Bleeding Roses

Chapter 11

Murder Attempt

Despite the fact that she already solved the mystery of the chest, it was no use. Hermione was kept very busy, so she had no time to open the chest. The N.E.W.T.s were drawing closer, and she couldn't believe that she hadn't started revising right after the Christmas holidays. Having so many things on her mind, only when Professor McGonagall mentioned something about the N.E.W.T.s did she remember that she still had exams to study for. This was so unlike her, not having her priorities set already. The chest could wait, although her curiosity was intense. She made color-coded study schedules for herself, Harry, Ron, and even Draco. Harry and Ron just rolled their eyes and stuffed the schedules into their pockets carelessly. Draco looked at her like she had just grown an extra head. Like any other studying session, Hermione was very on edge, and snapped at anyone who dared to disturb her, especially since she started so late. She was so immersed in her studies, that the chest was almost completely driven out of her mind.

In addition to her obsessive study sessions, she also had piles upon piles of Head duties that she had to perform, or renounce her position. It was a wonder how she managed. Soon though, the mystery was solved. She had massive, purple bags under her eyes. She had trouble staying awake and taking notes at the same time in her classes. The professors, excluding Snape, took pity in her and slightly lessened her workload. It helped at little. She could even spare a bit of time for Draco.

It was night, and Hermione was patrolling the hallways with Draco. She was struggling from the effort of suppressing constant yawns. The two made small talk. An intelligent debate would wear her out, she knew. She hadn't slept much the previous night: only about four hours. She felt like she could fall asleep right on her feet.

"Look Hermione," Draco said, his lighthearted tone changing to serious. He was trying to keep Hermione entertained as much as he could so that she wouldn't fall asleep on her feet, but it proved to be a great challenge. She was too irresponsive. "You really need to give yourself a break and get more sleep."

"I can't!" she protested. "The N.E.W.T.s are coming up and you know how important they are! They determine the kind of jobs you would be able to have after graduation! It determines the life you will lead! It determines your future!"

"But you don't have to study like a maniac!" he said. "Everyone knows that you will get all O's anyway."

"They also all know that O's aren't handed to you on a silver platter!" she said. "I have to work for it, just like everyone else!"

"That gives you no reason to study like your life depends on it!" he said.

"But my life does depend on it! What part of 'it determines your future' don't you understand?" she snapped.

"You're taking this out of proportion."

"No I'm not. I just have my priorities straight. I want to do well."

"And we all don't?"

"If you do, you sure aren't acting like it."

Draco stopped in the middle of the corridor and grabbed Hermione by the shoulders. "You're apparently not being yourself," he said. "I need to help you relieve some of this stress."

"I don't need--" She never got to end her protest.

He walked behind her, and massaged the tense muscles of her shoulders, neck, and back. She soon found herself enjoying his touches. She felt her muscles relax considerably. When Draco was done, she shrugged her shoulders experimentally. The pain she had felt earlier was now nonexistent, or at least temporarily dulled.

She turned around to face Draco, and smiled. "This feel so much better," she said. "Thanks a lot."

Before he could reply, she leaned in and their lips met in a sweet kiss.

"Wow," he said softly, "I hadn't had one of those from you in a long while."

"A few days shouldn't be considered long," she replied.

"It is to my standards," he said, smirking. A few months ago, she would have thought the smirk was repulsive, but now, she found it adorable.

She smiled innocently. "So do you want more?" she asked.

He nodded vigorously, like a five-year-old being asked if he would like a year's supply of candy. She was more than happy to comply.

All the while, a horrified blonde watched them from the end of the hallway, anger burning like fire inside of her. Oh sweet revenge, she thought nastily.

*****

It was Potions again, the most hated class of the Gryffindors. Draco had always liked the class, but now, he had a reason to hate it too. He hated someone in that class, and surprisingly, it wasn't Snape.

He was minding his own business, brewing his own potion. As he reached for his last, and most important ingredient, someone elbowed past him, making him drop the beaker. The beaker shattered into a million crystal pieces, and the thick liquid that used to be within spread on the dungeon floor, burning holes right through the stones.

"Help him clean up Parkinson," Snape said to Pansy, who was nearest. It hit him that the "someone" who elbowed him was Pansy herself.

"I know you were the one who made me drop this," he sneered.

As they bent down, Pansy took full advantage of their situation, which was their distance from the other students.

"I had a reason, and I want you to listen to me well. Stay away from the Mudblood," she hissed.

"You have no right to order me around," he spat.

"But I have pictures of you and your stinking little girlfriend," she said.

"I don't give a damn," he said.

"They're going to end up in your daddy's hands," she said, quickly covering up her disappointment.

"So?" he replied nonchalantly. "Screw it."

Pansy glared, gritting her teeth. "You're going to regret it," she said. "I will make sure of it."

"Good luck and have fun," he said in a bored tone.

Her eyes flashed dangerously, but she forced a smile, and said, "Oh I will. Trust me."

The smile she showed was full of malice, but he paid to heed to it. However, at the bottom of his heart, he felt an uncomfortable twinge of worry. What was he going to tell his father? Pansy would never let an opportunity for her to get revenge pass her by.

*****

A couple of days passed by, and Draco received written proof that Pansy did get her revenge. It was during breakfast in the Great Hall, at its usual owl post time, that he obtained his confirmation. He knew exactly what the letter on his eagle owl's ankle contained, and he knew exactly whom it was from. With dread, worry, and apprehension permanently settling in his chest, he tore open the envelope and read the contents of his letter. At least he didn't send me a Howler, he thought. The mortification would be worse, especially with Potty and the Weasel laughing at me. The letter was short and... well, it was short.

Draco,

Miss Parkinson has informed me of your relationship with the Mudblood girl. Meet me in the Hog's Head on your next Hogsmeade trip. We have much to discuss.

Your father

His gaze met Pansy's and he could see her smiling at him. He forced a smile, determined not to show that he acknowledged the fact that she won this battle. He angrily stuffed the letter in his pocket as he stood up, resolved to throw it in the fire at the first opportunity. Or at least he tried to. Because of his carelessness, the crumpled piece of parchment fell to the floor, to be picked up by none other than the "Mudblood girl". This led to a confrontation shortly afterwards in the privacy of their Head common room.

"Don't go," Hermione insisted.

"I can't," Draco replied. "He'd come after me and kill me on the spot. At least if I go, I might talk my way out of punishment... somehow."

"He can't harm you as long as Dumbledore's here!" she said.

"But he can trick Dumbledore away!" he argued.

Hermione remembered the incident in first year, when Dumbledore was tricked to a fake Ministry emergency. He wouldn't fall for that again! Dumbledore isn't stupid.

"He already has been tricked once," she said. "He's not going to be tricked again."

"That can't be guaranteed," he said.

He does have a point, she thought. Dumbledore's not a Seer.

"But what if...? ...What if..." she stammered. "What if... he does something to you?"

He shrugged. "I suppose there won't be much left for me to do," he said.

"You say you can talk your way out of it," she said. "What can you say?"

"I'll come up with an excuse and apply just the right facial expressions," he said. "He'll believe me. It's not like he's a Legilimens like the Dark Lord." Seeing her unconvinced face, he added, "Besides, we have a whole month until the next Hogsmeade trip. I'm a Slytherin. I can find a convincing enough story to tell way before then."

Hermione remained skeptical, but found no other argument to throw at him, except for the "what if"'s. It was rare for Draco to actually be optimistic about something, so she wasn't about to bring him down with her worst-case scenarios. And at the mention of the Dark Lord, she remembered that he had his initiation ceremony a while ago. But since she had been angry with him then, she had forgotten to ask him about it.

"So..." she said tentatively, "how did that initiation ceremony go?"

He considered telling her about all the pain that he had had to go through, but decided that he shouldn't worry Hermione even further. What's more, he still hated pity.

"It was not as bad as I thought," he replied. It was much worse, he thought to himself. At least he wasn't completely lying, leaving Hermione to interpret it how ever she wanted to.

She nodded and gently rolled back the sleeve covering his left arm. The Mark was there, vibrant on his pale skin. It was ugly and disgusting, scarring him for life, both physically and emotionally. He must be enduring so much at the moment, and it was out of her hands to make him feel better. She rolled down his sleeve and felt that the corners of her eyes stinging. She quickly turned around, and blinked back the tears that threatened to fall.

"Are you all right?" he asked, placing a hand on her shoulder.

"Yeah," she answered, wiping her eyes, and managing a weak laugh. "I was just being ridiculous."

Sensing that this conversation would be awkward and the situation uncomfortable, he abruptly changed the subject. "Did you see Professor Vector's new husband? That man looks like Bludgers hit him too many times to count! Honestly!"

*****

As the days drew him closer to his meeting with his father, Draco still hadn't come up with a good enough excuse, much to his frustration and concern. Maybe he should have made sure that he could do something before he boasted about it. Well, it was only to quiet Hermione. For once in his life, he felt very doubtful of himself. Will he be able to come up with an excuse on time? As more days passed, he decided that he was desperate enough to resort to the last solution: asking for help. And Hermione seemed to be the best candidate. However, help was not immediately obtained, since she was still extremely busy. It was difficult to find a time at which she wasn't working or in a bad mood. But by a miracle, that time came and it took enormous effort from him to swallow his pride and tell her the truth.

"I've come up with a lot of great ideas, but I'm not sure which one I should choose. So I want to know if you have any suggestions so that I don't have to be forced to pick one," he said. Okay... maybe that wasn't the entire truth. But making him swallow his pride was a big feat just by itself already; so what more from him do you want?

Hermione was obviously unconvinced by his pitiful speech. She raised an eyebrow and said, "What? Even with your Slytherin cunning, you still haven't found an excuse for your father?"

He opened his mouth as if indignant. "Do not make such assumptions of me!" he said. "I have millions of great ideas."

"Then just pick a random one," she said, opening her book. "You apparently don't need me then."

She smiled inwardly. What was he going to do now?

"If I hadn't needed you, I wouldn't have come to you," he said.

"But the way I see it," she said, "you don't need my help, since you've got 'millions of great ideas'."

Draco sighed exasperatedly. "Fine," he said. "I haven't thought of a single great idea."

She smiled triumphantly. "Why didn't you just say so?" She put her book down on the couch next to her.

"Because it is below me."

"And you thought that I would be stupid enough to believe that rubbish."

"Well, it was worth a try."

"I'm not at the top of my classes for no reason."

"Someone's arrogant."

"Funny how you would know."

"Well, you're being hypocritical."

"No. You're just rubbing off on me."

"Then I must be."

"We're getting off-topic here."

"Look who's talking."

"I am. Anyways, you wanted help forming your excuse, I believe?"

"You don't have to rub it in even more."

"But it's so much fun."

"No, it isn't."

"Yes, it is."

"No."

"Yes."

"Getting off-topic again, aren't we?"

"So anyways," Hermione repeated, glaring, "I think I have an idea."

"And it is...?"

"Pretend that you're only hanging around me because you want to get closer to Harry."

"So it's like I'm spying for both sides? That'll be the death of me."

"Well, unless you've got a better idea, I suggest you take my advice." Hermione crossed her arms over her chest.

"All right then." He stood up and turned to leave, then added, "Thanks."

"For once you're appreciating me!" she said.

"A 'you're welcome' would be great," he said dryly.

"Then where would the fun be?" she asked, smiling.

He rolled his eyes. "See you later," he said and left the room.

*****

It was the day of the "discussion" at the Hog's Head, and Draco felt sick and numb. He rehearsed so many times at night, but he was still nervous beyond measure. Being somewhat of an insomniac, he used many of his nights to practice. He wondered if it was enough. If he ruins this, he knew Hermione would be the one paying the terrible price.

As he walked on the streets of Hogsmeade, he did not even feel the chilly wind blow. The snow was melting, but it didn't mean that the air was any warmer. The sign outside of the pub creaked as another breeze blew. When he pulled the door open and entered, he felt grateful for its rush of warmth. Only two other people--one heavily wrapped in scarves and the other wearing a hooded cloak--were in the pub, but Draco could immediately tell which one was his father. He could recognize his strong, spicy, and expensive cologne anywhere. And his cloak looked expensive and custom designed. When his father turned around, Draco could catch a glint in his gray eyes, despite the fact that his hood hid his face.

"Draco!" his father said warmly. They both knew that he was just pretending. "I've been waiting for you!"

He walked toward Draco. With a firm grip on his shoulder, Lucius led him to the second floor, where the private rooms were. The room was musty, and definitely wasn't as cozy as the Leaky Cauldron. It had a couch, an armchair, a little coffee table, and a fireplace. The fireplace looked too worn away to be lighted. Draco couldn't hide his look of disgust at such a place.

"Of course this isn't as comfortable as home," his father said, obviously noticing his discomfort, "but it will serve our purpose."

At these words, Draco's stomach churned, and his hands became clammy in spite of his desperate need for control. His heart thumped wildly inside his chest.

"Please, take a seat," Lucius Malfoy said, as he himself sat down on the armchair.

Draco obeyed, sitting down on the couch facing his father. Look at him in the eyes, he instructed himself, or he'll have even more reasons to suspect you.

"So how is school going?" Malfoy senior asked as he conjured a teapot and two cups out of thin air.

"Very well, thank you," he answered, apprehension setting heavily in his heart.

"Your teachers and your friends are all right?" Mr. Malfoy continued asking. Draco couldn't help but notice the special emphasis his father put on the word "friends".

"They are fine," he said simply.

His father nodded curtly. "How about your personal life?" he asked, pouring the steaming hot tea in the two teacups. "Do you have your eye on any girl?"

Draco swallowed. What was he going to tell him? Should he lie? But it would be rather pointless to lie, since his father already knew about Hermione. Maybe he should just take Hermione's advice. The situation urgently called for it.

"There's a girl, Harry Potter's best friend, who thinks that I like her, but I really don't," he lied, keeping his face blank and staring right into his father's eyes. At last something his father had taught him became useful. "This is all part of my plan to get to Potter. She's the perfect 'bridge', as we might call it."

His father was quiet, searching for any signs on his face that he might have let slip. It was a difficult task to keep his face blank, while his heart was about to jump out of his chest in dread. It felt like an eternity when his father finally withdrew his gaze from his face.

"I do not think that you're lying," Mr. Malfoy said, and Draco sighed inaudibly. "But there's always doubt. However, it is of no matter now. Drink up." He pushed the teacup toward Draco.

Steadying his hand, he reached over and grabbed the cup. Slowly, he brought it to his lips, noticing a slight swirl in the tea. That definitely wasn't supposed to be there. He pretended to sip, perfectly aware of his father's careful gaze on him. Hopefully, it was convincing enough. He set the cup back down on the table and leaned back, his eyes never leaving his father's.

"You really do not feel any emotions toward the Mudblood girl?" his father asked. By the nature of this question, he could deduce that his father put Veritaserum in the tea.

"With the exception of hatred, I harbor no feelings for her whatsoever," he said firmly. "After all, she's just a filthy little Mudblood." The most surprising thing was that it took an effort to say "Mudblood", something he used to be able to say very easily. How strange... Nevertheless, his father seemed satisfied.

"I knew that my own son will never betray me," Mr. Malfoy said in a tone that was meant to make someone feel guilty. However, Draco was determined not to be the "someone".

"Of course not, Father," he lied deliberately. "I will always be on your side."

When his father stood up, he followed suit. Mr. Malfoy patted his son on the shoulder, and said, "I raised you well" in an overly paternal voice. Draco knew that it was only for show, although no one else was anywhere near enough to hear. His father adjusted his hood, and walked out without so much as a farewell, but a sense of relief flooded Draco's body. He lied, and succeeded in fooling Lucius Malfoy.

*****

Hermione sat nervously in the library, biting her bottom lip. She didn't know how Draco was doing, and it unnerved her. What if he was getting tortured, and she couldn't do anything about it? Would he actually be able to fool his father? She found it to be extremely difficult to concentrate on her schoolwork. What if he needed her? She impatiently tapped her fingers on the yellowing pages of the thick volume before her. There was no use. She couldn't study effectively. She snapped the book shut. Dust flew in the air, causing Hermione to sneeze. She wondered how long this book hadn't been opened. She held it under her arm, and walked out of the library, hoping that Draco already returned from his trip.

Oddly, no one was in the hallways, not even the students below third year, who were not permitted to visit Hogsmeade. It was unusually quiet. Hermione could hear the faint echoes the soles of her shoes were making as they met the floor with each step. She could hear her own breathing, like the volume has just been tuned up. Something was wrong. It was too silent. She sharpened her senses and walked more slowly, determined to catch any sound that was out of rhythm with her breathing and walking.

As she passed a bathroom--the most frequently used for its convenience--not a sound was emitted. Not even giggles of gossiping girls. Strange... this corridor was usually full of life. What was wrong? Her breathing and heartbeat quickened. She could feel that something was going to go wrong. Any moment now...

Suddenly, a figure clad in all black appeared in front of her, and she stopped, almost stumbling over her own feet because of the abruptness of her stop. She could see that the person was wearing a black cloak covering his or her face. However, the person's build seemed to be close to hers. The figure raised his or her wand. Hermione could almost hear the person smirking.

"Avada Kedavra," the person whispered, but Hermione caught both words of the curse.

Panic struck her. How was she going to defend herself? Withdrawing her wand from her pocket at lightning speed, she screamed the first spell that came into her mind, "Protego!"

The shield wasn't strong enough. The green light seemed to waver for a fraction of a second before breaking through Hermione's protective barrier. The deadly curse hit her in the stomach, knocking the wind out of her. The last thing she saw before her vision faded to black was a lock of blond hair protruding from the hood.

*****

Draco returned earlier than the rest of the students since he couldn't wait to tell Hermione of the recent developments. He had achieved the seemingly impossible, outwitting his father. He burst in the library, but Hermione was nowhere to be seen. So he decided to look for her in their common room. She was absent from there too. He even went to her bedroom, but she wasn't there. His happiness vanished, to be replaced by worry. Where was she? Maybe she was with her friends, Potter and Weasley, who didn't go to Hogsmeade.

He ran toward the stairs, to the seventh floor, where he knew it was where the Gryffindor common room was located. He never got to the portrait of the Fat Lady because he met the two boys in the middle of the corridor. All three boys stopped in their tracks, narrowing their eyes. As much as he hated it, he had to ask them where Hermione was. If they didn't know, who would?

"Potty, Weasel," he said in acknowledgement.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Potter asked, suspicion thick in his voice.

"I'm just here to pay you guys a visit because I love you so much," he replied sarcastically.

Potter and Weasley exchanged glances. How thick could they be? He thought to himself. I don't see why Hermione is always so intent on spending time with them.

"I'm here to find Hermione, you halfwits," he said.

"Don't you dare call us halfwits, you slimy ferret!" Weasley said heatedly.

"And why should you care about Hermione?" Potter asked, still very suspicious.

Draco looked around, making sure that no one else was around. "Because she's my girlfriend!" he replied angrily. "How thick can you two get?"

Weasley's face visibly flushed. Before he could reply though, Potter cut him off. "I thought you two broke up."

"Apparently not," Draco replied impatiently. "News flash: We made up."

Ron looked confused. "Why?" he asked. "Why would she ever make up with you after all that you've done to her?"

"Do not talk about what you don't understand, Weasley," Draco snapped. "Personal affairs of ours are none of your concern. Now, where is she?"

"Since you two 'made up'," Ron said, "I would expect her to be with you."

"Well, do you see her anywhere near?" Draco asked mockingly.

Ron flushed again, and gripped Draco by his collar, catching him off-guard, and slammed him against the wall. "Stop being a smart-ass and tell us what you've done with Hermione," Ron demanded angrily.

Draco pushed him away, making him stumble back. Ron swung his fist, but Draco was ready, blocking the punch.

"Wait!" Harry yelled.

The other two boys looked at him, seething.

Harry turned to Draco. "Where is Hermione?" he asked, gritting his teeth.

"That's what I'm asking you!" he said angrily. "If I knew, I wouldn't be here! Why would I ever bother to spend unnecessary time with you? As far as I know, something could have happened to her, and I can't find her!"

"Well, since you guys are together now," Ron said. "Why aren't you with her?"

"I had my own business to attend to!" he said in frustration.

"What? Death Eater meetings?" Ron asked.

Draco opened his mouth to retort, but thought better of it. He spun on his heel, and said, "Why did I even bother? You don't care about her anyway."

He smirked, knowing he hit the right nerve. He hadn't gone more than two steps before Harry shouted, "Don't you say that we don't care about her!"

He turned around, becoming face-to-face with the Boy-Who-Lived. "Really?" he said, smirking. "I thought I just did." It was fun to watch his face turn to a deep, vivid shade of red.

"I'm going to find her," he said determinedly.

"You've finally come to your senses, Potter," Draco said satisfactorily.

He didn't reply, and he was already very far ahead. Draco only followed contently, knowing his plan had worked. This left Ron no choice but to tag along also. They started on the seventh floor; then, went down the floors, one at a time, and inspecting all the corridors that they knew of. Finally, they arrived on the fourth floor, where the library was. Hermione had to be near. The three boys decided to split up, to make the search faster.

Draco wandered off away from the other two at a fork. He made random turns, feeling confident that he won't be lost, since he learned at this school for almost seven years. After a while, there still wasn't any sign of Hermione. He wondered if Harry and Ron had any luck. Because of his solitude, he noticed the lack of activity in the corridors, which was quite uncommon at Hogwarts. However, he didn't have much time to ponder on this peculiarity. When he turned a corner, he immediately spotted Hermione's crumpled body on the floor. He darted towards her, desperately wishing that he wasn't too late.

"POTTER! WEASLEY!" he yelled, cradling Hermione in his arms.

He didn't have to wait long. Harry and Ron came running. At the sight in front of them, Harry's face was contorted with worry, and Ron's jaw dropped to the floor and his eyes opened wide. All three boys knelt by Hermione's side.

Knowing that it would be in vain, Draco shook Hermione. As he had suspected, nothing happened, except that Hermione's head rolled limply on her shoulder. Please don't be dead, Draco thought. Please don't be dead.

"Does she have a heartbeat?" Ron asked, panic rising in his voice.

Harry reached over and grabbed Hermione's wrist, pressing his thumb there. Draco and Ron waited in worry and trepidation for Harry's words.

13