Suspicions Arise

Crabbe,

I received your owl earlier this afternoon, and I must say that I am greatly disappointed in my son. I appreciate your warning, and you can be assured that I will be dealing with this problem as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the tasks that our Dark Lord assigned me have been rather time consuming. I truly hope his acting out of character has nothing to do with that nasty little Mudblood he has been forced to share a common room with. I seriously doubt it though; my son was raised better than that. I will, however, get to the bottom of this.

Lucius Malfoy

*****

Hermione was finishing up her Charms homework when she heard a loud knocking on her bedroom door. She capped her inkwell and answered. Draco stood outside her room with his back slouched and his hands stuffed deep into his pockets.

“Yes?”

He was frowning and avoiding eye contact. His mouth twisted a bit in a grimace before he finally answered her. “CouldyouhelpmewithmyMuggleessay?”

Hermione didn’t understand a word he had said. It sounded like a question, but he had mumbled it all into one long word. “Pardon?”

He sighed, folded his arms, and looked at the ceiling. “I was wondering... if you could help me on my Muggle Studies essay...” His eyes darted in every direction except at her. He was obviously annoyed to have to ask someone, especially her, for help on homework. The fact that the topic of the essay was on something that he had taunted her for years for being born as only made the situation worse.

She folded her arms and leaned against the door frame. He glared at the sly smirk on her face. “Aw, is Mr. Pureblood having a bit of trouble? It must be pretty hard for you to sink low enough to ask a Muggle-born for help.” Months ago, there would have been nothing but venom in her voice. (Of course, months ago he would have never asked her for help in the first place.) But now she was only lightly mocking him.

He dropped his arms to his sides and sighed loudly. “Look, I’ve been doing research on this bloody paper for two weeks now to absolutely no avail, and I’ve got three feet of parchment due tomorrow morning. Are you going to help me or not?”

She laughed and stepped out into the common room, closing her door behind her. “Alright, alright.”

Draco led her to his bedroom, but she hesitated at the doorway. He continued to his desk and sat down. “I’ve got it all set up here.” He paused for a moment when he realized she hadn’t entered his room. “Is that okay?”

She relaxed a bit and walked in. “Of course.” The room was a replica of her own, except for the Slytherin colors and opposite positions of the door, bathroom, and windows. She could smell the fire burning in the fireplace and the faintest scent of sandalwood and vanilla. She levitated a cushioned chair from the fireplace and placed it next to his desk where she sat down.

She folded her hands together on the desk, ready to work. “Okay. What’s the topic?”

“English-Muggle superstitions, some of their Muggle origins, and how closely they are related to the truth.” He looked pained.

“That is a rather challenging topic for someone who has never had any contact with the Muggle world.” She furrowed her eyebrows in thought. “Hmmm. Let me think... Well, superstitions are irrational practices and beliefs started by Muggles due to their ignorance and fear of what they don’t understand.” Draco began scribbling down notes furiously. “The validity of their superstitions is based on their belief in... well, our world and their lack of understanding and physical proof of it. Burrhus Frederic Skinner once did an experiment on pigeons. He placed different pigeons, one at a time, in a cage attached to an automatic mechanism that delivered food to the pigeons at regular intervals. You see, the pigeons associated the delivery of the food with whatever they happened to be doing as it was delivered, and afterward, they continued to perform these same actions. Skinner suggested that the birds believed that they were influencing the delivery of the food with their little rituals. The results of his experiment can be related to human behavior and the Muggle belief in superstitions.”

Hermione stopped talking when she realized Draco had stopped taking notes. When she looked at him, she realized that he was obviously lost. His eyebrows were furrowed, his eyes were wide, and his mouth hung open. “What the bloody hell is an ‘autotamic menachism’?”

“Um... maybe that was a bit much.”

Hermione continued with a much simpler explanation of Muggle superstitions and helped him get through a significant portion of his essay. She twisted her hair up into a bun and jabbed her wand through the unruly tresses to hold it in place. Leaning in to read over his work as he was scribbling it down, she noticed the scent of sandalwood and vanilla again, only it was now much stronger.

Draco tossed down his quill with an exhausted sigh. “Finally.” He leaned back in his chair to stretch, and Hermione picked up the parchment to read over the essay one last time. Draco finished stretching and resumed his tired, slouched position. Then he noticed what Hermione had done with her hair. “Wow. That unmanageable beast you call hair isn’t so bad when it’s pulled up like that,” he said while tugging on one curly strand that had fallen loose.

“Wrapping an insult in a compliment, Malfoy? How very Slytherin of you.”

“You never know, it could be a compliment wrapped in an insult,” he said leaning back in his chair, cockily, balancing on two of its four wooden legs.

“It’s still very Slytherin,” Hermione answered. She rolled her eyes and laughed a little. She then turned back to the essay.

He was still balancing in the chair, hands folded behind his head, with a smug grin on his face when he realized how long and slim her neck was. Huh, Granger has a rather nice neck. Who would have thought she would under that massive, brown, bird's nest of hair? he thought. He continued to study it a bit more. It actually looks rather soft. Maybe even kissable—BLOODY HELL!

His shock from the thought that had floated into his mind caused him to jerk into an upright sitting position. However, he had still been balancing on the back legs of his chair, and it immediately toppled over. Draco let out a loud yell and fell sideways away from Hermione.

She jumped to her feet. “What happened?”

“Nothing!” he answered all too quickly while blushing and picking himself and the chair up. “I just... fell over.” He glared at her hair and neck for a moment before grabbing her wand and tugging it out of her misshapen bun. “Give me that!”

Hermione grasped at her hair, unsure of what was going on.

They just stood there for a moment before Draco realized how odd she must think he was acting. I can’t bloody well explain that I don’t like thinking about her neck so I had to steal her wand so her hair would cover it back up. He looked at the wand a moment. “Vine wood?” he asked innocently, feigning curiosity in the make of her wand.

“Er... yes,” she answered, slowly taking the wand back. She shook off the “Are you positively mad?” look that was currently etched on her face and took her seat. She finished reading the last bit of the essay and handed it back to him. She leaned back in her chair to stretch before standing up. “I guess I’ll see you in the morning.”

“Goodnight,” he replied.

She was almost out of the room when he called out to her, “Hermione?”

She stopped and turned around. “Hmm?”

“Thanks,” he said grudgingly.

Hermione smiled and left his room, closing the door on her way out.

*****

“Draco! Hey! Draco!”

Draco reluctantly stopped mixing his potion and turned around to see Crabbe at the table behind him.

“What, Crabbe?”

“Have you gotten an owl from your father yet?”

“What are you talking about?”

“I told my father about the way you’ve been acting. I’m sure he’s warned Lucius by now. It’s all really suspicious, Draco. Especially the way you’ve been treating that Mudblood,” Crabbe said loudly, making Hermione turn from her potion to see what was going on. She made a mental note to ask Draco about it later and continued to listen to their conversation.

Draco glared at him and turned around to focus on his potion-making again.

Crabbe continued talking to him though, “You know, I hear your father isn’t really on a mission right now. I hear he’s out looking for a replacement mother for you.”

Draco’s hand flew to his wand, but the sound of Snape’s voice stopped him, and he suddenly remembered that he was still in the classroom.

“Mister Malfoy. I need to see you after class.”

Crabbe and Goyle snickered behind Draco for the rest of the class, but said nothing to him. Afterward, he stayed behind to talk to Snape even though he was still furious and wanted to return to his common room so he could yell and throw something against a wall.

“Draco, I read the most recent owl you received from Lucius. I wasn’t aware that you have been sending him owls.”

“Yes,” he replied. “I’m aware that you don’t know where he is so I wrote to Crabbe’s father, and he has been forwarding the owls for me. I’ve just been writing short letters about my grades and making up stories about what I do with Crabbe and Goyle.”

Professor Snape leaned back in his chair, arms folded. He said nothing for a few moments. “I was unaware that any of the Death Eaters knew of Lucius’ whereabouts, and if Crabbe is able to send him owls, then he must know,” Snape said, almost to himself.

“If other Death Eaters know, then why don’t you?” Draco asked.

A look of worry suddenly came across Snape’s face, but he composed himself and covered it up quickly. “They must be suspicious of me.”

TBC