagle a way with Professor McGonagall to allow Ron to attend, but the Deputy Headmistress was obstinate in her adherence to this rule. So Hermione and Harry had had to go on this adventure alone, but she knew Ron was waiting - probably impatiently, too – in their common room for word on whether or not Gryffindor had a clean sweep of the top honours for their final year.

A loud burst of mirthless laughter broke her reverie and lured her gaze across the hall … to one of the Slytherin tables. Lucius Malfoy attended the Leaving Ball every year to present an award on behalf of his family’s foundation to the seventh year Slytherin who most exemplified the greatness of that house. Hermione had assumed he would take as much notice of her as he would one of his house elves, but his bewildering behaviour unsettled her. In spite of the jovial, celebratory mood of the evening, Hermione couldn’t quell the sensation that Lucius Malfoy’s gaze was fixated upon her person. Yet every time she’d glance over to catch him in the act, he would be engaged in conversation with someone else, sipping his tea, or partaking in some other benign activity. It must be nerves, she thought. Before the seventh years were given their awards and honoured for their accomplishments, Professor Dumbledore would name next year’s Head Boy and Head Girl. Before they’d headed down to the Great Hall, all the Gryffindors had wished Hermione and Harry luck, predicting that the future Head Boy and Head Girl possessed a lion’s courage. She sensed Harry was just as nervous as she, maybe even more since she at least had two year’s experience as Prefect, but Harry had always excelled in stressful situations.

She was so caught up in her thoughts that Hermione failed to notice she was staring quite blatantly at the elder Malfoy until he turned his head slightly and looked directly into her eyes. If he was surprised at finding her gaping openly at him, he did not show it. Instead he leaned over to his son, never once breaking eye contact with her, and whispered something to Draco. Quite unexpectedly, Draco turned his penetrating gaze fully on her, luring her eyes to his. Even from across the room, she could see the clear grey glinting like a polished sword. For a moment, she saw a glimmer of emotion steal across his features, but then he blinked and chased it away. He turned his head to the side to look at his father and said something which caused the older wizard to chuckle. With a final curling grin, Mr. Malfoy turned his attention to Duncan Fitzwilliam’s mother, who was seated at the same table.

“Hermione, what are you doing?”

Her best friend’s familiar voice coaxed its way into her brain and brought her back to the Gryffindor side of the room. For the first time in several weeks, the sting of tears pricked Hermione’s eyes, but it was only because they were irritated from not blinking them for a while. It had absolutely nothing to do with that almost nonexistent something in Draco’s eyes. She blinked several times to generate some moisture under her parched eyelids and alleviate their dryness before turning her head toward Harry.

He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose a little too far, making his long, ebony lashes gently caress the lenses as he blinked. His emerald eyes searched hers, concern etched clearly in his boyishly handsome face at her awkward silence. Quickly his eyes flickered over to the Malfoys before settling on her once more. He laid his hand over hers on her lap. “Hermione, what are you doing this summer?” he repeated, aware that she hadn’t been following the conversation at their table. “Have you decided yet?”

She smiled in thanks at him, grateful for his unwavering friendship and for not mentioning her distraction over a certain Slytherin. “Oh, I’ve decided to go to the States with my mother.” Her mother had been invited to teach an advanced course at an American dental college and wanted Hermione to accompany her. Her father was staying behind to manage their three offices, and although she would miss him dearly, Hermione looked forward to a change of scenery for a few months. The opportunity to put several thousand miles between Draco Malfoy and herself had a certain appeal too.

She’d tried adhering to that old adage that time heals all wounds, but it wasn’t working fast enough. So she’d adopted another adage as her personal mantra: Out of sight, out of mind. It pained her that she still had feelings for him, even after what he’d done to her, but through this experience she’d learned that feelings weren’t like light bulbs. Perhaps if he had reverted to his former, haughty, scheming self, her feelings would have reverted too, but other than the not-to-be-overlooked character flaw of infidelity, Draco was the same young man she had fallen in love with in France. Except that he wasn’t hers anymore.

With a pained heart, she realized that Draco Malfoy had matured into the kind of wizard that embodied the sheer excellence of Slytherin House. He was intelligent, ambitious, determined, cunning, and proud, but he’d lost the pettiness, malice, and backstabbing traits that afflicted so many of his housemates. He still possessed a razor sharp tongue that he’d unleash when provoked, but in the closing months of the term, he’d exuded an aura of authority and presence of leadership, pushing him across the bridge from childish antics into the realm of assertive maturity. When his housemates had assumed it was open season on slinging Mudblood epithets her way, his lack of attention to their sport had caused their interest to wane. Though he’d never gone out of his way to be nice to her again or gain her attentions, he hadn’t been cruel or harsh either.

Harry's nod caught her attention, and she reined her thoughts in with an effort. “When will you be back?”

“Sometime in mid-August, I think. I’ll need to get back and get my supplies for school and look through our books before the next term begins.”

He laughed good-naturedly. “Try not to memorise them before classes start. At least give professor Flitwick a head start in Charms class before you go so far beyond the text, the poor bloke fears you’ll steal his job from him.”

Hermione rolled her eyes but laughed anyway. “Very funny, Potter.” She set her spoon beside her half eaten bowl of potato and leek soup and idly picked up her wand from the table. “But do you know what would be even funnier?”

“What?” he answered, warily eyeing the way her fingers were fiddling with her wand.

She looked to her left and then to her right to see if anyone was watching before pushing her plate closer to Harry and pointing her wand at him. The mischievous glint in her eye said it all. Hastily, he reached out and pressed her hand and wand flat to the table. “Don’t even think about it, Hermione,” he warned with a grin. “You know I’d have to retaliate, and I’d hate to spoil your dress robes with a glob of leeks.” The laughter in his eyes faded a bit, as his eyes roamed over her face, like he was memorizing every detail. “I wouldn’t want to ruin the whole effect.” His voice cracked and turned more serious. “You really do look very pretty tonight, Hermione.”

Her cheeks warmed at his compliment, unsure of how she should take it. Lately, Harry seemed to be saying things to her that teetered over the line of platonic. Of course she was reading too much into it. After all, no repeat kisses had occurred after that first one months ago. It wasn’t just what he said though; it was the way he said them. The silence stretched a bit too long, so finally, she replied, “Thank you, Harry.” She glanced down at her champagne coloured robes, grateful for a reason to break from his intense gaze. “Actually, the robes are Lavender’s. She let me borrow them for tonight.” At first Hermione wasn’t too sure about the robes because the square, low cut neckline dipped a little further than her usual tastes, but Lavender and Parvati had guilted her into wearing them. After all, they’d reasoned, it was the least she could do since Hermione had refused each of their selfless attempts to fix her up with cute boys in their quest to get her over Draco.

Harry coughed a little. “Even more reason not to get them dirty. Besides, this is hardly the place to start a food fight. We can’t get the new Head Girl mussed up when you go to the head table.”

“Don’t say that, Harry, or it won’t come true,” Hermione chided but then graciously smiled at him for lightening the tone. When she looked back at him, he was just Harry again. “What about you? Aren’t you nervous of how you’ll look when you’re named Head Boy?”

He shifted uncomfortably in his chair and flushed at her words. “Honestly, I don’t think they’re going to pick me. I mean, I’m not even a Prefect. I wouldn’t even know what to do as Head Boy.”

“Don’t worry,” she reassured him. “Three of the four Prefects in our year are girls, so chances are one of us will be selected as Head Girl. Personally, I think it’s going to be Susan Bones because she’s so easy to get along with and she did all that work organizing the St. Mungo’s Children’s Ward Charity Auction the past two years. And she’d be more than willing to help you acclimate yourself. The only male Prefect is Draco, and though he might get it, you’re much more likable and decent than he is and everybody knows that.”

He looked doubtfully at her. “First, I can almost guarantee that you’re going to be Head Girl. Susan Bones has nothing on you. And second, we make a good team; if by some miracle they do name me, the only way I can do it is if you’re with me.”

She reached over and squeezed his hand. “We do make a good team, but you’ll be an amazing Head Boy, no matter what.”

+++++++++

“The next students we’d like to honour are our current Head Boy and Head Girl, Mr. Duncan Fitzwilliam and Miss Ella Bennett.” Polite applause filled the room as Duncan and Ella made their way to the front as the headmaster praised their deeds and accomplishments. After they accepted their plaques and shook hands with their heads of house, they returned to Dumbledore’s side. A curious hush enveloped the room. “Mr. Fitzwilliam, Miss Bennett, if you’d help me in my next task of passing the reins.” He began speaking again about the important roles and leadership of the head positions in Hogwarts and how difficult it was every year to select the best and brightest from such a fine pool of students. Hermione only heard half of his genial ramblings, because her mind was distracted by the forthcoming announcement. His clear, voice finally interrupted her jittery thoughts. “Without further ado.” He broke the seal on the first sheet of parchment. “Next year’s Head Girl is … Miss Hermione Granger of Gryffindor.”

A genuine look of surprise flooded her beautiful face. She reached up to rest her hand over her heart, almost like she was trying to make sure it stayed in there from all the excitement. Her obvious joy and elation was extremely endearing. Draco’s chest surged with pride for her as she made the long trek to the front of the room, smiling dazedly at well wishers along the way..

Dumbledore broke the wax seal on the second slip of parchment. “Next year’s Head Boy is … Mr. Harry Potter, also of Gryffindor.”

Draco watched the scene from his seat, projecting an image of scathing fury and contempt while inside his heart hammered with relief. The deed was done.

Although some people, namely members of the selection committee, looked at each other in confusion, the rest of the room practically exploded with loud clapping and cheering. Everybody likes a hero, Draco thought with disdain. He guessed so many of the parents there had remembered what times had been like before a tiny baby had dared to live. Draco couldn’t help but wonder what kind of reaction he would have received if his own name had been called. Polite clapping? Probably. Raucous cheers? Probably not. A standing ovation? Definitely not.

True to form, Lucius smoldered in a deep, burning rage. The Slytherins at their table tittered over the predictability of “that Mudblood” and Potter being selected over a Malfoy. Lucius nodded in agreement, properly perturbed at the blatant displays of Gryffindor favouritism and morally outraged that a Mudblood could attain such a coveted appointment. Lucius spoke pompously and haughtily, but Draco knew better than to assume that Lucius’ predictable reaction was genuine; his knuckles gripped the stem of his wine glass as if it were the Gryffindors’ necks as he squeezed their final breaths.

When the clamour in the room died down and Dumbledore turned the awards over to Professor Sprout to dole out the Hufflepuff achievements, Lucius leaned close to his son and whispered, “I’ll initiate an inquiry at once and have that old fool ousted for tampering. Earlier this evening, Maximilian indicated that our desired outcome was imminent.”

“Yes, sir,” Draco answered.

Lucius turned further to look directly into his son’s eyes as if an idea had just occurred. “If you had anything to do with this ….”

The unspoken threat hovered like a twitchy broom, but Draco had expected this reaction from the vigilantly suspicious wizard. He stared unflinchingly into the metallic grey eyes so similar to his own. “I am as shocked and confounded as you are. I’ve worked my arse off for six years. To have the honour of Head Boy go to that over-indulged media monger is insulting.” His anger about this last bit required little faking.

Seemingly pacified, Lucius turned his attention to the front once more. “I will get to the bottom of this, Son. Questions will be asked and Dumbledore will answer them.”

“Yes, sir,” he replied noncommittally, hoping no one could hear the thumping of his heart over the smattering of applause. His stomach churned like a tumultuous sea, remembering that Hermione’s safety and peace of mind no longer depended on his actions alone.

Now the Headmaster shared that responsibility. It had not been an easy discussion. Even as he’d stood in front of the Headmaster’s desk, last minute doubts had surged through his body. Draco had always felt that Professor Dumbledore had received more adulation than he deserved. After all, the man was past his prime; any of his past accomplishments were exactly that – in the past. In his old age, the renowned wizard couldn’t possibly measure up to his reputation.

Dumbledore must have sensed Draco’s inner battle because he’d steadfastly held Draco’s gaze, allaying his final bout of hesitancy with calm, unwavering allegiance. Without saying a word, Dumbledore had proven his mettle and Draco’d understood he was in the presence of the only person who could assist him. Then Draco had revealed the story – every nefarious, excruciating detail. From Lucius’ plot to the Grangers’ fate if anything should go wrong. Draco had appreciated that Dumbledore hadn’t tried to comfort him or praise his actions; Draco knew he didn’t deserve any of that. If he’d been truly courageous, he would have rejected Hermione in the beginning, in spite of his feelings for her. No matter how many assurances he’d uttered to Hermione and himself that his parents would accept Hermione as a part of his life, deep down Draco had known it was a fanciful dream. No, he wasn’t courageous. Never that.

Lucius rose from his chair and walked to the head table, severing Draco’s waltz down memory lane. As he watched Lucius expound on the glory and pride of the Malfoy Award of Slytherin Excellence to Belinda Macclesfield; his dinner churned in revulsion. They were just words to Lucius; he understood nothing about honour. Draco felt the hairs on the back of his neck tingle in awareness. Someone was watching him. Hermione. Instinctively, he turned his head in her direction and found her watching him, a melancholic, quiescent expression beneath her chocolaty eyes.

It was goodbye.

Time and distance over the summer would heal any lingering wounds, allowing her to return next term with nary a trace of what had happened between them. Since he would only be a Prefect to her Head Girl, she would not have to deal with him in as in-depth a fashion than if things had turned out differently. Her eyes looked a little sad, but much wiser than the girl he sat across from on the train to Beauxbatons.

+++++++++++++

Once all the awards were handed out and the celebratory mood clung like morning dew after a refreshing rain, all the tables were cleared and the band trotted out for the Ball part of the evening.

Dumbledore moved easily among the crowd, shaking hands with students and their parents and enjoying the youthful effervescence which always surrounded the Leaving Ball. Of all the events he had to preside over as Headmaster, this Ball was one of his favourites. Sending another group of students out into the world to test their wings and apply what they’ve learned in their seven years was always an exciting experience for him. The Leaving Ball had meant even more to him in the last several years for the current Hogwarts students had lived through some harrowing times in light of Voldemort’s return and the dangers that had befallen his beloved castle.

He’d known this year had danced by a tad too easily. All term he’d been waiting to hear what Voldemort’s new plan was to strike out at those who opposed him. When finals had passed with nothing out of the ordinary occurring, he’d started to exhale in relief. But, of course, that breath had scarcely taken flight before he’d received that troubling owl from young Mr. Malfoy. Dumbledore had sensed something amiss in the proud young man ever since his return from France, but he’d known better than to push him. Draco was strong, arrogant, and destined to be a mighty wizard. Any overtures on Dumbledore’s part would feel oppressive to the young man. When he’d read the elusive note earlier that evening, he’d sensed a swift death for the calmness and serenity he’d felt. He’d promised Draco that he would make sure some of the voters changed their minds, which they would if Dumbledore assured them it was crucial, but no plan was ever error proof. Something could go wrong … and usually did.

Ever since announcing Harry’s name as next Head Boy, Dumbledore could feel a certain pair of Slytherin eyes boring into his skull from across the room. It was impossible not to. The eyes’ owner was never very adept at concealing his dislike and anger. But the old man did not look forward to a lengthy discussion about the announcement, so he circled the room instead, chatting and smiling over his flock. The other wizard tried to corner him several times, but Dumbledore was much stealthier and more nimble than people assumed. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see the Slytherin pausing in his pursuit to talk briefly with some guests, but still his course would not be deterred. Eventually, Dumbledore’s ears itched under the intense stare of the other wizard, so with an inward sigh, he made his way over to a quiet corner.

Without turning to look at the approaching man, Dumbledore took a deep breath. As he exhaled, he greeted the newcomer, “Are you enjoying the ball, Severus?”

Repressing the urge to grin, the Headmaster turned to face his agitated Slytherin head of house. “No, I most certainly am not enjoying the ball, but why should this one be any different than the others?” Mindful of others milling about around them, Professor Snape did not raise his voice, but the strain that caused was obvious. “Although I must say, Headmaster, that your surprise announcement certainly got my interest. I say ‘surprise’ because as Chair of the Selection Committee, I was stunned to hear the wrong name of the next Head Boy leave your lips.”

“I did not announce the wrong name. Harry is our new Head Boy.”

“Really? I find that very peculiar since just this afternoon we had discussed the matter of the distinction that Slytherin house would achieve for garnering that position three years in a row.”

Dumbledore sighed in resignation. “Circumstances changed since that conversation.”

“What circumstances? And why wasn’t I informed immediately? Without the vote of the Board, this change is invalid.”

“Several members of the committee approached me shortly before the ball informing me that they had changed their votes, and they are perfectly within their rights to do so, as you well know. Until the names are read, votes can be changed.”

“What members? How many? Why didn’t they come directly to me?”

His bright blue eyes twinkling under the sparkling candles, Dumbledore chided, “Surprisingly, some people don’t find you as easy going and approachable as I do.”

“This is a serious matter, Professor Dumbledore. Surely, you must admit that an eleventh hour change is highly irregular and warrants an explanation.”

Sensing a heated discussion inappropriate for their current location, Dumbledore gently laid his hand on the wizard’s arm and looked directly into his eyes. “I am quite aware of the severity of the situation, but that doesn’t change the fact that Harry Potter is our next Head Boy.” He glanced meaningfully at a point over Severus’ shoulder. “But this is hardly the time or place to discuss this issue. Tonight is about celebrating our departing students. Let them have their night to shine.”

“Very well, but as Chair, I intend to convene a meeting in the very near future to clear this situation up.”

“I would expect no less from you, Professor Snape.”

+++++++++++++++

Before Snape could commence his mingling again, a familiar voice called to him. “Severus, a word, please.” It wasn’t a request.

Now understanding the Headmaster’s reluctance to go into details, Snape turned slowly to the man behind him. “Yes, Lucius. What can I do for you?”

Lucius had risen and stealthily moved across the room. For several agonising minutes, Draco feared the elder Malfoy sought a meeting with the Headmaster. His heart thumped frantically in his chest while he feigned interest in Mrs. Fitzwilliam’s litany of “charity works” and his glass almost shattered under his tight grip. When he saw Dumbledore re-enter the crowd and Lucius stay behind with Professor Snape, the pain in Draco’s chest eased slightly. But only a bit.

+++++++++++++

From the corner of his eye, he spotted a small crowd near one of the other tables – the Gryffindor table. Of course, all the Prefects had rushed to congratulate Hermione and Potter on their appointments. Draco had accepted that Potter would most likely be named Head Boy after he’d spoken with Professor Dumbledore. The Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw candidates were inconsequential … and of course they didn’t have that nasty habit of saving wizardkind every bloody year. But watching the four-eyed prat beaming triumphantly at his minions stirred a stabbing jolt of anger and insult that Potter was, once again, stealing Draco’s thunder. Yet knowing Potter had only won because Draco had backed out didn’t make it any easier to swallow. As he looked to the Gryffindor’s side, Draco’s anger vanished like a scone on Goyle’s breakfast plate. Hermione had leaned over and said something to Potter, causing both of them and some of the hangers-on to laugh. Her pale champagne-coloured dress robes trimmed in gold complemented her glittering smile and dazzling eyes. She was joy.

Draco stole a quick glance to the other side of the room; Lucius and Professor Snape were engrossed in their conversation. But like a shining beacon, Hermione’s trickling laughter lured Draco’s attention. All the other Prefects are offering their congratulations. I can’t let them show me up, Draco rationalized. Hufflepuffs don’t show up Slytherins in the natural world order. And Lucius would expect Draco to get in a few scathing remarks to the Boy Wonder; it was the Malfoy Way. Or at least that’s what Draco told himself as his feet marched him closer and closer to the twits. Tomorrow she would go home to her parents for the summer holiday, more time to bridge the distance from the only moments of sheer happiness and contentment he’d ever known. Just one more touch, no matter how small. Lucius would never know. When he started with Snape, they could be engaged for hours. Besides, Draco was so proud of her.

He watched as the small crowd parted, giving him a clear path, yet none of them strayed very far. This tête-à-tête would be another highlight of an already eventful evening to bring back to their housemates. Hermione tensed as he approached, while Potter eyed him warily. Neither of them spoke first, which Draco appreciated. He could dictate the tone, giving him some control. He opened with, “Well, well, Potter, the pathetic orphan turned hero act worked its magic again. You must be proud to follow in your dear old dad’s footsteps as Head Ponce.” He smirked cockily. “Pardon me. I meant Head Boy. It was an honest slip of the tongue, considering how your lap dog Weasley prances around after you. The Slytherins have quite a bet going on when you two …”

“Stuff it, Malfoy. Nobody here much cares about what you spoiled reprobates do with each other in your dungeon,” Potter interrupted. He looked down at Hermione than back at him. “At least my father was worth being proud of.”

Somehow, Draco suppressed the urge to agree with the messy-headed fop and summoned an outraged scowl. Before he could conjure up some righteous indignation or a proper set down, Hermione stepped forward, physically setting herself between the two boys. The sweet scent of strawberries clinging to her hair taunted his senses. “Draco, don’t do this, not tonight,” she said calmly. As she reached up to tuck some errant hairs behind her ear, her hand quivered, betraying her coolness. “Please.”

The soft way she said his name almost stopped his heart. No one had ever made it sound so melodious as she could. “I’m not doing anything, Hermione,” he drawled. “I just wanted to offer my congratulations to you.”

Potter stepped forward to stand next to Hermione. He was the same height as Draco, so their mutual glares weren’t distorted or muted by odd angles. “And now you have, so sod off.”

Draco sneered. “I wasn’t congratulating you, Head Wanker.” He paused as he smiled derisively. “Hmm, that title probably suits you much better. But I’ve digressed. The competition was a joke anyway. Even a mentally-challenged dolt like Finch-Fletchley here -” he jerked his thumb toward the Hufflepuff in the crowd, visibly startled to have his name drawn into a confrontation between Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter “ – could figure out that whole thing was rigged from the beginning. It would be a national tragedy if the Lord and Savior of the wizarding world couldn’t manage something trivial like the job of Head Boy.”

Hermione’s stern voice cut the tension. “Perhaps, Draco, the committee distinguished between true honour and the pretense of having it.” The lingering hurt and betrayal in her voice pricked his soul.

He forced himself to meet her eyes; the sorrow was vivid there now. For a fleeting moment, a piece of his carefully constructed fortress crumbled. Held prisoner by her pain, he grasped her warm, delicate hand in his and shook it softly. “Perhaps,” he whispered so softly he doubted she could even hear it. He squeezed her hand one last time then turned and walked away without another sound.

As Draco made his way over to the refreshment table for some lukewarm pumpkin juice, he looked to the corner to make sure Lucius’ conversation with Professor Snape hadn’t gotten too heated.

A glacial, alert pair of steely grey eyes pierced his own.

+++++++++++++++++

“So are you ready to hang up your dancing shoes and head back to the common room?” Harry asked a bit too brightly. He understood Hermione enough to know that the quixotic conversation with Malfoy had knocked her off balance. Most people couldn’t guess that underneath her outward exuberance and joy over being named Head Girl, a zillion unanswered questions were cropping up in her mind. As her best friend, Harry wanted nothing more than to brush everything away so she could enjoy her moment of glory. As the boy who loved her, he wanted nothing more than to take Malfoy outside and beat the snot out of him for conjuring a dark cloud over their celebration.

Harry hadn’t realized how much he had wanted to hear his name called until Professor Dumbledore had bellowed it. He glanced down at his robes to see the glittering badge winking under the candlelight. As he twirled Hermione through the simple waltz, her matching badge winked back. The girl he loved would be Head Girl to his Head Boy … just like his mum and dad. Everything should have been perfect. Except it wasn’t.

Hermione smiled up at him, but even that couldn’t erase the melancholy haze lurking behind her warm eyes. It had been months since her breakup with Malfoy, but one touch from that coward could still affect her. In spite of everything. She might never forgive Malfoy, but the forgetting might take even longer. So many times Harry had wanted to kiss her again like he had in the Astronomy Tower. He’d lain awake at nights playing it over and over in his mind and imagining what it would be like when he could taste her lips on his once more. But her wounds were still too fresh. When she came to him eventually – he had to believe it would happen some day – it would be without the ghost of Draco haunting her.

“Do you really think we should leave so soon, Harry?” she asked in reply. “Would we be committing some social faux pas by leaving after only a couple of dances when we’re going to be Head Boy and Girl next year?”

A grin escaped at her words. “I still can’t believe it. I’m so proud of you.” A burst of spontaneity overwhelmed him, and he gripped her tight in his arms and whirled her around in a big circle.

She chuckled at his antics; he could feel her laughter against his chest and it felt good. “And I’m proud of you,” she beamed, a genuine full smile on her lips. She hugged him tightly again, then turned her head to plant a quick, gentle kiss on his cheek. A friendly kiss. Nothing more. He hugged her back a little tighter than usual, enjoying every touch of her body against his.

Knowing he couldn’t hold her to him for too long, he took a deep breath and released her. “Well, come on,” he sighed. “Ron must be climbing the walls wondering where we are. I’m certain all of Gryffindor house knows about it already, so we may as well head up and get the party underway. Not that they need us to celebrate a party in our honour, of course.”

“You’re right. The sooner it starts, the sooner it will be over, and we’ve got a lot to do before leaving after the feast tomorrow. I hope our housemates don’t try and use this as an excuse to completely disregard school rules on our last night here.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that. In my experience, Gryffindors never need an excuse to disregard rules – we just do it anyway.” Harry gave her hand a gentle squeeze. “You head up now,” she said. “I’ll be along in a little while. I promised my parents I’d send them an owl to let them know what happened.”

“Are you sure?” he asked, sensing that she wanted some time alone more than anything else, since she would be seeing her parents tomorrow.

“I’m sure,” she assured him.

+++++++++++++++++++

“We’re alone now. What did Professor Snape tell you about the Head Boy announcement? Will there be an inquiry?” Draco asked as he walked across the empty classroom, putting as much distance between himself and Lucius as he could. Something was wrong. Very, very wrong.

After intercepting him on the way to the pumpkin juice, Lucius had not let the young Slytherin out of his sight. They’d made the rounds of the room, chatting with Hogwarts elite until an acceptable amount of time had passed. There had been nothing overt, no telltale indicators of displeasure, but Draco had sensed peculiar vibes from Lucius. A warning bell had switched on in his head. Before he could catch Dumbledore’s attention or even reach the safe haven of anywhere Lucius was not, the older man had shepherded him out the Great Hall and into the empty Charms classroom.

Lucius ignored Draco’s questions. “What did you do?” he asked slowly, each word dripping with controlled malevolence. The pasted, haughty smile Lucius had donned to chat up the other guests had vanished like ashes in the wind. Usually, Lucius Malfoy took painstaking care to ensure that not even the keenest observer could notice the shrewd machinations of his shrewd mind. If anyone observed him doing something as mundane as brush lint off his lapel, it was only because Lucius had allowed them to see it. He glared viciously at his only child, his hands fisted so tightly they quivered in fury. Draco unconsciously took a step back. He’d never seen Lucius like this toward him before. Angry. Enraged. Volcanic. Without releasing his stare, Lucius yanked his wand from his robes and locked the door with a spell only Draco knew only too well, “Obsignar tacite.” It was more than a locking charm, but it wasn’t dark magic. It allowed the caster the freedom to rant and rave as loudly and belligerently as one wished while giving the impression of a soft, almost hushed murmurs. Lucius had usually used it for house elves – or his son – when they were in public and reprimands were needed. It worked anywhere without ever alerting bystanders that a calm, rational discussion was not occurring behind closed doors. Draco had enough of such talks when he was still young and idealistic, and as he grew up, he steadfastly avoided situations where Lucius might feel the spell was necessary to teach his son.

And since it wasn’t a dark spell, no one in the castle would be any wiser about what was really going on in the Charms classroom.

“What did you do?” Lucius repeated, spitting the words harshly, his voice rising toward the end so that he was practically shouting.

“I don’t know what …” Swiftly, gracefully, Lucius pointed his wand at him.

“No. More. Lies.” He stepped closer, wand aimed at the centre of Draco’s chest. “I’ll give you one more chance to confess, Draco.” He did not elaborate, letting the unspoken threat linger between them like a lit match over a dangerous barrel of dynamite. In his eyes Draco saw the truth. His knees almost buckled beneath him. That sodding, cheating, imbecilic old wanker. Dumbledore had betrayed him, and now everything was lost.

Well, fuck the Headmaster. For months he’d protected Hermione, shielding her from danger and horrifying sorrow. He’d borne the burden alone, not daring to risk anyone else knowing because of the unspeakable circumstances. Now he had to salvage whatever he could … no matter the cost.

Draco opened his mouth to speak, to deny whatever truths Lucius had uncovered, but a rattling sound near the door broke the weighty tension. Lucius looked over his shoulder at the offending interruption as Draco’s eyes fixed on the door. Someone on the other side was turning the knob, trying to get in.

Lucius scanned the floor. Gathered round the claw of one of the student desks, he spotted a small, airy dust bunny. He pointed his wand and whispered, “Exciper imago.” The innocuous dust bunny floated under the door for several seconds before tumbling back. Except now it had a pale, almost translucent pinkish tinge to it. Lucius’ thin, grim lips scarcely moved as he murmured, “Ostender imago.” The dust bunny began to spin rapidly in a circle, whirring about like a top. As the bunny exploded into a hazy cloud of glittering pink ash, Draco’s heart sank with a knowing dread. The charmed specks needn’t have completed their reconnaissance; with a sickened feeling in the pit of his stomach, Draco knew whom the picture would reveal.

Though it felt like an agonising lifetime, the entire process had taken less than fifteen seconds. But Lucius had waited until the last particle had settled itself in the final image, revealing the identity of their unexpected guest.

+++++++++++++++++

The soft, slow click clack of Hermione’s square heeled pumps echoed in the deserted hallway. Her parents had mentioned they wanted to know if she was named Head Girl, but she knew they could wait to get it in person. However, since she’d told Harry she needed to go to the owlery, she felt obligated to go there. That way she wasn’t technically lying to her best friend. She was grateful Harry hadn’t pressed her for the real reason she didn’t feel like jumping into a raucous Gryffindor party yet. What would she have told him anyway? She didn’t even know why.

When Dumbledore had announced her name, she had felt such elation and pride that six years of hard work and dedication had paid off. Hermione Granger – dirty Mudblood, bushy haired know it all, overly opinionated nag … Head Girl. It had been one of her deepest desires for a long time, but she hadn’t realized just how badly she had wanted it until she’d practically floated to the front of the hall, like a balloon set free to dance with the wind. Her feelings about which boy would be selected to co-manage the student body with her were blatantly selfish, she hated to admit. Harry was her best friend; they’d always worked well together and his quiet leadership would make him an admired and respected Head Boy. Plus, he wasn’t Draco. Hermione couldn’t deny, not even to herself, that the main reason she desperately rooted for Harry was because she couldn’t bear the reality of working so closely with Draco, not when she had finally put what had happened behind her. He would continue as a Slytherin Prefect next term, but her mental health could manage that.

Knowing all of that … Draco would have made an excellent Head Boy. He had it in him not to just be good, but to be great. In the past three months he hadn’t reverted back to the Old Draco; he’d worked just as hard at being the best Slytherin had to offer … he just no longer did anything with her. She couldn’t help but admire the man he was evolving into. Even the best of men made stupid mistakes in their youth. Unfortunately, she was one of his.

But then what was that handshake about? she asked herself as she made her slow journey to her tower. He’d made it clear to her that he was anxious to put everything behind him as well. Why had he purposefully sought her out? And why had he looked at her the way he did? His voice had spat hurtful, spiteful rhetoric at her and Harry, but Draco’s turbulent eyes had reflected none of it. He’d looked tormented, almost desperate. But desperate for what? She’d thought all her questions about Draco Malfoy had been answered months before.

Some muffled, barely audible sounds from one of the classrooms broke her litany of questions. There shouldn’t be anyone in there, she thought. Finals are over and all the teachers are at the Ball. For a startled moment she thought it might be two young lovers sharing one final tryst before leaving for the holiday. She paled instantly, reminded of the last time she’d interrupted such a rendezvous. She wanted to return to the safety of the Gryffindor common room, but instead of taking her away, her feet moved her closer to the classroom. Though this corridor was certainly not anywhere close to her common room, something had compelled her to take this path on her way back from the owlery. At first, she’d assumed it was her desire to take the long way, but as she stood outside the closed door, lights and shadows visible at the bottom, she knew, somehow, that whatever was happening behind this door had lured her. She knocked softly, but the low voices continued. The hairs on the back of her neck prickled in warning. She tried turning the knob, but it was locked. In her haste, she jiggled it more fervently. It did not budge. A fleeting thought flashed through her mind that she should get Professor Flitwick, since this was the Charms classroom, or any person in authority, but she pushed those thoughts aside and reached for her wand. She had only tried several of the simplest unlocking spells before the doorknob turned. And her spell hadn’t been the one to do it.

++++++++++

“I suspected your pet would have followed us, but I’m surprised she let herself get caught so soon. Not that I mind, of course.” His heartless gaze shifted to the newcomer. “In fact, I had hoped you wouldn’t make me wait long, Mudblood, but I thought you would have shown some sense and delayed yourself a bit. After all, you’ve deluded enough people in this school into thinking you’re intelligent.”

It wasn’t so much what Lucius Malfoy said to her that was awful -- although his sharp jibes did sting – but rather how he insulted her that caught Hermione’s attention. His voice was cold and condescending, like he was disciplining a petulant child or house elf. Or, in other words, like his usual, pompous self. But his face – it didn’t really look like a face anymore, just sharp, angular shapes stabbing through shadows and light. Even in the golden warmth of the sparse candlelight, Hermione saw the unusual flush of colour on his cheeks, reddened from his highly agitated state. That’s what was so unnerving; Lucius Malfoy never showed his agitation.

From the other side of the room a familiar voice called to her, “Get out of here, Granger. This doesn’t concern you.” She looked at Draco, struck by the tension in his posture, the almost pleading look in his eyes. Plus, he called her ‘Granger’. Even after how vilely he had treated her, he had continued to call her by her first name. He didn’t even have to say it; she understood what he didn’t dare voice: “You’re in danger. Run.”

But Hermione wouldn’t run. Lucius Malfoy might be the most domineering, cold-hearted, high pressure father, but if she’d learned one thing about Draco’s life, it was that honour and duty to the Malfoy name came before everything else. She’d watched father and son just hours before; nothing had appeared amiss. She’d experienced too many adventures with Harry and Ron. In spite of everything, she would not abandon Draco to this.

“Don’t be so rude, Draco,” Lucius chided. “Obviously your filthy little whore can’t bear to be away from you for even a few minutes. It would be impolite if we asked her to leave now, especially in light of how close you two are.”

The door slammed violently behind Hermione, and Lucius cast the locking spell again. Angrily, Draco looked from Hermione to Lucius. “She has nothing to do with this. Let her go.”

The elder Malfoy shook his head and chortled softly. “I thought we had this discussion before, Draco. I don’t take orders from you; you obey me. I thought you had learned that lesson.” His harsh eyes moved to Hermione. “But I guess not.”

Hermione felt slightly dizzy, uncertain of what kind of family squabble she had stumbled into, but Lucius seemed to believe that she and Draco were still together. Draco might not be on the top of her Christmas card list anymore, but she also didn’t want him punished for a situation that no longer existed. She took a slow, steadying breath. “Mr. Malfoy, I think you’ve been misinformed.”

To her surprise, he answered, “Indeed I have.”

Her words faltered slightly at his odd reply. “There’s nothing … Draco and I … we haven’t been together for months now. If you’re upset with him for dating me, you have no reason to be.”

He studied her thoroughly until she felt her face warm under his scrutinizing gaze. “You almost sound convincing, whore, as if you truly believe the lies you’re spewing. I had no idea your talents extended to theatrics as well.”

“She’s telling the truth, just as I told you months ago. Hermione found out I had been seeing Lissanne Sheldon on the sly. Ask any of my housemates, they can tell you. Up until a few weeks ago, Liss and I were together. Hell, the entire school knew. It was all they talked about for weeks.” The two men, looking almost like a young and old version of the same man, stared unblinkingly into each other’s eyes. Hermione was certain there was something more going on, but she didn’t know what.

“I’m sure I could find dozens of ‘witnesses’ to corroborate your well-planned scheme but that wouldn’t make it true. You should have known you could not hide your lies from me for long, Draco. You should have known, as sure as my blood flows through your veins, that I would uncover your deceit.”

“What lies?” Draco scoffed. “I have not lied to you. I did what you told me to do. In spite of everything, I did exactly what you told me to do.” His impassioned voice broke as he spoke. A hundred scenarios streamed through Hermione’s mind as she tried to guess what they were talking about. Even if she asked them to explain, they would not answer her. Clearly, they had forgotten her presence in the room.

“Ha!” Lucius yelped. “I don’t recall telling you to besmirch the Malfoy name, to destroy your entire future, to bring shame and ruin to us all because you were still besotted with a Mudblood whore.”

Hermione gasped. It wasn’t loud or obvious, but it was enough of a reminder that a third person was in the room. Draco’s eyes darted to her then back to his father. He took a calming breath. “I don’t know who you’ve been talking to, but whatever they told you is wrong,” he stated firmly and unflinchingly. “I did exactly as you’d instructed. As always. Hermione knows nothing. Let her leave.”

The two men stood with their backs rigidly straight, almost eye-to-eye. Lucius was a bit taller, but not by much. For several long moments they just stared unblinkingly at each other. Then Lucius’ mouth twisted into a wry snarl. He raised his hand to strike Draco across the face. Hermione waited for the sharp, hard crack. It didn’t come. Draco had raised his left arm and blocked his father’s attempt.

While Lucius stared down Draco, Hermione seized her opportunity to disarm Lucius. Quicker than a newly released snitch, Lucius thrust his arm out, pointing his wand at her. “Don’t even think about it, whore.” Then he called, “Expelliarmus!” and disarmed her deftly before she could conceal her wand in her robes. He took it in his hands and snapped it in half over his knee.

She watched in horror and dismay as the nine-inch, swishy piece of yew with a unicorn hair for its core fell in splintered pieces to the ground. Her wand had ceased to be just a magical object necessary to further her school knowledge; it had become an extension of her body, filtering her magical energy through it to create the most wondrous things. And now she felt like a limb had been severed. Even though she’d known she was a witch for over six years, sometimes when she was alone she would just twirl her smooth, well-polished wand in her fingertips, awed at the unorthodox turn her life had taken since receiving her first Hogwarts letter. Without a thought or care for his act of violence, Lucius had destroyed a part of her to satisfy his own vengeance. The anger within her swelled as she lifted her gaze from the floor to his harsh face. Frustrated at allowing him to win a hand against her, she spat defiantly, “Stop calling me that.”

“What? A whore?” he mocked. “You must be one in order to turn my own flesh and blood against me and everything he’s been raised to be. And you must be a good one too. I’d never have guessed it from the looks of you with your wide-eyed innocence. But you Mudbloods are a strange breed.”

“Father, leave her alone,” Draco said, drawing the fiery glare his way. For the first time since she entered the room, Draco raised his wand to his father. She realized it was probably the first time ever, other than in practice. If Draco felt any anxiety or trepidation at his actions, he didn’t show it. His hand did not even quiver.

But the act had no apparent effect on Lucius. The man seemed beyond normal emotions. “Do you realize, Son, that that’s the first time you’ve called me ‘Father’ in weeks? Perhaps even months. You haven’t even written it in your letters to me. Not even tonight when we sat next to each other during dinner.” Slowly, he stalked his way back toward his son; Draco’s wand still pointed at his chest. “I should have recognized that it was the first sign of your betrayal. I’m sure when I look back even more clues will reveal themselves. Clues of your deviance and your deception, all for the love of a whore.” Hermione’s legs almost collapsed underneath her. “You asked me what lies people had told me to alert me that something was amiss. No one. It was you. Only you. I could see it in your face when you and your filthy trash held hands in the middle of the Great Hall tonight. You should have been more careful, displaying your pathetic puppy love for the world to see.”

Having no idea why, Hermione charged to the two men. “There was nothing to display. He shook my hand and insulted Harry.” A vision of Draco’s haunted eyes as he held her hand in his grasp flitted through her memory. She’d sensed there was something in his eyes she couldn’t discern. Her certainty faltered. “It meant nothing.”

Disdainfully, he sneered. “I take it back. You’re a lousy actress.” He turned his wand against Draco. “Tell me how you sabotaged it. Tell me how a devoted son came to deceive his own flesh and blood.” At Draco’s hesitation, Lucius turned his wand to Hermione. Draco paled visibly. “Tell me.”

“Let Hermione go first, and I’ll tell you whatever you want,” Draco bargained. His knuckles clenched even tighter around the wand, as if that would imbue more power into it.

“So that she can run off and tell Dumbledore and his disciples where we are? Your obsession with her really has addled your brain. No, the Mudblood will stay here. It seems reasonable, don’t you think? She ruined my son and my life. It’s only fair I return the favor.”

She didn’t even see the burst of red light land squarely in her chest or even feel it much. But when her body slammed harshly into the wall behind her, all the crushing force knocked her insides together. She slumped quickly to the floor, gasping for breath. When she looked up, the sight of Lucius frightened her. He could have been the bogeyman children feared in their dreams. He loomed over her, making his body seem enormous. His normally well-kempt hair hung limply over his shoulders in a scraggly way. The candles cast sharp shadows across his face, leaving some of it cloaked in darkness and other parts visible in the light. His mouth twisted in a stern grimace as his long, bony fingers clenched his outstretched wand. Just before he spoke the hex again, his shadowy, frigid stare sparked with an enraged force. Without hesitating, the red light shot forth again, this time smashing her head against the immobile stonewall. She saw other colours whizzing overhead, but Lucius deflected each of them with skill. Draco’s attempts at disarming his father or halting his hexes were failing. As she struggled to clear the incessant ringing in her ears, she heard Draco’s emotional voice over the high-pitched shrill of the hexes.

“… I’ll answer anything, just stop hurting her. She hasn’t done anything. I swear it.”

“Lower your wand,” Lucius’ deadly voice commanded. Draco paused, looking back and forth between Hermione and the older wizard. She could barely see him through the spots dancing before her eyes, but she could feel the tension and anxiety pouring off him. He stared intently at her, and that proved to be his undoing. With a swift motion, Lucius kicked Draco’s hand, knocking the wand across the room. When it landed, it rolled underneath Flitwick’s desk. Before Draco could dive to get it, Lucius muttered a binding charm, tying Draco to one of the desk chairs.

Draco swore profusely as he struggled against his bindings, but it was too late. The only one in the room was an enraged, conscienceless madman. Hermione tried to figure a way out of this disaster, but her clouded mind couldn’t function as quickly. Then Lucius’ scorching breath and vindictive voice were right in front of Hermione’s face. He had crouched down in front of her. With a jerk, he yanked on her hair and pulled her face up to look directly into his eyes. Her breath hitched in her chest at the soulless, barren black circles glowering at her. “Do you hear your lover, begging for your life as if it was worth something? For sixteen years I raised my son to be a great wizard, to serve his master and take his place among the elite of wizarding society. You destroyed my life’s work.” Just when she thought he would snuff out her life, he pushed her harshly away and rose effortlessly to his feet. “Draco, my precious son,” he scowled. “You’re going to answer every one of my questions truthfully, and if I don’t like your responses, your whore will receive your punishments.”

The pounding in Hermione’s head thumped so loudly, she could barely hear what they were saying. As she slumped to the floor to rest her aching skull, Lucius’ foot shot out, stopping her, and he pushed her up. He dug inside his coat pocket and pulled a small vial out, forcing her to drink it. She tried to spit it out at first, but his fingers were like vices against her jaw. From the minty taste, it was a simple restorative draught. “It’s not bed time yet, girlie. I thought you enjoyed knowing all the answers. This is your chance.”

Draco’s eyes stared across the room directly into Hermione’s. The turbulent thunderclouds reflected there indicated the severe battle waging inside him. The only thing standing between them was his father, but his presence saturated the room like a flammable gas – one misstep and it would blow.

Lucius laughed mirthlessly. “Now that we’re all comfortable, let’s begin. Personally, I’m hoping for some more of your childish lies, Draco. I never grow tired of seeing Mudbloods writhe on the floor. First, how long have you been working against me? Have you been a traitor for only a few months or did you defect long ago?”

Draco did not answer right away, but when he saw Lucius raise his wand slowly again, like a game, Draco finally answered, looking like his heart ached the entire time. “I’ve always been loyal to you.” A short jolt hit Hermione before Draco could continue, but as he raised his voice to be heard over Hermione’s groans of pain, the sparks subsided. “It wasn’t until you left me no choice that I chose to defy you.”

“Chose to defy me,” Lucius repeated with a slight laugh. He smiled in triumph. “And when was that?”

“When you issued your ultimatum that day on the Quidditch pitch.”

Though it hurt to breathe, let alone speak, Hermione managed to mumble, “What ultimatum?”

Lucius looked back and forth between the two students. “How peculiar,” he noted lightly. “I’m beginning to suspect your whore really doesn’t know what’s going on.”

“That’s what I’ve been trying to tell you!” Draco screamed angrily.

“What a pity for the girl with all the answers to have none of the right ones,” he responded, almost apologetically. He crouched down beside her again. “Would you like to know, Miss Granger? Would you like to hear a story about how a most beloved son evolved into a spineless coward?” He did not wait for her reply. “Since you were raised as a Muggle, I’ll try and tell it in such a way your puny, unimaginative mind can understand.

“Once upon a time, there was a little boy whose parents expected great things from him. They gave him the best of everything and raised him to surpass everyone’s notions of excellence. The boy’s family pledged their allegiance to a great and powerful wizard whom no one would ever defeat, though many had tried. Because of the boy’s talents and abilities, the master noticed him, and planned a great future for him. The boy would be placed in a top position at his school, where he could learn key information and pass it along as necessary to ensure the do-gooder overlords would be overthrown. The boy’s father was very proud and expected his son would be proud as well, upon learning the great plan his master had in store.

“Then an evil, wicked dirty witch lured the boy to her side, contaminating him with her lies and propaganda. She tricked the boy into falling in love with her, thus sacrificing his future and his family honour. The boy’s father saw the spell this vixen had weaved around his beloved son and persuaded him to see the error of his ways. But it was too late; the poison had bled too long in the boy’s veins, and he committed the ultimate act of betrayal against his family.” Lucius’ hands quivered in fury as he stared at his son. “The boy’s father grew very, very angry, and even though he didn’t want to do it, he had to punish the boy for his wrongdoings. The End.”

“How touching, Father. But you left out the part of how the father ‘persuaded’ his son.”

“I did the only thing there was to do, Draco. You were blinded by your pathetic devotion to a girl who is and always will be far beneath you. My actions were justified.”

Draco snorted in disgust. “I fail to see how threatening to eliminate Hermione’s entire family is ‘justified’ under any circumstances.”

A heavy silence filled the room. Hermione gasped in horror as Draco’s words sank in. Eliminate Hermione’s entire family. Her brain couldn’t even begin to unravel the mystery of those four words.

Lucius grinned ruthlessly. “Next question: Why wasn’t your name announced as the new Head Boy? How did you manage to reverse a decision without anyone on the selection committee becoming aware of it? My dear friend Maximilian assured me that you won by several votes.” Hermione’s head swam at the disjointed conversation. Too many fantastical things were being revealed, but somehow she knew they were all true. She raised a trembling hand to brush away a thick lock of hair hanging in front of her eyes. Something warm and slick spread over her hands. Lucius’ voice intruded once more. “How many other traitors assisted you on your misguided way? Did Miss Sheldon?”

“No!” Draco answered vehemently. “Liss knew nothing other than that I needed to break it off with Hermione in such a way that she’d never forgive me.” He looked guiltily down at Hermione for the first time, a haunted, exhausted pain etched clearly on his face. Hermione closed her eyes in disbelief. “She knew absolutely nothing about the Head Boy stuff.”

“Than who helped you?”

“Before the Ball tonight I went to Dumbledore’s office. I told him everything.” That small confession seemed to instill a spark of renewed strength inside Draco. His voice shook less, his cheeks pinked with colour. “About Voldemort, about his plans when I became Head Boy … about your threats on the Grangers. He knows all of it, Father, and, knowing him, countermeasures are already being set in place.”

“Then I have just one more question: Why? After everything I gave you, after I set the world at your feet. How could you do such a heinous, pathetic thing?”

A steely calm settled over Draco. Hermione stilled her body, equally as interested in his reply as Lucius. She caught his gaze across the room, not blinking for fear of missing the slightest murmur. A familiar hot light blazed as he stared back. When the young man spoke, his voice did not break or stutter or falter. “Because I love Hermione.”

Upon hearing this whole confession, Lucius had no visible reaction for several moments. Hermione could hear her own ragged breathing and Draco’s occasional labored breaths. She felt lightheaded and nauseous, but she knew her head injury wasn’t the main cause.

Draco loved her.

The only words she’d finally accepted would never fall from his lips, and he’d said them to her. In front of his father. When it was quite possible they would never step outside this room again.

“That’s the whole truth, Father. Will you let Hermione go now? You can punish me whatever way you choose.”

By sheer determination, she stayed conscious. She was injured, but she needed to help Draco. Finally, Lucius walked toward his son and undid the binding spell. As Draco rubbed at his wrists where the bright red markings were turning purple already, Lucius reached over and pulled his son to his feet. He placed his hands gently on each shoulder. Draco flinched at his touch. His father leaned forward and planted a gentle kiss on each of Draco’s cheeks. Then with a mystified, almost dreamy voice, he whispered, “Don’t call me ‘Father.’ I have no son. You are dead to me.”

Almost instantly, Draco flew across the room from a flash of bright blue light. He landed in a heap on the floor. Lucius stalked over to his stunned form. He kicked Draco over until he lay flat on his back at his father’s feet. With an emotionless voice, Lucius clearly spoke a spell Hermione recognized, but she couldn’t place it. Her mind raced through all the spells she’d learned in Defense Against the Dark Arts class, feverishly trying to remember what it was. Between her sheer terror and her fierceness to recall it, she couldn’t do it. She tried to move stealthily and quickly to get to Draco’s side, but her own injuries slowed her greatly. Plus, she wasn’t sure what she’d do when she got there, but she could not just sit here while Lucius tortured Draco.

The closer she got, the louder Draco’s gasps for air became. He was clutching at his chest, his eyes bulging out of their sockets as he tried desperately to get some air into his lungs. The sweat on his face and neck glistened in the golden glow of the candles, but Hermione could see the sickly pallor quickly covering his face. It was like his life force was being squeezed out of him.

And that’s when she remembered. She’d first learned of the charm in this very classroom during one of their mediwizarding lessons. The spell was used for people who were hemorrhaging to stem the heavy flow of blood to the heart. It was only supposed to be performed by a skilled professional because if done improperly, it could stop the flow of blood altogether, killing the patient.

But it seemed that was exactly what Lucius Malfoy was trying to do.

A surge of energy and determination raced through Hermione’s veins. Draco’s wand lay too far across the room under Flitwick’s desk, and Draco did not have much time before all the blood and oxygen stopped going to his heart. Ignoring the unsteadiness of her legs as she dragged herself to her feet, she moved swiftly behind Lucius. Recalling a long ago lesson from her Muggle self-defense classes, she centred her body and bent her knees. With all the strength she could muster, she swung her leg out in a broad sweep and knocked Lucius Malfoy to the ground with a heavy thud and an astonished huff of air. In an uncharacteristic display of gracelessness, the appearance-conscious wizard landed on his egotistical arse. And his wand fell from his fingers.

Listening to Draco’s laboured wheezing, Hermione dove to the floor, scrambling to reach Lucius’ wand before he could get it.

In seconds her fingers tightly grasped the warm, perfectly polished ebony wand. In a haze of triumph, she clambered to Draco’s side, kicking Lucius square in the jaw as he tried to seize her feet and pull her back down to the floor. He grunted in pain as the points of her heel cut into his jaw.

As Draco’s eyes rolled into the back of his head, his wheezing becoming more of a faint pant, she thrust the wand out and screamed, “Finite incantatem! Finite incantatem!”

Nothing happened.

No sparks came out, no tingle of magical energy flowed through her fingertips … Draco’s breathing didn’t revert to normal.

With a gasp of disbelieving horror, Hermione sank to her knees next to her first love. Every other spell she tried did nothing. From behind her she heard a low, malicious laugh.

Slowly she turned to see that Lucius Malfoy had risen once more and hovered over them like an angel of death. “Stupid whore,” he spat, drops of moisture spraying down on her like poisonous rain. “My wand is charmed to only work in my hand and with my voice commands. Your lover is going to die right in front of you, and there’s nothing you can do to stop it.” He reached out and grabbed her roughly to her feet by her hair. “Don’t fret. You won’t be far behind him.”

His hands wrapped around her throat like vices, squeezing so tight she could feel her vocal chords push painfully against the back of her throat. She swatted at his arms, scratching furiously to loosen his grip on her, but his hold only seemed to grow stronger. Her feet left the ground as he lifted her entire body up, shaking her violently in his clutches. As she stared into his black eyes, she knew she was looking into the face of pure evil. A wild, untamed growl escaped his lips as her struggles became less and less violent. It could have taken minutes, it could have taken seconds, but she started losing feeling in her hands and feet, the sharp pain of gasping for nonexistent air dulling as the dizziness escalated. She saw her hands swinging slowly still, but could not feel if they were hitting anything solid.

Finally, in a moment of clarity, when she knew – just knew – that this would be her last breath, a brilliant white light exploded behind Lucius framing him in beautiful, golden glory. The shadows were gone, illuminating his hateful features and evil eyes. The pure malice pouring from every pore of his body made her ache as she watched him.

Finally, the heavy throbbing in her head became too much. She closed her eyes and let the velvety, peaceful blackness envelop her.

++++++++++++++

To be continued …