A Little Piece of Sincerity Chapter Four

A Little Piece of Sincerity

By: Provocative Envy

“What do you want?” Hermione asked him, barely averting her gaze from her breakfast.

The Great Hall was nearly empty, it being so early on a Saturday. Draco was never up at such an ungodly hour, but his ultimate victory over Granger had to be achieved. And if he had to be a morning person for a few days to accomplish his goal, than it was a worthy sacrifice.

“I think,” he said slowly, hoping his natural revulsion for her wasn’t evident, “that you wanted this.”

Without looking at her, he schooled his expression into one of hesitance and indecision. He reached into his pocket and pulled out a folded piece of parchment. Placing it unceremoniously next to her plate, he straightened his shoulders and walked away.

She never even saw his triumphant smirk.

She stared at the priceless slip of paper he’d graciously returned to her. But that couldn’t be right. Malfoy didn’t do gracious. Malfoy also didn’t do seven in the morning on a weekend.

So what was he doing? She’d caught, in their brief moment of eye contact, the glimmer of distaste that was so familiar it was almost comforting. She’d also noticed the effort he’d put into looking uncertain at relinquishing his prize from the previous day.

And if that wasn’t enough, she couldn’t recall a time when he’d done something even remotely thoughtful for her. Granted, she hadn’t been particularly kind to him over the years, but he’d been the instigator of their bitter rivalry. She certainly hadn’t called herself a Mudblood during their first year.

In the six years she’d known him, they’d exchanged not a single pleasantry, not a single smile. She didn’t consider herself a spiteful individual, but the insults she’d hurled in his direction had taken even her by surprise. They brought out the worst in each other, and those circumstances had satisfied them both for as long as she could remember.

Yet for some reason, they no longer satisfied Draco Malfoy.

She wasn’t stupid. She could recognize feigned humility when she saw it. What she wasn’t seeing was the point of it. It was obvious enough that he expected her to fall for his exceptional performance. And she might have, had he not made the singular mistake of letting her get a glimpse of his eyes.

His eyes had always been the only holes in his brilliant mask of indifference and consolidated malice; she’d never bothered to find out if others were aware of this flaw in his façade, but it was enough that she knew it existed. Looking into his eyes was like getting lost in an ocean that wasn’t blue. Forbidding, gray orbs that reflected emotion as easily as a mirror reflected light. They were the window to his soul, and she’d taken no small measure of delight in exploiting it.

Biting into her toast, she considered the motives he might have for pretending to be kind. Much to her consternation, she couldn’t think of a single one. Had his hatred escalated into pure dementia? Or was he plotting some sick, psychological conquest?

The latter had some merit. Curious as to how he thought he could carry out his plan, whatever it was, she decided to string him along for a bit.

It wasn’t as if she was in real danger of falling prey to his charms. But then again, she’d never really been the victim of that devastating smile; she usually fell somewhere between biting derision and outright apathy.

Draco was in a fantastic mood the rest of that day. He whistled on his way to classes, a jaunty spring in his step that everyone couldn’t help but notice; he grinned at girls from other houses as they passed him in the halls, unable to contain his ecstasy. He had taken the first steps to having absolute control over Granger, and she’d fallen for it. All he’d had to do was not open his mouth and hand over what she believed was rightfully his: it was a symbolic suggestion of a truce, and she’d taken it by not lashing out and demanding to know his intentions.

Everything was going splendidly. He’d have to wait a few days to engage himself in the next phase of his strategy. Catching her off guard was practically the key to his success, so he could be patient.

He simply found it difficult to have to wait before he could see her cowering before him, her heart in his hand as he squeezed and squeezed until there was nothing left.

It had been two days, and he’d said not a single word. Two days since the bizarre incident that had left her with the dreadful feeling that she was the crux of a prank of terrifyingly large proportions. Two days since she’d left that piece of paper on the table, ordering herself to leave it behind and forget it had ever existed.

Yet he hadn’t approached her, hadn’t looked at her, and certainly hadn’t spoken to her. It was almost as if he was expecting her to make a move and force him to explain himself. And she knew, if he hadn’t slipped up and truly looked at her, she’d be doing just that at this point.

But she was far too clever for that and decided that it was entirely probable that the missive had been cursed, and she was reading too much into one of Malfoy’s idiotic games. It was likely that it was just a Howler with a concealing charm; ready to scream “Mudblood!” when she opened it.

Ruefully, she returned to her perusal of the text before her. She was searching for the final property of the potion they’d brewed the week before and there was little sense in thinking about Malfoy and his antics when she had studying to do.

And then, as if fate was set to prove her wrong, he tapped her on the shoulder, concern etched onto his face.

“Yes, Malfoy?” she asked politely, barely glancing at him as she turned the page in her book.

“I was just going to suggest that you look in this book if you were having trouble with that last one,” he explained, slightly miffed at her cold affability. She wasn’t being quite as malleable as he’d expected. His statement had, however, caught her attention.

“Oh. Well, thank you, I suppose. I’m sure I would have gotten to that one eventually, though,” she replied haughtily, snatching the book from him and turning back to her work. He was stunned.

She should have slowly turned around to smile at him, catching him with a carefully crafted look of absorption as he stared at her. She should have become confused, gradually realizing the truth behind his actions. She should have then been baffled, but utterly enthralled with his interest.

Instead, she hadn’t so much as glared at him. She’d been short and somewhat distant as she’d thanked him. She’d given him no chance to exhibit any of his predetermined affection, which was the whole purpose of his mission.

“Of course you would have,” he confirmed smoothly, still baffled. He’d meant to sound supportive, but winced as he realized the indirect condescension. Predictably, she was furious.

“Exactly what are you implying, Malfoy?” she inquired icily, her eyebrows snapping together as she noticed that he was more than faintly alarmed.

“Nothing, I assure you. I was just saying…I just meant to save you some time,” he finished helplessly, angry with himself for letting her see that traces of his real personality still remained.

“Listen, Malfoy. I have no idea what you’ve been playing at lately, but let me just set your mind at rest and tell you that I would be much happier if you went back to normal,” she told him with astonishing conviction.

“And what constitutes ‘normal’ to you, Granger?”

“You calling me a mudblood in extremely uncreative ways and me making light of your flagrant disregard of the sensibilities of others,” she answered, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Well I don’t want to do that right now,” he replied petulantly, the heat of his temper clouding his mind.

“Well I do. So before you marry your cousin and continue your incestuous line of purebloods, call me a Mudblood. Go ahead. I dare you, Malfoy,” she taunted him.

“You’re not even worth it, Granger. You’re too much of a Gryffindor to make it fun,” he spat, his robes billowing about him as he strode out of the library.

That had been a disaster; he had to admit it to himself. Whatever progress he’d thought he’d made with her that other morning had been an illusion. He was no closer to getting that final victory over her than he’d been three years ago. She’d figured him out at some point and was no longer as vulnerable as he’d imagined.

When he finally went to bed that night, he was tired of thinking and tired of acting. He vowed to just admit defeat and go on with tormenting Potter and Weasley. Granger was simply…unbreakable.