10

* * * Chapter 10: Later That Same Day * * *

She finally returned from patrolling the corridors. A bit late this evening, he mused. The water in the tub was already beginning to cool.

She tripped over the edge of the Persian rug in the center of her floor, but did not fall. When she fumbled with the knot in her tie, Draco reckoned her potion must have been a little stronger than usual. She finally pulled it loose, but had similar difficulty with the buttons. Granger eventually gave up and yanked the thing over her head half-undone. She didn't even attempt the clasp on her bra, just wriggled out of it awkwardly.

When she turned around with her nightdress, she was crying.

Draco felt the slick sharpness of guilt slicing through his chest. I shouldn't be seeing this. Watching her cry in front of Snape had been, well, not amusing, but the fact that there was another witness had given his own presence a certain validity. But now she was alone and sobbing in earnest, absolute despair. For the first time, Draco felt dirty, a sneaking spy helping himself unfairly to the private indignities of, of... of someone who deserved better.

Clutching her nightdress to her chest, she sank to her knees and curled into a little ball, pressing her forehead into the rug. Draco gnawed at his lower lip. This was really awkward. He couldn't exactly barge in on her. He'd never so much as knocked on her door before and had no excuse to do it now. She knew damn well that her room was soundproof; he couldn't claim he'd heard her crying. "And why the hell would I care if she was crying anyway?" he reminded himself.

Even if Uncle Severus hadn't just read him the riot act, Draco would not have enjoyed this scene. Contrary to popular belief, he didn't cut the tails off puppies, he didn't cast the Cruciatus at unsuspecting birds just to watch them fall out of the sky, and he didn't get off from seeing women in pain. "She's just lonely," he thought, but it didn't relieve his distress. He was lonely too, but even if he were inclined to cry, he wouldn't be so overcome as to fall to the floor half naked. She wasn't just brooding in her chambers, she was falling apart right before his very eyes. "Rising to meet her need is precisely what's expected..."

Draco yanked out the stopper in the drain and toweled off with brusque, hurried motions. Pulling on his robe, he darted out to the common room and quickly lit a fire. They never burned as nice when forced into a rapid blaze with Incendios, but if you piled on plenty of kindling, eventually the fire would catch in earnest. He didn't have time to build it up from scratch.

He rapped his knuckles lightly on her door. "Granger," he called softly, knocking again. She would be trying to pull herself together and dress, so he waited patiently before knocking a third time. She opened the door a scant inch and peered out at him with a puffy eye.

"What?" she squeaked.

Of course he knew damn well that she'd been crying, but he made a deliberate show of "not noticing" her obvious distress. "I built a fire," he said. "Thought you might want to join me."

Draco had heard of "shock therapy" in the Muggle world and he reckoned he'd just seen it work. Granger let the door fall open as she stared at him, her brows knitted into a single long ridge. She opened her mouth but was obviously struggling to find words for the occasion.

Draco shrugged. "The wind, and all." There was quite a gale rattling the windows. "Seemed like a fine night for it. Come keep me company for a bit." Sensing her distrust, he added, "No barbs. Promise. It's just nicer to have someone else there."

He wasn't quite sure what he'd do if she said no, but fortunately he seemed to have stunned her into complacency. She followed him wordlessly out to the common room, where he flopped onto the divan right before the fire and patted the seat beside him. He didn't think for a minute that she'd take him up on it, and she didn't; Granger plopped into an armchair and stared at him as though he'd suddenly sprouted some extra limbs.

Can't resist a mystery, can you, Granger? he thought smugly, giving her a sly smile.

The fire, being mostly magical, was not crackling and popping yet. "So I've been thinking," Draco began after a moment, then paused. Granger only eyed him suspiciously, even though he'd left himself wide open for a snide remark. She really IS upset. "Dumbledore's declared this the Year of the Party. It's time we started showing our support for the headmaster's policies."

Her glare turned into a frank scowl. "You want to turn the suite into Slytherin North."

"Technically, that would be northeast," he said. "But no, actually, I thought we'd start with the prefects. All of them."

"You want to have a meeting?"

Temper, temper. "No. A party. Something fun. Maybe just before the Halloween Ball. That'd be a good way to start the evening--a formal dinner up here, maybe some wine--"

"Wine! These are fifth years we're talking about!" she interrupted.

"Easy! Down, girl!" He smiled impishly, keeping it playful. "Just a glass with dinner, right up front as though it's the most natural thing in the world. It's good--shows them they've earned the right to play with the grownups. And they're far less likely to run around slurping spiked punch if they've already got bragging rights to the good stuff."

She looked dubious, but thought it over for a moment. "I suppose they're of an age when they should be learning their etiquette," she finally conceded. "I wish I'd had a chance to learn it before this past summer..."

"You were quite proper that time you came to the Manor." Sometimes truth was the best option.

Granger rolled her eyes. "I'd had the crash course by then," she sighed.

"Then it's settled. While we're on the subject, you and I are expected to start off the dancing at the ball. So we get to pick the first song. Any requests?"

"I'm not going to the ball," she said.

Draco snorted. "You're the Head Girl. You're going."

She shook her head, gazing listlessly at the floor. "I'm not. I'll host dinner for the prefects beforehand, but I'm not dancing. So drop it."

"Granger, you're not listening: You're the Head Girl. Everyone expects you to lead the dancing. Your absence will be noticed. Rumors will start. Pretty soon everyone's speculating whether I've tortured you or locked you away, and no one's dancing. So you're going."

"I don't have a date," she said flatly, not looking at him.

"Me either."

That piqued her curiosity a little. "I thought Pansy Parkinson was your girlfriend."

"Yeah, me too. But then I found out I was just her fuck." Morgan le Fay, did I just say that out loud? Granger gaped at him, and he shrugged. "Pans wants to find a good Pureblood catch," he said, trying unsuccessfully to keep the bitterness from his voice. "I'd rather keep looking for someone who actually likes me."

"Good luck with that," Granger said softly, hunching her shoulders.

Draco laughed out loud. Walked right into that one. "You wound me, madam."

Granger looked up again in chagrin. "I didn't mean it like that! I just meant... It's hard finding anyone who really cares."

Oh, shit, there she goes. "Eh, they're out there," he said offhandedly. "It's just another challenge."

Granger turned her whole body away to face the fire. "Challenges get old after a while."

Unsure how to respond, Draco watched the fire too. "Everything does," he finally noted softly.