Entrapped we trust

Draco is not obsessed. Really he isn’t, as much as Blaise may beg to differ. Draco knows obsessed, he’s lived obsessed before, so he knows how to tell the difference. And as odd as this may be, and yes Blaise he can certainly admit that it is odd, it definitely does not qualify as obsessed.

He’s just trying to be a good guy. He noticed that Granger had been studying late at the library, alone. Without her two, ever-present, body guards. She had been alone in the library for hours. And she had seemed nervous, on edge. She hadn’t entered the damn-near trance like state she seemed to always go into when she studied. Instead she had been distractedly flipping through some book, Draco couldn’t get a good look at the cover, for about four hours. She seemed to be reading at a rate of about a twenty minutes per page, and she was distractedly running her hands through her hair and staring off into space half the time. And it wasn’t just tonight, she’d been anxious and distracted all week. He even thought she might have lost some weight, she hadn’t been eating much at mealtimes. Not that he had been watching or anything, it was just hard to miss.

Granger had been kind to him after the war, she had testified on his behalf, and they had struck up an odd sort of acquaintanceship as some of the only returning eighth years. And not everyone had been thrilled at the way the war turned out, she was still a target. He just wanted to make sure she got back to her room alright.

So he had followed her out of the library.  And he could admit to himself, in the safety of his own mind and only as he seemed to be actively stalking her through the corridors, that maybe his preoccupation with Granger wasn’t necessarily a new phenomenon. He had always had an obsession with the golden trio, his exasperated friends could attest to that. And though originally it had been sparked by potters rejection, perhaps it had been fanned by the ever present Granger of it all.

In his defense she was certainly hard to ignore, her hair took up half of every room she entered. And big brown doe eyes were always a bit distracting. But it has gotten worse since the start of eighth year. Maybe it was the fact that they weren’t actively antagonizing each other anymore.

Or maybe, more realistically, it was that he had come into his inheritance over the summer.
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He had always expected that he was an alpha, it didn’t come as a surprise. And being under active investigation for collusion with the dark lord had certainly put a damper on any kind of celebration when he did finally present. So when his itchy skin and heightened irritation had finally given way to his alpha coming through, his father had simply clapped him on the back and told him to go to bed.

Not exactly the celebration he had pictured as a young boy, though not surprising given the circumstances. The surprise had come with moving back to Hogwarts. His heightened senses had turned every interaction he had up several notches. The second he stepped onto the train at the beginning of the school year he could sense the tension in the air. He could smell it.

Pansy was the first to stumble into their compartment, the mellow calming scent of cream and spices that was so very Beta had been soothing. Though the way she sullenly slumped in her seat and refused to make eye contact with him made it clear that she was disappointed she hadn’t carried the sharp sweetness that came with Omegas. Blaise was next, and he was a surprised to find a warm mint beta scent came with him. Blaise’s steady self-assuredness had always seemed very Alpha, though in retrospect he had never participated in any of the posturing that Draco was prone to. Theo’s quietly smug entrance had also been a surprise. The heavy coffee and parchment scent he wore like armor was unexpected, Theo was always small and awkward, so his presentation as an Alpha was unexpected.

Greg hadn’t returned for the eighth year. No one mentioned it.

Theo met his gaze unwaveringly as he dropped into the seat beside Pansy. His shoulders had filled out over the summer, he held himself taller. He was still smaller than Draco though, and old habits run deep. After about a minute he dropped his eyes to the compartment floor and scuffed his shoe on the carpet.

“Are we done with the posturing now, children?” Blaise had drawled noncommittally from his place slumped in the corner. He tapped his toes against Pansy’s shoe without opening his eyes, which got her to look up and let out a tight chuckle.

“Honestly, you Alpha types are so predictable.” Her voice was a bit strained, but the tension was broken, and the conversation had flowed freely after that. The dynamics were different, but they were still them. And despite it all, it was good to be back.

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“She looks a bit ill doesn’t she?” Pansy followed his eye line to watch Granger as she ignored the buffet before her and slumped over a book on the table.

“Don't we all?” She huffed and poured a vile into her coffee that looked suspiciously like calming draught. Draco met Blaises eyes over the table to make sure he had caught the movement. Blaise caught his eyes and nodded discreetly before going back to loading his plate with eggs.

Years ago, last year even, Pansy would have taken the opportunity to tear down the muggle-born know it all. Now she just shrugged off the comment and went back to her food. Not her business, not her problem. She had matured. They all had, really.

“Smells a bit odd too.” Theo mused as he watched the weasel try to tempt her with a piece of toast. Granger smiled tightly at the ginger nightmare and accepted it indulgently, nibbling at it slowly while he went back to gesturing wildly at Potter. It was rude to comment on how someone smelled, not something someone with good breeding should do over breakfast certainly, but the rules had changed since the war and no one blinked twice at Theo’s presumptuous comment.

“Odd how?” Blaise asked curiously as he glanced over to where Theo was scribbling distractedly in textbook, “I didn’t notice any sick scent.”

“Not sick,” Theo wrinkled his nose and glanced back to where Granger was sitting. “Just wrong, don’t know how to explain it, bit too tart maybe.” He flushed at Pansy’s viciously disapproving look, apparently saying someone smelled wrong was where Pansy drew the line.

Draco couldn’t help but silently agree with Theo though, Granger had smelled odd since they returned to school. She had the calming green tea scent that signaled a healthy beta, but it was stronger than most beta’s scents, and it lacked the warmth that other Beta’s scents tended to carry with them. Theo and Draco hadn’t been the only ones to notice either. Anthony Goldstein, who had harbored a not-so-subtle crush on Granger since her appearance at the Yule ball, had suddenly stopped pestering her for study sessions after he had presented. The Ravenclaw alpha had visibly deflated when Granger walked into great hall that first day of school.

Draco had slipped extra unicorn hairs into his potion that day in class, just to watch it explode all over him. The explosion had startled an unrestrained laugh out of Granger, one he hadn’t heard from her since fourth year at least, it had lit something warm in his chest. Slughorn had let potions out early that day, and Draco couldn’t quite contain his vindicated grin. He ignored that way that Blaise’s dark, judging gaze had followed him the rest of the week.

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So here he was, following Granger through the halls in the pitch black of night, desperately trying to convince himself that he wasn’t a massive creep. She walked quickly, her sensible mary-janes clacking loudly on the corridor stones, though it seemed to be more out of absentmindedness than actual awareness. She must know what a target she was, he wondered if she thought herself invincible. A horrifying image of her curls played out on the floor of the manor, while she writhed and shrieked in agony, flashed through his mind. She wasn’t invincible. Though she was one of the most terrifying witches he’d ever met, even she needed protection.

Her mane of wild curls disappeared around a corner ahead of him and he half-jogged to keep up with her rapid pace, needing to keep her in sight. He felt as though something terrible might happen if he couldn’t see her. Which was crazy, there was no real reason to think that. He wondered absentmindedly if maybe he was catching the Black madness his aunt had harbored. It didn’t seem like a very important thing to think about right now, he just needed to keep an eye on Granger.

Though, when he rounded the corner he found himself staring down the tail end of a sparking wand and furious witch. Well, he thought sardonically, she’s looking at you now, isn’t this what you wanted?

“Why are you following me Malfoy?” Her eyes crackled with barely contained rage and her wand hand shook as though she were struggling to hold back the magic it held.

He stared at her quivering face, frizzy strands of hair curling around burning amber eyes, and his throat felt tight. He didn’t really have an answer to that did he? Her face is pale and drawn and he wonders if her shaking can be totally attributed to her rage… or if there might be some other reason.

“You look odd,” Jumps out of his mouth like he’s possessed by an unusually stupid poltergeist.

Her face shutters and something like hurt flashes across her eyes. “You’re really making fun of the way I look right now? When I’ve got my wand in your face? I thought you had more self preservation instinct than that.”

“No I mean-” What did he mean? When exactly did he get so bad at speaking? He was a Slytherin, this was supposed to be his forte.

“You look like you might be ill, or maybe tired. You seemed distracted in the library and I just wanted to make sure you got back to your room ok.” Shit. The truth? What was he thinking, literally anything else would have been better.

Granger looks like she agrees. She lowers her wand arm with a dumbstruck look on her face.

“You were worried about my health. Thats the story you’re going with? I thought you were a better liar.” She sounds like she might be laughing at him. Of course she would assume he was lying, which is good. Why does his chest hurt?

He raises his chin hastily and stares down his nose at her, hoping he looks like he knows something she doesn’t. “Yes, turning over a new leaf and all that, trying to be chivalrous. I couldn’t help but notice your dutiful bodyguards are no where to be found. Did Potty finally figure out how to tie his shoelaces himself?”

She scowls, nose crinkling and knuckles going white around her wand, but she doesn’t rise to the bait. “Well thanks so much for the honor of your time, Malfoy, but I’m actually pretty good at taking care of myself. Go to bed.” Her tone is every bit affronted feminist and annoyed prefect and that should not be attractive. Definitely not cute. Granger was five feet and ninety pounds of tightly restrained fury and righteous indignation, cute was a dangerous misnomer, he’d do well not to forget that.

“Well-” He doesn’t get the chance to throw out whatever half-assed insult he was going to use to deflect, he’s interrupted by a terrible crash down the corridor. Before he can guess at what might be the cause, Granger’s already halfway down the hall racing toward it.

He curses, drawing his wand and taking off after her, wondering half-heartedly when he became a Gryffindor.

When he rounds the corner after, trailing the wild curls in font of him, he’s met with the increasingly familiar image of a suit of armor facing off against them, floating threateningly three feet off the ground. Peeve’s haunting cackle floats down to them from the rafters above.

“Secrets, secrets, grudges, danger.
Can’t quiet help being what you are.
Itty bitty witty Granger.
Can’t trap your real self in a jar.”

Merlin. Had Peeve’s songs always been so brutal? Since when was he so cruel? Granger seemed to have a similar thought, as she shrieked in anger and shot a curse toward the hovering armor. The knights head flew off and clattered on the stone floor. The rest of the armor collapsed to the ground in a pile, and Peeve’s wild cackling was just loud enough to be heard over the terrible crash.

Granger was glowing with rage, her hair looked like it it might catch fire any moment.

“Itty bitty witty Granger. Itty bitty witty Granger-” Granger shot hexes wildly into the rafters, they snapped and splintered threateningly above them. She looked like she might be exploding as she shot hexes around them with wild abandon, even during the final battle she hadn’t looked so torn apart.

“Granger, wait-” Draco reached to pull Granger’s wand away just as she shot off a massive hex toward Peeve’s echoing voice. The rafter above them split down the middle with the force of it, there was a terrifying CRACK, and it dropped down toward them.

Draco didn’t even think, he wrapped an arm around granger and jumped out of the way of the falling beam. They stumbled and tripped back into the maintenance closet behind them. Granger, tiny thing that she was, still packed a punch and her elbow jammed into his windpipe soundly knocked the air out of his lungs. This is why it took him far too long to realize the compromising position they were in.

She was perched on top of him, straddling his chest, and his arm was still wrapped firmly around her waist. Somehow he hadn’t realized just how tiny she was, until her warm body was pressed against his chest. Her sharp green tea scent was nearly overwhelming, but this close he could almost catch a hint of something sweeter lingering in the air.

Granger was panting slightly and an errant curl tickled his nose every time she took a breath. She turned her great big doe eyes up and him and huffed irritably, wrinkling her nose at him in a way that definitely should have been offensive.

“Let me go you great pillock.” She shoved at his chest and he marveled at the feeling of her hands against his heart. Could she feel how fast it was beating? It felt like it might leap out of his chest toward her.

God he was an idiot.

He forced himself to drop his arm from her waist, his limbs feeling slow and stubborn. She jerked away from him like his touch burnt her and lunged at the door of the closet, which had slammed shut behind them. He remained slumped on the ground, feeling somehow paralyzed by her proximity.

“You’re welcome.” He hoped his snarky tone camouflaged the hoarseness of his voice. She didn’t turn around, still fumbling at the door.

“You know, for saving your life and all.” That got her to look at him, but when she met his eyes he was floored at the terror in her pale, drawn face.

“It’s locked. The door is locked. I cant get it open.” Her voice was trembling faintly in a way he had never heard before, not even when his aunt was torturing her. His chest lurched.

“It’s ok.” He was startled by how his voice came out low and soothing, and even more startled at the way it seemed to actually calm her slightly. Her
shoulders dropped and she shuffled a step closer to him.

“Here let me try.” He stood up, legs aching, and tried to twist the knob. It wouldn’t budge and he tried to push against the door, even jamming his shoulder against it. It wasn’t moving. He could hear the muffled sound of Peeve’s laughter through the door.

He turned to look back at Hermione, rubbing his sore shoulder.

“I dropped my wand. Do you-“ He was stopped short at the vision of her, curled up in the corner of the closet, hyperventilating and staring stubbornly at a crack in the floor.

“Trapped. We're trapped. How could I do this? How could I be so stupid? I’ve ruined everything.” She tangled her fingers in her unruly hair and buried her head in her knees, breath wheezing at an alarming rate. He stared at her, dumbstruck by her obvious panic.
This was not the cool, calm, level-headed Granger that he knew. What on earth was happening? He crouched down and shuffled over to her, resting a hand awkwardly on her trembling shoulder.

“Don't worry. We’re safe and we’ll only be stuck in here for a couple of hours worst case scenario.” This doesn’t seem to calm her at all, she just presses her face harder into her knees, whimpering despairingly. A thought occurs to him suddenly. He’s reminded of his grandfather, who could not stand closed spaces after his imprisonment during the war. He had never met the man, but according to his mother he had panic attacks whenever he entered a small room, or one with too many people. Claustrophobia, she had called it.

Of course, he could not have been naive enough to think even Granger could have left the war unfazed.

“Granger, it’s ok. Focus on the sound of my voice, ok? I’m not going to let anything happen to you. I’m going to take care of you.” His voice cracked a bit, he was distinctly disarmed by the sight of a crumbling Hermione Granger. And reminded of another time in his life when he had encountered her broken and trembling on the ground.

She glanced through her mane. His chest ached at the sight of her red rimmed eyes. She met his eyes with an unnerving intensity, before smiling ruefully at him.

“Of course you will. You won’t have a choice. Thats kind of the problem isn’t it?” Then she buried her face in her knees again, and Draco was left in a shocked stupor. Well what the hell did that mean? She thought he was going to hurt her? That he had just been waiting for the perfect locked closet to unleash his blood prejudice?

“I’m not going to harm you,” He couldn’t quite hid the hurt in his voice and hoped it came across more as righteous indignation.

“I know we don’t have a great history Granger but I should hope you know that I’ve grown since my school boy days. I-” He hesitated. Now was not the time for this, but when would be?

“I’m sorry, by the way. For all of it, for school and for- for after.” She glanced up at him again, seemingly stupefied. He almost stumbled backwards with the force of her uninterrupted attention.

“You don’t have to forgive me of course! I just- I wanted you to know how deeply I regret it. How much I would change it all, if I could.” She continues to stare at him silently and he shuffles awkwardly in his crouched position, calves aching.

“I appreciate that Malfoy. But I think you’re going to regret saying it. I think you’re going to hate me again very soon.” Her voice cracked and she glanced uncomfortably toward the wall.

“What?” Now the righteous indignation in his voice came very naturally. “Why would I? I mean it Granger, I’ll never regret anything more than the way I treated you.” He huffed and plopped down on the stone floor, the impact echoing up through his spine.

“Stop, please. Stop being so nice and genuine. I feel like a monster.” She closes in on herself even more, her voice hoarse. He leans, towards her again, trying to get a peek at her face through the wild curls.

“Why would you say that? Granger I’m lost please just talk to me.” She whimpers again and stays silent, a stubborn ball of resentment in the corner of the closet.

He stares at her for awhile, hoping against hope that she might start explain herself, but she seemed to have decided that the silent treatment was the safest route. She was the brightest witch of her age for a reason.

He took the time to examine her, as much as he could. This was the closest he had been to her in awhile, and he wasn’t going to let the opportunity go to waste. His eyes traced over her hair, trying to follow the path every looping and sloping curl took. Then he drew his gaze over her slender arms, the way her delicate wrists led to tiny hands, clamped white knuckled in the fabric of her skirt. Her arms didn’t used to be so thin. She had definitely lost weight.

He stared at her in rapture, not caring about his backside and knees slowly growing more sore as the time stretched on. So absorbed in his assessment was he, that it took him a couple moments to notice the beeping.

He glanced around the small space, a bucket, several portrait covers, and an old mop. Nothing that should be beeping.

“Whats that noise?” Granger seemed to try and make herself smaller at the sound of his voice. She remained stoically silent, but the beeping sounded like it was coming from near her.

He crawled towards her, making sure his motions were loud enough to telegraph his proximity to her, though she didn’t seem particularly concerned with him at the moment. He groped around blindly at the floor near her shoes, where the sound was coming from. His hand closed around a smooth object and pulled it up to examine it through the flickering firelight that managed to make its way through the slats in the door.

It was a pocket watch, beeping and humming its anxious alarm. He touched the face of it three times and it stopped its movements.

“Granger was this yours?” She shook her head against her knees and began rocking back and forth.

“Thats strange. Why would there be-” There was a strange scent in the air. A vanilla and honey scent began to permeate the space in a way that made his head cloudy.

“What is- ” His voice was oddly low and hoarse. He turned to Granger, who slowly began to raise her head, shoulders trembling.

“What-”

Red rimmed eyes met his, slants of flickering firelight cutting across a soft and frightened face.

“Omega.”