XII

-long chapter-

Draco glared at the girl sat before him. Sure, she mesmerised him and had him strangely warped, but more often than nought she was simply a complex character.

"Right," she said and rose from the chair, which immediately vanished from under her. "So, like I said, you're a dracones elemental, which means you're a very rare phenomenon, which means that there will obviously people who will try to kill you or steal your blood or an eye – these days people will do anything to find power."

"Well thanks for making me feel safer." He spat.

"Which is why you have to protect yourself." She pointed her wand into the shadows of the chamber. "Accio."

To Draco's surprise and distaste, a rather large and manky-looking rat flew through the air, squealing in confusion. It landed with a soft thud at Hether's feet, and lay hunched in one position; its little nose sniffing the air.

"At all costs, Draco." She drew out her wand and looked at him. "No one should even be able to draw blood from your dead body or imperio you to do so. Only you should be able to kill yourself, and if you have to."

She took the thin, white wand in a firm grasp, and to Draco's surprise, dragged the pointy lend across the length of her palm. Then, carefully, she cupped the injured palm to prevent any blood from spilling, and held it over the rat.

The rodent seemed to pick the smell, and turned, fixated on the blood that was threatening to spill from her cupped hand. Then, she let a drop spill, and then another. Like moths to a light, it made a mad scurry towards the thick red liquid, and lapped it up like its life depended on it. It must have, because as soon as it has drunk up the last bit, it swelled up and burst into ashes.

Draco blinked and turned to Hether with wide eyes. "My blood does that?"

"No. it's just very potent." Hether lifted the injured hand to her face, and the skin seemed to sow itself back together, drawing the blood back in until the palm was whole again. Draco was, again, stunned by her mastery of the arts. "Mine kills, like you've seen. Only immortals can touch it without burning to ashes."

"Oh." Draco looked at the pile of black dust where the rat once stood. There was something about the way she killed it that made him slightly afraid; it was as if she seemed to enjoy it, beneath that stoic frontier she always had on. She reminded him of Aunt Bella, whose constant joy it was to watch the blood traitors suffer. But she had said it herself, at all costs. It was either to live, or let someone live in place of you. "So how do I protect myself?"

"A shield ring." She thrust out her left hand. On her finger, was a ring that Draco had never noticed before. It was probably because it was a dainty little thing, forged like a tiara, and with an empty pedestal where a stone or insignia would usually be, quite unlike the large and loud crest rings students normally wore. "If you want a shield around yourself all the time, such that no one could ever harm you unless you tell them to, it has to be an object that has become part of your form. Like a ring. Accio."

Draco watched, bewildered, as his hand lashed out suddenly as if it were about to forcefully remove itself. His ring wiggled on his finger until it finally dislodged itself and flew into Hether's palm, hovering just above the skin. As he watched, her eyes began to glow, until they had turned a startling gold in the darkness of the chamber. She didn't say anything, unlike most wizards or witches who would make a display of showing off their spells.

She didn't even seem to be casting a spell. It was as if she was putting some of herself into the ring; channeling a bit of her magic to be stored in the ring and used to protect him. The ring began to shine and shimmer, until it was nearly half as bright as her eyes.

Then, just as steadily as the glow had come on, it went down again, until there was just a pair of brown eyes staring at a silver ring.

"The enchantment is for a lifetime, and is so that no one would be able to take anything from you without your permission; not your life nor your limb nor your blood or your will." She removed her hand from under the ring, which clattered to the floor with a loud noise. "Move back, please, unless you want to die before you wear it."

Draco did, and she dropped her wand on the floor next to her. Then, she clenched her fists by her side, and a mass of black mist poured from the folds of her hands. The mass sounded ghastly, like the screaming of lost souls, and sent chills down his spine. He stumbled back. She raised her hands to chest-level, and punched at the ring. The black masses flew forth and at the ring, with gaping mouths stretched wide to consume it, but as soon as they got within ten feet of the jewelry, they fizzled out into nothing, as it stopped by a wall of brute force. Draco blinked. The screams still rang in his ears, like an annoying little echo.

"What was that?" his face was as white as the shirt he had on.

"Damned souls." She picked up her wand. "They'd do anything to get out and into someone. Pick up the ring."

Draco began to bend towards the ring, but froze when she kissed her teeth violently.

"Not with your hand, accio it unto your finger." She shook her head. "I swear you don't have any brains."

"You're right, I don't." he stretched his finger out and mimicked her form of the spell. "Accio."

The ring flew up from the floor, and back unto his finger, where it settled. As it did so, a light buzzing passed through his body, startling him. When it was over, he felt more secure, as if there was a shield wrapped around him that moved as he did so. "Was that the ring?"

"It reconfigures itself to suit your protection requirements."

"What's that mean?"

"what's what mean?" she arched an eyebrow at him.

"Reconfijor."

"You don't know what 'reconfigure' means?" she bit her lips to keep from laughing. Draco had never seen her do it before, and he felt it suited her quite nicely; the way her lips curled in just a bit as she did so. "I'm getting you a dictionary for Christmas."

"I don't need one, I don't take Muggle Studies." He said in indignance.

"But you speak their language." She turned around. "We need to get back. There should be another exit that leads out into the Stone Circle. If we go out the way we came, people will think we've been making out or something."

He made to follow her, then hesitated. So what if people thought they were making out? That revelation had probably settled on everyone weeks ago. When the rumors first began to fly. When Hether won the duel and he didn't comfort Pansy. That day during the Christmas Ball. Every time he looked at her and when he caught her looking too but pretended, he didn't notice her. Everyone was waiting for a confirmation, and he wasn't going to let that slip through. He was going to get one thing right, one thing where he would never have to hear 'Potter-boy' again.

"So, what if people think that?" he blurted out.

Hether stopped in her tracks, and slowly turned around. "Sorry?"

He took a breath, and walked up to her. "So what, if people think that? They probably already think that."

She had no idea he was this tall. They had never stood this close to each other before. His eyes were steady, unmoving, an fixed on her.

"Draco, that'll only add fuel to the rumours." She blinked to look away from his face. This was embarrassing. She'd spent decades, centuries, millennia, deceiving and saving people, making sure history happened as it was supposed to, but yet she couldn't look a mere boy in the face to answer a simple question truthfully.

"Rumours are terrible things, Hether. They shouldn't exist. Only the truth should." He whispered. He didn't know what he was doing, but he needed an anchor; something to hold unto when there was turmoil beneath the waves. She had appeared suddenly, like a mystery in the night, and had brought Life into his life.

The truth was that she was scared. She could turn around and walk away like she was used to, which was always the easiest option. Or she could stay, and let the moment continue, and start something that she couldn't see the future of. Thinking of the future; of what would happen, was always stressful. Why couldn't she be here, right now, in this frame of time, and for once, be human? She claimed to be strong, whereas she knew she was so weak that she couldn't take a risk. The thoughts ran through her head, colliding into one another, and jumbling her senses.

They were so close now, so close that their robes seemed to be made of one continuous fabric. She could smell his breath. Eucalyptus; crisp and breezy. He could smell hers. Cherry; sweet and dulling. The tension was thickening and suffocating. He wondered why she refused to meet his eyes. Was she scared? Hether, scared? Of what?

"Hether," he gingerly lifted his hand, as if he were afraid that it would fall, and placed it barely on her cheek. His hand was cold, like ice, and startled her.

She didn't know why she was so uptight. It wasn't like it would harm anyone, and he would trust her more anyway.

"What are you doing, Draco?" the reluctant part of her broke through the spell.

"I don't know." His hand fell from her face and he turned aside. "Must I know? I'm just going with it."

"With what?" she prompted.

"This! Whatever this is!" he turned back sharply. "I don't know – it's frustrating and agonizing, and I don't know why... why I feel so drawn to you."

He looked so helpless, like she had broken into his safe and stolen the one thing he kept hidden under the pile of gold. She could understand. She felt that way too – all her thoughts had left her and she was left with this empty longing that only something physical could fill. She felt the urge to, and she reached out and grabbed him by his tie, pulling him towards her.

And she kissed him.

And he kissed her.

It was soft, as if they were both scared because this was all so new to them. It was warm, and they were glad, because it was cold. It was a rather strange event, because in that very same spot, three years later, a very likely but oblivious pair would do the same.

Hether felt warm to her toes. She had kissed before, but none of them felt like this. They were all mandatory; she had to do what she needed to do, but this was different – this was her own action, and she felt it in every fibre of her essence.

He reluctantly pulled away, frowning. "You taste like cherries."

She gasped and griped his shoulders firmly, a pang of horror running through her. "You're allergic? I'm so sorry!"

"Oh, no I like cherries." He smiled. She liked it when he smiled, because he rarely did so. "We should probably leave now."

"Right," she nodded and took hold of his hand. It fitted perfectly into his, and felt right. The sucking-vortex feeling came upon him again, and he realised that they had apparated despite the disapparation charms in place.

He heard the sound of trickling water and opened his eyes. She was hunched over a sink, washing her hands. He realised how eerily beautiful she was, especially with the black cape flowing out on either side of her. She was perfect and flawless, even without trying.

Hether looked up and found him staring. He looked dazed, as if he were in awe of something. "What are you looking at?"

He blinked, caught, and went pink. "You?" he sputtered out.

"Oh, see, now you're looking at the wrong thing." She smirked at splashed water on him.

He let out a shrill gasp he didn't know he had and wiped the liquid off his face. "You'll pay for that!" he darted to the running tap and placed his hand flat on the nozzle, spraying water everywhere so she couldn't escape it.

"Draco!!" she let out a playful huff, and jerked his hand out from under the water, which flew in his face at full force. He gave a yell of protest and doused her back, while trying to avoid her offenses.

"There you are." A low voice drawled from behind them.

They froze and spun in their tracks. It was Professor Snape, and he had an open book in one hand and an immense book of disapproval on his face.

"Professor," Hether said dumbly.

The professor spared her a long glance before turning to Draco. "I would ask you what you both are doing in a girls' bathroom with the door shut, but you, Mr. Malfoy, have a paper to sit which you are..." he brought out a pocket watch and checked the time. "seventeen minutes late for."

Draco's face fell, and then quickly morphed into one of horror. "My astrology paper!"

"Go on, then, don't just stand there." Hether urged him on. "Wait! You're soaking wet." She brandished her wand and gave it a complicated wave about their persons, much to the professor's surprise, as she uttered no words, and like that their clothes began to steam and dried.

Her first mistake.

He took off in the direction of the Great Hall, the sound of his footsteps echoing. Hether looked up at the professor. He was studying her as if he were trying to figure out what to do with her.

"Ms. Weson," he drawled. "I best advice that you do not bring boys into the girls' bathroom or any room for that matter."

"Yes, professor." She bowed her head low and gathered her belongings, walking out of the bathroom in quick steps.

The professor turned around on the spot. The bathroom was quiet, save for water that was trickling down the drainage in steady drops. He noted how the boy had been smiling when he found them. In all his years of knowing him, he'd never seen him smile. Neither had he himself, in a long time. He turned with a tired sigh and marched out as silently as he had marched in.