Chapter Forty Four - Draco's Surprise

Chapter Forty Four – Draco’s Surprise

 

            They opened the front doors as quietly as possible, to find Harry and Ginny waiting for them in the Front Hall.

            “All right, where the hell have you been?” Harry snapped angrily.

            “Collecting Death Eaters,” Draco said mildly. “Since we were running low.”

            Hermione maneuvered the levitated Dolohov and Goyle into the Hufflepuff dungeon. Neither moved as Malfoy had unceremoniously Stunned them the moment they had started struggling in their bonds. Hermione was concerned about Draco’s current state of mind—he seemed to have reverted back to his traditional icy demeanor.

            They locked the Death Eaters into empty cells. Greyback watched them pass in silence.

            “We brought you some new playmates, Fenrir,” Draco said companionably.

            “You’ll pay for crossing the Dark Lord, Malfoy,” Greyback muttered ominously.

            Draco sneered. “Spoken like a loyal Death Eater,” he said in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

            “I am loyal!” Fenrir snarled.

            “You’re loyal only to your own twisted ends and everyone knows it!”

            “Then it’s lucky my objective coincides with the Dark Lord’s, doesn’t it?”

            “Lucky. Too bad you’re stuck in a cage instead of out there living your glorious life, eh?”

            “Not for long, Malfoy. Not for long.” Fenrir showed his teeth in a horrific grin.

            Hermione paused at that and noticed Draco did the same. The werewolf sounded too confident. She made a note to tell Lupin about it in the morning.

            They filed out of the dungeon. Hermione touched her face, which itched where the mud was starting to dry.

            “Are you going to tell me where you’ve been?” Harry asked impatiently and Hermione giggled when she looked at the others.

            “Mud wrestling?” she suggested. Ron looked worse than any of them. His arms were brown up to the elbows and much of his clothing was completely covered. Draco wore all black, but his legs had a coating of brown, as well as one arm and most of his cloak. He had mud in his hair, which had to be driving him crazy. He kept picking at it fastidiously. Hermione’s hair was so caked she felt like she wore dreadlocks.

            “Granger can explain,” Draco said shortly. “I’m for a bath and then bed. See you tomorrow.”

            With that, he stalked for the stairs and disappeared.

            “Good idea,” said Neville, knocking a drying clod from one arm. He followed Malfoy, likely heading for the Prefect’s bath. Hermione sighed and reluctantly went back outside. Harry accompanied her, trailed by Ron and Ginny.

            “I’m not sure what to do with the body,” she said. Mulciber’s corpse lay at the base of the steps. “I suppose I should wake McGonagall.”

            Harry gaped. “Is he—?”

            “Dead. Malfoy killed him,” Ron said abruptly. He tugged a bit of mud from his hair. “He fought a Cruciatus Curse to do it. I’ve never seen anything like it. He still would have been too late, though. If Hermione hadn’t fallen, Mulciber would have killed her. I hate to think what Malfoy would have done, then.”

            “What do you mean?” Hermoine asked.

            “It was amazing,” Ron said. “I never would have believed it, but Malfoy… he wasn’t even fighting. He was just trying to get to you. If Mulciber had killed you, I think Malfoy would have taken them all out without a second thought. You should have seen his face when he thought you were dead.”

            Hermione suddenly felt like weeping. She remembered Draco’s words at the grave site. Looks like I really am a killer. She needed to find him… talk to him.

            “So, you just felt like going out and battling some Death Eaters?” Harry asked tightly, still fishing for information.

            “No, we went to get this,” Hermione said and opened the leather bag to show Harry the bracelet, remembering at the last moment not to touch it.

            “The Ravenclaw bracelet!” Harry breathed. “Where was it?”

            “I’d rather not say. The problem is Voldemort may figure out that we have it. Since the Death Eaters showed up, we weren’t able to remove it very inconspicuously.”

            “What’s so important about a bracelet?” Ginny asked. Harry exhaled heavily.

            “Just tell her, Harry,” Hermione snapped. “Our big secret isn’t going to be a secret much longer. Besides, after we take care of this, there should only be one left.”

            She closed the bag and slung it over her shoulder.

            “All right,” Harry said. “Ginny, let’s take a walk. I probably should have told you a long time ago…”

            They moved off toward the lake. Hermione sighed tiredly.

            “I’ll go fetch McGonagall,” Ron offered. “I won’t tell her about the Horcrux—that should come from Harry. Cor, I can’t really even tell her where we were… she’ll freak.”

            “Just tell her we’ll explain in the morning. Maybe we can think up a decent story, by then.”

            Ron nodded. “You’d better go find Malfoy.”

            She blinked at him in surprise. Ron shrugged.

            “He’s bitter enough without beating himself up over this scum.” He nudged Mulciber’s body with a toe. “Bill and Charlie told me stories about Mulciber. He helped kill my uncles. He would have killed us all and laughed about it, later. Frankly, Malfoy did us a favor.”

            Hermione threw her arms around Ron and impulsively kissed him on the cheek. Then, she stepped back and spat on the ground.

            “Why do I always get that reaction from you?” Ron asked dryly. She laughed.

            “It’s not you—it’s the dirt on your face.”

            Ron rubbed at it absently and grinned. She smiled.

            “Thanks, Ron.”

            “Don’t mention it.”

            Hermione turned and went inside. A bath was definitely the first order of business. A glance at her watch showed it to be nearly one in the morning. She went to her room and tucked the leather bag under her mattress. They would have to deal with the bracelet tomorrow.

            A half-hour later, clean, dry, and wrapped in cozy flannel pajamas and dressing gown, she made her way down to the Slytherin common room.

            Draco was already asleep, sprawled across his bed as if he’d thrown himself there. Thankfully, he wore dark silk boxers, since he hadn’t even bothered to draw back the covers. She listened to his breathing for a moment and admired his lithe form stretched out over his blankets. She should probably let him sleep, but she felt it couldn’t wait until tomorrow. She sat down next to him and reached out to touch his soft hair. It was still slightly damp from his bath.

            His silver eyes snapped open and his wand appeared in his hand at the same instant. The wariness disappeared from his gaze when he groaned.

            “Granger. Did you come to torture me?”

            “No. I came to thank you for saving my life.”

            He blinked at her for a moment, as if trying to wake up.

            “I didn’t save you—your incredible Gryffindor luck did that.”

            She shook her head in denial. “You think Mulciber wouldn’t have tried again in the next moment?”

            Draco rolled over and braced his head on a cocked elbow to look at her curiously.

            “I didn’t have to kill him. The Chosen One wouldn’t have killed him,” he said bitterly.

            “Will you stop comparing yourself to Harry?” she snapped.

            “Why? Because I’ll never measure up?” he demanded sharply.

            She buried her face in her hands in frustration. Why did she always seem to end up arguing with him?

            “Look, I just want you to know I don’t think any less of you for killing him.”

            “Why not?”

            Why not? He expected reasons? How could she explain how she felt? How could she admit to being glad someone like Mulciber would never be able to hurt anyone again? How could she describe her sheer elation that Draco cared enough for her to kill without hesitation? How could she tell him that waking up from a Confundus to find him holding her with almost intense anxiety had been incredible? How could she possibly rationalize the knowledge that she would forgive him just about anything?

            “Because I… I…” She was suddenly tongue-tied and felt her hands twist together fretfully. “I should go. I’m sorry I woke you.”

            She got to her feet, but his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

            “Come here,” he said with a sigh. “I never see you at a loss for words except when you’re with me. Why is that?”

            “Because you make me nervous,” she admitted. His thumb caressed her wrist gently as she sat back down, affirming her words.

            “I’m too tired to make you nervous right now,” he said and let his head drop to the pillow. “I’ll give it a go in the morning, all right?”

            He tugged her wrist insistently and pulled her down to lay next to him. She curled next to him with an exhalation of tired surrender and slipped her arm over his waist. She lay her cheek against his chest and felt his face in her hair. He breathed deeply.

            “Why do you always smell like apples?” he murmured.

            She smiled softly. “Why do you always feel like heaven?” she whispered, so quietly she didn’t think he heard her, but his arms tightened around her for a moment. Hermione sighed in contentment and drifted off to sleep.

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Chapter Forty Four - Draco's Surprise

Chapter Forty Four – Draco’s Surprise

 

            They opened the front doors as quietly as possible, to find Harry and Ginny waiting for them in the Front Hall.

            “All right, where the hell have you been?” Harry snapped angrily.

            “Collecting Death Eaters,” Draco said mildly. “Since we were running low.”

            Hermione maneuvered the levitated Dolohov and Goyle into the Hufflepuff dungeon. Neither moved as Malfoy had unceremoniously Stunned them the moment they had started struggling in their bonds. Hermione was concerned about Draco’s current state of mind—he seemed to have reverted back to his traditional icy demeanor.

            They locked the Death Eaters into empty cells. Greyback watched them pass in silence.

            “We brought you some new playmates, Fenrir,” Draco said companionably.

            “You’ll pay for crossing the Dark Lord, Malfoy,” Greyback muttered ominously.

            Draco sneered. “Spoken like a loyal Death Eater,” he said in a voice dripping with sarcasm.

            “I am loyal!” Fenrir snarled.

            “You’re loyal only to your own twisted ends and everyone knows it!”

            “Then it’s lucky my objective coincides with the Dark Lord’s, doesn’t it?”

            “Lucky. Too bad you’re stuck in a cage instead of out there living your glorious life, eh?”

            “Not for long, Malfoy. Not for long.” Fenrir showed his teeth in a horrific grin.

            Hermione paused at that and noticed Draco did the same. The werewolf sounded too confident. She made a note to tell Lupin about it in the morning.

            They filed out of the dungeon. Hermione touched her face, which itched where the mud was starting to dry.

            “Are you going to tell me where you’ve been?” Harry asked impatiently and Hermione giggled when she looked at the others.

            “Mud wrestling?” she suggested. Ron looked worse than any of them. His arms were brown up to the elbows and much of his clothing was completely covered. Draco wore all black, but his legs had a coating of brown, as well as one arm and most of his cloak. He had mud in his hair, which had to be driving him crazy. He kept picking at it fastidiously. Hermione’s hair was so caked she felt like she wore dreadlocks.

            “Granger can explain,” Draco said shortly. “I’m for a bath and then bed. See you tomorrow.”

            With that, he stalked for the stairs and disappeared.

            “Good idea,” said Neville, knocking a drying clod from one arm. He followed Malfoy, likely heading for the Prefect’s bath. Hermione sighed and reluctantly went back outside. Harry accompanied her, trailed by Ron and Ginny.

            “I’m not sure what to do with the body,” she said. Mulciber’s corpse lay at the base of the steps. “I suppose I should wake McGonagall.”

            Harry gaped. “Is he—?”

            “Dead. Malfoy killed him,” Ron said abruptly. He tugged a bit of mud from his hair. “He fought a Cruciatus Curse to do it. I’ve never seen anything like it. He still would have been too late, though. If Hermione hadn’t fallen, Mulciber would have killed her. I hate to think what Malfoy would have done, then.”

            “What do you mean?” Hermoine asked.

            “It was amazing,” Ron said. “I never would have believed it, but Malfoy… he wasn’t even fighting. He was just trying to get to you. If Mulciber had killed you, I think Malfoy would have taken them all out without a second thought. You should have seen his face when he thought you were dead.”

            Hermione suddenly felt like weeping. She remembered Draco’s words at the grave site. Looks like I really am a killer. She needed to find him… talk to him.

            “So, you just felt like going out and battling some Death Eaters?” Harry asked tightly, still fishing for information.

            “No, we went to get this,” Hermione said and opened the leather bag to show Harry the bracelet, remembering at the last moment not to touch it.

            “The Ravenclaw bracelet!” Harry breathed. “Where was it?”

            “I’d rather not say. The problem is Voldemort may figure out that we have it. Since the Death Eaters showed up, we weren’t able to remove it very inconspicuously.”

            “What’s so important about a bracelet?” Ginny asked. Harry exhaled heavily.

            “Just tell her, Harry,” Hermione snapped. “Our big secret isn’t going to be a secret much longer. Besides, after we take care of this, there should only be one left.”

            She closed the bag and slung it over her shoulder.

            “All right,” Harry said. “Ginny, let’s take a walk. I probably should have told you a long time ago…”

            They moved off toward the lake. Hermione sighed tiredly.

            “I’ll go fetch McGonagall,” Ron offered. “I won’t tell her about the Horcrux—that should come from Harry. Cor, I can’t really even tell her where we were… she’ll freak.”

            “Just tell her we’ll explain in the morning. Maybe we can think up a decent story, by then.”

            Ron nodded. “You’d better go find Malfoy.”

            She blinked at him in surprise. Ron shrugged.

            “He’s bitter enough without beating himself up over this scum.” He nudged Mulciber’s body with a toe. “Bill and Charlie told me stories about Mulciber. He helped kill my uncles. He would have killed us all and laughed about it, later. Frankly, Malfoy did us a favor.”

            Hermione threw her arms around Ron and impulsively kissed him on the cheek. Then, she stepped back and spat on the ground.

            “Why do I always get that reaction from you?” Ron asked dryly. She laughed.

            “It’s not you—it’s the dirt on your face.”

            Ron rubbed at it absently and grinned. She smiled.

            “Thanks, Ron.”

            “Don’t mention it.”

            Hermione turned and went inside. A bath was definitely the first order of business. A glance at her watch showed it to be nearly one in the morning. She went to her room and tucked the leather bag under her mattress. They would have to deal with the bracelet tomorrow.

            A half-hour later, clean, dry, and wrapped in cozy flannel pajamas and dressing gown, she made her way down to the Slytherin common room.

            Draco was already asleep, sprawled across his bed as if he’d thrown himself there. Thankfully, he wore dark silk boxers, since he hadn’t even bothered to draw back the covers. She listened to his breathing for a moment and admired his lithe form stretched out over his blankets. She should probably let him sleep, but she felt it couldn’t wait until tomorrow. She sat down next to him and reached out to touch his soft hair. It was still slightly damp from his bath.

            His silver eyes snapped open and his wand appeared in his hand at the same instant. The wariness disappeared from his gaze when he groaned.

            “Granger. Did you come to torture me?”

            “No. I came to thank you for saving my life.”

            He blinked at her for a moment, as if trying to wake up.

            “I didn’t save you—your incredible Gryffindor luck did that.”

            She shook her head in denial. “You think Mulciber wouldn’t have tried again in the next moment?”

            Draco rolled over and braced his head on a cocked elbow to look at her curiously.

            “I didn’t have to kill him. The Chosen One wouldn’t have killed him,” he said bitterly.

            “Will you stop comparing yourself to Harry?” she snapped.

            “Why? Because I’ll never measure up?” he demanded sharply.

            She buried her face in her hands in frustration. Why did she always seem to end up arguing with him?

            “Look, I just want you to know I don’t think any less of you for killing him.”

            “Why not?”

            Why not? He expected reasons? How could she explain how she felt? How could she admit to being glad someone like Mulciber would never be able to hurt anyone again? How could she describe her sheer elation that Draco cared enough for her to kill without hesitation? How could she tell him that waking up from a Confundus to find him holding her with almost intense anxiety had been incredible? How could she possibly rationalize the knowledge that she would forgive him just about anything?

            “Because I… I…” She was suddenly tongue-tied and felt her hands twist together fretfully. “I should go. I’m sorry I woke you.”

            She got to her feet, but his hand shot out and grabbed her wrist.

            “Come here,” he said with a sigh. “I never see you at a loss for words except when you’re with me. Why is that?”

            “Because you make me nervous,” she admitted. His thumb caressed her wrist gently as she sat back down, affirming her words.

            “I’m too tired to make you nervous right now,” he said and let his head drop to the pillow. “I’ll give it a go in the morning, all right?”

            He tugged her wrist insistently and pulled her down to lay next to him. She curled next to him with an exhalation of tired surrender and slipped her arm over his waist. She lay her cheek against his chest and felt his face in her hair. He breathed deeply.

            “Why do you always smell like apples?” he murmured.

            She smiled softly. “Why do you always feel like heaven?” she whispered, so quietly she didn’t think he heard her, but his arms tightened around her for a moment. Hermione sighed in contentment and drifted off to sleep.

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