No Longer Helpless

Chapter Eight
Lustful Eyes

Morning dawned on the grounds at Hogwarts. Clear blue skies, with a few white clouds spotted here and there. Warm rays of sunlight came from just above the forest’s horizon, casting a long shadow behind a sole figure making its way down the front steps. The grass was still heavy with dew, dampening the hem of the early riser’s long green cloak. Though it was summer, cool breezes swept the air, fresh and clean from the countryside.

Draco walked down onto the grounds, heading towards the Quidditch pitch. His thoughts had been trailing back to Hermione and the previous night, when he finally noticed the sun. It had already risen, well past dawn. ‘Shit,’ he thought as he began sprinting. He was late.

Moody would hang him, or take a leaf out of his imposture’s book and turn him into a ferret. The wrath of the old auror was something to be feared, especially when said auror was the one barking orders and overseeing his training.

Why had he been so preoccupied thinking about the know-it-all anyway? She was hardly worth his time of day, and yet he had spent the night making sure she slept calmly. Now she distracted him even when she wasn’t there.

**

Hermione woke late in the morning, stretching contently on the soft couch. The fire had long ago died out, since it was summer and the House elves didn’t bother with stoking it. However, she remained warm. She was wrapped in a blanket, which she knew belonged to Malfoy from the same woodsy sweet fragrance it had.

If she weren’t half asleep she’d slap herself for being so ignorant of everything. Why hadn’t she noticed the up tight way Harry and Ron refused the mention anything about the last day? Why hadn’t she taken the way Draco wouldn’t make eye contact with her during the meeting as a sign of something more than shame at finally realizing his misdeeds for the last six years?

Though, she wasn’t all too sure he had actually joined the good guys. There was much to be answered for, whether or not she wanted to know. Something had definitely happened between her and Malfoy. If not, then there was no explanation for last night’s kind actions. Harry and Ron couldn’t have done a better job than he had in consoling her, and he was supposed to despise her very existence.

Rolling off the couch, she sauntered into the bathroom. Looking in the mirror she saw her eyes were slightly bloodshot and her hair was in tangles.

Washing her face with cold water seemed to wake her up as well as any espresso could, not to mention she felt cleaner for it. The morning routine of brushing her teeth and combing through her thick hair helped make the dream from last night just that, a dream, nothing more.

While it had happened and after she had woken up in the late night, it felt like so much more. And now, although the events of the nightmare were most likely fairly accurate, she knew that what she’d seen was not truthful.

Feeling as well as could be for having lost her parents and finally come to terms with it, at least accepting the truth, she breathed deeply and steeled herself. It was a torturous fact that her life would go on one day at a time, even without her mother and father.

She’d take whatever anyone threw her way. Though, Lestrange could expect her to return the favor ten fold. Already the fires of revenge were kindling within her, and as obsessive vendettas could be, it had the possibility of consuming her.

A small grumbling noise let her know that another part of her was empty other than her heart. Her stomach growled, reminding her that she hadn’t eaten anything for some time. Mrs. Weasley’s cooking was always appreciated, but last night she’d been too overwhelmed to even look at the soup.

Breakfast seemed like a very good idea at the moment and now that it was at her convenience, so did a kitchen in the Head’s dorms. What seemed silly before now made her life all the more easy, as she found a freshly brewed pot of coffee and breakfast foods on the counter top.

The day outside was too beautiful for Hermione to even harbor the idea of staying indoors. Some reading was in order, about the Angelus, and of course she needed to catch up on the events of the last couple days from both worlds.

Perhaps she should go to the bank. All of this would have to be off the radar, so as not to pick up any unwanted attention. First thing was first though, so she scurried off to the kitchens to speak with Dobby in hopes of finding some suitable clothes, at least until she had seen to buying her own.

Though her feet knew the way to the kitchens behind the painting of the bowl of fruit, there were also many other paths that were followed on instinct. So, she had to at least think of her destination, otherwise she might find herself outside of the transfiguration classroom waiting for a class that wouldn’t start for two months.

Pajamas or not, there was no one around for Hermione to worry about seeing her. While the clothes weren’t necessarily revealing, she still would have felt embarrassed running into professor Dumbledore.

Quietly, with only the soft pat of her bare feet, she made her way from the dormitory to a more recognizable point in the castle. The Head’s dorms were actually on the fifth floor, not too far from the astronomy tower.

No paintings or tapestries indicated the doorway to the common room. Rather, it worked much like the entrance to Diagon Alley, only there was a single oddly placed knob on the inside. Once turned, the stones shifted into an arched opening. If she planned on getting back in, she’d have to ask Dumbledore, since there was no knob on the outside.

Relishing in the familiar sights that met her eyes, part of her seemed to loosen up and relax. Coming around the corner, the sight of a familiar corridor brought her to an awed halt.

Perhaps she’d never been about the east wing at this time of day, or perhaps she’d never moved her face out from behind whatever book she might have been reading while passing down the hall. Whatever the reason, she was more than appreciative at the moment.

The long stretch of hall ahead had large, ceiling high, windows all along the right side. As it was morning and the right side faced east, sunlight filtered through each window. It was an ordinary, yet most magnificent sight. The floor and opposite wall seemed to glow.

Stepping forward the warm light engulfed her, warming her up.

Now she knew why Crookshanks lay in the sunlight coming through her bedroom window. An energy seemed to flow through her, which she could hardly contain. It was much like a feeling of joy and not being able to help but smile. Now, instead of smiling, she began twirling down the hall, from one section of light to the other, just like she’d seen the dancers do in any of the ballets she’d caught glimpses of.

While she was no ballerina, there seemed a grace about her at this point that no one, not even she, knew she possessed. Hair flying madly, she continued midway along the corridor before stopping to look out on the grounds below. Her father used to laugh and cheer her on when she’d dance about like a prima ballerina in her Halloween costume. That was years ago of course and her father wouldn’t be there anymore to tell her she was his little princess and have her spin around with childhood innocence.

‘A new appreciation of life?’ she pondered, as she felt both sad with loss, but also elated at watching the enchanting scenery outside. ‘Is that why I feel this way?’ She continued to stare out the window.

‘No, I just never noticed before, sad really.’ Just as she’d never stopped to soak in the landscape and architecture of Hogwart’s, she hadn’t savored her last moments with her parents at all. A special dinner for her homecoming, and she’d called from Frankie’s to cancel. The next time she’d seen them, they were lying dead in the living room.

Tearing her eyes away from outside the window, she started back to the kitchens, unaware at moment that someone was watching her far more avidly now after her whimsical display.

Just outside the painting that marked the entrance of the House Elves’ food factory, Hermione reached out to tickle the pear, when the hairs on the back of her neck stood on end. While this certainly wasn’t the first time she’d received such a feeling, it had been all too recent that it had happened and in a rather nasty situation.

So, for such a minor thing, her reaction was rather large. She spun about, glancing from right to left, picturing a Death Eater hidden in a shadow near by.

The area was empty. It was at this time that she was suddenly made aware of the fact that the painting was located at the end of a corridor, trapping her in like a mouse. The idea that there might be House Elves nearby didn’t seem to be any reassurance.

Waiting a moment, but seeing nothing, she was content to turn back and tickle the fruit.

Once inside, she felt fine, though slightly foolish at getting spooked over nothing. There were no elves in sight, which was more than natural since school wasn’t in session and there were no feasts to prepare.

“Dobby?” she called out to the large room full of miniaturized stainless steel cooking components.

There was a short pause of silence. Just as she began to wonder if it was at all possible to even contact him this way, a scurrying shuffle sounded around the corner near a set of pots and pans.

Dobby came bounding out, still wearing several of her hand knit clothing items she’d given him over two years ago. “Miss Hermione Granger miss, is in need of Dobby?” he squeaked excitedly.

“Dobby!” she greeted. “It’s so good to see you.” She even went so far as to bend to one knee and give him a hug, which of course set him off crying over how kind Harry’s friends were and how he didn’t deserve such treatment. Hermione waited a few minutes for the elf to collect himself.

Finally wiping the last few tears away he asked her if she was in need of anything.

“I was wondering if you happened to have any clothes. Or if you knew where I could find something more suitable to wear? Do you know what I mean?” she asked, knowing a house elf was the last creature to ask for knowledge on clothing.

“Of course!” he cried quickly, snapping his fingers and disappearing, before reappearing seconds later carrying a small bundle. Handing the bundle to Hermione he smiled up at her. Beaming, he awaited her word of approval.

Taking the clothes, she examined them, most satisfied with what he had managed to produce. It had been more than she had hoped for, that she might wear something of her own taste. Yet minutes later, she was dressed in a pair of well fitting denim jeans and red t-shirt sporting a yellow lion.

Having made her contentment known, she was going to push for a set of sneakers, when she remembered that she might be able to haggle getting her old pair. As far as she knew, she’d been wearing them during the attack, so it stood to reason she had them on afterwards and Madame Pomfrey would know where they were. After all, she’d lost everything else, if she could manage to retain at least a pair of shoes, she would.

After asking her several times if there was anything else he could get her, perhaps some food, a book, more clothes, some yarn for knitting, Dobby saw her to the door. She’d refused each offer kindly.

Turning to leave, intending to head to the Hospital wing, a movement caught Hermione’s eye in one of the many pans hanging down from a rack. A dark shape moved to combine within the shadows of the dimly lit, currently unused room.

While it was enough to set her heart racing, she couldn’t be sure it was anything but a play of light. Where was her wand when she needed it? Part of her couldn’t help but feel like she was being followed now, first outside the kitchens in front of the painting and now this. Paranoid or not, she’d been through enough to know playing it safe meant the difference between life and death.

As calmly and nonchalantly as possible, Hermione slipped out of the kitchen and made her way to see Madam Pomfrey. Now that her attention was focused on trying feel the presence of anyone following her or waiting to jump out from the nearest door, the feeling of having eyes upon her surmounted.

It was all she could do to keep her stride unhitched and not run. Without her wand she was practically a sitting duck.

“Ah, Miss Granger,” came the kind, but unexpected voice of Madame Pomfrey.

Hermione jumped back a step at the sudden appearance of the nurse, and couldn’t hide her shock as she placed a hand over her heart. “Madame… Pomfrey,” she stuttered out.

“My dear, are you alright? You look like you’ve seen a Boggart, you’re paler than Sir Nicholas,” the medi-witch tutted with concern.

“I’m fine, really. You just startled me, that’s all.” Her voice didn’t hold as much conviction as she would have liked, but she wasn’t about to admit she felt like someone was following her. “I wanted to see you actually.” She sped her words up, before the nurse could ask what ailed her today. “About my shoes. I was wearing them in here wasn’t I?”

“Yes, indeed. They’re in the storeroom, on the floor beside the instant stitching potion.” She directed as they walked into the infirmary together. “I’m afraid I’ve already discarded you’re other clothes, they were worse for their wear, and not worth mending if you don’t mind my saying so,” the nurse added in light scrutiny, finding muggle fashion to be rather ridiculous.

All too soon Hermione had her sneakers and Madame Pomfrey was satisfied enough with her health to let her leave. Part of her was saying not to leave the medi-witch’s side while the rest of her was saying she was being positively paranoid.

So, out the door she went, into the hall. Sure enough, that familiar feeling of eyes upon her returned. She gulped, bracing herself for the rather long walk to the main entrance. Something assured her that being outside would be safer, or at least ease her mind, since there wasn’t any danger inside or out. She was just being paranoid after the attack.

It was not a fun walk. Not even halfway there her nerves felt shot, unable to take waiting for something seemingly inevitable to happen. She half expected each shadow to come to life and jump out at her. The smallest of noises made her eyes widen and breath hitch. Her own footsteps frightened her.

How stupid and terrible she felt, for she could not shake the awful feeling no matter what excuses she attributed it to. And because she felt so frightened, she berated herself in defense of a Gryffindor’s pride and courage.

Just when she thought she’d pull her hair out, she ran head long into something hard while she turned the corner. She’d been taking another glance behind her and hadn’t looked where she was going, but rather at what might be following.

Now, she stumbled back and would have fallen down had a strong pair of hands not gripped her shoulders and steadied her. Almost unwilling to look up, having realized she’d run into someone and not liking any of the possibilities of who might have been, she flinched slightly as she saw.

While her heart was still racing, having thought the sudden run-in was finally the shadow she’d been expecting, her chest heaved a little more than what was normal for simply walking. There before her, still gripping her shoulders, slightly harder than was comfortable, was professor Snape.

He stood head and shoulders taller than her and she had to actually look upwards to meet his eyes and sneering face. There was something in his eyes at the moment, she couldn’t place it and only knew it wasn’t something she wanted to be seeing.

Again, there was an unexplainable urge to run, to get out before it was too late. She held her breath for a moment. It never registered that his hands were still holding on to her shoulders or that her back was little more than a foot from the wall. Had it been anyone with harmful intentions she’d be in no state to put up a fight, least wise without her wand.

Snape sneered down at the insufferable know-it-all. It was because of her that he was being given so much grief from the Dark Lord. Following her was more than he could bear. Dumbledore had told him all about the Angelus, so he knew why he was having such a difficult time. It was Granger’s fault. Always looking so innocent, totally unaware of the effect she was having on so many around her.

Before, he’d never so much as harbored an immoral thought about any of his students or colleagues, unless perhaps it was the untimely death of one or two of them. Now however, it was all he could do to restrain himself from pushing the ignorant, insufferable, pure, whole, succulent, seductive chit against the wall and doing more than just harboring bad thoughts. At least she wasn’t Veela. Had that been the case, Potter and Weasley would have surely already done what he was now thinking several times over, before she could have so much as said a ‘hello’ upon waking up.

Her breasts were slowly rising and falling, that damn muggle clothing didn’t leave much left hidden from outline. As her lips parted to say something, and she only sucked in a sharp breath, his sneer dropped from his face. Maybe he could blame his actions on Voldemort, since he was finding himself unable to restrain any longer.

Right as he was about to pin the girl to the wall, a startlingly firm grip was on his arm. He turned sharply on the intruder and sneered.

Hermione was now speechless, having watched Snape’s play of emotions she couldn’t place. Now, Malfoy was tugging, no, pulling, Snape’s arm off her. She didn’t know what to think.

“Granger!” Draco barked, not even looking at her, but keeping his eyes on the potion’s master. “Moody would like a word, he sent me to retrieve you.”

There was something in his voice that left absolutely no room for protesting. Not to mention, she felt suddenly relieved and safe, now that he was here. Shrugging her left shoulder out of Snape’s grip, she moved to stand behind Malfoy, putting him in between Snape and herself.

“We’ll see you later professor,” Draco said to Snape, never wavering in his glare, never missing a beat as he stepped back and placed a protective arm around Hermione, escorting her away.

Too many heightened emotions were running through her to even register and protest the arm Malfoy had around her. The spine tingling fear of someone lurking nearby had remained for much longer than she cared for. So great was her feeling of relief at having the looming shadow alleviated, that she didn’t care whom it was giving her sanctuary.

When they neared the grand oak doors that were the main entrance to Hogwarts, Draco dropped his arm and rounded on Hermione. “Are you a fool!” he shouted.

His comment seemed out of the blue and she could do nothing but gape at him for a moment, before glaring. Finally regaining her composure, she snapped back, “What are you on about?”

“You know nothing do you,” his voice was angrier than he meant it to be. His anger was part from her being so damned naïve and part from his realization that he actually cared.

“I don’t see what you’re on about. Quit being such a damn prat.” While she didn’t enjoy being called a ‘know-it-all’ she loathed being told she ‘knew nothing’.

He glared at her harshly, making her keep her silence with the severity and true concern within his stormy grey eyes. Running a hand through his blonde hair, giving it the wind swept look James Potter went for, he sighed. Attempting to calm down, he paused. He muttered to himself, “Moody was right” He closed his eyes for a moment. “Let’s go,” he said to her, nudging her elbow.

“Go where?” she asked, still angry.

Though he could have simply told her it was to see Moody, he still felt the age-old animosity for the Gryffindor. So instead, he just raised his voice slightly and said, “Just get moving Granger, we’re headed for the pitch!”

He was far more amused than he ought to be when she wrenched her elbow away from him and stalked forward, making for the front steps. While she was less than agreeable, she was all too compliant. His amusement came from seeing his apparent effect on both the kitten and lioness, both listened to his orders. Hiding his smile, he followed in her angry steps.

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