A Four Saturdays Detention

Thanks : Of course to Quinn, my beta reader.

And, of course, to everyone who had the patience to write me a review.

 

FOUR SATURDAYS DETENTION

 

Chapter4 - SecondSaturday

Of Landscapes, Potions, Squirrels, Elves and Training Shoes

(Sweet things are made of this, who am I to disagree?)

 

For a moment she thought he had gone.

Reaching the top of the Astronomy Tower had taken her a while.

After her first sudden rush, she had slowed down, hoping to detect Filch's footsteps, or Mrs. Norris' purrs. But on this late Saturday afternoon the cantankerous caretaker was everywhere but on that crook staircase.

Draco, no, Mr. Malfoy, was there.

"You made up your mind, finally, Granger..."

"I weighed everything and, well..."

"No, thanks," he halted her with an ironic smile. "Good girls like you have a whole set of scruples. I know them all. But analysing together your excuses and your reasons would be just a waste of time. I am not an intellectual Ravenclaw."

"No, you are a wicked Slytherin."

"Wicked, maybe. Surely sexy, at least... for you..." Can a voice be slothful?

"And then," he added sincerely wondering, "You are a Gryffindor. You should crave adventures. You'd be like the falcon. Instead you usually look like the mouse, a judicious cinnamon mouse." The last sentence was definitely mocking.

He took her hand.

"Come see the landscape, and be a peaceful girl."

Well, the landscape wasn't that bad. She had been at the Tower, but by night, to study Astronomy.

Draco handled his wand and muttered something. In the old rocky wall, near the staircase, a knob suddenly appeared. It was the door of a sort of closet (she couldn't see it very well, Draco was too tall).

He threw her some huge pillows. 'The Hufflepuff colours?' she wondered suddenly, fingering the yellow embroidery on the black tissue. They were light, and soothing.

"Make yourself at home."

"I didn't know there was a closet here."

"Well, it's supposed to be invisible..." he lifted an eyebrow, "One of the many things you probably have missed, always buried within your books"

"But... whose pillows are these?"

"Comfort lovers I'd say." He smirked. "Astronomy lovers too. But there's not a lot of them, usually."

He laid down, at ease, and observed the landscape with her.

"Granger, I'm trying to make you feel at ease." He had a smile.

"Also because the first move is up to you... And, Granger... I have plenty of time."

"What?" Whose voice was that? So scared?

"Yes, you make decisions.... I just do proposals," he answered lazily.

He continued: "I find incredibly dumb, and, frankly, sick and sickening the picture of a girl, who dreams to be forced to allow herself audacious exploits, in order to still be 'the good girl'. Maybe she would like to moan a lot of truly not meant 'no', and imagine an immense emotional involvement hidden behind simple lust.

"Well, it is not my favourite game. I am not going to tear up your dusty uniform, and cast you on these cushions, murmuring poetic sentences, taken by impulsive heated passion, with rapist moves."

He looked straight into her eyes.

"Always." And he outlined his words. "I have always preferred, and will always prefer two willing and wishing people, even for a chess game, to someone who wishes to be abused."

He went back to his lazy attitude.

"So if you were daydreaming about a rendezvous with the bad wolf... well... this is not the enchanted forest..."

Hermione looked at him placidly.

"The rules are up to me?" Her voice was sweet and innocent. But her eyes?

"Yes..." started Draco.

"Very well. Then... shut up!" said Hermione briskly.

They stayed over there, in silence. He was not looking at her, but was studying with pleasure the countryside.

She was playing nervously with her uniform border. She stared, shy, at her own hands. Her hands... oh no. She blushed furiously. Another wonderful, damned, ink spot... The dark mark of the quills addicted. Again. 'My first true date, and here I am, my school uniform, full of dust. And ink spots on my fingertips....

'And I don't want to know what else I didn't bother to check...' A bookworm style date...

She stole a glance in his direction. He looked shrouded in his own thoughts. Away, and perfectly at ease, comfortable with his arms crossed, behind his head, yet elegant. 'How can he feel so safe?'

She had never imagined it this way. Sometimes she had happened to dream of a date with someone. But now it was like not being able to dance. There are some people, who can dance marvellously, with grace, and strength. And there are some people who do the most wonderful steps only inside themselves, but when they dare move...

She was feeling clumsy, and ridiculous. If only... if only he had done the first move...

"Malfoy?"

"Granger?"

"I... well...", 'Why don't you help me?', "The landscape is really beautiful," she ended in a hurry.

Draco burst out laughing. Rolling on the enormous pillows he could not stop smirking.

"Stop it!" Hermione glared at him.

"Sorry, but I couldn't help it." He grinned broadly. "Granger, you are whimsical. On your... experience, girls come here to chat about the landscape?"

"It is a beautiful view." Too stiff?

"Of course it is a beautiful view!" - he was teasing her, like always - "But this beauty should inspire beautiful sinful thoughts. And sentences like 'This view is beautiful, but pales beside the view of you and I, together, bedding'..."

"Well, perhaps it pales beside the view of you would be enough," she said severely.

"Oh, Granger the midget became pretty, but nobody notices it? How could she overcome this test? Perhaps we could find something in the library?" his voice stifling in the middle of sarcasm and wonder.

"You can' t help being a bastard, I guess."

"A bastard Slytherin, but who knows what he wants, will always be much better than a brazen Gryffindor Know-It-All, awkward when it comes to every day life!"

The answer was biting, coming out as an old habit.

She started back, in hurt.

Their eyes couldn't meet.

"I'm sorry. I didn't have the right to say that. Not to you," he murmured toying with a lock of her hair.

"These Saturdays would be meant to be a peaceful moment for both of us. No useless crap..." he told her quietly.

"Perhaps, it would help if we would chat about something."

"Why? You want to pretend we are pretending to care of each other thoughts?"

"Well, I was thinking of sort of a date."

"Well, a date is exactly this way..." he said patiently, "Two young people pretending to care of neutral meaningless chattering. Not... thoughts exchange. Really."

"Perhaps, simply I am not an animal."

"Oh yes, hard-to-get Granger. Surprise me. Light me up. What do you want to talk about? Goblin revolts?"

She rolled her eyes. The last time she had really known someone else, it took her a Mountain Troll closed into the girls' bathroom. Had it always to be so difficult for her? Anytime?

"Who is your favourite teacher?" Tentatively.

He gave her a surprised glance, then shrugged 'As you like it.'

"Snape."

"Oh well," she turned up her nose.

"He's smart."

"Well... he knows his subject."

"He knows it very, very well. He proposes challenges to us. At least to Slytherin students who value Potions. And he is not only closed within the borders of his subject. He is more complete than other teachers of ours."

"You mean he would be able to teach Defence Against Dark Arts, too?"

"Also. But that's more. He took choices in his life, at least, as far I could guess. On his own way. And he is honest to himself: he does what he thinks is right, not caring to be popular at any cost."

"Well..."

"So?"

"I don't understand him. And it is difficult for me to prize a teacher I fail to understand," Hermione tried to answer, cautious. It was like walking on eggs, with Malfoy.

"Understanding... indeed. Therefore you prize a man only if you can easily understand him. If the life model he offers to you is the very same as yours. If he teaches you things you already know, and that you find reassuring. Finally, if he shares your prejudices," he said dryly.

"One thing is a person, and one other very different thing is a teacher. And then, I didn't mean this, and you know it." 'Let's try to go back to neutral meaningless chattering...'

"So, what were you really meaning?" Sarcasm. Of course, what else?

She tried to find the right words, but ... "He has an horrid personality!" she exploded

"Really?" He sounded sincerely surprised. "Horrid?"

"You are joking, Malfoy?" She was, now, sincerely surprised.

"Maybe he is not polite at all cost...", he replied, "But he is just."

"Just? Just with Neville?"

"Granger, when the end of the term comes, Longbottom can brew his potions? Yes or no?"

"Well... yes."

"And how are those potions?"

"Decent... not first-rate, but they work."

"And his charms?"

She couldn't help a little smile. "Charms ... rather slack."

"So, at the end of term he had learnt how to cope with Potions, but not with Charms."

"It doesn't mean anything! Bullying is not an acceptable teaching method."

"Critics are crucial for learning process. No punctual critics, either sharp if needed, means only no respect." He was very calm.

"Please Malfoy..."

"A 'Please Malfoy' from you? You, who is a product of Muggle world, and of a very individualistic society... Where some of the people are ready to stab your back for their benefits."

"Malfoy, the world outside is based on competition... That's why you need a balance. What is the use of outlining people's mistakes? Which is the real use of making the poor boy feel guilty?" She was calm too.

"Please Granger. These times don't suit merciful daisies."

"You want a world of perfect people, and no room for the weak. What do you believe in? In good breeding?"

"On the contrary. I'd like an honest world, surely not a hypocritical good world, a world where you try to teach to everybody the way to be independent. Not a world where only few happy people can stand on their own, and the others cannot, but, please, we don't have to tell them the truth...

"Every time I saw you correcting Longbottom's botched potions I would have liked to scream at you. You were only burning away his chance to learn. Or to find a reason to concentrate on something he probably simply doesn't like. Why should he have to, though? You are there... But not forever, of course..."

"I was only trying to help him. Not to cover him."

"Help. Sometimes help is another word for 'making it easier for him', an hypocrite in search of the spotlight."

"None of us does that with Neville. We value him. And we respect him."

"With 'us', of course you mean Gryffindor clique, obviously... Only, tell me Granger, you came to the Astronomy Tower with me, and you know we are not here to study the constellations. At least, you should know it... You would come here, with Longbottom, if he asked you politely? With this boy you value so highly. And you respect, of course. You would feel honoured... I am right?"

"No..."

"Ah!"

"Excuse me, Professor Malfoy, would you please explain me what you mean by that?"

"Excuse me, Professor Granger, would you please explain to me the difference between a Gryffindor lass, dismissing Longbottom with an excuse and a smile (because she thinks he is not at her height, let's say it straight) and a Slytherin girl, a Pansy, just to make an example, who dismisses him saying 'Frankly I do not like you. Because most of the time you behave like a dumb boy'? What difference exactly?"

"A BIG difference."

"NO difference."

But they weren't mad. Not really.

"Come here Granger. There is merely half of an hour left. And, this way, we're stuck."

He stroked her hair lightly. She widened her eyes, in alert. He made no brisk movements, but went on lazy as usual. His fingers tangled in her russet mass, slowly unshielded her cheeks.

She dropped her eyes, silent and apprised.

His hands cupped her face. She waited breathless.

Yes or no?

With no hurry he traced the arch of her eyebrows and gradually followed the path of her nose. The upper lip and, gently his thumb soothed her mouth. Sweetly. Slowly. He continued learning the paths of her face, with his fingertips, with no hurry, as he had all the time of the world.

Yes or no?

He felt her relaxing. She got closer. Unaware? Only when she finally closed her eyes, he kissed her.

Gentle.

Later, in her bedroom, alone, while she was browsing every little moment, completely relaxed, she decided that the right word was simply that. Gentle.

He had cuddled her lips, waiting idly for her answer. He was very surprised to find her so awkward, and, well, candid. He was tempted, for a while, by a harsh comment. Irony was never spared with this Gryffindor. But he eventually decided not to tease her.

'Probably her very first kiss...' He sighed in disbelief 'Let's make it a nice experience.'

After several minutes, he left her lips, and stroked her cheek.

Hermione crouched within his arms, her eyes closed, shrouded in her thoughts, while Draco nuzzled her hair.

Actually, he had always assumed that Ron, or Harry, or maybe both the boys had used her for their first clumsy experiments with girls.

It would have been natural, even obviously banal. It would have been much easier with a friendly partner than with a stranger.

As Pansy and himself, he smiled. Each one had used the other one without too much romantic nonsense.

And without wickedness, meanness, jealousy, or sense of possession. Surely with a good deal of patience and kindness, and a few laughs as well... 'But... this is the right way we have to do it...?' 'No please...' 'Yes' 'Yes?' 'Do you like it?' 'This way?' '...your elbow...'. He was quite going to laugh, remembering those silly moments.

Pansy, who does things her own way, Pansy, self-centred, Pansy, cast in his same mould. Pansy, well, she was a friend. A good friend.

With other girls it had been often different. Too different.

The simple thought of Parvati, was still hurting him somewhere. He smirked. Parvati's memory was like a top speed bludger right in the middle of your stomach during a Slytherin Quidditch training with Glenn (he didn't like magical remedies for this nonsense). The spot still hurts with the wrong movement. And he had not yet learnt the right movements about her memory. He had tried, yes he had really tried to put away the bad moments. But with dreams and regrets? It was difficult. For everyone, maybe.

'The real pain is not the sudden hit, but the never fading bruise left.'

Their sentences, unrequited, rushed in... 'Don't call me "love"...' 'Why? How do you call this damned thing?' 'What's this for you? This thing burning both us inside out. This thing that has no break, no bore, no control, no common sense, no shame? At least, I feel no shame for us, for the woman I love. And I'll never feel ashamed...,' '... social respectability... another girl more suited to you... better this way' '... And I would only like to choke...'

He had tightened his fists, his hands turning white. His fists were imperceptibly shaking, but he realised it only when he felt another hand, so cold, touch him.

Hermione was looking at him upwards. Startled.

For a while their eyes met. They studied each other, but they weren't able to retrieve anything familiar, or, at least, something they had already met in the eyes of the other. They dropped their glance quite at the same time.

He observed her, downwards: she was suddenly becoming tense, nested in his arms, unsure about what to do.

To him she appeared like a healthy little animal. A smart pet, on alert, suspicious. That little brain of hers was like a mouse trap, always ready to snap. Her hair was ruffled everywhere. 'She's sort of like a domestic pet. But not really. There is something untamed inside. And reckless: she never stops thinking.

Much better for both of us she is so... inhibited. This way, it will just fade away in a couple of Saturdays. With no harm.'

"You look like a squirrel," he tried tentatively. A hint of gentleness?

She stared at him, suspiciously. "I'm not quite sure how to take that."

"A simple statement would work?" He looked tired. The truce could go on?

"Once upon a time, I had a squirrel..." she said cautiously. Another step towards meaningless neutral chattering.

"You are joking, I hope."

"Really, I had a squirrel."

"You mean you had a squirrel, a living squirrel in a cage?"

"Well... yes."

"But... he was hurt?"

"Oh no! He was healthy. Of course!"

"It is simply disgusting. A disgusting mental picture that make me want to vomit."

"What is disgusting?" She was lost.

"I found loathsome, the idea someone could keep a squirrel in a cage. As a stuffed pet."

"Oh yes, of course... you would torture him..."

"Oh yes, sure. I'd go out with all my little friends, all masked, standing in a circle, and we will spend the afternoon torturing a squirrel with the Cruciatus curse. With a break for teatime. I can imagine very well what's flickering in your mind... the childhood of a promising Slytherin."

"What would you do, then, with a squirrel?"

"I'd set him free. In the woods he belongs to... devouring the best nuts, if he can, and screwing around with the best she-squirrels, if he can. Or shivering for the cold."

"And if he can't?"

"If he can't, it is over. Much better for his own sake, if he can. But life isn't easy, for anybody. True life I mean, not zoo life, as here at Hogwarts, for instance."

Under different circumstances she would have liked to retort. But the wish of using her sharp tongue was not as strong as her curiosity.

"But you mean you never had an animal, beside your eagle owl? Maybe a toad?"

"A toad would just crown the whole bloody matter. I am not Neville Longbottom. The right place for toads is a pond, not a shoebox. You would hardly find a toad, or a mouse in the whole Slytherin House. When there is no gain, we are not cruel with animals."

"I was not cruel at all with my squirrel! I cherished him!"

"Oh yes, now I get it. You cherished him. It means you were using him not to feel lonely. Cruelty with no interesting goal. The real cruelty."

"Are you mad?"

"Granger, you had a squirrel and you wanted him to live your own way. You obliged him to live the life, YOU thought was the most beautiful for him. A balanced feeding, I think... And his time beating on your rhythm. No kind of sex life. And a child for playfellow... of course when she wished to play with him. You didn't leave him room for choices... Now I get the whole SPEW matter... You started as a kid with squirrels, and now you want to do the same with Elves... The childhood of a promising Gryffindor."

"Oh no! Elves are people, and their rights have been downtrodden in the centuries!"

"Maybe. But it is not your personal task, go and tell them what they must think, Or you think they are unable, without your intervention?"

"'Till now, they have accepted the unacceptable..."

"If 'till now they have accepted it, probably 'till now they wanted or liked it this way. Or it is not their time, yet. Meanwhile they can read, and write. And they live in communities. And they have a role in this society, a very important role. Ask your friend Mr. Sidekick-Weasley whether he could afford his instruction here, under other circumstances....

"Or perhaps you think that their role, what they do, even for you and your comfort, day by day, has no value at all. Are they too low for you? Or you respect only those on top of 'social pyramid'? Your work is not yourself, your whole personality. Your soul if you believe in this."

"If you don't have a full understanding of what freedom is, you cannot do sensible requests. Freedom is a right, but at the same time, it is a privilege, too. And-"

He halted her in a rush. "Therefore, the one who has to do the sensible requests, at their place, is you. And, then, of course, you will explain to them what is right, and what is wrong. Excuse me, I didn't notice it before... you are the professor of Advanced Freedom for Magical Creatures..."

"Oh Malfoy... I had... sort of sensation, quite a Trelawney-style odd divination feeling you would not agree with me..."

"Being one who left Divination in such a ... slamming way, you are amazingly good with predictions."

"Granger, with the money I have, it is not me who needs an Elf. With the right price set I could have a perfect wizard of this Witchcraft and Wizardry stiff School doing for me exactly the same things an Elf might do, and calling me Master Malfoy, or whatever I'd like him to call me. And I wouldn't allow him to sleep in my house. That's sure.

"Now, please, do not faint in shock... It is your ideas I don't share. It is your behaviour, always annoyingly confident and outspoken."

She widened her eyes.

"I might, maybe, really maybe, under really amazing circumstances, accept one of those ridiculous SPEW badges. But from an Elf, who is asking me what he really wants. And probably I'll negotiate the price. My interests against his. I don't offend people with charity. But I have difficulties accepting the same badge from you, who want to transform a Magical Creature with his own sense of life, into a copy of yourself.

"Oh yes, you are better than many people who see their bed done and don't ask themselves who did it. Maybe you cherish them. But you do not respect them. You treat them as ... hamsters."

"It is not true. You treat them without sympathy and comprehension. Life is not simply the survival of the strongest. Life is support and evolution, too. Is it possible you haven't yet learnt the value of cooperation?"

"Life for you."

"Life for Muggles, the world I come from," she said with pride. 'Yes pride, I am proud to be a Muggleborn. I am proud to be as I am. And all your 'Mudbloods' cannot hurt me because in my dreams I don't dream to become a Pureblood. A Muggle is much better than a Pureblood.'

"Oh yes... sure... I knew I was missing something... Muggle sanity, it had quite skipped me..."

"You could learn a lot from Muggle world, you, over-proud pureblood. Don't you know it?"

"I'm here, waiting..."

"If only you didn't have all those prejudices of yours..." She was looking at him with pity.

He looked at her silently for a while, then...

"Granger, I could not help noticing your shoes... They are training shoes, aren't they?"

"Yes, they are not that elegant, and probably you would find them not fashionable, but they are comfortable Muggle training shoes."

"Well, they are fashionable, indeed. At least... in the Muggle World..."

"Well, in a certain way, they are on fashion, ok... and then?"

"And these so comfortable Muggle shoes are produced... where? In another Muggle country, I heard.... And how much did they pay these... shoemakers? Do they get more than average life cost of that country? Or, perhaps they get less, if they're women?

"And how old are these... Muggle not domestic non-Elves? How do you call them by the way?"

She blushed bashfully.

He smirked. "The difference is that your Elves do not live under your own roof..."

A minute passed.

He went back observing her, and noticing her was still embarrassed, with no hurry, he stroked her hair. "What I said doesn't matter at all, and I know it. Really."

Of course he didn't say 'I'm sorry'.

Of course she didn't say 'Sometimes I'm wrong'.

But miracles don't happen so easily.

He took her back in his arms and slowly kissed her again.

A few minutes later....

"Granger, giant squirrel of the libraries, in a while this castle will be full of gossiping people, never minding their own business... Go back to your den, thinking..."

"About what?" she replied suddenly ruffled and suspicious.

"About landscapes," he answered laughing, and smoothly pulled her towards the staircase

 

To be continued