Lost

The following evening was rather torturous for Hermione. The torches flickered dimly along the stone walls of the dungeon as she, Harry, and Ron walked toward Slughorn’s classroom. Her arms were crossed tightly over her chest and her expression pinched with frustration. Harry and Ron, on the other hand, were busy exasperating in their own complaints to notice her growing tension. 

"I still don’t understand why Slughorn thought pairing me with Parkinson was a good idea," Ron groaned. Hermione was growing excessively tired of hearing about this, and by the annoyed look on his face, so was Harry.

”Ronald, I swear, if I have to hear about her one more time…,” she growled, tension pulling at her shoulders.

"But Hermione, she got away with choosing Amortentia! She spent half the brew session this morning complaining about the smell of pickled murtlap and the other half making eyes at me! What if she’s trying to make me fall in love with her?! I don’t want to fall in love with her!"

“Ron, talk about something else—”

“She’s not even helping! I diced an entire jar of shrivelfigs before I realized they didn’t even go in the recipe—she just sat there filing her nails!”

“D’you want Malfoy instead?” Harry said, tension growing in his own shoulders. “I’m sure Hermione would be happy to trade you.” Ron paled and went quiet, the idea of himself and Malfoy as a team soiling the air around them. Hermione pictured herself with Pansy, imagining having to do all the work while dealing with that shrieking baboon. 

“Honestly…I think I’d rather keep Malfoy. He doesn’t care much about my nail maintenance,” she said, the boys nodding along. 

They turned a corner and stopped in front of Slughorn’s door, the classroom inside sounding seemingly unoccupied. She half-hoped Malfoy wasn’t inside, but she really needed to get on Slughorn’s good side for her exams. She turned to Harry and Ron, a bit of misery spilling from her expression.

”Well,” she sighed, “wish me luck.”

”Wait,” Harry touched her shoulder. “If Malfoy tries anything, just ignore him and don’t react.”

”Yeah, it’s like his life mission to make people cry,” Ron added. Hermione smiled warily, thankful for the concern.

”I’ll be fine, he’s just a guy. I know a good hex or two.” She beamed with false confidence, hoping they wouldn’t dwell on her demise any further. The three bid their goodbyes and good lucks before Harry and Ron left for the stairs. 

Hermione braced herself as she looked at the ceiling, begging some kind of higher power to help her through this. Her fingertips touched the warn wood of Sulghorn's door, pushing it open and stepping forward. She saw blonde hair and broad shoulders across the room, alone and undisturbed by the shift from her arrival. Her footsteps were silent and hesitating...disdain was pooling at the sight of his stupid, perfect posture. She kept a distance when reaching his desk to avoid his scent. Her eyes covered every inch of him, wary and judgmental. It was as if she were expecting him to pounce, slash at her, or sprout horns at the top of his forehead. Instead, he ignored her, his attention focused on stirring his cauldron. Hermione squinted.

"You know, I commend you for starting during the new moon." She waited for his response, but he continued in silence. "I suppose you do pay attention." She analyzed his face. His eyebrows—also white-blonde, she noted—were relaxed and his eyes held no tension. She realized just how straight his nose was, how proportionate his lips were to his chin and jaw. Of course he was handsome, he was born with perfect playing cards. Why wouldn't he be? Wealth, status, legacy, appearance—the recipe for perfection. It was ridiculously unfair, really. "So, you'd also know that this potion won't be ready until the full moon. How d'you expect to put this on Slughorn's desk in six days?"

Still, no response. Fury licked at her insides as she crossed her arms. She wasn't sure what she was wanting: for him to admit he made an error? To ask for help? To feel stupid? Something, something to tarnish that perfection. He didn't deserve it.

"And furthermore, even if we do miraculously brew this in time, what if the weather isn’t fair and the moon is blocked? It might be ruined, or at least affected, and how are we to test it then? Our experience would be biased anyway; being aware of the potion in our bodies would prepare us to attempt resistance. Did you think any of this through, or did you just choose the first difficult, illegal potion to pop into your—" 

"Silencio," Malfoy snapped, briefly flicking his wand before restoring it into his robes. Hermione attempted to continue, but her voice escaped her. Her stomach dropped and she felt her blood rush, realization leaving her frozen in indignation. Did you really just silence me?!

After a few moments, a satisfied smirk twisted his lips upward.

"Finally. Merlin, Granger, do you ever stop talking?" He went back to the potion, the liquid inside beginning to simmer away. He let it bubble, his attention shifting to a glass vial of powdered moonstone sitting among his other ingredients. She gripped her arms tightly, breathing through her nose to steady herself. So this is how we're playing now? Fine.

She retrieved her quill and parchment, furiously scratching away and smudging ink. She drew a rather crude caricature of Malfoy and wrote under it, "A Study in Insecurity: Pompous Pea-brain." A smug grin tickled her cheeks as she held it up. His eyes narrowed at it before it spontaneously caught fire, burning her fingertips. She quickly dropped it and let out a silent, "Ouch!" 

She held her singed hand and gave him a foul look, her chest shaking with energy. The air held the stench of burned paper, clouding her mind and poisoning her train of thought.

Focus. We aren’t sacrificing our perfect marks for this rodent.

She repeated wisdoms to herself, hoping she’d have the strength to just make the right choice, but she craved the last word, to watch him writhe under her pressure. Anger, her newest friend around Malfoy, wanted him as miserable as he made her. This was her grade too, and she never lets someone else affect her academic success. Not even Harry and Ron.

As Malfoy reached for the powdered moonstone, she flicked her wand and sent it flying into her palm. With defiance, she raised her chin and held the vial behind her, away from his reach. He turned to her with clenched fists, not bothering to reach for it. His jaw strained while the bits of his ears peeking through his hair turned barely pink. He was finally getting annoyed, and it was delicious. 

"Should I fetch you a coloring book?" His face contorted into mocking concern. "I mean look at you, all red in the face. Do you need a nap, Granger?" 

What an egotistical flobberworm. Does it come naturally, being this unbearable? 

He smirked. "What's wrong, cat got your Mudblood tongue?" 

She crossed her arms again and smirked back, mirroring his repulsiveness. He rolled his eyes and scoffed; she did the same. It gratified her, mocking his own behavior like a child. It wasn’t dignified, she knew, but seeing him seethe with impatience was a win in her book. 

“Are you actually going to contribute to this potion, or do I have to report to Slughorn that you chose to stomp your feet and pout instead? If I don’t get an A, I’ll make sure to put more than a silencing charm on you.” 

If she could kick and scream, she would have. Every fiber in her being strained in hatred as she looked at him. Him and his stupid audacity. He didn’t understand her, her choices, her light and love. How could he? All he knew was how to amuse himself at the expense of others, to hold them under his expensive shoe and watch as they crumble in an attempt to save themselves. In that moment, she wanted justice for the times he’d made her cry, for the times he’d hexed her hair or made her teeth grow too large. Since first year, he’d tried to make her feel ugly and unlovable, to push her to a point where she’d fear the sight of him and run away. Every action he’d taken to attempt dominance over her and her friends flashed through her mind while she held his loathsome stare.  

Two sounds broke the tension: the first, a huff of air from her nose. The second, a shattering of glass in her clenched fist, powdered moonstone decorating the floor. 

“Shit.” Malfoy leapt, collecting the navy dust with his wand and filtering it into an empty jar. “Grip much, Granger? I’m sure the boys love you.”

After standing in shock, she crouched down to help, slightly ashamed by her lack of self-control. Malfoy was aflame, his jaw tight as he focused on the powder. “Do you have any idea how expensive it was to get this fine of powder? I hope you—”

He froze, fixated on her newly crimson hand. Blood slowly, quietly dripped down her fingers onto the floor, the scent of iron mixing with pine, flowers, and smoke in the air. 

The silence was deafening, and by the way he was looking at her hand, bewildered and wide-eyed, Hermione felt incredibly exposed. The seconds turned into a moment, an uncomfortable one, before he blinked and lifted the charm on her. 

The door to Slughorn’s office swung open, the frog-shaped man himself in billowing maroon robes looking down from the staircase. 

“Merlin! You two? Is everything all right down there?” he blinked rapidly, looking as if he’d woken from a nap. Hermione hid her hand behind her, smiling sweetly and nodding. Malfoy said nothing, nodding once and returning to measure the powder for the potion. 

“Er—yes, Professor. Thank you,” Hermione said, her hand pulsing and slick. Slughorn sniffed the air warily. 

“What caught fire? Never a good sign in potion making—”

“A parchment sir, I placed it too close to the cauldron and the flame got it. It’s been resolved safely, I apologize if we disturbed you.” Hermione let her hand remain limp, moving it made her insides coil in pain. 

“Hm. Perhaps you spend too much time around that Weasley fellow. He’s prone to that level of empty-headedness. Or, rather, Mister Finnagan; I hear he has a knack for combustion. I advise you to proceed with more caution next time, Miss Granger. Draco, I expected a more precise attention from you. Well, both of you really. But alas…. I look forward to this brew come the full moon.”

Hermione stiffened. “The full moon, sir? But the deadline is—”

”—is more of a guideline, really,” he said, his eyes twinkling in amusement. “I can’t honestly expect marvelous creations to come from a mere seven days, now can I? Carry on, try not to burn anything else.” He hobbled away with their mumbled apologies, leaving Hermione in another awestruck irritation. She turned to Malfoy, who was smirking at his cauldron. 

“I don’t care how you weaseled in an extension, but it’s not fair to the other students—”

”Oh for fuck’s sake, Granger, you’re gushing out of your hand and lecturing me about equality? Fix it before you get that poison on anything of mine,” Malfoy hissed, glancing at her scarlet-slicked hand. She narrowed her eyes and held it closer to him, a smug little grin on her. 

“Thought it’d be tainted and hideous, didn’t you? You look a bit pale—well, paler. Scared of a little perfectly normal blood, Malfoy?” She flicked her view to his hand, a light pink scar stretched across his palm. 

He met her eyes with the same intensity from the library last night. He took a step closer, the distance between them a mere foot or two, allowing her lungs to drink him in. He looked grown up then, tall and calculated. The boyish, sneering little nuisance darkened into something cold and solid. He had become his father.

She saw something behind his eyes, something he was quietly, desperately trying to tuck away. 

“Do you think I’m an idiot?” he growled. “Your shame is all over you. You reek of it. Your blood may look like mine, or whatever point it is you’re trying to make with your incessant Gryffindor blood quips, but I see you for what you are. Not one aspect of you makes you belong here, a world gifted to those destined for greatness. You think if you please every squabbling professor here, bat your eyes at every idiot wearing anything but green, you’d pass as a witch? Everything about you dishonors a legacy I uphold.”

Whatever juvenile ambition she had was gone. Her eyes stung and her chest ached…it felt like she’d smacked into a brick wall. She knew he didn’t matter to her, there was no importance about his existence in her life. This was a mere school project, nothing more, and when they finished, she could go back to only having to see him from a far, far distance in classes. Then she could graduate and never see him again. She’d have a perfectly love-filled life with her family and friends; not one Malfoy in sight till the end of her days. He could go on to live whatever empty, money-filled, loveless, tycoon life he was destined for. 

She drew a long, careful inhale through her nose, watching him in all his bite. She gave him a pity smile, standing up a bit straighter before casting a healing spell on her hand. It was a rather advanced one, she must admit. The blood returned from the wound site, the slits in her skin reconnecting itself. In mere seconds, it was as if it had never happened. Malfoy was watching her intently, half intrigued at the spell, half waiting for her to speak. 

“You know,” she started, moving towards the cauldron and taking his place, “you should stir after adding each Jobberknoll feather.” She quickly sliced Adders Fork tongue and threw it into the cauldron, bringing it to a boil. “…read that somewhere in in the restricted section,” she mumbled, her hands going to work with ease.

She continued quietly as Malfoy watched, dropping in one feather at a time and stirring clockwise between. When enough were added, she removed the flame and crushed some sopophorous beans with his silver knife, its shape in her hand echoing its last interaction with her. 

“When it’s cooled, pour and store it somewhere. Consider my contribution complete.” She turned, facing him completely in her practiced courage. “I’m sorry you didn't grow up around love and freedom. Or if you did, and this,” she gestured to his rigid figure, “is what your beloved world has best to offer, I wouldn’t want any part of it anyways. As a person—not a wizard or leader or athlete—you are awful to be around.” 

She grabbed her belongings and made way to leave, denying him a chance to speak. She felt his eyes on her as she walked towards the door, feeling like a true spectacle. Of what, she didn’t want to guess. Her hand pulled on the door handle, the wood creaking and breaking the desperate silence of the room. She left Malfoy alone, her feet leading her to comfort hidden in the Astronomy Tower.