Clandestine Whispers

PART TWO: BENEATH THE SHADOW WITH ITS VICTIM

>>>>>5 Lonesome Pain

It had been weeks, almost a month, since Hermione had seen Draco. All traces of him in her life were currently erased. She was working on focusing on getting her life back to normal, back to how it used to be. Surprisingly enough, it worked. Her stress went away, and she handled her responsibilities gladly. She kept her cool always now, thoughts of the Malfoys only coming to her on rare occasions.

Harry and Ron were happy that she was less busy now and didn't go to the library so much anymore. And Hermione was also happy. But she still wanted to learn to fly a broom, deep down. But because of nightmares of her near-death accident, and the reminder of Draco thoughts of flying gave her, she refrained from attempting it again.

One day, at lunch, she got a letter from Dumbledore, telling her to meet him when she was done eating, and that she was excused from classes for the day. Immediately anxious with worry, she hurriedly told Ron and Harry she had to leave urgently, and that it was very important, then she rushed away.

~~*~~

"Hello, Ms. Granger. Nice to see you. I wanted to talk to you about the night you brought Mr. Malfoy to the hospital a few weeks back. What happened? How did he get injured? And why were you two out so late at night? Please Ms. Granger, tell me the truth." Hermione hesitated, staring up fearfully into his twinkling sapphire eyes. For some reasons, she wished that night had never happened, but for other reasons, she was grateful it had. Either way, she kept silent, refusing to speak. Calmly accepting her tight-lipped shut mouth, Dumbledore turned to the door to his left. "Well then," he said, "perhaps Mr. Malfoy can tell me about the incident."

Hermione whirled around in her chair, feeling faint as Draco walked into the room. Acting as if Hermione wasn't there, he never made eye contact with her, or even faced her way. On the contrary, Hermione's eyes were roving all over him, frantically searching for some sign of his wound, or of any anger or violent feelings he might have towards her.

"Greetings, Mr. Malfoy. I was wondering if you could please tell me, truthfully, what happened late that night with you and Ms. Granger. Please, sit down." Dumbledore pointed to the chair across from Hermione. It was obvious that Draco went through a severe moment of hesitation, standing there for a few seconds. But then, stiffly, as if he found it extremely difficult, he sat down in the chair. He somehow managed to look relaxed, though it was obvious he wasn't. His head was thrown back slightly, his arms rested loosely on the arms of the chair, and his legs, partly bent, stretched out with one crossed over the other, his heel the only part of his foot that touched the carpet floor.

Hermione stared, blankly, at his shoes. Oh, how she wished she could sink into the floor. For some reason, seeing Draco after having run away from him was humiliating, and frightening. His indifferent yet not angry attitude towards her also made her nervous. In a way to try to tune out all people and conversation around her, she stared at his shoes, admiring the way they shined with polish, and the way the boot fit so perfectly and handsomely to his foot. Regardless of these attempts, her ears tuned in to find out whether the Slytherin was speaking the truth, or a lie.

"It all began with my insomnia, sir. I couldn't sleep, so I walked around the corridors. But," he paused, biting his lip, "well you see, I didn't want Mrs. Norris or any of the ghosts to find me out, so I slipped out a door, and found I was outside. And..."

his glance moved the slightest bit upwards, towards Hermione's shoes. But then he quickly looked away. "I was so tired, and frustrated about schoolwork, and sick that Slytherin had lost to Gryffindor, that," he noticed Hermione was staring at his shoes, and paused, raising an eyebrow at her. Dumbledore smiled at this, noticing the strange interaction between the two. "That I just...slipped on the stair, and...fell to the ground, on my back. The fall was so far, that, well, the momentum just...made me skid."

Turning to Hermione, Dumbledore asked, "And? When do you come along, Ms. Granger?"

"I...had been studying late in the library. Actually, the librarian didn't see me, so I stayed in there past closing time, forgetting about the time passing. And I was walking...back to the Gryffindor common room, when I heard a groan. And when I looked outside, I saw Malfoy there. So I rushed him to the hospital wing, because he seemed quite hurt."

Dumbledore's eyes appeared to twinkle even more at this. "Well," he said, "That is all I wanted to know, so, thank you for your time, you two. Both of you are excused from classes for the rest of the day. I may want to call you in again later on, so be prepared." Hermione accidentally stood up the same time as Draco, and both were walking out, trying to not bump into each other and ignore each other's existence when Dumbledore said, "Oh, and by the way. Ms. Granger, McGonagall has personally told me that, since you seemed so avidly interested in the Quidditch games, and Madame Hooch has also claimed you haven't learned how to properly fly a broomstick, we have all agreed that Mr. Malfoy here will teach you."

Hermione and Draco both turned back, shocked. Hermione burst out, "wha? But...no way! I, I have no time for it and...and...he...I...we!" Dumbledore smiled. "That window you almost crashed into on your broom that night, Ms. Granger, happened to be Professor McGonagall's office. Although your shriek may have been silent in the wind, through a window made of glass, she heard it quite clearly. Indeed, it was quite a feat of Mr. Malfoy's here, to be catching you from a fatal fall off of a wild broomstick. I, however, will not take points off either of your houses, because I believe that assigning you both the extra credit project of teaching and learning how to fly on a broomstick is punishment enough. Thank you for your excellent lying. You are excused."

Hermione, mouth opening and closing, stood there for a moment. Then, Draco's voice, indifferent and drawling, shook her out of her trance. "Follow me, Granger. We might as well start the lessons now."

~~*~~

"Ever ridden a horse, Granger?"

"Never."

"Ever tried to balance a stick on your hand, tried to make it stand up on its own?"

"It wouldn't work anyway. That's stupid."

"Exactly. It's stupid, and it wouldn't work. You know why it wouldn't work? Because it's not part of you. It's another organism, just another thing, that's not part of your body, not another limb. You wouldn't have control over it, it wouldn't stand up. Unlike your forearm, which stands up perfectly well from your elbow when you want it to. A broomstick is like that. You've got to learn to let the broom be a part of you, pretend its part of your body, merge into one with your broom. Be one with the broom, and the broom will be one with you, and you will be able to control your broom and make it do whatever you want. You can do anything with it, as long as it is part of you, and not just some stick you're sitting on. Understand?"

Hermione nodded, slowly, thinking over it. "It makes sense, I guess. So what do you want me to do, Malfoy?"

"Mount your broom. Once you're in the air, you shouldn't hold on to it to tightly with your hands. And don't squeeze it in between your legs. Remember, it's a part of you. Pretend it's a muscle. If you make the muscle rigid, it won't be loose, can't float. You've got to let yourself float, Granger; and flow. That's why it's called flying."

Hermione nodded, mounting her broom, lightly placing her hands over it. It felt so unfamiliar, this strange wooden rod, with thick smooth straw poking out at the end. Putting his broom--just in case needed--down on the ground, Malfoy circled around her, correcting her hand positioning, lightly tapping her arms and thighs to make sure they weren't rigid and taught, but relaxed. "Okay now Granger, remember, don't squeeze it tightly, but don't let your hands slip. You've got to hold firmly onto your broom, but don't grasp it for your dear life. All you'll be doing today is hovering and flying a few feet off of the ground." Hermione gulped. What if the same thing happened to her that had happened to Neville that first broom lesson, and she lost control? Would he save her this time? Shaking such thoughts from her head, she nodded to show she was ready, and on Malfoy's "go!" she kicked off slightly, and hovered, shakily. Hovered six feet above the ground, that is. "Too high, Granger. Remember, you are the broom! You can control it. Now get back down here, and try again."

"I-I can't!"

"Granger! There's nothing to fear in a few feet like this, I'm surprised you'd be shaking in your boots after your fall on the windy night I caught you. Don't be a wuss, Granger! I'll be waiting here 'till you summon the guts to get down here."

Closing her eyes, and taking a deep breath, Hermione slowly directed the broom downwards. At first, it began to slowly move, and she breathed out a sigh of relief. But then, she accidentally tightened her grip on the broom, and it jerked the wrong way. With a yelp, she let go of her broom, and it zoomed downwards, uncontrolled. Hermione, in her fear and disoriented position, slipped off the broom and stumbled to fall onto Malfoy heavily. It only lasted half a second, as, quickly, Malfoy flipped over so she was underneath him, just in time to snatch the broom out of the air before it flew out of hand's reach.

It was only after he threw the broom to the ground, that he realized the awkward position they were in. A slight grimace on his face, as well as a flicker of an unrecognizable emotion passed by, as, flushing slightly, he pushed himself half off her with his arms, and then rolled over to lie on the grass beside her. They both lay there for a moment, recovering from the experience and looking up at the clear blue sky. Hermione hadn't been able to help but notice the slight grimace he gave upon landing on his back on the ground when rolling off of her. She said, "Malfoy, I-I'm sorry about...leaving you that night. I shouldn't have, really. It's just that I...I became afraid, and, and I didn't know that your family was so...that things like that happened to you. And I didn't know how to make your pain go away, so I ran. I'm sorry. I...I didn't have anything against your injuries, I didn't think it disgusting, or anything like that. It made me feel great pain. I felt sadness, and, fear, and I...felt pity, too..." Turning to her with a snarl, he viciously grabbed her hand, before flinging it away and standing up, shouting, "I don't want your pity! You, you...traitor! If you really felt sorry, you would have never even looked at me! I told you I didn't want you to see, you looked anyway! And when it was too late and you already had looked, you left! I'm all alone here! Don't pity me, I don't want any of it, none of it! I'm meant to be alone, don't try to get close, from what you've tried, it should be obvious it never works! Draco Malfoy stands alone! Don't try to soften the pain, it's always there, and it's meant to be lonesome! Stupid Mudblood, you don't even know what it means to feel pain!"

And before Hermione could protest or stop him, he had mounted his broom and was gone.

~~*~~

How? How did she manage to make him feel so weak? How did she choke out lame apologies and yet make his anger last only a minute after? And how did she make him feel guilty for that anger, for something that wasn't his fault? Also, why? Why did she even bother to be nice? Why did she continue arriving at their broom lessons? And why did she still help him with transfiguration? He just didn't understand that girl. At times, she had stood up to him, ignored him, and strongly stood on the other side of the line, the enemy side, against him. But now, she didn't seem like an enemy anymore. Now, the fight was gone from her, she was trying to make peace, it almost seemed.

But Draco Malfoy refused to accept peace. There was no such word in his dictionary. Or vocabulary, for that matter - unless sarcastic. However strongly his feelings towards her conflicted, he would not accept any one side, peace or war, and firmly remained in between. But this standing in between, the monkey in the middle between two sides trying to conquer the other, was hard. Sometimes, he just wanted to give up, let in, and accept her peace treaty. But at others, he plotted revenge, and angry blood coursed through his veins as the need for violence and Mudblood hatred overtook him. At these times, he would go to his bed and lie there, remembering the cooling feel of different things: metal touching his skin, it's silent shimmering giving him strength, water flowing over his head, dribbling slowly past his lips, gliding down his body, pencil, flowing consistently across the smooth surface of crisp parchment. These thoughts kept him from breaking down.

But sometimes, these thoughts never even arrived at his door.