Suspicions and Pride

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, it belongs to JK Rowling et all, this work is not commercial nor does it infringe on any of the rights of the owner

*

When she awoke, her eyes found the small piece of yellow parchment pinned to the inside of the cherry red hangings. She didn’t normally draw the thick curtains around the dark wooden four-poster bed until it grew much colder, and the additional warmth was something she was grateful for, so the fuzz of sleep added to her disorientation. She stretched up, and unfastened the little silver pin.

She re-read her own scribbled script, and felt her jaw set determinedly. She pushed back the thick red coverlet, and the sheets, and drew back the heavy hangings.

It was cold in the room; September had faded unnoticeably into October, and the first chills settled across the castle in this part of Scotland early on. She peered out of the high windows, across the grass to the grey tinged lake, the giant squid waving one tentacle miserably out of the water in a bizarre half-salute to the strains of pink in the sky signalling the dawn. She blew on her hands to warm them, and pushed her feet into pink fuzzy slippers, a very home-ish object in this castle of magic. Shuffling out into the shared common room, she knotted her thick bathrobe around her.

She froze, her forehead creasing in puzzlement. The candles she’d blown out when she’d gone to bed were burned out completely, pools of waxy dribbles in the carved holders. The desk was scattered with bits of parchment, and a quill lay haphazardly beside a pot of black ink. The fire had been left to burn out in the grate, the ashes were blowing about on the hearth in the little draught blowing through the cold room, and stretched out on the squashy sofa, Draco Malfoy lay asleep, covered by a green blanket, his head pillowed on his arm.

She looked down at him, bewildered by the decision to go to sleep in the common-room. It was far colder than their individual rooms, being larger, and the windows far more draughty and likely to rattle. Hermione looked at the small clock over the fireplace. Its face was intricately carved; the crest of the school delicately executed, a lion, badger, snake and bird intertwined, each animal marking one fifteen minute interval with a paw, or talon, or forked tongue. The tiny golden hands marked five thirty.

He might be evil, but he was certainly cold, she noted. The blanket was wound tightly around his shoulders in a death-like grip. She watched him sleep dispassionately for a few moments, his breaths and the soft tick of the clock the osounsounds in the room.

His face was half hidden by his hair, but the arrogant, proud line of his aquiline nose she could clearly see. The twist to his lips was gone, in sleep he looked almost peaceful. High cheekbones that stood out; Malfoy never seemed to gain any real weight, she observed. He was pale, his skin almost completely white. Without the colour of his eyes, he looked like an etching in marble, or something.

She bent before the fire, tucking her robe more securely around her to fight off the creeping cold of the castle in the dim morning light. She laid the fire quickly and quietly, then struck the match. A glow of pleasure burned as she held the bright flame to the twigs and it caught. She piled on a few logs to burn, and dusted off her hands, pleased with her achievement.

Malfoy didn’t stir as she let herself quietly out of the door, and allowed the portrait, showing a sleeping (and snoring) pretty young maiden dressed in a medieval-ish red gown, with thick waves of golden blonde hair, to swing shut behind her.

*

The water of the Prefects’ bathroom was tantalisingly hot as Hermione slid into it with a grateful sigh. Pink bubbles floated up from the water and burst with a gentle ‘pop’ near the ceiling. The portraits began to wake up, with indignant grunts at being startled out of sleep, but Hermione ignored them, allowing herself to slip down into the water until only her head was out of it. She needed to think.

*

Hermione climbed over the bench to sit down beside Ron, and asked Harry, politely, to pass the milk.wingwing on a piece of toast and marmalade, Harry set the jug in front of her. She drizzled a little over her bowl of porridge, listening to Ron’s excited discussion with Dean Thomas over plans for the Halloween Feast. Professor Flitwick had announced in Charms, the day before, that they were to learn the more tricky enchantments to fix the decorations in place. It would, he’d informed them, bristling with the brilliance of his idea, be a practical way of testing their ability. Unfortunately, this titbit of study-related news had no bearing at all on Dean and Ron’s discussion. They were talking about the relative merits of the wizarding bands that could play during the Feast, and whether Dumbledore would secure the trio of Sirens this time.

“I hope he does,” Dean said, with a wicked smile, giving Ron a dig in the ribs. “That Cassandra…” He sighed happily, folding his hands over his heart. Ron looked indignant.

“Oi. You’re supposed to be geg ovg over my sister,” he ordered, waving his spoon in the air to gesture further. Hermione smiled, and looked further down the table. In the middle of a row of anxious-faced Gryffindors, discussing the latest news headlined in the ‘Daily Prophet’, and casting looks at the sparsely populated Slytherin table, Luna Lovegood sat calmly reading the latest edition of ‘The Quibbler’, whose disinterest in the War was legendary, except if people had interestingly shaped wounds as a result of it, or there was a story on whether Tom Riddle had originated on Earth or not. Hermione squinted; today’s front page dealt with an Aethonon in Yorkshire that had been born with curly horns. Obviously it was a slow news day.

“Mione,” Ron poked her with his elbow, swallowing a mouthful of porridge, “D’you know who Dumbledore is hiring for the Feast?” He and Dean looked hopefully at her. She shook her head.

“I think Malfoy and I have to do something about it nearer the time,” she offered, absently. Harry looked up from his toast, and scowled.

“Can’t believe that prat made Head Boy,” he glowered at the pot of marmalade. Anxiously, it scuttled out of harm’s way, holding up a spoon as if to defend itself.

“Git probably had Mummy and Daddy buy the position,” Ron scoffed scornfully, tossing a glare at the blond boy seated at the Slytherin table on the other side of the room as he produced the oft-used reason the Gryffindor house had decided with disbelief could be the only way Malfoy had managed to get the place when his family’s beliefs were well known in the time of attack. Resentfully, he poked at his porridge with his spoon.

“He’s not actually done anything, though,” Harry said thoughtfully, pointing at the Slytherin table with the corner of his piece of toast. “I mean, he’s said stuff, he always does,” he corrected himself, with a frown, “But he’s not actually tried to hex me in the hallways, or helped Snape torture me in Potions.” He scowled. “It’s weird.”

“Very,” Ginny cheerfully spoke up from further down the table before Hermione could open her mouth. “You’ll just have to find something else to think about, Harry. Who knows?” she shrugged, her eyes sparkling with mischief, “Maybe he’s bored of winding up such easy targets.”

“Oi,” Harry protested half-heartedly, swiping at her hands as she snatched one of his pieces of toast. “I’m not an easy target.” The conversation broke up into friendly banter between the three, Dean drifting into the merits of Quidditch versus football with Seamus Finnagan, who had developed an enthusiasm in his local team over the summer.

Hermione swallowed, still thinking as she got up from the table. She was going to have to watch Malfoy very carefully from now on. He’d been far too unconfrontational, and others were starting to notice it.


*

Potions wasn’t that hard, Hermione discovered. Snape enjoyed to annoy and irritate those Gryffindors who were ridiculously inclined to take Advanced Potions. By pairing Harry with Pansy Parkinson, he’d already managed to annoy both of them, and Pansy’s scowl made the unfortunate girl bear even more resemblance to the pug-dog that she was often compared to.

“Miss Granger,” Professor Snape’s silky smooth voice, that signalled the arrival of an event that would cause him imminent pleasure, was very quiet. “You and Mr Malfoy, I think. Perhaps being paired with someone equally devoted to their studies will finallyt yot you up.” He trailed one long white finger over a jar of pickled baby newts nod nodded slowly, a smile curling the corners of his mouth.

“You may begin,” he barked the order suddenly, surprising the scattered students at their workbenches. Silently, Hermione noted down the list of ingredients from the blackboard, and the procedure times. She cast a sidelong look at Malfoy. Carefully, seemingly disinterested in anything else, his cursive script covered his own parchment. She laid down her own white-feathered quill, cast a withering look for it’s own sake at his ostentatious eagle feather, and began measuring out ingredients. A strong hand cd ovd over hers as she weighed out Jobberknoll feathers.

“Much as I am loathe to touch you, Granger,” Malfoy hissed in a voice filled with disdain, bordering on utter disgust, “May I remind you that you cannot accomplish this on your own? The assignment allows us both to learn from it, and I do want to pass my NEWT, whatever evidence to the contrary you, Potty and the Weasel have conjured up,” he finished with a sneer.

Slamming down a glass bottle of dried scurvy-grass, Hermione glared right back at him. “Fine,” she snapped. “Then get on with it.”

There was absolutely nothing unusual about Malfoy, and keeping an eye on him was going to be a pain in the arse.


*

Author’s Notes

Sirens are common in Greek legend as being beautiful women who lured men onto the rocks with their song. The Sirens seemed like a reasonable name for a wizard singing group, and Cassandra is a classical name from the same time period, so I tied it in.

An Aethonon is a chestnut brown winged horse found in England, found in the HP Lexicon.

Jobberknoll feathers are used in memory potions, and scurvy-grass is used In befuddlement draughts.