Chapter 8: Secrets Between The Cracks

The trio made an odd sight as they spiraled down the stairs of Ravenclaw Tower. Crookshanks went first with his tail held high, Hermione came next about ten paces behind, and Malfoy brought up the rear, hanging back like he did not want to be too close to either of them. He sauntered his way down each step, the fractals of light from the stained glass windows throwing strange shapes of color onto his pale hair and skin. Hermione glanced at her own hand trailing down the banister, finding it bathed alternately in greens, reds, and blues.

When she reached the bottom, she waited. Her companion seemed to be taking his time, oozing a stubborn nonchalance that was definitively Malfoy. Crookshanks sat patiently near her feet. Once he finally joined them, she queried, "Where would you like to head first?"

"This way," he answered, taking off in the same direction he had on their previous patrol. It seemed he had already established a routine.

They fell into step, quietude hovering awkwardly between them. For Hermione's part, she perceived he was being silent on purpose. Therefore, she was determined not to be the one to break it, deciding that if he wanted to spend the entire shift being ridiculous and taciturn, that was his issue.

They had already done half their patrol and were heading toward the dungeons when Draco finally iterated, "'Mischief managed'?"

Hermione stopped in her tracks, the color draining from her face. "What?"

How could he possibly know about the Marauder's Map?

"So it does mean something."

Eyes narrowing, she attempted to smother her agitation. "Where did you hear that?"

"Saturday night, you came back to Ravenclaw Tower after curfew," he explained. "You were on your own, though you had a large parchment in your hand. I was sitting by the fire, but even though you glanced around, you didn't seem to see me. Then you whispered 'mischief managed' and went up to your room."

She knew he had seen it, because that was exactly what had happened on Saturday.

Hermione tried to think back, and realized she had not consulted the map at all before entering Ravenclaw Tower, otherwise she surely would have noticed Malfoy's name in the common room and cleared the map in a more discreet location. Cursing her ineptitude, she demanded, "Why were you alone in the dark?"

"I was waiting," he answered simply.

"Waiting for what?"

"Nice deflection, Granger," Malfoy sneered. "It almost worked. I wanted to know what 'mischief managed' meant and you made it all about me. That was almost Slytherin of you. Unfortunately, it also confirmed that the phrase means something to you, or you would have simply answered outright to dismiss the conversation."

"Silly me," she retorted, "I was under the impression you liked talking about you."

"Your impression was incorrect. I find talking about myself to be distinctly uninteresting."

She snorted derisively. "If you didn't have your ego, your entire body would simply deflate."

His withering gaze caused Hermione to feel an embarrassing wobble in her knees, though she refused to give in to it. Instead, she stuck her nose in the air and waltzed ahead of him, leading the way down the cold, darkened corridors toward the dungeons.

When he caught back up to her, he hissed, "Do not walk away from me when we are having a discussion, Granger."

"Oh, were we talking?" she wondered airily, deciding that response would annoy him the most. She was not disappointed. "Here I was thinking we would complete our patrol in tight-lipped reserve, speaking only when necessary. It's not as if I enjoy doing rounds with you. A feeling, I am sure, is mutual."

"If you must know, I was waiting up on Saturday to make sure you made it back from the party alright. I was unaware this was considered bad manners."

Hermione spluttered. "You what?"

"Was waiting up. To see if you made it back to the common room," he repeated slowly, as if speaking to someone of limited intellect. "I waited for Li and Turpin, as well. They came in together sometime after midnight… rather intoxicated, from what I could tell. It's a miracle they made it up so many stairs without being discovered."

"Why didn't you… I don't know… announce yourself or something?"

His answer was bitingly sarcastic. "Did you want to talk to me then? I wasn't aware you enjoyed my company so much. I'll be sure to set out tea and biscuits next time."

She took a deep breath. "I'm having a hard time picturing you doing something just because it's considered good manners."

In the darkened stone corridor stretching past the dungeons, the only light came from the flickering torches that were suspended in wrought iron brackets on the walls. Shadows crept into the crevices between the stones, as if to hide centuries worth of secrets between the cracks. Malfoy elicited a dark laugh, which when coupled with the austere environment, made Hermione struggle to hide a shiver that ran the length of her spine.

"Believe it or not, Granger, my parents groomed me thoroughly in proper conduct and politesse."

She feigned surprise. "Really? I thought they spent most of their time instilling blood prejudice and a sense of unwarranted superiority into your skull."

Hermione knew she was picking a fight with Malfoy, simultaneously rising to his bait. While she had spent years chiding Ron for such behavior, it was hard to hear Lucius and Narcissa Malfoy mentioned, even in passing, and not relive the moments she had spent being tortured in their home only months ago. It put her immediately on the defense, grabbing at any makeshift shield, even one as weak as sarcasm, to protect that particular emotional wound. It was still fresh and recent. She was terrified any direct prodding would re-open it and reduce her to a gormless puddle.

She would never forget that night…

Bellatrix cut her free of her bonds with her short, silver knife and a moment later, the crazed woman was dragging Hermione by her hair across the drawing room floor. There, in the middle of the room, she was subjected to the witch's whims, which alternated between questioning her and torturing her under a prolonged Crucio.

Time moved in ripples, so that Hermione was unsure how long she was subjected to her terror. Somehow, she managed to keep her wits about her enough to lie. The effort of keeping her head was overwhelming - so much so that she had to allow her body to betray her as a wet heat spread through her jeans. It was some time before she realized she had peed her pants.

"Disgusting girl," Bellatrix spat into Hermione's ear. Her breath smelled foul, like her teeth were rotting in her head. "I should just give you to Greyback. He doesn't mind sullying himself with filth like you…"

Without warning, the witch's silver knife slashed into Hermione's forearm and she was screaming again…

Later, she found out it had been a cursed blade. Therefore, the haphazard scrawl - 'Mudblood' - would be etched there forever in untidy letters like one might find wantonly carved into a tree to commemorate a brief summer romance. This scar had become the part of Hermione's body she hated the most.

"I suppose you are also under the impression that purebloods have some ancient set of rituals we are forced to comply with through social habituation," Draco fumed, snapping her back to the present. His hand was clenched around his wand, though he did not seem ready to use it. "Perhaps something involving arranged marriages, ritualistic self-harm, or blood magic…"

"I was thinking more along the lines of virgin sacrifice, actually," she retorted.

Malfoy actually growled then, a noise between an offensive snarl and a sound a wounded animal might make. But instead of shouting, he seemed to withdraw into himself, causing Hermione to wonder if perhaps he had some cleverly constructed shields of his own. Under his breath, he muttered, "Bloody Gryffindor brainwashing at its finest."

"Excuse me?" she challenged, ready to jump to her former House's defense.

He speared her with another glance of cold hauteur. "You are a dichotomy just dying to be explored, Granger."

Taken aback, she demanded, "How do you figure?"

"It's like you can't come to terms with your ideals and your actions… like you don't even know what side you're on. On one hand, you're off spouting about equality, but then you turn around and insult purebloods for being what we are. You take the extra time to tame that bush on your head you call hair, but then you ruin your posture by hauling fifty million books around with you everywhere. There's such a thing as a weightless charm, by the way. You are insufferably bossy when it comes to following the rules, but then ignore them yourself whenever it suits you - like to attend a party after hours, for example."

Hermione was silent now, hands balled into fists and her face warm. They were still stopped in the middle of the deserted corridor that led toward the Potions classroom.

"Finally, the most perplexing of the bunch," Malfoy concluded, stuffing his fists into his trouser pockets, wand jutting out from the right side. "Just days ago, you tell me I should be careful of my word choices because of their ability to cause harm to others - something I have been perfectly aware of my entire life, believe it or not - but then tonight, your own tongue is barbed."

She felt oddly ashamed of this observation of herself, but also resistive, in large part because she was not willing to forgo her emotional defenses, especially around him.

"You never struck me as a hypocrite, Granger."

She was overwhelmed by a sudden lassitude, which warred against her rapidly increasing heartbeat. The stone of the walls quickly transformed into oppressive restraints, fighting to cave in on her. Feeling her breath hitch, Hermione could sense the onset of a panic attack coming, and wondered if it was in her power to stop it before Malfoy noticed.

As if by sixth sense, Crookshanks was suddenly at her feet and doing everything in his power to distract his mistress. She bent to scoop him up and buried her face into his fur, closing her eyes and willing herself to be calm again.

Following the war, panic attacks had become a commonplace occurrence for Hermione. For the month after the Battle of Hogwarts, she suffered them daily. Things were better now, but they still occasionally crept up on her.

It was several minutes before Hermione opened her eyes again. When she did, she was embarrassed to find that she had slid her back down the wall and was huddled against the cold stone, her feet splayed out before her on the floor like a child. She was clinging to Crookshanks tighter than was probably comfortable for the poor cat, and released him.

Malfoy was leaning against the opposite wall with his arms folded before him, staring at her with an inscrutable expression. Hermione stood hastily and tried to look anywhere but at him. He said nothing.

Shuffling her feet awkwardly, because she knew her meltdown had been impossible to ignore, she finally muttered, "Shall we… finish the patrol, then?"

Pushing away from the wall, he regarded her a moment before drawling, "Perhaps the Hospital Wing would be a better-"

"No," she interrupted with finality.

His gray-blue eyes seemed to be scrutinizing her on a near-microscopic level, as if calculating her weaknesses. Eventually, he caved. "Very well. But you can't keep burying whatever that was, Granger. You need to learn to compartmentalize, or you'll end up like a Russian doll: built-up layers over layers, protecting nothing but an empty shell on the inside."

They finished the patrol in utter silence, just as they'd begun it. Hermione's mind was whirring, turning her companion's words over and inside-out. All in all, she was relieved to reach Ravenclaw Tower at the end of the night.

The eagle head door-knocker met them with another riddle: "I may only be given, never taken or bought."

She barely had time to think about the possible answers before Draco promptly responded, "Forgiveness."

"A wise deduction," the guardian complimented, swinging the door inward.

Without another word or even a glance, he swept inside. Hermione followed slowly, wondering if perhaps this time, the riddle was meant for her to think about.

The next morning was Tuesday and Hermione awoke early. All four of her roommates were still sleeping (Padma was snoring lightly), so she dressed quietly and padded into their adjacent bathroom to tidy herself up for an early breakfast.

The first thing she noticed when she glanced in the mirror was that Lisa's beauty charm had worn off. While it was frustrating to have to spend over ten minutes attempting to control her incorrigible tangle, Hermione found she felt more like herself with a head full of unruly curls.

There were only eight other students and two faculty in the Great Hall when she made her way down, but to her delight she had received an early owl and her Alchemy textbook was waiting for her. After pouring some orange juice and helping herself to toast, she propped the book open and began to devour it:

Most witches and wizards are already familiar with the concept that there are four elements of creation: air, water, fire, earth. To understand these archetypal forces in alchemical terms, it is necessary to discard these everyday ideas.

The collective phenomena of the elements as they are generally known, are only the most basic physical expressions of their respective archetypes. It is the contrary action of these elements that keeps up the harmony and equilibrium of the mundane machinery of the universe. Through the virtue of celestial influences, they are able to produce physical manifestations of their basic nature both above and beneath the earth.

The Polish alchemist, Sendivogius, wrote that each of the four common elements has at its center another deeper element. These are the four pillars of the world, evolving out of chaos at the beginning of time…

It was in this state that Harry interrupted her from her reverie when he sat beside her at the Ravenclaw table over an hour later. The Great Hall was somewhat more full now.

"Trust me to find you here, reading a textbook at breakfast," Harry chuckled, loading up his plate with eggs and sausage.

"I'm behind! I didn't even know I would be taking this class, and the required reading has only just arrived…"

"Yes, Merlin forbid you can't swallow the entire book before the start of term." She shoved him playfully and he grinned back fondly. Chewing on a sausage speared on the end of his fork, he queried, "How was prefect patrol with Malfoy?"

An oddly guarded feeling ignited in Hermione's chest at the mention of the former-Slytherin. "I don't understand him."

"What has he done this time?"

She only shook her head, curls bouncing wildly with the motion.

Harry reasoned, "Well it is Malfoy we're talking about…"

"I honestly am not sure why he got re-sorted into Ravenclaw," Hermione exhaled, slathering too much jam onto her toast in her mechanical inattentiveness. "He's clever, sure… but so completely Slytherin…"

Harry shrugged, his eyes fixed on her toast as she brought it up to her mouth. "Maybe he wanted something a little different this year."

"He did tell me he asked the hat not to be put in his old House…"

"Malfoy said that?" Harry prompted, sitting up a little straighter.

"Yes. Why?" she queried, brow furrowing as she finally noticed she was eating more jam than toast. Setting about scraping half of it off onto a new piece, she added, "I'm sure it doesn't let you have that much sway over your placement, Harry."

"It did for me," he told her quietly.

"I remember you saying the hat takes your opinion into account. But in the end, its decisions seem to be its own…"

"When I put the hat on the first time, it told me I would do well in Slytherin. That it would help me on my way to greatness," Harry revealed. "It wanted to place me there when I was eleven, but it only didn't because I asked it not to."

She chewed her lip. "So you think he really did ask… and the hat just…?"

"It's possible."

Hermione happened to glance up to see Daphne had arrived in the Great Hall at that moment. Her dorm-mate looked tempted to join her new friend, but hesitant to do so because of the added presence of Harry. Hermione waved at her to sit with them.

After glancing around as if to take stock of her witnesses, Daphne made her way over and sat opposite Hermione. "How long have you been up?"

"Oh, awhile," Hermione grinned. "Have you met Harry? Harry, Daphne."

"Didn't you once ask me if a litter of kneazles had made a nest in my hair?" Harry asked, a smile already tugging at the corners of his mouth.

Judging from the red tinge spreading across her cheeks, Daphne had indeed made such a comment.

"Well it is rather dreadfully messy," Hermione pointed out levelly.

"You're one to talk," Harry bantered happily. "If I've got kneazles, you've definitely got something larger. A Blast-Ended Skrewt, maybe."

They both laughed then. Daphne stared at the pair of them like they had irrevocably lost their sanity. Malfoy sauntered in with Zabini and Nott, glanced once at Hermione, then sat as far away from her as possible. Daphne watched the entire exchange with a Slytherin's shrewdness.

"That was quite the look Draco gave you just now."

"Mmm," Hermione agreed, her mind clouding with their argument from the previous evening.

"He was calculating you."

"Hmph," she huffed.

"That's interesting, isn't it?"

Snapping back to reality, Hermione laughed. "Don't read into it please. Unless you can explain why he claimed he was waiting up on Saturday to be sure we all made it back from the party alright."

"He said what?" Harry questioned, surprised.

"Oh, yes," Daphne nodded, taking only a single croissant and gazing at it sadly. "That makes sense."

"Excuse me?" Hermione spluttered.

Turning her head to her new friend, Daphne blinked. "Draco always did that for the Slytherin girls. Whenever someone was planning to be out past curfew, he waited up to make sure they got back alright. If they were out too late, he went and made sure they were safe. Actually, he saved Pansy's arse twice by doing that. Once from that awful Umbridge woman, and another time from Derrick Bole. I guess Bole tried for more than Pans wanted one night and Draco had to hex him and remind him to keep his hands to himself."

Because this revelation did not compute with what she already knew about Draco Malfoy, Hermione could only stare at her roommate. Harry seemed to be just as thunderstruck.

"Blaise usually did it, too," Daphne added. "Though I know he's having a harder time reconciling himself to being in Ravenclaw than Draco is." Finally taking note of her companions' blank expressions, she queried, "Didn't any of the Gryffindor boys do that? I thought that was normal?"

Harry glanced swiftly at Hermione before replying, "Actually, we usually all snuck out together… and got caught together."

Daphne shook her head darkly and muttered something that sounded suspiciously like, "Gryffindors…"

Hermione glanced down the end of the table, where Malfoy sat with Zabini and Nott. She tried to imagine him staying up in the Slytherin commons simply to be a gentleman and make sure all the girls that had gone out made it back fine. Daphne had said he even hexed an older Slytherin for trying to take advantage of a girl Malfoy himself had deemed a slag. She recalled his words from their patrol the previous night: Believe it or not, Granger, my parents groomed me thoroughly in proper conduct and politesse.

In light of this revelation, she could almost believe it.