Clandestine Whispers

PART THREE: ABOVE THE GLITTER OF FALLING STARS

>>>>>9 A Turn of Events

Clang.

Clang.

Clang.

Clang clang.

Clang.

The constant echoing harshness of metal did not disturb an already disturbed, preoccupied mind. Hermione was unsure as to whether the clang was inside her head, or outside. She paced, slowly, back and forth. It was unlike her to pace, unlike her to even let herself get so frustrated. Usually she would just bury her head in a book and let it all just wash away. But this time, she knew a book would give her no solace; books wouldn't distract her this time.

So many things had happened last night, and this morning. Last night, she had read through the entire diary of Draco Malfoy. It had been made her feel so many things. Fear. Shock. Anger. Pity. It had been interesting to read...yet also...horrifying...dramatic...and, somehow...real. The logical, practical, and most used part of her mind had said that, well, of course it was real. Of course. But the other part(s) of her mind had said no. No, no, can't be real, I must have dreamed it, no, things like this haven't happened, and won't happen, to Draco, to any Hogwarts students, to any person, anywhere.

But deep down she'd known it was real, and had happened...to Draco.

And that's what had made her finally decide to go to sleep, and forget about it all. Surprisingly enough, it had worked, and she had no nightmares. But this morning...this morning had been a nightmare. A very real one. She remembered it like the vocabulary words for a test...but the remembrance of it was painful.

"That little prat Malfoy has been prowling around the corridors again. He's like a cat, I tell you! He's gonna sneak up on me and Harry and stab us in the back, literally, one day, I bet!"

"He would never do that, Ron! And you know it! That is an utterly ridiculous and just a...a stupid, stupid thing to say!"

His eyes flashed bright red as his hair. "Stupid? STUPID? Why, now the know-it-all puts me down while also defending the slimy git! What's wrong with you, anyway? I might not be as smart as you, but I'm not stupid! At least I'm not IN LOVE with that retarded pond scummy rathead, Malfoy!"

"Ron? Hermione? WHAT is going on??"

"Stay out of this, Harry. Hermione here has just proved that she loves Malfoy! She's all over the little toad! Defending him, and thinking he's not the deceiving bloody rathead he is!"

"'Never judge a book by it's cover!' You've heard the saying! Just because he doesn't act cheery all the time, and has two idiots following him around all the time doesn't mean he's a rathead! Maybe he's just mean to you because you're unfairly mean to him! Just because he's a Malfoy, and just because he doesn't hang out with Harry, and just because your family and his don't like each other doesn't give you a right to hate him!"

"What about you Hermione? He's called you a Mudblood tons of times! And he insults me and Harry, too! He's in Slytherin, he hates us all, and Snape likes him, and unfairly favors Malfoy!"

"Maybe that's only one part of him, Ron. Maybe there's a nice Malfoy underneath. It could be just a show! I bet he only does good in Potions because he wants Slytherin house to win the House cup, and Snape just favors Malfoy because he's a Slytherin and dislikes us. Maybe Malfoy only insults us all because his nasty father makes him! Ever thought of that, Ronald Weasley?? MAYBE HE DOESN'T DO IT ON PURPOSE AND IT'S NOT HIS FAULT!"

The silence somehow managed to hum blaringly in Hermione's ear. You could hear an ant sneeze.

Harry finally stopped staring at the two, and stood up between them, separating them. "Now look here. Both of you guys have your points, and neither of you are totally right or totally wrong. Let's just forget about all of this. Malfoy is a mystery, and let's leave it at that."

Suddenly, the clanging stopped.

Hermione stopped, also. It hadn't been in her head, after all. What was it, anyway? She had been avoiding everyone she knew from Gryffindor all day, and was welcome to anything that could distract her.

The rattling grate of metal sliding met her ears. If she was hearing right, she would almost think the sound was that of a...sword being sheathed?

Quickly sliding behind a pillar and staying in shadow, Hermione ever so slightly slid to her right. All she could see of the person was their hands, and the hilt of the sword that had just been slid into its sheath. The hilt was beautifully crafted, shining silver, with a black winged serpent weaving it's way around it. The person wore a pair of dark gray dragonhide gloves, which, as far as Hermione could see of it, possibly reached up to the elbows. Over the knuckles, the gloves had small, metal caps, and were fingerless, reaching past the knuckles but not to the next finger joint.

Hermione was barely able to hear, as the voice whispered, "Auctorita illis creperum..." And then, there was a pause, and Hermione held her breath, waiting. Then, slowly, the voice spoke again. Yet it was in a language Hermione only understood in writing, a slow, twisted, snake-like hissing. Parseltongue. It sent a shiver up Hermione's spine, and it was then that she realized who it was that spoke. When speaking Parseltongue, he sounded even worse than normal. The eerie, serpentine speech coming from his lips sounded truly evil, and secretive, because she didn't know what he said, whereas when Harry had spoken it, it had just been confusing. No more did his voice have that arrogant, annoying drawl to it that had always made her want to hit him. No, this new voice of his was frightening. Memories of what she had read last night surged involuntarily into her mind, and she stood there, leaning against the pillar for support, shutting her eyes tightly, sweating.

She mentally cursed him. It was all his fault, him and his life had done this to her.

Draco Malfoy...he was, indeed, a mystery.

Even more so to her than before.

~~*~~

Adrenaline...rushing, rushing, rushing, coursing through his veins like blood, the surge of power the control made him feel overwhelming him. He almost laughed at the glorious feeling, but repressed it, remembering the pain it had once given him, in the long run, when he had not stopped it from slipping out.

Stopping, Draco stood still for a moment, breathing heavily, wiping sweat from his brow and flinging back a strand of hair. Sighing, he let his sword fall to the ground with a loud clank, and collapsed on a chair nearby.

He smiled, a twisted, energetic gleam in his eye. Moments like this made him so that he didn't even need to think of soothing thoughts, to search for one of those few, happy memories that lingered deep in his mind. This way, letting it flow down his fingers and into the sword, made it disappear faster.

And it stopped the dreams, it stopped it all. Everything. Envy, lust, anger...he relished his sword for the way it let him release all these passionate, forceful feelings that were caged inside of him.

He was just about to begin taking off his boots, when he heard a rustle. Snapping his head to the side, he searched his surroundings, his gaze intense with the anger of having his solitude intruded upon. Not daring to use his sword as a weapon, in case the spy was someone who would get him in trouble for having one, he delved deep into his robes for his wand...wait! Robes? His hand passed through thin air. No pockets.

He looked down at himself, blinking. Bloody hell! He'd forgotten that today was Hogsmeade vacation day, and he had decided to stay at Hogwarts, leaving his wand and unworn robes in the Slytherin common room, the desire to venture out of the musty castle unusually not present. Knowing with the castle almost empty that it was alright to wear whatever he wanted, he had unpacked his special suitcase of clothes. He had longed for solitude since he had awoken that morning, and had since now been pleased to have it.

Now, that solitude seemed gone. Clenching his fists momentarily, he quickly wheeled around the corner, and promptly bumped into the spy, falling over and on top of the person in a tangle of limbs. Frustrated and angry, Draco desperately grabbed at something, and, tugging at the smooth strands, realized it was hair. "Ow! Gah, let go of my hair before I hit you over the head with my transfiguration book, you-" "Yes, me. Now what compels you to Hogwarts, Granger, to be prowling around corridors on Hogsmeade visit day? Or were you spying on me?"

His expression never changed, his stare remained piercing, curious, his hands resting against the sides of his stomach, elbows pushed into the floor. Somehow, he was not distracted by a girl lying partly on top if him, her legs tangled with his, one of her hips grinding against his, and the curve of her bosom pressing against his ribs quite obvious, what with his shirt having slid half way up.

On the contrary, Hermione noticed their awkward positioning, as well as other embarrassing aspects of their accident. For one, Draco wore leather. Instead of wearing normal Hogwarts robes, he wore -- along with the elbow-length dragonhide fingerless gloves - a pair of black, tight leather trousers, a silky-material sleeveless shirt, and a leather trench coat. Also, he wore white-laced black boots, which, although toed and heeled with hard metal caps not unlike the knuckle-caps on his gloves, were otherwise of a soft, cloth material. His clothes and their positioning made Hermione extremely aware of his masculine body against hers, the leather and other material rubbing smoothly, if not seductively, against parts of her skin. The thought flashed through her mind that if he was standing up so that she could see all of him, he would look dead sexy. As it was, she had the opportunity to feel the physicality of this dead sexiness he possessed. Of course, she quickly banished these thoughts from her mind the moment after.

She attempted to stand up in a huff, making him fall on his back, her elbow digging into his side. Her face flushed, Hermione finally managed to get into a non lying down position, half sitting, half leaning against Draco, ignoring his hip grinding into hers, and his foot now on her shoulder. Supporting herself on one hand, her other hand resting on his stomach, she grunted, shoving some hair from her face, and then saying, "*cough* I, no, I was not intentionally spying on you. You were making so much noise with the sword, and I was walking by, and heard it. You always seem to pop up, busily doing some unusual thing, every time I happen to be walking past. It's not my fault, okay? I don't stalk you, I don't spy on you. You are utterly, and perfectly boring to me, Malfoy. You mean no more to me than a chess game."

Malfoy smirked, his eyes nevertheless still searching her for truth. "However, Granger, the only reason you don't play chess is because you don't know how, and never have. If someone taught you how to play chess, or if you taught yourself, you'd want to play chess. And chess would happily let you play it, each piece obeying your orders." The glint in his eyes and his tone of voice suggested that indeed he would be one of those chess pieces, obeying all her orders, if she learned to play his game and how to properly direct the game players with success. It also implied that eventually, she'd want to 'play chess.' Blushing, and failing to repress a shiver at his perverse implications, she said, "Malfoy, I'd rather not play your game, and don't find your teasing amusing. Just because you manage to fall all over me and get tangled up with me all the time somehow doesn't mean I want to jump all over you. I'm not Pansy Parkinson, you know."

"I'm quite aware you're not anyone else, Granger, but what I hope I'm not aware of is the suspicious picture we present to anyone, especially with your breasts right near my hands. It's the only reason I didn't push you off me, was because I couldn't push you up properly that way. You happened to fall across me diagonally, and now here we are, looking like we were just preparing for the snog of our lives."

Her face redder than Ron's hair, Hermione stiffened, and twitched, as if to move. "I advise you not to move Granger, or else the scene someone could come upon would have my hand actually touching your br-" "shut UP! You are so sick, I can't believe you! Go away!" Realizing how stupid she sounded, saying him to go away when he couldn't, halfway underneath her as he was, Hermione scrunched her eyes tightly closed, taking a few deep breaths. "Oh and also, Granger, I advise you not to move your body below the waist to the right, or you may just end up coming in contact with my...belt buckle."

Wanting to scream at the sudden perverse images that immediately popped into her head, knowing he had not by any means meant belt buckle, Hermione opened her eyes, giving Malfoy a furious, detesting glare. He smirked, saying, "Oooh, if looks could kill...too bad they can't. Although, if you end up moving in any way I said, resulting in your face getting redder than a tomato, I'm sure you will explode and end up dying." "Har har, very funny, Malfoy. Now shut up and figure out a way to get us of this position without either of us getting...scarred from the experience." "You think I'd like to get a scar like Potter? I don't think so." "You knows that's not what I meant. And for all I know, Malfoy, you could have a Dark Mark somewhere on you. I'd consider that a horrid scar, for sure! Prat." Giving her a vicious glare, Draco raised his arm, as if to hit her. Hermione hastily turned her head, cringing. Chuckling in a way that made the hairs at the back of Hermione's neck raise on end, Malfoy said, "Did you really think I'd hit you, Granger? Over such an idiotic thing? I don't think so. Such a rude, and stupid comment from a person who doesn't know what she's talking about just isn't worth hitting." "Oh, be nasty than, Malfoy, I don't care about your useless blathering, just get on with getting us untangled, already!"

"Fine than. But please, shut up and don't boss me around, Granger."

Malfoy scooted back on his elbows a bit, sitting up slightly for a moment. Bending his leg, he then pushed his heel against Hermione's shoulder, pushing her up so that their hips did not touch anymore, and she now sat on the floor, and he was still lying down, both legs now curled up against him. "That was easy enough. Now you don't have to worry about any perverse thoughts that went through your mind, Granger." "Went through MY mind?? You're the one who was about to go and grope me, and was practically yelling out that you wanted to bloody snog the life out of me! "

It was silent for a moment, and then Malfoy burst out laughing.

It was not snickering, not chuckling, but full out, rolling on the floor, gasping for breath, body-shaking laughter. Clutching his stomach, Malfoy rolled on the floor, his laughter ringing in Hermione's ears. She stared. She'd never seen him laugh like this, and didn't get what was so funny. Also, seeing that his laughter was genuine, seeing for once his lips curved upwards in more than a smirk, his eyes shut with glee, she almost felt like laughing herself, it made her feel so good seeing him like that.

But pushing down that urge, Hermione went to bend over him, and gave him a hard slap across the face. She'd always wanted to do that! It made her grin.

Malfoy, still laughing slightly, gasped for breath.

Then, grinning up at her, he said, "You call that a bitch slap, Granger? Potter could do better than that, even Weasley could!"

Glaring at him, grin gone yet a smile twitching at her lips, but suppressed, Hermione asked coolly, "do anything like that again, or worse, and I'll give you a real good hit, one that will knock you down in one blow. And yes, Malfoy, that was a threat." She paused, staring deep into his eyes. A faint shadow of his grin still remaining, Malfoy managed to keep a piercing stare no matter what situation he was in. He always viewed everything indifferently. It shocked her. Attempting to destroy this ability of his, and also touched by that look in his eyes, the look that told her he was the carrier of many burdens--although he tried so hard to hide it--she reached out her hands, and like a feather, grazed his lips with her fingertips.

It unlocked something between them that they had lost, lost when she had turned her back on him before, and now had unknowingly retrieved. He stared up at her, not even a flicker of surprise in his eyes, though she knew he hadn't expected that. Then, taking hold of her wrist, he pushed her fingers a bit further down, and then, ever so lightly, she felt his tongue, the only warm part of him, flick against the skin of her fingertips.

Pulling back, she reluctantly destroyed the moment, knowing it wouldn't go the way she wanted, and, trying to get back the humorous mood, said, "Now tell me...what was so funny about what I said?"

Ignoring her question, he asked suddenly, "Granger, tell me, what was in that envelope that I delivered to you from Dumbledore a while ago? The one..." he paused, a strange look coming into his eyes, then ended with, "The one I watched you open." Hermione thought for a moment, and then answered, "Oh, that! Well, you see, I'm a straight A student, so it was an invitation to a meeting where they will be handing out rewards to students. Anyway," she said briskly, changing the subject, "Tell me what was so funny about what I said before."

He didn't even skip a beat, acting as if nothing had happened. Malfoy's grin widened even further, and, silvery irises glinting, he said, "Well, the expression on your face, the way you said it, and-" he choked with laughter for a moment "-the idea of anyone-especially me-killing a Mudblood by snogging the life out of her!" And, unable to contain himself fully any longer, Malfoy collapsed into a fit of giggles.

Although he had said Mudblood, Hermione hadn't been affected by it at all. What had surprised her though, however, was the fact that Malfoy, of all people, was giggling. Giggling! Like a girl! And his giggling was high pitched, too! She grinned, watching him laying there, giggling madly, his eyes shut, his face free of any malicious, perverse, or any negative sort of lines.

And then, Hermione couldn't help it, it just made her feel like exploding with happiness seeing him giggle like that. She plopped down onto the floor beside him, and let her grin stretch out before lying her head down on his stomach, and grabbing his hand, saying, "Oh, Draco!" before catching the contagious disease, and joining him in the mad fit of giggles.

~~*~~

Slowly, as if arising from the grave, he pushed his body up into a sitting position, and then, slightly wobbly, stood up. Placing one hand one his hip, the other covering his eyes from the luminescent blaze of the rising moon, he looked out at his surroundings with a dark, shadowed gaze.

He stood on a snow covered cliff top, from which there was apparently no escape.

He took in a deep breath, and smiled to find that he could succeed, at least, at something, however small an achievement it seemed.

Then, he remembered where he had last been. The ancient buildings...that had crumbled and disappeared...along with the fire that had encircled him, and given him a feeling of overwhelming power. The emptiness had been behind him, the complex weave of solid fence in front. He had lost his breath, and had fallen into the blue snow in great pain.

He thought he had died.

But apparently, it was not so. Or maybe he had died? He wasn't sure.

He looked down, staring at the pure white of the snow as if expecting some monster to come jumping out at him from its depths. Nothing happened. In truth, he did not expect anything, although the white reality of its color instead of the sparkling sapphire of the last snow he'd been enveloped in surprised him.

Smirking, he leant down, and placed his hand, fingers spread, palm flat, against the snow. It burned. Jumping back with a scream of terror, he lost his footing on the cliff, and fell backwards, head first. There was no time to think, nothing to grasp onto. Feet pointed towards the heavens, up at the merciless moon, head facing imminent doom, he let himself fall, loving and simultaneously despising the feeling of his body, which now felt weightless, dropping towards certain death.

Silver hair blown by the wind, he held up a pale hand, gazing at it with dark eyes. The ring, his ring, was on his hand now once again. It would remain so, forever. Yet, somehow, although before it had given him strength, and without it he had nearly been driven insane, it now gave him not an ounce of comfort.

He had never really desired the ring though, no, but had kept it for fear of punishment upon forsaking the gift given to him. In truth, he hated the ring, it's symbolism of pestilence, and that is why he had discarded it. But he had been forced to retrieve it, for his mind had blinded him with pain of all kinds upon his dispossession of the ornament.

What he really wanted was to once again feel the burning of those droplets of fire against his tongue, and to be able to join with the flames and shudder as they did, without destroying the ancient buildings as he had before. But it had been forbidden, and thus, he had knocked at death's door. Now, with the ring, and no fire, he was falling, and this time, surely death would answer the door.

Closing his eyes, his long, dark lashes lying, an illusion of peace, on his pale cheeks, he threw out his arms, like the wings of a helpless, dark angel outcast from heaven, and screamed.

And screamed again.

Then, his eyes shot open, and, legs flailing, arms tightly gripping silk blankets, he attempted to sit up, and found he couldn't. He felt drugged.

A sudden wave of dizziness hit him, and he closed his eyes, momentarily. But then the feeling of falling returned, and he quickly opened his eyes again, wide.

His gaze, looking upward, met with another, similar gaze. However, these eyes were dark, and black as coals, whereas Draco's were rather like grey-blue steel. Tucking back a lock of silver hair, Draco, face now expressionless, stared, unblinkingly, at his captor.

One pair of malevolent eyes met another equally malevolent pair, and Draco knew he was trapped. And he knew exactly where he was going. His heart clenched at the pain these memories of his current destination induced, and his fists clenched even tighter around the black velvet blankets swirling around him, and he bit his lip till it bled.

Ignoring the taste of blood in his mouth, Draco smiled. It was the true Malfoy smirk, an illusion of happiness never actually bestowed on its owner, so icy, so heartless, and so very sadistic, that it would send shivers down any normal person's spine, and leave them trembling, fearful, and cold afterwards.

In a deadpan tone of voice, Draco drawled, "Why, hello father."

~~*~~

Hermione stood, shocked.

She had been wondering where Draco was all day, she had missed him so much.

The image of Draco, rolling on the floor in laughter, and other pleasant images that made her feel a special warmth, such as the way he had sat so relaxed after that Quidditch match, the way his hair had glowed silver the night of the kiss, and the way he had smirked after their fit of laughter, all whirled through her head that morning.

And now, upon going to ask Dumbledore where the Slytherin prefect had disappeared to, she had found he had been taken home by his father. Her question was, why? Why had he one day been laughing with her on the floor, and the next day, disappeared back home with his father, whom Hermione extremely disliked? It seemed quite uncanny. Of course, he might have wanted to go visit his father, been homesick, or something of that sort, but on the other hand, maybe he had been forced? Hermione didn't know why, but the thought of Draco being brought back to his home, with his father, and imagining how dreary the Malfoy mansion must be, brought a shiver to her spine.

Maybe the shiver was because all the information she had read up on their family, and the rumors of what happened around their house that whirled, unproven yet highly suspicious, through her head.