Post by Liz-Miia Parker on Apr 1, 2009 20:47:18 GMT 3
Nuh, ma siis ikka updatin seda edasi, sest autor ise kirjutab seda hoogsalt edasi. Ja asi läheb päris huvitavaks. (Y)
Sealt kus ma selle loo saan, see saiti ümberkujundus on tehtud videviku laadseks - ma ei saa aru, mis värk on?
Chapter 20
Subtle Changes
True, Draco had been in worse amounts of pain: he had suffered the worst Cruciatus Curses that the Dark Lord could give and his father was…well, his father. But as he lay prone on the couch, straddling the fuzzy border of consciousness, he experienced anguish worse than anything before: humiliation. Absolute and total humiliation. Not only was he being nursed back to health by someone with inferior blood, but he had purposely alienated his friends, if ever he had such luxuries from the start. Even Quidditch, his only escape, would now be tainted with the threat of what may await him beyond the pitch.
Draco thought all these things with eyes closed against the soft light of the common room. As the thoughts whipped through his head, they ripped through his heart. His eyes suddenly prickled with uncomfortable warmth. Opening them to prevent the strange feeling, he saw Hermione. She was sitting crossed-legged on the coffee table. A medical book sat open in her lap. Her wand lay to one side of her. A mess of bloodied gauze was piled on the other. But instead of reading, she was staring at him intently.
He painfully squirmed into a sitting position. His chest felt tight: the gash which had marred his toned torso was now a thick, pink scar. Looking up from the wound, he locked eyes with her, becoming extremely self-conscious under her pitying gaze. Her brown eyes were warm and deep, coursing with a symphony of emotions, most of which were completely foreign.
I deserve this, Draco thought with certainty as he looked at the girl whose life he had deliberately made a living hell for the past seven years. I deserve all of it.
Hermione’s voice broke the silence. It was tentative, unsure. “I tried as best I could to close it cleanly, but I’ve never healed anything that deep before…” She looked completely distraught, brown eyes welling with tears. “I’m so sorry about the scar,” she whispered sincerely.
The uncomfortable prickling suddenly returned with a vengeance. A bitter tear fell from his eye and trailed down his smooth, white cheek. Mouth determinately impassive, he turned his head away from Hermione, loathe to have her witness this as well.
He heard movement from the table and felt Hermione’s presence immediately to his right; she knelt on the floor next to him.
“Draco,” she said quietly. Her hand alighted upon his arm with utmost care. The warmth of her touch made him shudder. She said his name softly again, barely a breath upon her lips. Reluctantly, he met her eyes. Then, without warning, she rested her head upon his arm, turning so that she could look into his eyes.
Draco froze for a moment, his entire body seizing up. Hesitantly, ignoring the stiffness that pervaded his limbs, he cradled her head with his other arm. He leaned back against the cushions and took a deep breath, feeling her body move with his. He closed his eyes and played with her hair, lightly twining the soft brown strands around his fingers. For some reason, holding her like that felt incredibly natural. And as unusual and uncharacteristic as it was, as strange and contradictory to everything he had ever learned, everything he had ever felt before, Draco did not want it to end.
XOX
Hermione did not know what spirit possessed her to take residence on Draco’s arm, but she did not regret its appearance. He looked so utterly pitiful. His steel eyes, usually as unexpressive as the metal they embodied, were intense. Then, when he looked away to hide his tears…Her heart shredded into bits. And now, as she comforted the boy she had always hated, Hermione felt something different. For the first time in her life, she felt compassion towards him.
He always seemed so strong, she thought. Her gaze remained locked on his stubbornly impassive face, belayed only by the single tear which escaped those jailing eyes. But there’s a side to him that I’ve missed…That we’ve all missed… Hermione was finally able to put herself in his shoes: she did not like what she saw. Her eyes filled with sorrow once more as she thought of all the horrors he must have experienced. And whatever happened today isn’t making it any better, she thought.
They stayed like that for a bit longer, silent except for the crackling fire. Then Hermione felt him sigh. He stopped playing with her hair and scooted himself up. But instead of giving away some kind of softer emotion, or even a thank you, he glared at her. With a venom-laced voice, he spoke. “This changes nothing, Granger. Nothing.”
Hermione was taken aback. But instead of inciting an argument, she bit back a snappish retort, took a deep breath, and nodded mutely. He continued. “If anyone ever finds out about this, I will kill you.”
She struggled to keep her face impassive. Although the threat was delivered with unmistakable intentions — intimidation, obviously — the reason behind it was much more subtle: Draco was desperately trying to recover some of his lost pride. And so it was not fear Hermione was trying to hide from her eyes, but instead pity, which would only make him feel worse.
“I won’t tell anyone,” she said softly. “I promise.”
“Good. Now move it.”
She stood as he tried to lift himself up from the couch. “Here,” she said, reaching towards him. “Let me hel-”
“No!” he barked. “Get away from me.” He brandished his arm at her, effectively batting hers away.
She let the pain register on her face for only a moment, then covered it with a mask of pride. The atmosphere of the room changed palpably. “Fine,” Hermione said, walking away. “I’ll just grab a few extra blankets and your pillow.”
Draco, who was still working on standing, looked up at her. “What?”
Hermione, who was already halfway up the stairs, rolled her eyes. “You’re obviously not going anywhere tonight, Malfoy. You can hardly stand. You’ll just end up ripping yourself open again and I don’t want blood on the carpets.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off. “Don’t bother arguing. You know as well as I do that it’s the truth. Now shut up and lie down. I’ll be right back.” Hermione could tell he was about to refuse. “Although,” she said slowly, “if you can stand, we could go see Madam Pomfrey…”
It was a chance, but Hermione was almost sure it would work. She knew Draco wanted to keep his frequent injuries as low-key as possible. A visit to Pomfrey, especially this late in the evening, would arouse suspicion. He thought about it for a moment and resignedly lay back down. With a satisfied nod, Hermione went to his room, grabbing a blanket and his pillow. She did not bother with his pajamas.
He won’t be able to change into them by himself anyways. And I’m not about to do that much for him.
Draco was struggling to stay awake on the couch when she returned. She placed his pillow under his head, the blanket over his body, and did not even have time to say, “Goodnight,” before Draco was unconscious.
Hermione watched him sleep for a moment. She blushed as she realized what she was doing and looked embarrassedly around the room. Without a sound, she made her way up to her room and went to bed, tossing and turning with thoughts like freight trains barreling through her mind.
She woke the next day with a feeling of anticipation. The first weekend of October, she thought with a smile. And that means Hogsmeade. She showered and changed, putting on something suitable for her meeting with Channing.
Why he wants to meet me at Madame Puddifoot’s is still a mystery, she thought while delicately applying just a hint of mascara. But he must have his reasons…
She walked down the stairs, Crookshanks at her heels. She could see Draco’s slightly bruised arm slung limply over the black leather couch. She was about to walk right by when her conscience caught up with her.
You can’t just leave him, Hermione, it whispered in her mind.
Yes, I can, she argued back, and I’m going to. Hermione mulled over his attitude all night, which did not bode well for him now. After the way he treated me last night…after all I did for him! He thinks he’s so strong…he can deal with this on his own. She continued marching towards the door, proud that she had managed to overcome that niggling sense of pity. Just then she heard him groan loudly.
See? her conscience said in an “I-told-you-so” tone.
Heaving a giant sigh, she dropped her bag on the table and reluctantly went to go check on him. Any anger that she may have had dissipated when she saw the state he was in. The bruises that had covered his body in the darkness looked even more atrocious in the light. They were great, multi-colored swellings; different shades of purple, blue, green, and yellow tinged his usually flawless alabaster skin.
This type of cruelty shouldn’t be allowed, she thought with a grim look.
“Malfoy,” she whispered while quietly crouched over him. His eyes jerked open at her whisper and he looked panicked for a moment. “It’s alright, it’s alright. Stay here, okay? You’re covered with bruises — I wouldn’t be surprised if you can’t move. The House Elves will bring you food and something for the pain. You should consider asking for a healing salve as well.”
“Where are you going?” he asked weakly.
“Hogsmeade,” she said, standing up.
“Bugger.” He started to get up too, much to Hermione’s surprise.
“Malfoy, what are you doing?” she said, pressing her hand to his chest to stop his already agonizingly slow rising.
“Going to Hogsmeade. Now get your hands off me.” He tried to shove against her arm, but succeeded only in moving Hermione’s hand a minute amount.
“You can’t even sit,” she said logically. “How do you plan on walking?”
“I could sit if you’d get your filthy hands off me,” he hissed maliciously. “The rest I’ll figure out later. Now let me up. McGonagall will kill me if I don’t patrol.”
“I’ll tell her what happened. Or, the gist of what happened, anyways,” she corrected at Draco’s fleeting anxious look. “She’ll understand. Just stay for today and rest.”
He was about to argue again when Hermione cut him off. “Please, don’t be stubborn, Malfoy. I really don’t want to hex you.”
Hit with the reality of her threat, or perhaps simply tired of struggling, Draco submitted.
Hermione nodded, quite pleased that she managed to win yet another argument. This will make it easier to talk to Channing as well, she thought. Undoubtedly, she and Draco would have to patrol the streets together. It would be difficult for her to sneak off on her own without arousing his suspicion. But now with him conveniently out of the way… Hermione smiled as she slipped into the secret passage that led to the Hogsmeade exit. This may prove to be an interesting day.
By the time Hermione stepped into Madame Puddifoot’s, she was already clutching three small bags close to her sides. She already needed more parchment and ink, as well as a few new quills from Scrivenshaft’s. She bought a new pair of gloves from Gladrags and some sweets from Honeydukes, most of which were going to Harry.
Hermione looked around the garishly decorated room trying to spot Channing. She craned her neck towards the very back tables when she felt someone press against her back.
“Looking for someone?” said a deep voice in her ear.
Hermione made a startled noise and jumped. The man behind her laughed and, when she turned around, Hermione smiled in relief.
“Mr. Orman!” she said in surprise, holding her hand to her chest.
“Channing, please, Hermione.” His eyes glinted as he flashed a row of perfect white teeth. “Shall we find a table?”
Hermione smiled and nodded as Channing placed his hand at the small of her back and led her to a back table. Hermione sat down in silent gratitude, placing her parcels underneath her chair while Channing ordered tea and scones.
They made small talk about the weather and Hermione’s classes until their tea arrived. Hermione reached for a cup when Channing snatched it from her grasp. “No,” he said with a simpering smile, “allow me.” Hermione smiled uneasily and looked down in embarrassment. As he placed the cup before her, their casual conversation turned to a more pressing matter.
“So, you’ve gotten nowhere on your assignment?”
“I’m afraid not,” Hermione confessed, slightly ashamed of her lack of interesting news. “I’ve searched his room and I can’t find anything.”
“Have you looked everywhere?”
“Absolutely.”
“Hm, well chances are that if he was hiding something, he wouldn’t keep physical evidence of it lying around anyways.”
So why the hell did I look? Hermione thought, annoyed that she had rifled through Malfoy’s life for naught.
“The information we need, then, is most likely in his head. Did you by chance learn anything over the summer that would help with this?”
“I learned a bit of Legilimency, but I’m pretty sure Malfoy is quite a good Occlumens. And I’m not that good of an Occlumens — anything I try to do to him could be done right back to me. I wouldn’t be able to get anything out of him that way.” She babbled all of this very quickly, not even thinking about what she said until it was too late.
Eyes wide, she fought the urge to clap a hand over her mouth. Why did I just tell him that? thought Hermione in ever-growing panic. Moody said I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about those lessons! Channing’s reply interrupted her panic.
“Oh, you learned Legilimency?” he said in what Hermione thought was poorly concealed surprise. “That’s…interesting. Very interesting…” He trailed off and seemed to consider the news for a moment. Hermione was put immediately on guard. “Interesting,” he continued after a moment, “but not what I was suggesting.” He looked furtively around the café and, seeing no one but mooning couples, said in low tones, “I was implying slightly…trickier…means of getting information.”
Hermione furrowed her brow. “I don’t think I follow you.”
“You’re accomplished at Potions, are you not? Certainly a batch of Veritaserum wouldn’t be that difficult to brew.”
Hermione gasped. “I could never! That’s underhanded and unfair!”
Channing smiled craftily, glancing down at her tea, then regained his composure. “Why wouldn’t you, though?” he said with a searching look, dull brown eyes staring deep into her own.
Before Hermione could formulate an acceptable answer, the truth came spewing from her mouth. “Because he’s been through so much already…It just doesn’t seem right to drug him.”
“Are you saying you care about him?”
“Yes,” she immediately answered. Her eyes widened in surprise. “No,” she recovered. “No, I don’t care about him,” she said forcefully to Channing. “Why the hell did I say yes then?” she said to herself.
She heard Channing sigh. “I should have known this would happen. Hermione, you’re part of the Order now. You have to let go of your feelings.”
“I don’t have feel-”
“It doesn’t matter what you do or don’t have, just be careful you keep them out of your assignment. Don’t forget what he did to you…to Harry.” Memories of the past six years flashed in her mind as did the memories of last night. Hermione’s heart heretically softened. “Now, you’re sure you found nothing?”
“Not a thing,” she said honestly.
“Alright, I believe you.” Channing reached across the table and took Hermione’s hand in his. “You’re really strong for doing this, Hermione,” he said, voice dropping an octave lower. He gently rubbed her hand with his fingers. “Most women your age would cave under the pressure. But you’re so strong...” She felt his leg brush hers beneath the table...intentionally.
The mood of the meeting suddenly changed. Where it had once been professional, albeit a little uncomfortable, it was now very tense. She looked down at his hand, tried not to look puzzled, and pulled away from his touch. “Thank you,” Hermione said hesitantly with a smile that poorly hid her discomfort. Channing smiled and glanced at his watch.
“I have to get going now, Hermione,” he said as they made their way to the door. “Thank you for meeting with me today. I enjoyed seeing you.”
Hermione gave him another uncomfortable smile and said, “Yes. Thank you for the tea.” Hermione shivered slightly as she stepped into the chilly October air. Unexpectedly, Channing enveloped her in a hug. She stiffened as he pressed her body close to his chest and wrapped his arms all the way around her.
“Be safe,” he whispered with a final squeeze.
“Okay,” she said, backing away from his body. “I have to go now,” she said awkwardly. She turned and tried to calmly walk down the street. When she looked back to find him staring, Hermione quickened her pace. She turned a corner simply to get out of his sight and leaned up against the alley wall, taking a deep, shaky breath.
“What the hell was that?”
Sealt kus ma selle loo saan, see saiti ümberkujundus on tehtud videviku laadseks - ma ei saa aru, mis värk on?
Chapter 20
Subtle Changes
True, Draco had been in worse amounts of pain: he had suffered the worst Cruciatus Curses that the Dark Lord could give and his father was…well, his father. But as he lay prone on the couch, straddling the fuzzy border of consciousness, he experienced anguish worse than anything before: humiliation. Absolute and total humiliation. Not only was he being nursed back to health by someone with inferior blood, but he had purposely alienated his friends, if ever he had such luxuries from the start. Even Quidditch, his only escape, would now be tainted with the threat of what may await him beyond the pitch.
Draco thought all these things with eyes closed against the soft light of the common room. As the thoughts whipped through his head, they ripped through his heart. His eyes suddenly prickled with uncomfortable warmth. Opening them to prevent the strange feeling, he saw Hermione. She was sitting crossed-legged on the coffee table. A medical book sat open in her lap. Her wand lay to one side of her. A mess of bloodied gauze was piled on the other. But instead of reading, she was staring at him intently.
He painfully squirmed into a sitting position. His chest felt tight: the gash which had marred his toned torso was now a thick, pink scar. Looking up from the wound, he locked eyes with her, becoming extremely self-conscious under her pitying gaze. Her brown eyes were warm and deep, coursing with a symphony of emotions, most of which were completely foreign.
I deserve this, Draco thought with certainty as he looked at the girl whose life he had deliberately made a living hell for the past seven years. I deserve all of it.
Hermione’s voice broke the silence. It was tentative, unsure. “I tried as best I could to close it cleanly, but I’ve never healed anything that deep before…” She looked completely distraught, brown eyes welling with tears. “I’m so sorry about the scar,” she whispered sincerely.
The uncomfortable prickling suddenly returned with a vengeance. A bitter tear fell from his eye and trailed down his smooth, white cheek. Mouth determinately impassive, he turned his head away from Hermione, loathe to have her witness this as well.
He heard movement from the table and felt Hermione’s presence immediately to his right; she knelt on the floor next to him.
“Draco,” she said quietly. Her hand alighted upon his arm with utmost care. The warmth of her touch made him shudder. She said his name softly again, barely a breath upon her lips. Reluctantly, he met her eyes. Then, without warning, she rested her head upon his arm, turning so that she could look into his eyes.
Draco froze for a moment, his entire body seizing up. Hesitantly, ignoring the stiffness that pervaded his limbs, he cradled her head with his other arm. He leaned back against the cushions and took a deep breath, feeling her body move with his. He closed his eyes and played with her hair, lightly twining the soft brown strands around his fingers. For some reason, holding her like that felt incredibly natural. And as unusual and uncharacteristic as it was, as strange and contradictory to everything he had ever learned, everything he had ever felt before, Draco did not want it to end.
XOX
Hermione did not know what spirit possessed her to take residence on Draco’s arm, but she did not regret its appearance. He looked so utterly pitiful. His steel eyes, usually as unexpressive as the metal they embodied, were intense. Then, when he looked away to hide his tears…Her heart shredded into bits. And now, as she comforted the boy she had always hated, Hermione felt something different. For the first time in her life, she felt compassion towards him.
He always seemed so strong, she thought. Her gaze remained locked on his stubbornly impassive face, belayed only by the single tear which escaped those jailing eyes. But there’s a side to him that I’ve missed…That we’ve all missed… Hermione was finally able to put herself in his shoes: she did not like what she saw. Her eyes filled with sorrow once more as she thought of all the horrors he must have experienced. And whatever happened today isn’t making it any better, she thought.
They stayed like that for a bit longer, silent except for the crackling fire. Then Hermione felt him sigh. He stopped playing with her hair and scooted himself up. But instead of giving away some kind of softer emotion, or even a thank you, he glared at her. With a venom-laced voice, he spoke. “This changes nothing, Granger. Nothing.”
Hermione was taken aback. But instead of inciting an argument, she bit back a snappish retort, took a deep breath, and nodded mutely. He continued. “If anyone ever finds out about this, I will kill you.”
She struggled to keep her face impassive. Although the threat was delivered with unmistakable intentions — intimidation, obviously — the reason behind it was much more subtle: Draco was desperately trying to recover some of his lost pride. And so it was not fear Hermione was trying to hide from her eyes, but instead pity, which would only make him feel worse.
“I won’t tell anyone,” she said softly. “I promise.”
“Good. Now move it.”
She stood as he tried to lift himself up from the couch. “Here,” she said, reaching towards him. “Let me hel-”
“No!” he barked. “Get away from me.” He brandished his arm at her, effectively batting hers away.
She let the pain register on her face for only a moment, then covered it with a mask of pride. The atmosphere of the room changed palpably. “Fine,” Hermione said, walking away. “I’ll just grab a few extra blankets and your pillow.”
Draco, who was still working on standing, looked up at her. “What?”
Hermione, who was already halfway up the stairs, rolled her eyes. “You’re obviously not going anywhere tonight, Malfoy. You can hardly stand. You’ll just end up ripping yourself open again and I don’t want blood on the carpets.”
He opened his mouth to say something, but she cut him off. “Don’t bother arguing. You know as well as I do that it’s the truth. Now shut up and lie down. I’ll be right back.” Hermione could tell he was about to refuse. “Although,” she said slowly, “if you can stand, we could go see Madam Pomfrey…”
It was a chance, but Hermione was almost sure it would work. She knew Draco wanted to keep his frequent injuries as low-key as possible. A visit to Pomfrey, especially this late in the evening, would arouse suspicion. He thought about it for a moment and resignedly lay back down. With a satisfied nod, Hermione went to his room, grabbing a blanket and his pillow. She did not bother with his pajamas.
He won’t be able to change into them by himself anyways. And I’m not about to do that much for him.
Draco was struggling to stay awake on the couch when she returned. She placed his pillow under his head, the blanket over his body, and did not even have time to say, “Goodnight,” before Draco was unconscious.
Hermione watched him sleep for a moment. She blushed as she realized what she was doing and looked embarrassedly around the room. Without a sound, she made her way up to her room and went to bed, tossing and turning with thoughts like freight trains barreling through her mind.
She woke the next day with a feeling of anticipation. The first weekend of October, she thought with a smile. And that means Hogsmeade. She showered and changed, putting on something suitable for her meeting with Channing.
Why he wants to meet me at Madame Puddifoot’s is still a mystery, she thought while delicately applying just a hint of mascara. But he must have his reasons…
She walked down the stairs, Crookshanks at her heels. She could see Draco’s slightly bruised arm slung limply over the black leather couch. She was about to walk right by when her conscience caught up with her.
You can’t just leave him, Hermione, it whispered in her mind.
Yes, I can, she argued back, and I’m going to. Hermione mulled over his attitude all night, which did not bode well for him now. After the way he treated me last night…after all I did for him! He thinks he’s so strong…he can deal with this on his own. She continued marching towards the door, proud that she had managed to overcome that niggling sense of pity. Just then she heard him groan loudly.
See? her conscience said in an “I-told-you-so” tone.
Heaving a giant sigh, she dropped her bag on the table and reluctantly went to go check on him. Any anger that she may have had dissipated when she saw the state he was in. The bruises that had covered his body in the darkness looked even more atrocious in the light. They were great, multi-colored swellings; different shades of purple, blue, green, and yellow tinged his usually flawless alabaster skin.
This type of cruelty shouldn’t be allowed, she thought with a grim look.
“Malfoy,” she whispered while quietly crouched over him. His eyes jerked open at her whisper and he looked panicked for a moment. “It’s alright, it’s alright. Stay here, okay? You’re covered with bruises — I wouldn’t be surprised if you can’t move. The House Elves will bring you food and something for the pain. You should consider asking for a healing salve as well.”
“Where are you going?” he asked weakly.
“Hogsmeade,” she said, standing up.
“Bugger.” He started to get up too, much to Hermione’s surprise.
“Malfoy, what are you doing?” she said, pressing her hand to his chest to stop his already agonizingly slow rising.
“Going to Hogsmeade. Now get your hands off me.” He tried to shove against her arm, but succeeded only in moving Hermione’s hand a minute amount.
“You can’t even sit,” she said logically. “How do you plan on walking?”
“I could sit if you’d get your filthy hands off me,” he hissed maliciously. “The rest I’ll figure out later. Now let me up. McGonagall will kill me if I don’t patrol.”
“I’ll tell her what happened. Or, the gist of what happened, anyways,” she corrected at Draco’s fleeting anxious look. “She’ll understand. Just stay for today and rest.”
He was about to argue again when Hermione cut him off. “Please, don’t be stubborn, Malfoy. I really don’t want to hex you.”
Hit with the reality of her threat, or perhaps simply tired of struggling, Draco submitted.
Hermione nodded, quite pleased that she managed to win yet another argument. This will make it easier to talk to Channing as well, she thought. Undoubtedly, she and Draco would have to patrol the streets together. It would be difficult for her to sneak off on her own without arousing his suspicion. But now with him conveniently out of the way… Hermione smiled as she slipped into the secret passage that led to the Hogsmeade exit. This may prove to be an interesting day.
By the time Hermione stepped into Madame Puddifoot’s, she was already clutching three small bags close to her sides. She already needed more parchment and ink, as well as a few new quills from Scrivenshaft’s. She bought a new pair of gloves from Gladrags and some sweets from Honeydukes, most of which were going to Harry.
Hermione looked around the garishly decorated room trying to spot Channing. She craned her neck towards the very back tables when she felt someone press against her back.
“Looking for someone?” said a deep voice in her ear.
Hermione made a startled noise and jumped. The man behind her laughed and, when she turned around, Hermione smiled in relief.
“Mr. Orman!” she said in surprise, holding her hand to her chest.
“Channing, please, Hermione.” His eyes glinted as he flashed a row of perfect white teeth. “Shall we find a table?”
Hermione smiled and nodded as Channing placed his hand at the small of her back and led her to a back table. Hermione sat down in silent gratitude, placing her parcels underneath her chair while Channing ordered tea and scones.
They made small talk about the weather and Hermione’s classes until their tea arrived. Hermione reached for a cup when Channing snatched it from her grasp. “No,” he said with a simpering smile, “allow me.” Hermione smiled uneasily and looked down in embarrassment. As he placed the cup before her, their casual conversation turned to a more pressing matter.
“So, you’ve gotten nowhere on your assignment?”
“I’m afraid not,” Hermione confessed, slightly ashamed of her lack of interesting news. “I’ve searched his room and I can’t find anything.”
“Have you looked everywhere?”
“Absolutely.”
“Hm, well chances are that if he was hiding something, he wouldn’t keep physical evidence of it lying around anyways.”
So why the hell did I look? Hermione thought, annoyed that she had rifled through Malfoy’s life for naught.
“The information we need, then, is most likely in his head. Did you by chance learn anything over the summer that would help with this?”
“I learned a bit of Legilimency, but I’m pretty sure Malfoy is quite a good Occlumens. And I’m not that good of an Occlumens — anything I try to do to him could be done right back to me. I wouldn’t be able to get anything out of him that way.” She babbled all of this very quickly, not even thinking about what she said until it was too late.
Eyes wide, she fought the urge to clap a hand over her mouth. Why did I just tell him that? thought Hermione in ever-growing panic. Moody said I wasn’t supposed to tell anyone about those lessons! Channing’s reply interrupted her panic.
“Oh, you learned Legilimency?” he said in what Hermione thought was poorly concealed surprise. “That’s…interesting. Very interesting…” He trailed off and seemed to consider the news for a moment. Hermione was put immediately on guard. “Interesting,” he continued after a moment, “but not what I was suggesting.” He looked furtively around the café and, seeing no one but mooning couples, said in low tones, “I was implying slightly…trickier…means of getting information.”
Hermione furrowed her brow. “I don’t think I follow you.”
“You’re accomplished at Potions, are you not? Certainly a batch of Veritaserum wouldn’t be that difficult to brew.”
Hermione gasped. “I could never! That’s underhanded and unfair!”
Channing smiled craftily, glancing down at her tea, then regained his composure. “Why wouldn’t you, though?” he said with a searching look, dull brown eyes staring deep into her own.
Before Hermione could formulate an acceptable answer, the truth came spewing from her mouth. “Because he’s been through so much already…It just doesn’t seem right to drug him.”
“Are you saying you care about him?”
“Yes,” she immediately answered. Her eyes widened in surprise. “No,” she recovered. “No, I don’t care about him,” she said forcefully to Channing. “Why the hell did I say yes then?” she said to herself.
She heard Channing sigh. “I should have known this would happen. Hermione, you’re part of the Order now. You have to let go of your feelings.”
“I don’t have feel-”
“It doesn’t matter what you do or don’t have, just be careful you keep them out of your assignment. Don’t forget what he did to you…to Harry.” Memories of the past six years flashed in her mind as did the memories of last night. Hermione’s heart heretically softened. “Now, you’re sure you found nothing?”
“Not a thing,” she said honestly.
“Alright, I believe you.” Channing reached across the table and took Hermione’s hand in his. “You’re really strong for doing this, Hermione,” he said, voice dropping an octave lower. He gently rubbed her hand with his fingers. “Most women your age would cave under the pressure. But you’re so strong...” She felt his leg brush hers beneath the table...intentionally.
The mood of the meeting suddenly changed. Where it had once been professional, albeit a little uncomfortable, it was now very tense. She looked down at his hand, tried not to look puzzled, and pulled away from his touch. “Thank you,” Hermione said hesitantly with a smile that poorly hid her discomfort. Channing smiled and glanced at his watch.
“I have to get going now, Hermione,” he said as they made their way to the door. “Thank you for meeting with me today. I enjoyed seeing you.”
Hermione gave him another uncomfortable smile and said, “Yes. Thank you for the tea.” Hermione shivered slightly as she stepped into the chilly October air. Unexpectedly, Channing enveloped her in a hug. She stiffened as he pressed her body close to his chest and wrapped his arms all the way around her.
“Be safe,” he whispered with a final squeeze.
“Okay,” she said, backing away from his body. “I have to go now,” she said awkwardly. She turned and tried to calmly walk down the street. When she looked back to find him staring, Hermione quickened her pace. She turned a corner simply to get out of his sight and leaned up against the alley wall, taking a deep, shaky breath.
“What the hell was that?”
