A Four Saturdays Detention

A FOUR SATURDAYS DETENTION

Chapter 2 - Second Week - Saturday

More than a Man Can Deserve in a Whole Lifetime
(An Indecent Proposal)

A fact is like a sack--it won't stand up if it's empty. To make it stand up, first you have to put in it all the reasons and feelings that caused it in the first place.
Luigi Pirandello

Each of us, face to face with other men, is clothed with some sort of dignity, but we know only too well all the unspeakable things that go on in the heart.
Luigi Pirandello

Hermione opened the window near her usual seat, and looked down.

The boys were gathering. Waiting for the carriages.
Laughs, dins, uproars, and bustle.
Every different group was doing his best in this odd youth concert.

Harry waved to her, and Ron cried out, "Do you need anything from Dervish and Banges? Or a book?" She shook her head in answer.

Ron looked radiant... he was finally in the Quidditch team. And Harry, obviously, was still the Captain. Just today she had cheered them in their Common Room.
Well, actually Ron was a reserve, not a regular. But, regular or reserve, he was a part of the team. And, seeing as he really didn't expect this chance, well, he was absolutely glowing with pride.

Honestly, she was unable to understand why he was not a regular Chaser.
His understanding of the play, of the subtleties of strategy, was breathtaking. It was breathtaking to her, at least. And his concentration during the match, even if he was just a bystander, was amazing... well... as long as there were no dancing Veela around. She chuckled.

Harry, near the fireplace, before the players were announced, was instructing her, Ginny and a bunch of other adoring little girls about speed, and its importance for a Quidditch team in action.
But she had simply nodded and quite magically disappeared.
To be frank, a lesson on Quidditch untold mysteries could be worse than a lesson from Professor Binns.
Much worse.
She held a smile.
At least, during History of Magic, she was able to spot the right answers.
Wonky Faint... She rolled her eyes. They had teased her with Mr Wronski and his peculiar suicidal habit so much she had forced herself to look for him up in the Library .
A dead boring book she had found. A dead boring book she had dropped.

'Oh well, Ron can mess up goblins names in History of Magic', she shrugged, 'And I can mess up Quidditch technical terms. We're even.'

The only thing she really hoped was that Harry would never be too hard on Ron over speed.
If she had been able to get through that dull book, maybe could solve the long-standing controversy over whether the broom or the rider mattered most.
She smiled.
Ron's beloved second-hand broom cannot have been a help. He had worked the whole summer at the Ministry for his brother, Percy the Pompous, so that he could buy it .
She couldn't help to giggle softly.
Putting Ron down for doing the best he could was not exactly... merciful.

But Harry was a good boy. She was probably worrying for nothing.

The feast, anyway, had been grand.
The chess game with a very modest chess wizard (Oh, deeply humble, indeed)... fine.

But now, their paths, were, as usual, dividing... The boys were dating in Hogsmeade, and the girl, staying at the Library.
They hadn't invited her.
As usual.
This odd ritual started somewhere in the midst of their busy fifth year... and lasted.

The O.W.L.'s, the Prefect charge... a bitter smile appeared on her face

Perhaps she was too proud. Or stubborn?

She looked back at the boys.

Ron was trying to tell her something, "Are you sure? You really don't need anything? We'll bring you a box of Chocolate Frogs from Honeydukes' anyway... you cant resist them!"

"Ok!" she burst out laughing. She closed the window.

She had already corrected their homework, but of course they didn't know it. Actually, she had nothing to study. Nothing was due, or urgent. Having spent so much time in this Library she had been able to catch up on a lot of work, but her cover, her excuse, would have been blown.

She was observing them quietly. Their Hufflepuff dates were really cute. And... enjoyable.
Very "enjoyable" she realised suddenly, disapproving and bitter at the same time, observing the passionate never-ending kiss of Ron and Hannah... And Harry was probably trying to break their record with his mate. She wondered again what it was like...

"You should try it!"
A voice was mocking her, behind her shoulders. She snapped abruptly, and spotted him. His hands in the pockets, his lazy glance observing her, amused. So casually elegant in his black dress.

"Try what?"

"Granger, darling, mummy didn't explain anything to you?"

"Mind your own business, Malfoy"

He lifted an eyebrow, "You are really impolite. Quite rude, I daresay. Very very bad," he grinned playfully, "A prefect never behaves this way."

"I am not a prefect anymore, Malfoy." 'Harsh. Too harsh.'

"Oh yes, I know, you should be... But you aren't. You gave in. Ten days ago, more or less. How was it? I always saw you as the perfect prefect...". But there was no curiosity in his voice. Just irony.

In the fifth year she had become a prefect.

The fifth year... oh yes, that bloody fifth year. 'Yes, bloody, bad words I am not allowed to pronounce, but I can definitely think of them.'

For Hermione it was not natural at all to punish her friends.

And, seeing as she was "the best friend of all", they all assumed she would have closed her eyes and looked away every time. Covering their pranks. Their fucking pranks.

This year, she simply fled to Professor McGonagall's office. And gave up. Stop, over, ended.

Her teacher took it badly. It had been embarrassing, standing in front of her and lying, yes, lying, about her wish to have more time for her studies.

For a moment she had thought her teacher was going to hug her, but she simply stroked her cheek and looked into her eyes... "If there is something, anything, you wish you could tell me, the door is always open.".
McGonagall was never been this sensitive with her other students, but she obviously had a soft spot for Hermione. But how could she tell everything to Professor McGonagall? Tell her that she was missing her two only friends? Tell her that, she'd been completely cut out of Harry and Ron's forbidden adventures. Forbidden and dangerous.

She would have had to give hints, and embarrassing, dangerous details.

And, frankly, she didn't want to lose her favourite teacher. Her esteem, or, perhaps, her love.

"I apologise, Granger." His voice was strangely gentle. A hint of shame, perhaps?

"But... mind your bloody own business, Malfoy, and don't be such a bastard. But I suppose you can't help it... " Hermione's voice was unusually rough. A hint of despising? More than a hint...

"Spiteful words, Granger. When the Slytherin cad is kind, the wonderful Gryffindor saint should show exquisite manners."

"I apologise, I didn't mean it." But she was still dry.

"I can imagine it is not really ... nice... that you put aside a task you were so proud of, just for your best little pals. And that those ... mates themselves don't care at all, or let's face it, neither understand exactly your... dislike?
And perhaps being left here... unrequited, with your wonderful books as your only company... might be... humiliating? I might understand this, Granger, but I am not responsible for this. And when I talk to you, I'd like you to keep it very, very clear in your mind." His voice was not gentle anymore now. Neither was his glance.

"Do you understand me?" he asked, persisting.

He grabbed her shoulders and pinned her against the wall, looking straight into her eyes. He was not brisk. Not violent. Not scary. But coldly firm.
"Do you understand me? I am not responsible for your little problems," he repeated slowly, "A simple answer, either a nodding, or a shake of your head would be appreciated. Or are polite answers only for House-Elves? Common people are excluded? Or we have to take it as a Slytherin-Gryffindor affair?"

"Ok, I'm sorry..." she hushed. She could feel the tears coming to her eyes. Everything else she could bear. Everything else. But that a stranger like Malfoy, could read so well into her silly thoughts, while her so called "best friends" appeared so uncaring and clueless... This, simply this, she was not able to bear at all.

She could feel a tear sliding slowly down her cheek. She tried to hide her face.
But he was holding her firmly. And he was studying her, no hint of emotion in his eyes.

"Please..." She felt unable to utter anything more.

"Alright," said Draco suddenly. He let go of Hermione. "When you feel better, we can discuss a bit."

He went back to the window, and opened it again.

It took her something like an eternity, maybe a bit more than a simple eternity, to regain her control. She was ashamed of herself. Loosing her control, loosing it in front of Malfoy, the nasty boy who never succeeded in slurring her, really.

She was feeling stupid. Again. 'Too many times this year, let's face it.' And the year had just begun.

"Granger? So?" but he was not impatient, yet amused, "Do you want to come here? Yes or no?"

She was unable to meet his eyes.

"Granger, you are a walking oddity, are you aware of that?" He handled her a box of Fizzing Whizbees.

"This summer I spent it in the Muggle world. Muggle London is rather interesting. The music, the colours, the people. I met young people from everywhere, and of every kind. It was an exciting experience. Ancient and new together in a oddly balanced mixture... And the girls..." he smirked, "The girls are much more free than in the wizard world.
Probably because here everybody knows everybody else, like a bunch of old gossiping maids. It was really... instructive" he held down a smile, perhaps remembering something he only knew.

"Well... and?"

"Well. You're a Mudblood. But you behave yourself like some puritan old Victorian country witch."

"Don't call me Mudblood!"

"I've always called you that, Granger, and I have no intention of changing my habits, just because I saw you crying." He was definitely mocking her.

"You are... nasty," she mumbled.

"It is a compliment. A better compliment for a Slytherin bastard would be difficult to spot.". He smiled.
"I have got detention for a whole month. Or, rather, four Saturdays in detention. I have to spend them here, at Hogwarts, doing nothing. No foolish essay to write down, no potions to amuse myself with. Snape stated this clearly. His dungeons are off limits to me. I have to " savour the boredom of my own company ". Two Saturdays have quite gone by. And two are left.

Two Saturdays I could spend here, looking at you studying, buried within your parchments. My idea of fun indeed..." Draco stopped for while and looked at her. Then he gently lifted her chin with his fingers, their eyes met. "Looking at you studying alone, or, teach you a couple things that you might actually want to learn."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean what you were looking at with so much interest, and, maybe, but I bet I'm not wrong, with a shade of envy. What you where looking at, from the harbour of this window..."

Hermione could not quite breathe. She widened her eyes, and something sarcastic was coming to her mind in a rush.

"Calm down, Mudblood. Don't have silly daydreams. I am definitely not interested in a long and never lasting love story with Miss Know-It-All. I have no wish to meet your Muggle family. Nor do I have a wish to bring you to Malfoy Manor, and introduce you to my parents. No engagement parties. No kids, no bunch of grandchildren.

None of the classic "good-little-girl" dreams. I am only interested into two Saturdays; let's say three, if you make up your mind quickly. They could be much more entertaining, than I thought.

Something between you and I.

And the boundaries, the rules, or whatever you might call them, are up to you.

To be utterly sincere, I really do not mind if during a casual kiss, the picture of someone else slips into your mind."

"By the way," Draco added pensively "I could never figure it out... Who is your little sweetheart? Potter the Saint, or Weasley the Beggar? "

"Neither of them. Rita Skeeter's gossip is getting stale." Hermione always got annoyed at questions like this.

"So, you really don't mind if I share my hypotheses with you?" Despite the extreme politeness of his voice, his eyes were dangerously laughing.

He didn't wait for an answer that would have never come.

"With Harry it would be the typical easy happy ending. He's the Noble Hero, who deserves the best of everything. And the Hero always conquers the girl.

Apparently he's getting cuter and cuter. At least these are the whispers during his Quidditch training," he smirked. "And his scar... so sexy. Maybe you didn't notice, but very few wizards have scars, and the lucky ones that do are far removed from exciting. They are simply horrible. Such an artistic scar, a lightning bolt, is quite a gift," Draco said in a low, mocking voice.

"Gifts usually don't have a price, but Harry paid dearly for it, this gift of yours," Hermione answered bitterly.

"It's true. But this... gift... gave him a moving past: Innocence winning over Evil. Without blood, tears, ill will.
No rage, no hate, no wish of revenge... so clean, so antiseptic. So noble. So ... Gryffindor I'd say."

"If by this you mean Gryffindor likes noble souls, I take it as a compliment. Or perhaps you meant that being noble is not cheap, not for everybody?" she looked at him spitefully.

"I never doubted you would have liked this antiseptic bravery. You are the kind of girl who loves the Noble Hero, who stands out from the crowd. The kind of Hero with more wounds than battles."

"Maybe, but it is surely much better than a bunch of masked men, standing in a circle!" Hermione retorted quickly. And she was satisfied to see him bounce guiltily.

But he went on, "There is no end for the worst, I'd say. But we were speaking about Harry, not about his playfellows... He drives a lot of girls crazy, you know. And you, you would be so easy to understand. The pathetic ugly ducklings wins her hero, laughing in the face of all those silly girls. Laughing at their lipstick, their nail polish, their matched eye shadows, their perfect Lash Lengthening charm, their well kept Sleekeazy-style hair, and laughing at the queues of charming boys praying for a date with them, but not with you."

"I would never use Harry for my vanity!"

"You can say whatever you wish. We will never know this for sure. Harry has just discovered the pleasure of dates and girl popularity. Surely he has no time to look at you, the simple useful girl who trots along behind his back. And after all, Harry's deepest wish is still his mother. He doesn't look forward a partner or a personal success, but his mummy, his missed family. Didn't you notice it? I am sure you did.

Is it the reason you feel so sad? Because the only way for you to win your Hero would be to become like a mother figure to him. Help him grow.

And after such a labour, he would be a man, and would leave you for a real woman, because, every boy waves goodbye to his mummy one day or another."

"Have you ever considered I am not interested in being a cherishing mother figure?" Hermione counterattacked.

"Yes, you could be another adoring silly ditz. But you would never be able to compete with them. Filling their brains with all that girlish stuff took them the same time it took to you filling your brain with all the subjects you love.

We'd see a pathetic result. Is this what drives you mad? That you prefer not to be looked at, than being looked at and forgotten at once?"

"Malfoy, I've had enough!" She made a threatning move toward him, the desire to slap him driving Hermione quite mad

"Ok, let's change our subject... We leave little Harry Baby... why don't we speak about Weasel Boy? The tagalong. But he's a fascinating tagalong, with sarcastic sense of humour, and temper. Let's face it, Harry is the Hero, but Harry is a bit boring...

But Mr Ron-Tagalong is a couple of steps behind his best friend, a few steps behind a brat pack of successful brothers, a single step behind his Quidditch team... Could he bear to be a lot of steps behind his darling? It would be easy for Weasel to use you and then throw you away. Using sarcasm as a fine blade. Hurting you, treating you badly.... A bit like they did when you were a prefect. These satisfactions are unconscious, but rather mean... Is this the trouble? Maybe... this is the real reason why you don't go and take Ron for yourself, if you wish him so much..."

"How you dare, you, you... you Slytherin?" She was incredibly angry, and blurted out the last world with all the rage and the spite she could feel.

"Granger, being one who is supposed to be top of the class, you appear not to know history that well. Slytherin was one of the four Hogwarts Founders. And a great wizard he was, too. His name is still honoured. Not feared, honoured. If there was something really to despise, if there was shame and dishonour be sure, his name would have been erased from this school, many centuries ago.

And his House would've been broken down. It would be an honour being like him. So, Granger, if you want to hurt me, don't use his name as an insult." His voice was smothered in sarcasm.

"I, with you... never? You can hear me? I don't like anything of you, I..." She seemed unable, for the first time in her life, to find the right word.

"No, Granger. Use that brainy little head of yours. Think of it as one of those tests you do so well on. It is not a you-and-me affair. Not a proposition, but a simple proposal.
You with your little fantasies and me with mine. And, listen, Mudblood, if I had not somehow awoken your ... curiosity," and he lifted an eyebrow with a mocking air, "you would have run away as fast as you could, instead of standing in front of me, looking for an excuse to get offended."

"I should need an excuse to be offended? After your... proposal? Are you mad, Malfoy?"

"I would never get offended if someone would find me desirable. Being desired, but not being loved... don't be naïve, Granger; some people would pay for less. Many times this is much more than what a man can deserve in a whole lifetime."

He left the window, suddenly. After a while, he turned to her and smiled "Look, I have no wish to discuss this point with you. I've got my reasons for the "yes" and the "no". But they are not your business. And surely, you can weigh your reasons, but they are not my business. We can meet each other, within an hour, in the Astronomy Tower. I will be there, waiting for you. Nothing else really matters.
And if you come, we can spend our time as you wish, but frankly, I have no intention to speak about your sweet unrequited love, or about your scruples. This offer may be many things, but it is not an offer of friendship."

Silently as he had come, he disappeared up the staircase.

Hermione slammed a book on the desk.