No Longer Helpless

Chapter Thirty
Revenge and Drinks

Draco was leaning against the stone wall, just to the side of the Fat Lady’s portrait. Potter and the Weaslette were trying their best to stand still and wait. Draco had just commented on how restless Gryffindors were, and they had stopped their pacing, but found it impossible to just stand there. It amazed them that the Slytherin could wait in silence with his calm and cool façade.

Earlier, they had come rushing down the corridor, full speed ahead, not showing any sign of stopping. Malfoy’s voice had rung out, halting them. It had been under his harsh orders that they were waiting for Hermione and Ron to finish their little chat within the room.

Ginny’s temper was fluctuating as she was torn between her rising anger, mainly directed at Malfoy, and the Zen like chants she was saying in her mind to keep her cool. In her view, Malfoy’s sudden alliance wasn’t that big a deal. Perhaps having one less year of his taunts and the fact that she’d never often been the target gave her less of a history to get over. Regardless of why, she felt the opinions of Dumbledore, Moody, and Hermione alone were enough to put her own trust in the Slytherin.

But, she couldn’t help feel a little upset with him as he stood there calmly. ‘As if he doesn’t give a DAMN!’ her mind shouted at him. The fact that the Fat Lady was now shamelessly blushing and flirting with him didn’t help.

“Malfoy, I think we can go in now,” Ginny finally cracked.

His impassive expression was made uncaring by the fact that his eyes had drifted shut for the last few minutes. For a second, Ginny thought he might be asleep, leaning his back on the wall and his arms crossed in front of him. But, no sooner had she begun to wonder about his conscious state than he gave her a subtle shake of the head.

Malfoy was listening intently to Ron and Hermione’s conversation. He was ready to jump in there the second things got out of hand. Now, however, he was overhearing her speak of revenge. This troubled him.

Ginny watched as Draco followed the rejection of her idea by tilting his head and furrowing his brows. He seemed troubled and to be concentrating all at the same time. As she watched this, she too scrunched her brows and wrinkled her forehead, perplexed by his odd behavior. ‘Weirdo,’ she called him.

“What are they saying?” Harry asked suddenly.

Ginny whipped her head in his direction, confused. It took a moment before an understanding dawned on her, and then a little guilt. Once she knew what the blonde prince was up to, which was protectively monitoring the situation, she felt bad at jumping the gun and making him the focus of her frustrations.

Draco just shook his head again, though with something of an emotion written on his face. It was more than apparent he was concerned over something, but he wouldn’t let them in on anything. Just as Harry stepped forward with a stern look set to his emerald eyes, which meant clear a path, Draco opened his eyes and stopped him. His cool gaze halted Harry. Then he raised a hand, palm facing the young raven-haired boy.

Baffled, Harry looked incredulously at Malfoy, and then to Ginny as if she could explain why Malfoy had that madly cold gleam to his eyes and why he held his hand up and if to say, ‘Cease and desist!’ like some corny nineteen twenties cop.

Presently, Malfoy brought his thumb in, leaving four fingers up. Then his index finger, leaving three.

By the time Malfoy was at three, both Ginny and Harry knew he was counting down. But, they still were at a loss for what it was he was counting down to.

Though neither Gryffindor knew what would happen when Malfoy ended his count by forming a fist and reaching zero, they were on the edge of their seats, so to speak.

Ginny was actually holding her breath at the mimed number one. Leave it Malfoy to command the attention of everyone around him. Though, considering it was the Prince of Slytherin, he never disappointed, so she held her breath and waited.

The moment he finished his count down, the portrait swung open and Hermione sauntered out, relief and warmth spread over her face. From Draco’s perspective, the corridor seemed to grow lighter with her presence.

Hermione smiled brightly, elated that she could continue training without further disruptions in the form of protesting friends. Upon seeing the anxious looks on Harry and Ginny’s faces, she announced, “Everything is fine now. Though, Ron wants to leave for the Burrow soon.”

“Oh, that’s great!” Ginny exclaimed as she ran over to Hermione and gave her a hug.

Though Hermione was usually happy to receive and give hugs, it somehow seemed unnecessary and out of character of Ginny at that moment. ‘Oh well,’ she thought. ‘Ginny has her imposing Weasley stance and I guess hugs are my department,’ she reasoned, hugging Ginny back with one arm.

For all his jealous loathing of the freckle faced Gryffindor Draco thought he was doing a damn good job of biting his tongue at the moment. When he was in a fowl mood, everyone knew. While he found less and less fault in Potter, which seemed to be an exponential change, he still had to struggle to not throw out insults.

Draco’s silence seemed to speak volumes to Hermione. Though her back was turned, she knew something was amiss. “Ginny, you know how he is… you’re keeping him from his meal,” she joked.

“Alright, I’m on my way Ron!” the younger girl called in through the open doorway.

A distant reply was heard, “Did you hear that Gin? It was my stomach rumbling. Hurry it up will you?”

Harry and Ginny broke out laughing. Ginny scurried off into the common room with a quick wave to Hermione, “I’ll be back soon, keep owling me.” Since it was a command and not a request for mail, the girl didn’t wait for Hermione’s acquiescence.

“Hey, I’ll be back in a couple days. Dumbledore’s got me with lessons tomorrow. I’m hoping I can convince him to let me stay here for the remainder of the summer, but you know how he is,” Harry said.

“Of course. Let’s go to Hogsmeade when you visit next time,” Hermione suggested, standing on her tip toes to give him a tight hug and a kiss on the cheek.

“Sounds like a plan,” Harry replied, nearly lifting her off the floor as he hugged her back and placing his own kiss on her forehead, “Stay safe ‘Mione. No more missions, without telling us first, please?” he asked softly.

Looking Harry in the eye, she nodded. This brought a smile to his face. He too walked into the common room. Hermione wasn’t sure if he was eating over at the Weasleys or going back to Grimmauld Place. She hoped it was the former. Right now, Harry could use all the love and company of the Weasley family. There seemed an impending feeling, that the final battle was near. Harry most surely felt it, which meant a great mixture of feelings for him. Fear and anxiety would probably be the foremost.

Once the portrait was closed, and the Fat Lady made her stumbling farewell to the lithe and handsome Slytherin, they were on their way. Side by side, Draco and Hermione walked the path back to their common room, which wasn’t too far from the Gryffindor tower.

To Hermione, there seemed an oppressing silence, something not being said. She couldn’t help but steel glances at Draco every few minute or so. But, his eyes remained forward, not so much as acknowledging her. There was definitely something calculating about those grey eyes at the moment. He had something on his mind, and Hermione wanted to know what it was.

With light spirits, Hermione almost skipped over to the hearth which was beginning to look familiar. The fire was already going, though she didn’t question why. The far window, over by the desks was open, showing the darkening sky over the forest and letting cool breezes of approaching autumn air flitter in. She was so happy in this moment. Perhaps she had been secretly dreading the outcome, wondering and fearing what would happen when her friends learned that she and Draco were not just partners, but close confidents and friends. Now, she didn’t have to worry or tell herself that Harry and Ron were her friends and would love her regardless. Now, everything was settled, and she could continue unabated and with everyone’s loving support.

Twirling around, she stood in front of the couch, warm light from the fire washing over her. It was then, she noticed Draco was still standing in the alcove of the doorway, cast in shadow, head down. “Draco?” she called out, remembering she wanted to pick his mind over and find out what was troubling him, “What’s wrong? Why don’t you come in?” she asked softly.

Since the moment Potter left, not before since he was too busy refraining from tearing the friends apart from one another, he had been frantically searching for the right way to broach the subject. There was no room for debate, Hermione had to drop her vendetta for Lestrange, but he couldn’t very well put it in so many words. If he knew his little Gryffindor, then she wouldn’t take kindly to being told what to do.

His mind was lost to the deeper recesses of his tactical thinking, when he heard her sweet voice calling to him. Stirring from his reverie he looked up, not even realizing they had arrived at their room. Gulping, he fought to keep himself in place. Glowing from the light of the fire, she stood radiantly across the room, keenly regarding him with concern. It was then he registered something about her clothing. Not inappropriate, though most complementing, there was something which struck him. Perhaps it was the silver dragon with dancing with the crackling flames? No. Maybe it was just that she seemed sexy and adorable all at the same time in them? Yes… but not why the clothes stood out to him.

It took him a moment longer, but then he remembered they were the jeans and shirt he’d thrown at her to buy from the muggle department store. He’d forgotten.

“Draco?” she asked again, unsure of why his eyes seemed to look at her with returned concern and something of a sadness.

All at once, he rushed forth. While she could have moved, he knew she’d just stand there. He could have raised a fist and prepared to strike her and she would have remained stationary, not believing for a second he’d do anything to harm her. So, in his mad rush, and gripping of her shoulders, she just stared at him in question.

“What’s wrong? You’ve been off since I met you outside the tower,” she spoke softly again. Always softly, when there was no other sounds but the crackling logs and fresh breezes.

It seemed he had no good plans for this, his urgency and fear seemed to win over any more practical approaches he might mull over after a night’s rest. “Forget about Lestrange. Forget about your revenge!” he stated firmly, tightening his grip on her small shoulders to emphasize his point.

Her creasing brows told him her mind was working rapidly, and her eyes seemed to darken at the mention of the insane Death Eater’s name. “I can’t,” was her only reply.

Shaking her frame slightly, he pushed, “Voldemort is our concern! This war is our concern! If your eyes are trained on Lestrange’s throat, you’ll lose sight of everything else!”

Shaking her head furiously, sending her brown locks flying, she tried to shake Draco’s hands off. “That thing killed my parents! I will hunt it down and kill it, for their sake!” she said adamantly.

“Don’t talk like that!” he half shouted at her. He’d never heard her speak about killing someone, let alone with such dark determination. How long had she been developing the idea? How long since the embers of resentful rage had turned into the consuming flames of revenge? Why hadn’t he stomped them out earlier? “You’ll get yourself killed!” he pointed out.

“Yeah?” she said, pacing away before turning back around, eyes somewhat watered. “Well, not before I take her down,” she proclaimed. This was the first time she’d admitted it aloud. For some time now, she’d found resolution in her own death, not caring if it came two days from now, so long as she killed Lestrange.

While her eyes danced with pain and anger, she watched Draco. His head was bowed and his face shadowed from a stark contrasting light. He mumbled something, but she couldn’t hear it. “What” she inquired.

“You can’t” he whispered.

“I can’t what? Beat Lestrange? With your help, she’d be down in two seconds flat!” she stated almost jovially.

“No, you can’t… you can’t just die like that… you can’t” he was still mumbling, barely audible.

Hermione only heard because she’d been straining to hear. She was confused, his voice sounded distant, as if his mind wasn’t even with him right now. She wasn’t sure what to say to him, “Why?” it seemed stupid, but asking ‘what’ would only make him repeat himself.

Taken by surprise, Hermione found herself held tightly against Draco’s body as he harshly pressed his lips to hers. It took her a moment to react, but no sooner had her body begun to kiss him back, than he pulled away and stalked from the room. As she saw his dark cloak flutter away into the dark alcove and out the door, she thought she heard him say, ‘Because I need you.’.

Stunned, Hermione sank into the couch and replayed the events that just transpired over in her head.

What was going on between her and Draco? Why was he so upset to learn of her newly decided plan to avenge her parents’ murder? Why had he kissed her? Why did she enjoy it so much?

While the kiss was nothing compared to the one they shared just the other night, she still felt lingering effects. There seemed a warmth her lips now lacked. In fact, her whole body felt like it had lost something the moment he stepped back. What was this damn flippant feeling in her stomach? She hadn’t eaten anything unusual. Unless it was Hagrid’s tea. It had tasted fine…

Suddenly, Hermione sat upright, wide eyed and horror stricken. In a sigh of breath she declared in dismay, “I’m in love.”


Draco stalked down the corridor, not sure of where he was heading. Then it struck him, he knew where he’d go. It was on a whim the old man was available at the moment, so he’d take advantage of that of course.

*knock* *knock* *knock*

No reply.

*knock* *knock*

Again nothing.

*KNOCK* *KNOCK*

This time he heard an angry voice calling from behind the thick oak door, “Go away dammit! I’m in no mood!”

Draco’s reply was to make another sequence of harsh knocks before calling back, “Open up old man! You’re never in any mood, so what difference does it make?”

It was another moment’s wait, before he felt the wards lowered and watched as Moody opened the door.

Walking in, Draco took a seat at a small table riddled with parchment and books. It seemed Moody was working on something, as the chair across from where he now sat seemed to be the one the man was in moments before.

“Come on in, make yourself at home in my rooms,” Moody said sarcastically as he limped over to sit across from the apparently upset blonde boy.

“Thank you, I will,” Draco assured smugly, as he slouched a little, something he hardly did unless he was really trying to piss someone off.

Moody’s eyes rolled, the magical one went around a couple times before coming to rest. “So, what seems to be the problem?” he asked, waving a hand to clear the tabletop of his evening’s work.

“She’s talking about revenge. In fact, she’s already decided on it… says she doesn’t care if she dies, so long as she takes Lestrange down first,” he spat out incredulous at the idea.

If Draco had expected Moody to sympathize or tell him what to do, he was sorely mistaken, as the old Auror began to laugh. “What did you expect?” he continued laughing.

“I thought she’d be a bit smarter than that!” he bit out.

More laughter.

“Listen old man, you want to tell me what’s so damn funny about all this?” he asked rather seething.

“Well, it’s hardly unexpected. Where do you think so much of her determination comes from? From the day she realized she might actually be able to become a fighter she’s been thinking about using it all against those Death Eaters. I’m not sure she knew she was thinking it right away, but she obviously is now.”

“Why don’t you seem the least bit concerned? She’ll get herself killed!” he barked, not liking how the man made everything sound so mundane and simple.

Moody roared with laughter at this, “I’m sure that’ll happen.” His voice almost dripping with as much sarcasm as Draco’s would be if he were complimenting a Weasley.

Draco gaped at him, “Are you kidding me? How can you be so dismissive about it all? Was it not you preaching how any lack in focus would lead to death? Is this not a complete lack in focus?” he reasoned.

Moody paused a moment, “Are you telling me that if she messes up, you won’t be there to save her?”

Opening his mouth to reply, he found he had nothing to say, and closed it.

“Exactly,” Moody concluded. This was not the end of it though. All Moody was really doing was reiteration some of young man’s thoughts, so he could eventually sort everything out for himself.

“But, if my focus is making sure Hermione is safe, then won’t we both just end up getting killed?” he shot back, finally finding his train of logic.

It was then Moody waved his hand again and conjured a bottle of brandy and two glasses. As he poured the first round he replied, “That is true. So, how do you fix that?”

Several glasses later, Moody was perfectly content, while Draco was completely pissed. He had to give it the boy though. The kid hid it well. Entirely composed, seemingly on balance as well. But, he was still a boy with a low tolerance.

“How can I make her understand though?” he asked for the tenth time.

“Merlin boy, you’re trying my patience. Why don’t you go and confess to her, shock her out of all coherent thought, that ought to do the trick,” Moody said sarcastically.

“Th’as brilliant,” Draco slurred slightly, as he stood quickly, with a renewed determination.

Moody practically had to jam his fist in his mouth to keep from roaring with laughter. The Slytherin never ceased to amuse him. Far be it from him to stop the two love birds. If anything, it was about damn time. If they were closer than friends, they could only work better as partners. While there remained a liability of putting each other first and foremost, they were coming along so well. They might not meet a threat that would impose such a situation on them. Besides, he could use the added entertainment of the debacle that would ensue from Malfoy’s drunken declaration of love to his former nemesis.

TBC…