Disguised Affections

A/N: This is all JK Rowling's. This is a work of fanfiction, and as such I make no munney on this. It's simply for slavish adoration of her world. I admit it. I want to have ten million of her babies. As a side note, I'm also considering writing some Dressagegrrrl/JK Rowling femmeslash. ...This author's note is getting kind of creepy, so... I'm going to go now.

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Constantine watched Harry Potter watch Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy reclined on a bench overlooking the Hogwarts Lake. He was a picture of ease, with his long arms thrown over the back of the bench, and a letter dangling from one hand. If he hadn’t been looking carefully, Con would have missed that Draco’s shoulders were shaking slightly.

Potter wasn’t a casual observer either, and he could clearly see Draco’s shoulders as the boy sobbed. His face was a study in anger and pity, and he was shifting his weight back and forth in indecision. Con could practically see the wheels turning in Harry’s head as the Boy-Who-Was-Nosy debated approaching his long-time nemesis. Draco lifted a languid hand and ran it over his face, wiping the tears from it.

Harry walked forward and sat next to the Slytherin.

The two ignored each other for several moments, but Draco’s posture had changed, his shoulders tensing and his back straightening. He donned the Malfoy arrogance without thinking, and even sitting there snot-nosed and red-eyed, he glared at Potter with disdain. Harry studied the tips of his boots, his arms crossed over his chest.

Without looking at Draco, Potter opened his mouth and said something too quiet for Constantine to overhear. Harry’s face was gentle, but whatever it was caused an electric reaction in Malfoy. He shot to his feet and shook a finger in Potter’s face, yelling something indistinguishable over the wind that was whipping the lake. Con shivered slightly and pulled his cloak closer around his body. Fall had settled in with all the beauty and frigidness that Scotland could provide.

Harry raised his hands in a defensive gesture before reaching out to try and touch Draco’s arm. Malfoy batted his hand away and stalked back towards the castle.

The defeated Gryffindor sank back onto the bench and spread out, unconsciously imitating Draco’s indolent sprawl. He ran a frustrated hand through his messy hair and pressed his thumbs into the soft fleshy spot near the bridge of his nose as if to relieve a tension headache.

Con ambled over and sat down on the bench next to Potter, pretending interest in his book Unusual Animagi of Europe: From Dragonflies to Blast-Ended Skrewts. He licked a finger precisely and turned a page.

“Saw that, did you?” Harry asked.

“I’m sure I don’t know what you are talking about, Potter.” He cleared his throat. “Did you know that Parzival Wimbley of Shropshire discovered his Animagus form on Christmas Day in 1927? He became an iguana, got trapped outside in a snowstorm, and froze to death. Moronic pustule didn’t even have anyone spotting his first transformation. It’s probably better off that he was removed from the gene pool.” Con paused a moment reading further. “Oh, no. I was wrong. He had two children before he kicked the bucket – a boy and a girl. Pity. Could you be a descendent, perhaps?”

“I’m not sure what I was trying accomplish just then. I knew the right thing to do would be to leave him alone,” Harry seethed.

Con snorted. “This fellow turned into a beetle, was captured by some Muggle child and pinned to a board for a science project. I’d imagine it was quite traumatic when the wizard finally died and reverted back to his natural form.” He crossed his legs and flipped through the book randomly. “I haven’t come across any ridiculous Animagus stories involving witches. What do you think, Potter? Do you think witches just have better sense than wizards about some things?” His crafty eyes slid over towards Potter. “You’d never catch Hermione in such a ridiculous position, would you?”

Harry removed his glasses and pressed the heels of his palms into his eye sockets. His face was blotchy and tired-looking. “I’m just… so tired of fighting, Con. Isn’t it ever going to be over? We won. Why doesn’t it feel like it? Draco proved he isn’t like his father. Why do we still hate each other?”

Con snapped his book shut in irritation. “You,” he said in irritation. “You lack subtlety to a degree I cannot fathom. How on earth did you kill Voldemort? Did you bludgeon him to death with your bloody blunt wit?”

Potter stared at him, confused.

Constantine growled and rolled his eyes. “What do you want from Draco, anyway? Absolution? That poor sod can’t give it to you. He’s a mess!”

“I don’t know what I want. I want to feel like it was worth it. That people can be redeemed.”

“Potter, of course it was worth it. Look at Hermione. She’s a Muggleborn. If Voldemort had won, where would she be today? Get your head on straight.”

Harry sighed. “I know. Of course you’re right. So why don’t I feel it?”

“Look, mate. The point I was trying to make with my brilliant Animagus reference was that Hermione is the most whole of all of us. She went through hell, but she’s not looking to find someone to bandage her wounds for her. She’s finding a purpose – something about this world that still speaks to her and gives her hope. You know she wants to be the first Potions mistress Hogwarts has graduated in fifty years?”

Harry smirked at Constantine. “So that’s the way the wind is blowing, hey?”

“Shut your mouth, you knuckle-dragging yokel.”

Harry laughed softly. “That one was pretty good. I wish I could come up with an insult half as clever on the fly.”

“Yes, well. You’re clearly an idiot, so I wouldn’t hold your breath as it will only damage your paltry wit further.”

“So, I should find something that gives me a sense of purpose.”

“Are we still talking about this?”

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Hermione smelled lovely, like apple blossom shampoo.

Constantine breathed in appreciatively but disguised it as a disdainful sniff.

She looked up at him with wide, chocolate eyes. “What? Not interested in the Goblin Wars?”

“No, the Goblin Wars are terribly interesting. I just think Binns spends far too much time on them, and he hasn’t changed his textbooks in 80 years. I mean, look. This book still refers to first Goblin chieftain as ‘Slashfang the Upright.’ It’s been fifty years since they proved that Slashfang killed his father and ate two of his brothers in order to inherit the chieftaincy. Ridiculous.” His voice was sulky.

Hermione smiled at his outburst, and he caught his breath at her loveliness.

“That’s Professor Binns, Con.”

He harrumphed and turned back to his text, and had to bite his cheek to prevent himself from smirking.

He and Hermione were sprawled on a blanket in one of Hogwarts’ many courtyards. They’d been reading together for over an hour, and Constantine couldn’t help but reflect what good company she was. Her hair also looked particularly pretty in the sunlight, he noted. She tucked a strand behind her ear and caught him looking at her.

“What?” she asked him.

“Nothing,” he shrugged negligently.

A flash of gold suddenly drew his attention. Con sucked in his breath, discomfited when he saw a tall, patrician man with platinum hair walking up one of the open-air pathways towards their garden. His robes were tailored to perfection and he carried a cane topped by a silver snake. He had never seen this man before in his life, and yet every nerve in his body was rioting in alarm and warning him to be wary.

“Hermione. Who is that?”

She hissed softly. “Lucius Malfoy.” He felt her hands wrap tightly around his bicep. “Let’s go, Con. Please, I don’t want to see him.”

Lucius Malfoy. Red, hot rage pooled in his mouth, and he felt his lips pull back from his teeth in a feral snarl. This man hurt Hermione. This man hurt Harry and Ron by destroying something precious to them. But most of all, he HURT Hermione. Con drew his wand and sat up, prepared to confront his enemy, but the warmth of Hermione’s small hands curled around his arm was enough to make him stop dead in his tracks.

She looked up at him, her face pinched and pale. “Please, Con. Let’s just go.” He exhaled sharply and covered her fingers with his and nodded.

“Leave the books. We’ll come back for them.” He reached out to pull her to her feet, and cursed softly when he saw the blond man catch sight of them and alter his course to intercept them. Con did not release her hand, and quickened his pace.

“Hermione, I’m sorry. The only way out of here is to walk by him. Just stay with me, okay?”

She stared at him with angry, sullen eyes, but nodded, gripping his hand more tightly.

Lucius smiled and waved jauntily at the girl in his path. Sunlight gleamed on his golden head, and he looked for all the world like a gentleman on an afternoon stroll.

“Ms. Granger! What a pleasant surprise.” The man’s voice was urbane and dripping with solicitousness. “You look good enough to eat! Much better than the last time I saw you.” His voice dropped into a menacing whisper before rising once more into his normal register. “And I see you have a young man. How charming.”

Lucius reached forward as if to take and kiss her palm, but Con pushed Hermione behind him and smacked the Pureblood’s hand out of the way.

“Keep your scabrous, repellent hands to yourself,” Constantine said, his voice raw and throbbing.

“How dare you touch me, you insolent pup!” Con could see that Lucius was shocked at his temerity and he narrowed his black eyes, letting his hatred burn through. The aristocrat drew in his breath, taken aback by the cold fury in the black eyes of the boy. Lucius cocked his head and took in Con’s pale skin, black hair and irises, and the ebony wand clutched in his fist. “I say,” he murmured in a totally different tone of voice. “Have we met before?”

“I highly doubt it. However, you had best hope that we never meet again, you inbred ball sack of decaying genetics. I know who you are, and moreover, I know what you are, and it would be my pleasure to end you.”

Lucius looked more puzzled than offended and stood staring at him for a number of seconds. He sucked in his breath suddenly as if struck by a terrible realization, but Con could see the older man dismiss it immediately.

“Father!” All three heads turned to see Draco striding up the path towards them. “Dumbledore is about to leave to meet with the Minister of Magic. If you want to speak with him, you’ll have to catch him before he gets to the gates and Apparates.” Draco’s eyes flicked back and forth between his father and Hermione, and he shifted his weight uncomfortably.

Lucius smiled toothily at them, and turned on his heel and began walking back towards the entrance to Hogwarts. At the edge of the garden, he turned back to face Con and Hermione. “Ms. Granger, I’d love to catch up with you. Perhaps we’ll run into each other again soon.”

And then he was gone.

Con whirled around and took Hermione by the arms. “Are you okay?”

“I can’t believe that bastard weaseled out of jail again!” she hissed. “Six months in a Dementor-free Azkaban. It’s a bloody slap on the wrist. I got on the stand in front of the entire bloody Wizengamot and testified about my time as a guest at Malfoy Manor, and his money greased the wheels so that he only spent SIX SODDING MONTHS behind bars.” Hermione knocked Con’s hands off her shoulders and paced back and forth. “I won’t be afraid of him any longer, Constantine Prince. If he comes near me again, I’ll hex him first and ask questions never.”

The dark-haired boy watched Hermione flex her fists and stalk through the garden like a Valkyrie, and his heart swelled for her and her ridiculous bravery.

“That sounds like the wisest course of action. I’m sure Harry and Ron would love to help as well.” Con cleared his throat and studied the play of light over the arched entranceway to the courtyard. “I am, of course, also at your disposal for such an encounter – should it come to pass.”

Hermione blinked and then smiled a small, secretive smile. She reached forward and touched him on the cheek. “Thank you, Constantine.”

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