An Aversion to Change.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 9


And So It Begins

Draco did not speak to anyone the next day or the day after. Ever since the realization that he was, in all ways, alone, Draco became obsessed with something that he had never truly experienced: friendship. He carefully observed the dynamics of the Golden Trio, trying to map out why their friendship worked. More wickedly, he looked for the weak links.

Unfortunately, none occurred to him. Draco mulled bitterly over that fact and hated that his three worst enemies had something he never did. He glared jealously at them, who were dining together happily while he swept the kitchen floor.

Their roles were obvious and cliché. Ron was the “lovable goofball” of the group. He was defensive and fiercely loyal; a person anyone would be happy to call a friend. Harry was the unspoken head, mostly because of the burden hefted upon him since birth. He was a natural leader in this light and loved by both his subjects. Hermione was obviously the brains and the reason of the operation. She was the one they would come to with problems and always expect an answer. She was reliable and steady enough to ground the two impulsive men around her, which was quite a feat.

The sultan, the court, and the jester, Draco thought. He heard a loud clatter from the table and inconspicuously looked up. What he saw made his lips curl in disgust. Ron, who had been trying to catch pieces of food in his mouth, was lying on the floor, clutching his stomach and laughing breathlessly. Harry laughed right along with him and offered a hand to his toppled comrade. Hermione struggled to remain dignified, but Draco saw a small smile work its way onto her lips. He rolled his eyes at their immaturity.

Remus and Tonks then entered the kitchen and shot a questioning look at the red-faced teens. Draco stopped sweeping momentarily, knowing that his attention would go unnoticed.

“We’re going to Diagon Alley today, you three,” said Lupin. “So hurry up and get your cloaks and lists. We leave in twenty minutes.” Remus turned to go out of the room when Tonks grabbed his arm. She whispered something into his ear and shot a quick look at Draco. Remus then looked at him as well, tempting a small blush onto Draco’s defined cheeks. “Yes, you too, Mr. Malfoy. Twenty minutes.”

Wonderful. Draco threw his broom into a corner and moodily trudged up the stairs. He could not have been less excited to go to Diagon Alley. The chance of encountering other Hogwarts’ students there was far too high for his liking; he wanted to avoid those reunions for as long as he possibly could. With a sigh, Draco grabbed his Gringotts key from inside his trunk and checked his appearance in the mirror. He ran his hands through his hair a few times, making it delightfully disheveled. Draco did not know who he was trying to impress by worrying about his appearance, but he was still a Malfoy. And a Malfoy must always look his best, he thought haughtily. He practiced his sneer in front of the mirror and smiled at the sarcastic perfection.

He had just closed the door to his room when he heard Hermione yell from the bottom of the stairs. “Let’s go, Malfoy!”

He rolled his eyes and walked down the stairs with infuriating nonchalance. Hermione was waiting for him at the bottom, her arms crossed in annoyance and her foot tapping impatiently.

“Here to escort me, Granger?”

“To make sure you hurried your ferret self down the stairs,” she countered. “Let’s go.”

She walked before him into a room that was empty save for a rather large and dark stone chimney.

“You all know what to do,” said Remus, holding out the bag of Floo Powder. They each took a pinch and were engulfed in green flames, speeding off through the Floo Network of London to their destination. After rolling out of their exit grate, Harry, Ron, and Hermione excitedly broke away from Tonks and Remus. Draco was left on his own with the mooning couple.

Deciding that they would not care if Draco went out on his own for a bit, he slipped away quickly. His first stop, as always, was Gringotts. His parents had set up a personal bank account for him since birth. From then on, they had regularly deposited funds in it whenever Draco requested.

I’m not so sure that will still happen, he thought. Perhaps my mother will be able to sneak in a few hundred galleons every so often, assuming she’s still alive to do so...

After withdrawing enough gold to get him through the day and the first few months of school, Draco set out along the street, going into only a few of the shops. He already had much of what he needed. And the less time I spend in the open, the better.

Deciding it was better to be safe, Draco skulked into Knockturn Alley. He did not go into any of the stores, even though he was pretty sure that Mr. Borgin had seen him wandering the streets. I had enough of that fool last year, Draco thought. Mr. Borgin had been excessively slow at repairing the vanishing cabinet, which did not exactly garner Draco’s favor.

Draco wandered the alley for an hour or two. When he stepped back into the light, he immediately saw Harry, Ron, and Hermione, who were happily chatting and clutching their purchases. Hermione lugged with her a cage, inside of which was a half-alert, half-dozing barn owl. Apparently, they had spent enough time in Diagon Alley as well and were ready to go.

Draco trailed behind them a bit. He looked on with something similar to jealousy when Ron said something that made Harry throw back his head in laughter. He saw Hermione playfully hit Ron’s arm, who pretended like he was grievously wounded and pouted. Hermione then gave a small kiss to the injured area, making Ron smile once more. The group walked on, wonderfully oblivious to everything around them. Draco sneered at their backs, wishing painful deaths upon them all.

They reached the rendezvous point with Remus and Tonks. All of them Flooed back to Grimmauld Place to live out the rest of the week before school started.

XOX

BANG BANG BANG!

Draco launched up out of his bed at the loud intrusion upon his sleep, his first instinct being protection. He silently cast a protective shield around himself and looked wildly around the room for invaders, confused beyond all comprehension.

“Malfoy, we leave in twenty minutes!” Hermione screamed from outside his door. “Hurry up!”

Now that Draco understood. All thoughts of sleep were erased from Draco’s mind. Twenty minutes?! he thought in a panic. I haven’t packed anything yet! Not bothering to get dressed, Draco rushed about his room, gathering any clothes he could find. He shoved them in his trunk, knowing he would regret hastily placing them because of the wrinkles due to form. He nearly broke all his potions phials and the pages of his new books quickly became dog-eared, but Draco appeared downstairs in fifteen minutes, semi-dressed and ready to go.

Instead of seeing a caravan of people on their way out the door, he saw only Harry, Ron, and Hermione, doubled-over in laughter.

It was then that Draco understood. I’ve been made a fool, he thought angrily. Rage and humiliation took over him as he approached the group. They stopped twittering and looked on their guard. Hermione was standing at the forefront, a cocky smile on her face and absolute glee in her brown eyes.

“Whose idea was that?” Draco hissed. He was not surprised when Hermione answered.

“Mine. And it worked too. You got down here faster than anyone thought possible. Five minutes before you had to, in fact. Harry, I believe you owe Ron some money.” She tried to say it with a straight face but failed miserably. Her laughter got Ron and Harry going again, who were nearly in tears.

Without thinking, Draco’s hand darted out and grabbed a chunk of Hermione’s curly hair. This elicited a gasp from the young witch, which went temporarily unnoticed by Ron and Harry. He dug the wand tip into her side, no doubt giving her a small, round bruise.

He brought her head close to his and turned it so that her ear was at his lips. In a low and menacing voice, he hissed, “I can hurt you, Granger…I can kill you.” He felt Hermione’s breath quicken slightly, her chest moving rapidly against his own. “Maybe I will.”

Before he could say more, Draco felt the two wand tips against his body. Harry’s intense voice came from Draco’s left. “Let. Her. Go.”

He chuckled quietly into her ear, a seductively dangerous sound that made the hair on Hermione’s neck stand on end. With a smirk on his voice, Draco whispered, “Don’t forget who you’re living with, Mudblood.”

He released her hair with a jerk, sending her head backwards slightly. Hermione recovered and looked up at him with frightened chocolate eyes.

I guess she needed a reminder, Draco thought. Now to deal with these two fools.

Ron and Harry still had their wands pointed directly at Draco; Harry’s was at his head, Ron’s was at his chest.

“Give me one reason not to blow you to shreds,” fumed Ron, barely containing his rage. Deep red sparks were randomly shooting from the end of his wand, singeing the floor and the hem of Draco’s clothes.

“Because I don’t want to clean it up,” came Moody’s voice from the back of the room. “What’s going on here?”

They all looked at each other, silently forming pacts of secrecy. This fight was theirs; they would be damned if an adult was to enter into the mix.

“Nothing,” said Harry, lowering his wand. “Nothing’s happening.”

Moody’s whirring blue eye focused on each of them in turn. Perhaps he knew that he was not going to be privy to what had just passed. “Fine then,” he grumbled. “We’re leaving for the King’s Cross in an hour. Start to pack and get some breakfast.” With that final order, Moody clunked out of the room.

Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Draco glared at each other for a moment longer. Menacing silence hung in the air, complete with a thick perfume of loathing.

Hermione spoke first. “Come on, Ron, Harry. Let’s go get packed.” She lightly touched their arms, breaking them out of their hateful stares. They reluctantly turned from Draco and headed towards the kitchen. Draco stood still as he watched them leave, smirking all the while.

The journey to King’s Cross was awkward, to say the least. The cars, though magically charmed to expand, were still a little crowded. Hermione was safely wedged between Harry and Ron, who Draco was seated next to. He once again edged nearer to the door as Ron spread out his long legs, taking up more room than he needed.

The wanker is doing this on purpose, Draco thought as he sneered at the London traffic through the window. He saw King’s Cross station come into view and immediately tensed. His breathing increased slightly and he started to sweat; for the first time in a long while, Draco was incredibly nervous.

With the car parked, the group tromped into the station. Their destination: Platform 9 ¾. Draco looked at the foreboding brick wall, which seemed more solid and impenetrable than it did his first time here. He hoped, foolishly perhaps, that the barrier would not let him pass. But to his disappointment, he slid through the brick as if it didn’t exist at all. d**n it, Draco thought. There’s no going back now.

He took a deep breath and stepped out into the hustle and bustle of the platform. Everywhere he turned, he saw his classmates and their parents. Suddenly, he felt as though he had transported back in time seven years.

Draco remembered each one of his trips to Hogwarts – the excitement of it! How nervous he was getting onto the train that first time, but then how his confidence was boosted when he found his easily manipulated goons, Crabbe and Goyle. He had found his niche and he was loathe to leave the power it gave him even for a moment. Hogwarts had been his kingdom for six years. It was now to be his prison.

He was brought from his daydream by the gasp of someone near to him. He turned his head and saw a girl with straight brown hair staring at him in wide-eyed shock. She whispered something to her friend, who also turned to look. She gasped as well, covering her mouth in surprise. She then nudged her friend, who alerted his friend to the news, who in turn told two other people.

The news of his return spread like a vicious storm, picking up speed and strength as it barreled on. He sped up, working his way towards the front of the train to find the usual Slytherin compartment. In his wake, Draco left a trail of silenced students who whispered confidentially behind their hands but made no effort to hide their shocked stares. Draco rolled his eyes and set his mouth, determined to ignore them.

It was going to be a long year.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 10

Arrival

Leaving a mob of stunned and silent students in his wake, Draco finally found a familiar face.

“Crabbe!” The large boy jumped a mile at Draco’s authoritative bark. “Where’s Goyle?”

A blank look crossed his face. Apparently, he was thinking. Draco lost patience before Crabbe could come up with a response.

“Well find him, you dolt!” Draco ordered. “We need to get a compartment.”

“Blaise already got one. Near the front of the train, behind the Head’s compartment.”

Draco froze, holding Crabbe’s unintelligent and intimidated gaze in his own steely one. Right behind the Head’s compartment…That’s all I need…Granger to blow it before I can tell them myself…

“Find Goyle and Pansy. Be in the compartment in five minutes.” Crabbe nodded, but still did not move. “Now, you fool!” Draco commanded. At that, Crabbe jumped again and hurried off to the food stand.

Draco shook his head. The company I keep...

He stepped into the compartment and, true to Crabbe’s word, was Blaise Zabini. The tall black boy was lounging one of the seats reading a book on Dark Magic. He was wearing tight leather pants and an open silk shirt the same light blue as his eyes. Draco quirked a blonde eyebrow: Blaise always did have eccentric tastes. Draco supposed he got it from his mother. He cleared his throat as he stood in the compartment door. “Nice pants, Zabini.”

Cold, blue eyes came up from the book and regarded Draco. “Wish I could say the same to you, Malfoy,” he responded coolly. Draco’s lips twitched into a smile, as did Blasie’s. Both boys simultaneously broke out into elegant laughter. Blaise rose gracefully from the chair and greeted Draco.

“I wasn’t expecting to see you this year, Draco.”

“I wasn’t expecting to come.”

“I trust your summer was good?”

Draco’s smile faltered a bit. “I have a few developments to tell you all. I want to wait until the train gets moving, though. We’ll have less of a chance of being overheard,” he said in a conspiratorial hush.

Blaise nodded seriously and offered Draco a seat, which he gladly took. They chatted casually of Blaise’s summer in France until Crabbe, Goyle, and Pansy walked in.

“Draco,” purred Pansy, immediately going over to him. His face remained impassive as she straddled his lap, skirt riding high up her thigh, and snaked her arms around his neck. “Did you miss me over the summer?” she whispered into his ear. Draco knew she was trying to be seductive, to get a rise out of him, so to speak. It had never worked before. It was not going to work now.

“Get off me, Pansy. I have something important to tell you all.”

Her green eyes hardened and gave him an affronted look. Without a word, she slid off his lap and into the seat beside him. Despite his frigidity towards her, she still eyed him hungrily. Draco ignored her gaze as the train lurched forward.

After a few minutes of small talk, Draco said, “I received some very interesting news over the summer and I want to know what you all think of it.” The compartment became silent as Draco continued. “McGonagall has made me Head Boy this year.”

Draco amused himself by watching the reactions of his posse. Blaise remained silent, but got a far-away look in his eyes, going deep into thought. Pansy gasped and looked torn between congratulating Draco and being horrified that he would no longer be living in the Slytherin dormitory. Crabbe and Goyle still looked clueless.

“But why?” asked Blaise, the first to speak in over a minute. “There’s no reason for her to do that, especially after last year. Why did you decide to come back anyways?”

Draco quickly fabricated an excuse. “It would have been a sign of weakness had I not returned.”

Draco was afraid that he would see through his pathetic lie. There was no way he could tell them that he had been living with the Order of the Phoenix for the summer, that he had left the grandeur of Malfoy Manor in exchange for the near poverty of Grimmauld Place. Blaise looked unbelieving for an instant, but nodded slowly in acceptance. Draco almost sighed in relief.

“As for why I’m Head Boy, I have no idea. It doesn’t make sense.”

“No, it doesn’t,” agreed Blaise.

“Who is Head Girl?” asked Pansy.

“I am,” answered a voice from the doorway. Hermione was standing there, looking quite annoyed. “And you were supposed to be in the Head’s compartment ten minutes ago, Malfoy. We have to go over protocol. McGonagall won’t thank you for making her wait. Neither will I.” She finished off her tirade with an irritated look.

Draco glared at Hermione for interrupting their talk without knocking. “I’ll be there in a second,” he grumbled. He waited until she was out of range before talking again.

“Granger,” he spat.

“No real surprise there,” admitted Blaise.

Pansy was horrified. “You’re going to have to share a dormitory with that?” She made a face of disgust. “Thank Merlin dirty blood isn’t contagious.” Draco did not bother to even sneer.

“At least you’ll have more power now,” said Blaise.

Draco laughed sharply. “Ha! Under McGonagall’s and Granger’s eyes? Yeah right. I won’t be able to get away with anything.”

“Maybe that’s the reason!” Blaise realized. “They want to keep an eye on you and the best way to do that is to give you a position of power.”

Draco’s eyes lit up. “You’re right. That’s the only explanation for it. They want to watch me, to make sure that I don’t do anything else.”

“We’ll find a way to get around them,” Blaise said in a conciliatory voice. “Don’t worry. So what’s the plan this year?”

Draco gave a guilty grin. He was about to tell them that there was no plan when Hermione appeared at the door again.

“Malfoy,” she said in a stern voice. “Now.”

Her bossy tone earned glares from the entire compartment. Any lesser student would have quivered under the intensity. But Hermione simply ignored them and continued staring pointedly at Draco.

“Fine,” he said and rose to follow her.

"Ha, already whipped,” he heard Blaise whisper under his breath. Draco turned around and shot daggers at the grinning boy.

“Watch yourself, Zabini,” he warned in a half-joking, half serious tone.

XOX

“Nice of you to join us, Mr. Malfoy,” said Professor McGonagall. Her voice was laced with poorly concealed annoyance. Draco regarded her with steady arrogance. The tone of his look was not lost upon the wizened professor.

“Mr. Malfoy,” she warned dangerously. Her face darkened and her mouth thinned as she continued. “You are going to be walking a fine line this year. Any mishaps on your part will result in the severest of consequences. Trust me, young man, I am not to be meddled with.”

A terse silence followed as the two continued to have a stare down. Draco, sensing that the old woman would not break anytime soon, looked down first. McGonagall straightened and smoothed her robes. She took a deep breath and launched into her monologue, which had most likely been given to every Head since she started.

“First, congratulations to both of you for becoming the school Heads. You were chosen for academic prowess, fine attitude towards education, and your outstanding relations with your peers.” Draco held back a smile: he didn’t exemplify one of those qualities and yet, here he was. To him, it only worked to confirm Blaise’s suspicion. “You are role models for the entire school,” she continued (Draco nearly laughed out loud), “and I expect you to conduct yourselves as such.”

This is where he was sure she veered from her practiced discourse.

“Along the vein of conduct, I am well aware of the relationship between you both. I expect you to overcome your differences and act civilly towards each other. I don’t want to hear of any fights or disturbances. Anything serious could very well result in both of you losing your station.”

Hermione gasped. “Professor, don’t you think that’s a little extreme?”

“Ms. Granger, the way you and Mr. Malfoy fight is extreme. The punishment will fit the crime. Am I understood?”

“But…”

“Am I understood?”

Hermione’s face fell and she looked submissively to the floor. “Yes, Professor.”

“Good. Now I’ll ask each of you to take a seat while I explain the rest of your duties.”

For the rest of the train ride, Hermione and Draco sat on opposite ends of the plush red seat, one listening intently to her instructions, the other staring off into the distance, contemplating what the future could hold.

XOX

Sooner than she expected, Hermione mounted the thestral-driven carriage after Neville and Ron, heading off to Hogwarts for her last year. Not surprisingly, she was less-than-enthusiastic, as were her friends.

“I can’t believe she kept you for the whole train ride,” grumbled Ron. “And with that prat, no less.”

“Yeah, that’s terrible, Hermione. You hate each other! How’re you going to get through it?” questioned Neville.

Hermione sighed and looked out of the window as the carriage jerked to life. “I don’t know, Neville.”

He shook his head in wonder. “Good luck to you, anyways.”

“Thanks,” Hermione said grimly. The excitement of being Head Girl diminished when McGonagall said that she could possibly get kicked out of her position just for fighting with Malfoy.

And fighting with him is inevitable, she thought. I’ll just have to make some sort of arrangement. I refuse to lose the honor of being Head Girl just because of that arrogant git. Then, a new thought popped into Hermione’s head, something that changed her attitude completely. Wait, what if McGonagall’s warning is just an empty threat? She’s part of the Order! She must know about my mission!

Having successfully figured out McGonagall’s ruse, Hermione was able to genuinely smile as she sat down to the feast. She had no problem making jovial conversation with the friends she missed over the summer and enjoyed her first meal at Hogwarts immensely.

Warm and full from dinner, Hermione made her way to the Head’s dormitory. The route was longer than normal, twisting, turning, and doubling back upon itself before depositing the wanderer at her destination. She came upon a grand portrait in a gold-gilded frame, inside of which resided one the Four Founders of Hogwarts: Rowena Ravenclaw. Hermione gaped up at her, wondering why their portrait was tucked back into the school, not proudly displayed up front.

“For reasons that you will discover this year, my dear,” said Rowena Ravenclaw from the portrait. “This being one of them.”

Hermione gasped in surprise. “You knew what I was thinking?”

She replied simply. “Yes.”

“But how?”

Rowena smiled mysteriously, her gray-blue eyes shining. “I take it that you are the new Head Girl?” she asked, gracefully avoiding the subject.

“Yes. My name is Hermione Granger.”

Rowena dipped her head. “Charmed, Ms. Granger. You can call me Rowena. I assume Headmistress McGonagall did not tell you the password?”

“Actually, no,” Hermione realized. “She did not.”

“Good. That is because there is no password.”

Hermione looked up at the portrait strangely. “No password? Then how are we to enter the dormitory?”

“Ah,” Rowena said. “Here comes your counterpart.”

Hermione turned around and saw Draco walking towards her. His head was down and his face was entirely impassive. Overall, he looked none too pleased with having to sleep away from the Slytherin dormitory.

“Forgot the password, Granger?” Malfoy asked snidely. “Go figure.”

“Do you remember it?” Hermione retorted.

“Of course! It’s…” Draco’s face went blank for a moment as he searched his memory for the answer.

“That’s what I thought. Rowena was just about to tell us how we can enter.”

“Rowena?” For the first time he looked at the portrait. “Oh.”

Rowena chuckled softly. “When we guard the entrance, we will present you with a riddle. Solve it, and you may enter. If you do not, one of us will leave. You will have to wait until another returns before another riddle is presented.”

Before Hermione could even ask the question, Rowena responded. “You were chosen as the school Heads because you are the cleverest in your year. Riddles are a way to prove your intellectual dexterity to me and to yourself on a daily basis. I have complete confidence in you both.”

“Alright, so what’s the riddle?” Draco asked impatiently.

Unruffled by his brusque attitude, Rowena smiled and presented them with the puzzle. “What does man love more than life and fear more than death or mortal strife? What do the poor have and the rich require and what do contented men desire? What do misers spend and spendthrifts save and all men carry to their grave?”

Hermione stared at Draco. He looked just as clueless as she felt. Having a feeling that he was not going to be of much help to her, Hermione set to pacing the area outside of the portrait.

“We have to think,” she mumbled quietly. “What do men love more than life and fear more than death? Dementors? No, no one loves Dementors. Next clue. The poor have it, the rich require it and the content man doesn’t want it. The poor…well, the poor don’t have anything. And what do the rich need? Do they need anything? A content man should be happy with what he has. Nothing? Does it fit? Misers…spendthrifts…dead men…” She turned to Draco. “Is it nothing?” He shrugged unhelpfully. “Fine then. Is it nothing, Rowena?”

The woman in the portrait smiled kindly, her eyes alight with happiness. “You would have done very well in my House, Ms. Granger.” The portrait slowly swung open and Hermione let loose the breath that she had been holding. She thanked Rowena and was making her way to the portrait when she was rudely shoved out of the way by Draco. She scowled at him and swore that she heard Rowena laugh softly. Rolling her eyes, she followed Draco into her new home for the year.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Uut palun (a)

[Lana Marye Allen]

Jah, ma olen Liss'iga nõus ehk siis next!

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 11.

Situating.

Hermione looked around the common room. Both Slytherin and Gryffindor colors were incorporated into the furnishings. The walls were deep burgundy and the couches black leather. Everything looked new. But as Hermione discovered when she sat down on the plush leather couch, it felt as if the furniture had been in use for years, perfectly broken in and devilishly comfortable. Snuggling further down into the cushions, she stared into the fire burning steadily in the grate across the room. She shut her eyes and inhaled the wonderful and natural scents of leather and burning wood and the invigorating smell of antiquity that was supremely Hogwarts. She sighed deeply in contentment.

I love it here.

She jumped slightly as coarse fur brushed across her arm. “Crookshanks,” she cooed, scooping the orange cat into her arms. He closed his eyes in pleasure as Hermione absentmindedly stroked him.

This won’t be so bad, she thought. Malfoy went straight to his room. Maybe he won’t bother me at all this year. That would make my spying a bit more difficult than anticipated, but if it saves me from having to deal with him… Her face unconsciously wrinkled into an expression of disgust at the mere thought of him. Stupid boy.

A grandfather clock she had failed to notice on her way in chimed eleven heavy strokes. As if on cue, Hermione yawned, feeling extraordinarily tired.

“Time for bed, Crookshanks.” She eased the cat off her lap and mounted the wooden stairs to the dormitories. She looked left, then right. The doors were identical.

She looked down at her cat, wondering if he would supply her with an answer as to which door was hers. Instead, he spared her one glance with his great yellow eyes and proceeded to groom himself.

“Well you’re helpful,” Hermione admonished him with a teasing smile. “Fine, looks like I’m deciding the old-fashioned way: guessing.” She looked at each door once more, and, deciding that there was no way logic would help her choose, shrugged. “The left door it is.”

She knocked and pressed her ear to the door, just to be sure. She could only imagine walking in on Draco in the shower…She shuddered at the thought. But hearing no response, she turned the handle and entered her room for the year.

It was like walking into a fairy tale. Hermione’s ideal room was set up before her – everything she could ever want, it seemed, was at her fingertips. A huge four-post bed with a crimson and gold comforter sat as the centerpiece. Wonderfully rich cherry wood accented the crimson of the bed sheets. The effect would have been completely overwhelming had it not been for the light cream color of the walls and the double-wide picture windows, giving her an amazing view of the Forbidden Forest from her stone balcony.

The bathroom was just as exquisite: cream utilities all accented with gold. What would usually look tacky instead looked wonderful. Delicate art in ornate frames hung on the walls, not portraits, but landscapes of far-away places. The shower-bath was big enough for at least three people and was complete with ten different taps and, Hermione noticed with a smile, what seemed to be Muggle Jacuzzi settings. She shook her head in wonder: Hogwarts got better every year.

After playing with the taps and the massage settings, Hermione settled into her bath and nearly fell asleep. The water was so warm and relaxing…if not for the chiming of the grandfather clock at midnight, Hermione very well could have spent all night immersed in the water. Reluctantly, she pulled herself out and toweled off, more than content to snuggle into the crimson sheets of her devilishly comfortable bed.

This is going to be a good year, she thought. Different, but good. She drifted of to sleep quickly, a smile gracing her face.

Her alarm clock buzzed bright and early the next day. The soft morning sun filtered through the partly opened cream curtains and struck her eyes. She groaned and lazily swung her arm over her head. Relying solely on touch, Hermione fumbled with the alarm clock, desperately looking for the snooze button.

Her clumsy fingers finally pressed the right button and Hermione was allowed seven more minutes of blissful sleep. It buzzed again – her fingers found the button quicker this time. Seven more minutes, another press of the button.

Hermione lost count of just how many times her arm snaked out from underneath the blankets to push the ever-so-addicting snooze button, but by the time she was ready to get up, the time was already 8:30.

The time did not register in her mind for a full minute. 8:31… Her brown eyes suddenly turned from sleepy to panicked. 8:31! I have class in fourteen minutes! Letting out a yelp, she literally launched herself out of bed and began to change.

“Thank Merlin for uniforms,” Hermione mumbled as she threw on her skirt, shirt, and tie. A hair tie, some well placed clips, and a dash of mascara later, Hermione was on her way out the door. Her morning ritual took five minutes – a new record.

I have ten minutes to travel a fifteen minute walk from here to the dungeons, she thought as she stepped through the portrait hole. This is impossible. The figure in the painting must have caught her thoughts because it spoke right as she started to hurry off down the hall.

“Not so,” the man in the portrait suggested. “There is a shortcut. It is just through that wall, straight down the passageway, then make a right. It will lead you to the Potions room. Just be careful not to be seen.”

“Thank you, sir. I’m sorry I cannot stay to talk.”

“I shall be here later today. Until then, Miss.”

Flashing a hasty smile at the portrait, Hermione walked through the wall and followed the portrait’s instructions. True to his word, the path led almost directly to the Potions dungeon. She still had three minutes until class started.

I’ll have to remember to thank him more extensively later. And to ask him if there are any other passageways through the school that I might use.

Straightening her robe and taking a deep, calming breath, Hermione walked into the classroom like nothing was amiss. Two heads turned to notice her entrance. Both regarded her with surprise, Ron with a smile, Draco with a sneer. She smiled at Ron and took a seat next to him, explaining her tardiness before he could even ask.

XOX

How the hell could she have gotten here so fast? Draco wondered when Hermione stepped through the door. I just barely arrived and I left fifteen minutes early! Sparks shot from the end of his wand in annoyance. She knows something else that I don’t…Splendid.

The fact that Hermione was on time for class just put Draco in a fouler mood. Not only had he also woken up later than he intended and therefore missed breakfast, but he was stared at the whole way to the classroom. Students he had never even seen before now took a perverse interest in him, either falling abnormally quiet or breaking out into loud whispers when he passed.

Normally, Draco would have enjoyed the attention, and perhaps even have taken advantage of it. But not anymore. Now he tried to ignore their accusing stares and their not-so-subtle pointed fingers, but he saw them everywhere. Draco saw the fear held within the eyes of some, the hate and contempt held in the gazes of others.

It’s not those that fear me that I have to worry about, he thought. It’s those that hate me that will cause trouble. Something will happen that sets the whole school against me soon, I bet. Only a matter of time...

He sighed and took down the potions ingredients and instructions that were set upon the board by Slughorn. He sent Blaise to gather the ingredients while the started the fire. While he was waiting, he snuck a glance at Hermione, who was sitting to his right. She was concentrating on the fire, but must have felt his gaze, for she looked up a moment after he turned his attention towards her.

XOX

Hermione felt Draco’s skin-prickling eyes upon her face. She turned her head to regard him steadily. He narrowed his eyes at her, not in usual hatred but in rarely-seen confusion.

He’s wondering how I got here so quickly, she thought with certainty. She smiled smugly and chuckled a bit. Her haughty look turned into a satisfied smirk as she saw Draco redden and turn back to tending his fire, which had started omitting plumes of black smoke for some reason.

Perhaps the portrait doesn’t like him as much, she reasoned. Understandable, of course, but I didn’t think they were supposed to take sides. Ha, oh well. Nothing more than he deserves.

She shrugged off the thought and started to carefully chop the ingredients that Ron had brought back to their workspace.

Despite the rocky start to her morning, Hermione really enjoyed the rest of her day. Her N.E.W.T. level Transfigurations class was beginning the process of becoming Animagi, Professor McGonagall’s goal for the year. Their first assignment was to do research on what type of animal into which they wanted to transfigure. So Ron was not at all surprised when Hermione bolted down her food and headed to the library.

She traveled the familiar corridors without even thinking; she had been to the library so often that the route was second nature – she could have walked it in her sleep.

What should it be? Hermione asked herself. What kind of animal would be perfect for me? She thought of her Patronus. I do like the otter. I think it is the perfect representation of me: clever and intelligent, but still playful. Not to mention cute! She laughed to herself and shook her head at her silent vanity.

Hermione failed to see the woman that she had blossomed into over the past two years. Her hair had finally settled down into soft brown ringlets that were easily managed the majority of the time. She had lost her bookish air in favor of a quiet, dignified intelligence mingled with the adventurous spirit of a teenager.

Her body had matured as well. Hermione had slender, shapely legs and a fit figure. Her face was naturally pretty; not needing to be enhanced by any make-up or charms of which the Lavender Brown types were more than fond. More alluring than her body was the confidence with which she carried it. She held her head up when she walked and smiled often despite the burdens of the upcoming war. Hermione was the paragon of what a teenage witch should be, and everyone saw it but her.

She reached the library and nodded to Madame Pince, with whom she had an understandably friendly relation. Browsing through the massive and ancient tomes upon the high shelves, Hermione selected several books about Animagi and magical animals in general.

She lugged the books back to her room, again winding through the corridors. Perspiration shone on her forehead as her traversed the castle. “Why did they put the Heads so far away from everything?” Hermione grumbled quietly. “This is ridiculous. There must be more than one passage leading from my dormitory to the classrooms.”

“Right you are, Ms. Granger,” came a voice from the wall. Hermione, not even realizing that she had reached her room, jumped and dropped her books in surprise. The portrait chuckled quietly. “I apologize.”

“Oh, it’s quite alright,” said Hermione while bending over to pick up her books. Hefting them into her arms, she was able to get a proper look at the picture with whom she was conversing.

He was a noble-looking man with dirty-blonde hair and bushy eyebrows of the same color. His eyes were soft and golden, flecked with brown. His face was pleasantly weathered, with laugh lines around the corners of his lips and eyes. He smiled royally down at Hermione as he responded to her thoughts. “Yes, Ms. Granger. My name is Godric Gryffindor. I’m honored to meet you. And may I just take this opportunity to say how very proud I am to have you in my House.”

“Thank you, sir,” said Hermione with a flattered smile. “And thank you as well for guiding me down that passage this morning. I never would have made it to class on time without knowing it. But I have to ask, are there any more passages that I can use to get to class? It’s quite a long walk…”

“Yes, Ms. Granger, there are. But I would rather not tell them to you.” Hermione’s face fell a bit at Godric’s words. “Instead, I would rather you find them out yourself, preferably with your counterpart, the Head Boy. That way, the both of you may know what passageways lead to where and simultaneously enjoy an adventure through a part of Hogwarts few have seen.”

“And what if we don’t want this adventure?” came a drawling voice from behind Hermione. Draco seemed to materialize at her side in an instant.

“Mr. Malfoy,” Godric addressed him in slightly chilled tones. “Yes, Salazar was quite proud when you entered his House: the Malfoy line back in his presence once more. I dare say that you have so far exhibited every one of the characteristics my schoolmate prized in a student, some of which are less-than-exemplary.” Draco drew himself up proudly despite Godric’s remark, who tried to suppress a glower. “How fortunate for you to be paired with Ms. Granger. Perhaps she will…broaden your horizons.” He smiled politely, ignoring Draco’s sneer.

Hermione sensed that Draco was about to say something in retaliation, and that it was not going to be in a civil tongue. She cut in just before he started to speak. “We will explore the back passageways as soon as we have time. But if you don’t mind, these books are quite weighty.”

“Oh yes, of course. This is my riddle: God never sees this, a king seldom does. Seen by men daily, but oft unrecognized. What is it?”

Hermione smiled. “I’ve heard this one before. Do you know the answer, Malfoy?” She looked at him pointedly. He regarded her with a cold and haughty stare, as if he were above such puzzles. After a few seconds of silence, it was obvious that Draco was not going to answer.

“An equal,” she said with a keen look.

Hermione swore she saw Draco’s countenance falter slightly. She thanked Godric and lightly stepped into the common room, Draco following after her.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 12.

The Wolf.

After Hermione had answered Godric’s riddle, Draco entered his room and flopped down on his bed, already exhausted.Today was…tolerable, he thought, although certainly not good by any standards. Throughout the morning, the entire student body constantly whispered and pointed and averted their eyes whenever he approached. He was as much of a celebrity as Harry Potter ever was, but known for his infamy instead of his virtues. He sighed. At least I have my House behind me…for now.He remembered his short lunch with the Slytherins and frowned in consternation. Disturbing signs were cropping up, signs hinting that Draco’s authority was not so concrete as before…
**
"This is ridiculous,” he groaned as he swung his bag down at the Slytherin table for lunch.“I know! How do they expect us to write a foot and a half of parchment in two days?” whined Pansy.

Draco sneered at her stupidity. Blaise saved him the task of insulting her.

“Not that, you thingy. If you could pull your eyes away from yourself for a moment you would have noticed what has been happening all day!”

Pansy looked shocked. “What’s been going on?”

Draco rolled his eyes and gestured for Blaise to continue.

“Everyone has been entirely focused on Malfoy for the majority of the day, you nitwit. You haven’t noticed anything?”

“No,” she gasped. “Why would they pay attention to you, Draco?” Her green eyes were wide and empty.

He had to restrain himself from screaming. Instead, he spoke with utmost repugnance. “Does nothing penetrate your thick skull, Parkinson? Do you remember anything of what happened last year? The Death Eaters in the school? The death of that fool, Dumbledore? My involvement?”

Realization dawned on Pansy’s face. “Oh yes. Now I remember! But why would they still care?”

“Because I was there!” he hissed. “And a whole student body doesn’t exactly forget the murder of their Headmaster within three months, nor the people involved in it!”

Pansy was silenced into thought, or something resembling it, as Draco suspected she was incapable of such a rudimentary function. He turned to Blaise and rolled his eyes.

“So, what’s the plan this year, Malfoy?” he asked when reaching for a drumstick.

Draco had been dreading this question ever since the train. The piece of chicken in his mouth seemed to turn to cotton as he tried to think of a response.

Of course, telling the truth was out of the question. After the increased security measures McGonagall was actively taking, the Slytherins’ expectations for his plan were even higher. To let them down would not be a good idea.But any explanation I give them will incite their suspicion, if not their anger. Damned if I do, damned if I don’t, he realized.

Blaise looked at him with interest. Even Crabbe and Goyle had stopped stuffing their faces long enough to hear what Draco was going to say. He swallowed audibly and dropped the drumstick to his plate. He purposefully wiped his fingers on his napkin, intending to procrastinate for as long as possible.

“Well, this year…” Draco trailed off and looked into Blaise’s expectant and glinting blue eyes. A moment’s hesitation; his decision was made. “This year is going to be good.” Draco saw a rarely seen smile appear on Blaise’s face, as well as the vacant faces of Crabbe and Goyle. He looked down, not ashamed of the lie, but immediately regretting it.

“Well?” Blaise prompted. “What is it going to be?”

“I haven’t worked it all out yet,” Draco covered. He held Blaise’s gaze, but fiddled nervously with his napkin. “As soon as I do, I’ll let you all know.”

“How long will it be?”

“Uh, a few weeks, probably.”

“Can you at least give us a hint? Who does it involve? Are the orders from the Dark Lord himself?”

“I can’t say anything more, Zabini. I told you, when I know, you’ll know. So drop it.”

“Yeah, but...”

“I said drop it!” Draco barked authoritatively. His steel eyes flashed with annoyance. A quick flare of emotion shot through Blaise’s entire frame: Draco saw him tense. It only lasted for a moment, though, before Blaise looked resigned and mumbled a quick “Okay” before taking a bite of green beans.
**

Draco sighed as he took out his Potions book.I can’t believe I set myself a deadline. I have to either devise a plan that will satisfy them or come clean. How could I have been so foolish? He silently berated himself for a few more minutes, getting angrier and angrier as time passed.

What happened at the portrait entrance certainly didn’t help, he seethed.Stupid Mudblood, showing me up in front of the stupid painting. And I got his hint. That riddle was aimed at me! An equal. Bah. She’s not my equal and she never will be. Blood is immutable. Although that won’t stop her from thinking she’s all high-and-mighty...

Draco remembered their conversation as they stepped inside the portrait hole and nearly broke his quill.
**
Draco wearily stepped through the portrait and was planning on going straight to his room but found that he could take no more than a few steps forward. There was Hermione, her arms crossed over her chest, looking very annoyed.

“Now what?”

“You know what, Malfoy. Your attitude towards Godric. You were really rude.”

Draco raised one blonde eyebrow. “It’s a portrait, Granger. It doesn’t matter.”

She scoffed. “Doesn’t matter…The portrait controls whether or not we get into our room. If you decide to irritate one of them, they all may just leave us stranded in the hallway for the entire night!”

“Don’t be dim, Granger. McGonagall would never allow mere portraits to act like that,” he said confidently.

“For some reason, Malfoy, I think she would. Unless you haven’t noticed, this is no ‘mere’ portrait. It’s a portrait of the Founders of Hogwarts, not one of the Fat Lady or Sir Cadogan. And it’s enchanted more than the other ones hanging about. I have a feeling that the characters in this painting have more authority than you give them credit for.”

“Whatever, Granger. I don’t need to listen to your bullshit lectures right now.” He shoved past her, knocking into her shoulder. He ignored her indignant huff and tromped up the stairs to his room.
**

She scolded me! he thought, indignation just now hitting him.The nerve! As if she were my mother… There, Draco’s thoughts then turned on a dime.My mother… He missed her terribly. His thoughts sank deeper and deeper into black when Draco came to his senses for a moment.I can’t do this, he thought.I can’t allow myself to mourn someone that may not even be dead.

He shook loose all despondent thoughts and turned to his Potions book. He had three rolls of parchment to write, not to mention his Transfigurations research that was due in two days.

After a three long hours of work, Draco raised his quill from the parchment and looked over the roll and a half he had written.

It’s not the best, he thought, running his ink-stained fingers across his chin, but it will do for now. I’ll write the rest after dinner, then perhaps do my Transfigurations in the common room.

He lifted his head, hearing the joints in his neck crack. He stretched his back and arms, feeling the tension that had knotted in them melt away. He lazily made his way out of his room and down to dinner, encountering neither Hermione nor a portrait figure on his way.

Content that he did not have to put up with the whining of either, Draco made his way down to the Great Hall and took his usual place at the Slytherin table. Crabbe and Goyle were already wedged in their seats and looked as if they had been eating for twenty minutes already. Draco knew that they would not show any sign of slowing by the time he finished his meal.

He ate in relative silence and headed back up to his dorm after he finished dinner. True to his belief, Crabbe and Goyle were still stuffing their faces.

Reaching the portrait, he was dismayed to find that no one inhabited it at the moment. He looked left and right at the other portraits, to see if they were visiting, but alas, he saw nothing.

This is bollocks. I’m not about to wait out here until one of these batty portrait characters decides to show up. What am I supposed to do until then? He mulled on this question for a moment.I don’t recall seeing Granger at dinner. Maybe she’s still in there.

Malfoy started to bang on the portrait. “Granger!” he yelled. “Granger! Open the portrait. The Founders have run off. Granger? Granger!” He yelled louder and knocked more insistently.

This is useless, he thought and sunk down onto the floor against the portrait. Suddenly, he felt a harsh knock to the back of his head.

“Ow!” he exclaimed, rubbing his head.

“Hello?” came Hermione’s tentative voice from inside the portrait hole. “Who’s there?”

“Who do you think?” said Draco, rising up off the floor. Hermione visibly relaxed at the sight of him, which he thought was very odd. Storing his suspicion in the back of his mind, Draco asked, “What took you so long?”

“I didn’t know what I was hearing. I thought I was going mental, hearing knocks and my name…”

“Going mental?” muttered Draco, stepping past Hermione and into the common room. Up the stairs he traveled to grab his Transfiguration text, then down again to procure a comfortable spot on the couch where he could read.

Unfortunately for Draco, his plans were somewhat hindered by the fact that Hermione had taken control of the entire couch and the table in front of it.Perfect, he thought.Just dandy.

Making his displeasure obvious, Draco went to the chair nearest to the fire and had to be satisfied with using a small end table. He sighed with malcontent, no question earning a look from Hermione, and dove into his book, trying to pin his perfect Animagus.

Two hours passed.

“I have no idea what animal I want to transform into,” said Hermione randomly. Draco’s eyes had passed over the same lines at least twenty times without taking them in, rendering his mind totally useless and frustrating him to no end. He looked up, unsure if Hermione was addressing him or not. She was vacantly staring off into the fire, paying little attention to anything else around her. He went back to his book.

“There are just so many choices! They all seem good.” Draco looked up again, but Hermione was still not looking at him for a response. A minute after he went back to reading, Hermione spoke again.

“Do you have any ideas yet?”

Thoroughly annoyed at being interrupted so many times, Draco snapped, “No, Granger, I haven’t. And I don’t know how you expect me to come up with one with your incessant prattle going on in the background!” He glared at her long enough to see her upset expression and went back to his book with a quick jerk of his head.

He read not a word when she spoke again. “I was just wondering,” she said. “Merlin, calm down.”

“I am calm, Granger,” he said in a high-anxiety voice. She regarded him with a stare that seemed to say, “Yeah, right.”

“Did it ever occur to you that I might be having the same problem?” he snapped.

“Well, what are your options?” she asked.

Draco looked at the clock and decided he was far too tired to make a sarcastic remark. Instead, he rubbed his forehead and answered her wearily. “I don’t even know. I was thinking about my Patronus – a dragon, obviously – but that’s too inconvenient, too conspicuous. It needs to be something that won’t really stand out, something that’s seen every day.”

“Did you have a type in mind, like mammal or reptile or bird or…?”

“Mammal, for sure.”

“What about size?”

“Medium to large.”

“Do you want to be able to blend in or do you want to stand out?”

“I mostly want to stand out. I want to be a fierce mammal, something predatory, with claws and sharp teeth.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Boys…” she muttered. Draco shot her a look. “What about some type of cat?”

“Cat? Ew, no way.”

“Fine. What about a dog?”

“A dog? That’s even worse! You have horrible ideas, Granger.”

“A dog doesn’t mean a pet, Malfoy. You could be a wolf or something.”

Draco’s attention, which had been wandering towards his book again, was caught. “A wolf, you say?”

“Yes, a wolf. There are several different species,” she said. “Here, this book names quite a few.” She moved over on the couch, and Draco took a seat next to her. She handed him the book. He flipped through it, half-listening while she talked. “The coyote is one of the smaller ones and there’s the red wolf, but the timber wolf, or the grey wolf, is the neatest one.”

“What makes it so unique?” Draco questioned, taking his eyes from the book to Hermione’s face, which was filled with something akin to admiration.

“The grey wolf is the biggest of the wolf family, and the most dangerous. They usually live quite contently in packs, but every once in a while a wolf becomes an outcast. It lives fine on its own as well as socially, making it extremely adaptable.”

Hm, a wolf, Draco thought. He studied the picture of the timber wolf, which was prowling around a half-frozen stream looking for food. He watched the beast stir up a rabbit, which it pounced on almost immediately. Draco saw its muscles ripple underneath its fur and got a good look at its sharp incisors before they pierced the tender rabbit flesh. He could almost hear the bones crunch.

Draco felt Hermione’s eyes upon him. “So,” she asked, “what do you think?”

“I think a wolf would work, actually.”

“Good,” she nodded, chancing a smile.

“Indeed,” he said, lifting himself from the couch. He gathered the stuff he left on the table and headed upstairs.

“Hey, wait,” Hermione called to him.

Draco turned around. “What do you want?” he questioned in an annoyed tone.

Hermione furrowed her brow in what Draco interpreted as a mix of confusion, annoyance, and anger. “Nothing,” she said with a dissatisfied tone. “Absolutely nothing.”

Without another look, Hermione turned her head back to her book. Draco looked at her for a second longer, wondered why the hell he felt so damned guilty, shrugged off the unusual emotion, fell into bed, and slept within minutes.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

uut!

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 13

The Fox.

Unsure of what she was expecting, Hermione was honestly surprised when Draco abruptly got up from the couch and headed to his room for the night.

Ungrateful git, she thought, glaring at his closed door and willing it to burst into flames. You know, I’m not even surprised… I imagined too much decency in him. But how I managed such a feat is beyond me. She tried to get back into her work, but could not focus. She moodily slammed shut the book and glared at Malfoy’s door once more. Arrogant jerk…a worm is more fitting than a wolf…

She left her books strewn across the table; Hermione planned to work on her research at every possible moment and knew that she would be thinking about it constantly the next day.

After finishing her evening toilette, Hermione snuggled deep down into her crimson sheets, petting Crookshanks, who wriggled up against her begging for attention. The orange cat soon fell into a peaceful sleep because of Hermione’s ministrations. She followed suit soon after, although her sleep was not so untroubled. A dream plagued her unconscious mind, causing her to thrash and cry out in bed.

She was running through a heavy forest for some reason, making her way quickly down the wooded path. She knew not what she was running from, only that it was dangerous. She kept her brown eyes trained on the leaf-strewn trail ahead of her, trying to ignore the ferocious beating of her heart and the heavy panting of her breath. Her legs were screaming in agony, but Hermione forced herself to keep running, ignoring the ache until it was truly unbearable.

Salvation from the pain came in the form of an upraised root. Her foot caught and Hermione stumbled forward, experiencing the strangest sensation of flying and a bizarre fear that she would never hit the ground. But hit she did, scraping her chin and hands and bending her left wrist in an awkward position. But the floor she hit was no longer that of a beaten path. It was, instead, the cool and open grass of the Hogwarts’ grounds. Her momentary confusion about the change of scenery soon dissipated: she could hear her adversary catching up. A heavy gait was quickly coming closer, bringing with it a sharp sense of foreboding.

She struggled to stand, but the root had wound itself around her foot like Devil’s Snare, securing her to the cold ground. The predator was directly behind her now. Instead of ripping into her flesh like she imagined it would, the animal leapt over her head. It soared through the air, a mass of grey fur, sharp claws, and raw power. It landed before her and turned around, coolly regarding her with a pair of familiar steel eyes.

Her mouth dropped open as the wolf turned into Draco, changing elegantly from beast to man. He regarded her with the same apathetic stare as before; no kindness or caring was held within the grey depths. It was worse than any glare of hatred that he had ever given her; he felt absolutely nothing towards her. While this would not have bothered her any other day, in this case, it was heart-breaking. Utter disinterest was far worse than loathing; she would rather take the latter any day. She started to cry at his emotionless stare. Her tears ran ceaselessly down her cheeks and mingled with the grass beneath her face, instantly killing the lush green to scratchy dull brown.

Draco’s expression did not change as he witnessed Hermione’s pain. She was on the verge of calling out to him, but he disappeared in a flash of brilliant white light before she could.

Hermione woke with a start, sweat coating her body and her heart beating fast. Crookshanks, who had wisely moved to the end of the bed to escape his master’s thrashing limbs, lazily raised his head. Hermione held her hand to her chest and tried to slow her breathing. Once she reassured herself that she was alright, she fell asleep again.

When she awoke the next morning, did not remember her dream. She was, however, in a foul mood and oddly unrefreshed. It feels like I didn’t sleep at all last night, she thought with a yawn. But at least I woke up on time today. She took her time in the shower and while getting dressed. She made her way down the stairs at around the same time as Draco. She descended first, glancing wearily at the table of research that loomed like a cloud above her head. She sighed and headed out the door. Draco followed soon after her and was about to walk off when Hermione spoke.

“When I was talking to Godric yesterday, he said we should explore the passages that lead from here to the rest of the school.”

He stopped and regarded her blankly. “So?”

Hermione tried not to roll her eyes at him. “So,” she said, “if you don’t have anywhere you immediately need to be, why don’t we find a shortcut to the Great Hall?”

“And if we get lost?”

She shrugged. “Then we skip breakfast, I suppose.”

Draco seemed torn between indecision. He looked down the known path to the Great Hall, then back at Hermione. He sighed in acquiescence. “Fine. Let’s go.”

Hermione dared a smile and led the way. Through the wall she slipped and actually looked around the corridor she was in. It was dark, but not pitch black. Light was coming from somewhere, the source invisible to Hermione’s eyes. The ceiling was about eight feet high and the corridor just wide enough for two people: quite comfortable for them both. The stone was the same gray brick that was constant throughout the rest of the school. It was slightly cooler in the tunnel. Hermione shuddered under her robe from the temperature change.

Draco’s usual drawl interrupted her observations. “You may be able to run on nothing, Granger, but the rest of us have to eat. Do you mind if we get a move on?”

Hermione whipped her head back to glare at him and silently moved forward, excited for her first Hogwarts adventure.

XOX

“Granger, it’s been nearly twenty minutes already,” complained Malfoy, not for the first time. “How the hell did you manage to get us lost?”

“Well, I don’t see you coming up with any clever ideas to get us un-lost,” said Hermione while looking down two nearly identical stone passageways.

Draco ignored her. “Why did I ever consent to come down here in the first place? All it did was made me miss breakfast.”

“The best way to learn directions is to get lost,” Hermione said sagely, leading them down the corridor to the right. “Think of it as an adventure, Malfoy, and stop moaning! It’s incredibly irritating.”

She felt Draco’s glare on her back. “Now,” she mumbled to herself, “where are we?”

“Oh, move over, Granger!” Draco pushed his way in front of her, taking the lead for the first time since they stepped into the tunnels. “Follow me.”

“You don’t know where you’re going either!” Hermione pointed out, unwilling to relinquish her spot in the lead but following him quickly nonetheless. “We’ll do no better under your guidance!”

After a few turns and some hurried walking, Draco turned to her and smirked.

“Oh really?” he asked in cocky voice. They had arrived at a dead end, which could only mean one thing: an exit.

Hermione did not show her gratitude. “Dumb luck,” she quipped as she stepped into the light of the Great Hall. Draco and Hermione separated to their respective tables, having time only to grab a few slices of toast before they shuffled off to class.

Hermione was unable to enjoy her lessons as much as usual. Her adventure through the tunnels had tired her out and the fact that Malfoy was right about the directions put her in a funk. Not only that, but her Transfigurations homework was hanging over her head on a thin thread, threatening to break and crush her with its enormity.

After dinner, she curled up on the couch once more and flipped through the many animal books she borrowed from the library. Her mind jumped to and from the many possibilities, but settled on nothing. No animal that she spotted seemed appropriate. She did not want to be a dog or a wolf and she did not want to be a cat. She wanted something in between the two, but knew nothing of the sort existed.

And then there was always the possibility of a bird. But Hermione did not like to fly, at least, not on broomsticks. How would I handle wings? she thought. Rodents were also an option, but her opinion of them was understandably tainted.

Three hours passed and Hermione still did not have an animal. She barely noticed when Draco entered the common room and sat down in the same chair as he did last night. Neither could she recall twirling her hair in her fingers, but saw evidence of the giant tangle that had developed because of it. She did remember, however, reading the same sentence an infinite number of times and getting no where in her thought process.

Her soft brown eyes filled with frustrated tears. Why can’t I just pick an animal? she silently lamented while staring at her book. An errant tear fell from her eye onto the page, which absorbed the saline liquid quickly. She smeared some of the ink when she rubbed the spot. She wiped her eyes and sniffed.

“This is so stupid,” she whispered to herself, letting out a little laugh at her over-emotional reaction to such a frivolous topic. Despite her laughter, more tears came.

“Um, Granger?” came Draco’s voice from across the room. Hermione looked up, realizing for the first time that he was in the room as well. She looked back down and tried to discretely wipe her tears with the edge of her sleeve. Eyes a bit drier now, Hermione looked up to see Draco intently staring at her. For some reason, he looked torn.

“What is it?” he finally spat out.

“Oh, nothing. It’s nothing…” She sighed in aggravation and let the floodgates open. “It’s this Transfiguration assignment. For the life of me, I can’t pick an animal! I’m…I’m just frustrated, is all.” She sniffled noisily and wiped her eyes on the back of her hand.

Draco looked at her disbelievingly, irritating her slightly. “After all the help you gave me last night, you can’t answer your own questions?”

Hermione glared at him, tears ceasing to allow for the necessary function. “I don’t need this,” she said while rising from the couch. “I’ll be in my room.”

“Guess you don’t want my help then,” he drawled in a tone of mock disappointment.

She was halfway to the stairs when he said this. “And what would you do to help?” she yelled, turning around. “Insult me? Tell me that every animal I pick is useless and stupid? Yeah, some help you would be!”

“If that’s the attitude you want to take about it, then you don’t deserve my help!” Draco said, his irritation showing plainly.

“Deserve your help? You didn’t deserve my help yesterday!” she yelled back at him. “But I helped anyways! And what did you do instead of returning the favor? You went to your room…to sleep! I don’t even know why I bothered to get my hopes up. Reciprocating kindness is far too good for you,” Hermione ranted.

Draco had stood up halfway through her venting, prepared to defend himself even though he knew every one of Hermione’s points was valid. Instead of insulting her or establishing his correctness, though, from Draco’s mouth angrily spurted something unexpected even to him: a concession.

“Did you ever think that I felt guilty about not helping you last night and that’s why I’m doing it now?” he asked heatedly.

Hermione’s face fell from its angered mould at his words as she looked at him thoughtfully. Draco’s face took on a pinkish hue as he realized what he just said. He looked at the floor in embarrassment and was silent in his discomfiture.

“Oh,” she said quietly.

“Yeah, oh,” Draco mocked. He moved to the couch and held the book in his lap. Hermione joined him, and soon an awkward silence descended over the room.

“So,” Draco cleared his throat, trying to rid his voice of anger, “what were you thinking?”

“Mammal, for sure. Something on the smaller side, but not a rodent,” Hermione mumbled quickly in soft embarrassment.

“Any specific characteristics?”

Hermione furrowed her brow in thought. “I want the creature to be intelligent, to be able to figure out what to do in a pinch.”

“Any defenses?”

“No. I don’t want to really fight.”

Draco looked at her like she was crazy. “I’d choose something with at least some defenses. You don’t want to be prey.”

“Okay, fine. Small teeth, though. If anything, I want it to be quick.”

“You want to run?”

His implied message was not lost on her. She looked at him confidently. “Sometimes fleeing is the most appropriate action, the only one that we can take. There’s nothing wrong with that.” She gave him a pointed look, which she was sure he picked up.

“Small teeth, quick, small stature, a mammal…” He thumbed through the book for a minute, giving the descriptions cursory glances. “What about…an ermine?”

“No,” Hermione said maybe a bit too forcefully. “Absolutely no rodents.”

“Fine. What about a fox? A red fox?”

The idea struck Hermione as she looked into the fire. “A red fox,” she murmured. “Let me see the book.”

He handed it over to her. She perused the information and found it all quite pleasing.Quick, intelligent, adaptable…She couldn’t imagine how she did not see it in the first place! She smiled. “It’s perfect.”

“Good. I’m off to bed.”

“Okay. Goodnight,” she said before she could stop herself.

Draco grunted in reply. He was almost all the way up the stairs when Hermione remembered something.

“Oh, and thank you.” He turned around and regarded her with tired eyes. Draco shrugged, his face devoid of emotion. He vanished into the confines of his room without another word.

XOX

The next day in Transfigurations, Hermione proudly stood up and announced her choice Animagus. She received a smile from Professor McGonagall, who told her that a red fox would be very appropriate. Draco got the same compliment when he stood and declared his.

[Lissandra Sylvania]

Uut juba!

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 14.

A Matter of Sway

Sooner than Draco had anticipated, the two-week deadline he gave Blaise was up. And like he feared, he had thought of nothing. This left Draco one option and one option only: tell the truth.This is not going to go well, he predicted while traversing the secret passageway from his dormitory to the Great Hall. All week, Blaise had been trying to make Draco slip up and give a hint as to what the plan was. As his failures to entice an answer out of Draco mounted, so did his excitement. Even as Draco approached the table for supper, he could see that Blaise was struggling to check his anticipation.The young man’s enthusiasm had visibly spread to the other Slytherins seated around him. They were all smiling and laughing and talking animatedly, which was very unlike the group of Slytherins with whom Draco was associated.

I never realized how much sway Blaise held in this group, Draco thought.He seems to affect them just as much as I do, if not more. This was a disturbing thought to Draco, who had always assumed that he had complete control of his posse. The realization that his group may be mutinous scared him. He had a decidedly ominous feeling about what he was about to reveal.

He struggled to keep the concern out of his eyes as he sat down. Blaise tried to play it cool too, nodding curtly to Draco, as was his usual greeting. But Draco could see secret glances thrown his way and a faintly wicked smile on his lips.

Dinner came and went without a word and dessert appeared in a barrage of bright colors and sweet smells. Draco had remained stoically silent throughout. Blaise’s attitude, though, had definitely changed. At first, he had been barely able to contain his excitement. Draco then saw his mood shift to disappointment, then suspicion, frustration, then subtly to anger. Finally, he threw down his pudding, spattering it all over the tablecloth.

“Out with it, Malfoy,” he said forcefully. “I’ve been waiting this entire day for you to tell us, but you haven’t said a damned thing. I’m sick of it. Tell us. Now.”

Draco looked up from his pie in surprise. Blaise had never talked to him that way before, nor had he ever commanded him to do anything. Draco bristled under the humorless tone.

“And if I refuse to tell you, Zabini?” he drawled, brow arched.

Blaise’s pale blue eyes narrowed dangerously. “Then I think we’ll all have something to say about it.”

Draco, whose eyes had been locked on Blaise, looked around the table. His cronies, who had always been so loyal to him, were now openly glaring at him. He was not surprised at Crabbe and Goyle turning on him; they could be bought easily. When he met Pansy’s eyes though, he was surprised. He no longer saw the obsessive longing to which he was accustomed.

“What is this? A coup?” Draco laughed sarcastically. “After all that I’ve done for you all, this is how I’m repaid? I’m ousted from the very group I created? This is bullshit.”

No one said anything. They only continued to glare at him.

Draco was getting desperate now. Guilt was not working.

“Crabbe…Goyle! I’ve always treated you well, helped you earn your marks. Do you want that to stop? This year is N.E.W.T.S as well. You know as well as I that you can’t afford to fail even one. And what about a share of all the care packages I receive from home?”

The two boys looked like they were going to give for a second. Blaise noticed their hesitation and immediately spoke up. “I’ve already covered that, Malfoy. I’m their tutor now. And you haven’t received one care package yet. Don’t think I haven’t noticed…you always gloated about them. But none this year? Fallen out of daddy’s good graces, dear Draco?” Blaise taunted.

Draco glared at him, angry that he had been so observant. He suddenly regretted gloating so much. Then, he turned to Pansy.

“Pansy. How could you forget all the good times we’ve had?” Draco made his eyes soften and looked at her seductively. He saw Pansy’s eyelids flutter – a sign that he was putting on a good act. It was almost too easy. Seizing the opportunity, he moved closer to her. His voice dropped an octave lower as he spoke to her in barely more than a whisper. “You were always amazing,” he purred into her ear. “The only one for me…” He stroked her cheek with a pale finger and saw her eyes close in pleasure.

Draco smirked and rolled his eyes.Women. It was almost too easy.

Blaise fumed from across the table. “Pansy!” he barked. She immediately came out of her trance and looked guiltily from Blaise to Draco.

“I’m sorry, Blaise.” Her eyes smoldered as she looked at him.

Just then, Draco knew what had happened. He immediately dropped the act. “Found another f**k, have you Pansy?” She gasped at his audacity and looked ready to say something, but Draco cut her off. “Enough,” he said, rising to his feet. “This is bullshit. You want me gone? Fine. I’m gone. But don’t expect credit, or mercy, from me any time soon.”

Draco tried to leave the table, but found that he could not due to Blaise’s grip on the front of his robes. He drew Draco’s face closer to his own and whispered dangerously to him.

“Watch your back, Malfoy. You have no friends here, and we could make your year a very unenjoyable one if we so choose.”

“And you forget just who you have in your grasp. Ten points from Slytherin and detention for foul-play. Remember your place, Zabini.”

Draco’s final show of control infuriated Blaise. He let go of Draco’s robe, but instead of sitting back down, threw a punch. His bony fist collided with Draco’s cheek, throwing him off balance.

The rage stored in him from over the summer came to a head at that very moment. A fine red mist coated his vision as he let out a wild cry of anger and launched himself across the table at Blaise. The two boys fell to the hard stone floor. Draco swung blind punches at Blaise, caught off guard, could do nothing but defend himself.

This commotion caught the attention of the students around the hall. As one being, they chanted, “Fight! Fight! Fight!” The mob rose to its feet, some standing on tables to get a better look. They surrounded the fighting two like scavenging animals, more than ready to pick over the loser’s remains.

The simultaneous shift of attention from brightly colored sweets to a tangled mass of people at the Slytherin table earned attention from the professors as well. McGonagall stood up and shot up a bang with her wand. The great noise, louder than any burst of thunder, reverberated off the ceiling and echoed in the ears of the students, who immediately silenced.

“That is enough!” she yelled, purposefully striding over to Draco and Blaise, who had still not stopped fighting. She waved her wand at them. Draco flew off of Blaise and landed with an uncomfortable thump on the floor. His head cracked against the rock; stars danced before his eyes.

He sat up and clutched his head. Through the bright, popping lights he saw McGonagall help up a significantly bloodied Blaise. Draco felt a brief swell of satisfaction. “You two,” she said, pointing to Crabbe and Goyle, “take Mr. Zabini to the Hospital Wing.” The two brutes hoisted Blaise between them and strode off with Pansy bringing up the rear, worriedly wringing her hands. Draco smirked victoriously as he saw Blaise stumble and drip more blood onto the stone floor.

“You,” she said to Malfoy. His smirk immediately disappeared. “Follow me to my office immediately. Ms. Granger, you as well.”

Draco saw Hermione slowly materialize from the crowd. She had a grim and angry look etched upon her face. Twirling around, she quickly followed McGonagall to her office. Neither waited for Draco, nor even offered to help him up. In fact, no one offered Draco aid. Instead, the students formed a circle around him, their eyes locked upon his figure. Some eyes held a look of triumph, others of confusion. Draco was slightly frightened when he saw hate and even more so when he saw the familiar look of opportunity upon several visages.

Slowly, he rose to his feet, eager to escape the circle of students standing between him and his punishment. A path parted for him and whispers broke out like a soft wind. A thousand eyes burned his back as he walked towards McGonagall’s new office.

XOX

If this was any other situation, it would be comical, Draco thought. Both McGonagall and Hermione were planted in front of him with identical furious expressions. McGonagall’s lips, when they were not telling Draco off for his stupidity, were a thin white line. Hermione imitated the professor’s stern facade, her arms crossed in front of her chest and her eyes narrowed. The two looked so similar it was frightening.

Draco allowed the tiniest of smiles to grace his lips, but the subtle change was caught by McGonagall’s sharp eyes.

“I don’t know what part of this you think is funny, Mr. Malfoy, but I would advise you to wipe that silly smirk off your face this instant.”

With some difficulty, Draco sobered up. The thought kept playing through his mind, though, making it incredibly tough to focus on McGonagall’s lecture, which had been going on for quite some time.

“…You are Head Boy of this school and are expected to conduct yourself as such, Mr. Malfoy. And not only are you a Head, but you are also treading a very thin line. You crossed that line today, Mr. Malfoy, and the consequences now fall on you both.”

Hermione’s eyes widened and with a gasp, she turned to McGonagall.

“Yes, Ms. Granger,” Professor McGonagall, “both of you. I thought I made myself quite clear at the beginning of the year. If one of you stepped over the line, it would reflect on you both. As Head Boy and Head Girl, you are a team. And what happens to one happens to the other. So, Mr. Malfoy, Slytherin will be docked twenty points, Gryffindor docked ten. You’ve earned yourself a weeks worth of detentions, Mr. Malfoy,” she said strictly. “Ms. Granger, you will serve one. Any more shenanigans and I can promise the consequences will be severe. Off to your dormitory now, both of you.”

The two chastised teens left McGonagall’s office in complete silence. Together, they walked through the corridors, each wondering what the other was thinking. They soon reached the portrait hole, where Helga Hufflepuff was brushing her long blonde hair.

The woman startled slightly as they approached. “Oh my!” she said, holding her hand to her chest. “You gave me a bit of a fright just then, my dears, skulking to the portrait hole with such black expressions. But never mind your frowns when it is such a beautiful evening! My name is Helga Hufflepuff. You may call me Helga.”

Hermione remembered her manners despite her dark mood. “A pleasure to meet you, Helga. My name is Hermione Granger.”

She nodded, then looked to Draco. “And you are?” He stared back at her without replying. Her naïve and innocent looking face twisted into a slightly pained expression that she covered with a smile almost immediately. She chuckled nervously. “You must be Draco Malfoy then, if I am not mistaken.”

“If you already knew, then why did you ask?” Draco retorted waspishly.

She looked flustered at his cheek, having probably never experienced such a thing in her life. Hermione looked as if she could have kicked him.

“Please excuse Malfoy, Helga. He hasn’t enough sense in him to keep a civil tongue, nor the decency to do so if he did.” She glared at Malfoy, who looked back with equal malice.

Helga nodded, a slightly perturbed look in her eyes. “Well,” she said in a shaky voice, her composure obviously shattered, “here’s the riddle. To what question can you never answer yes?”

They were silent for a moment until Draco spoke up. “Are you asleep?”

Hermione was just about to say something else about Draco’s rudeness when the portrait swung open and Helga bid them good-night.

XOX

Hermione stepped into the common room and stopped in front of the door, blocking Draco’s exit to his room. She put her hands on her hips and took an offensive posture against him. Draco looked at her suspiciously and tried to move past her. She stepped in front of him, and again when he moved the other way.

“I can’t believe you!” she started, finally getting to release the anger she had been holding in. “Fighting in your second week here? What is wrong with you? And you got me in trouble as well! I, the Head Girl, lost House points and have a detention! This is unacceptable!”

“Move it, Granger,” he said wearily. “My head hurts and I don’t feel like listening to your nuts right now.” He tried to move past her again.

“I don’t care what you feel like doing right now, Malfoy. You’re going to hear me out!”

“And why would I listen to you?” He shoved past her, knocking into her shoulder again.

Sick of his disrespect, Hermione’s face changed from one of anger to a ferocious smile. “Because you have no choice!” she snarled. “Locomotor mortis!”

Draco’s legs locked in place and his mouth fell open, spewing a fountain of insults and curses at Hermione. He was about to draw his wand to fight back, but Hermione saw his plan.

“Expelliarmus!”

The thin shaft of wood flew elegantly through the air. She caught his wand with a flick of her wrist and placed it on a nearby table.

“Now listen to me, Malfoy,” she said while circling him slowly, keeping her wand pointed at his chest. “I like being Head Girl. I like it a lot, actually. It’s something I’ve always wanted and now that I have it, I do not want to lose it. In fact, I refuse to lose it, especially because of a prat like you! So you had better shape up and start acting properly.”

“What are you, my mother?” Draco asked mockingly.

“Well, since it doesn’t seem like she’s done a very good job of it…”

Draco snarled in rage. “Don’t you talk about her, you filthy Mudblood! She’s better than you will ever be!”

“Hm, yes. I suppose she would be if I ever aspired to be an arrogant mistress of the two most evil wizards in the world,” she said conversationally.

“What are you implying, Granger?” Draco asked in a dangerous whisper.

“I think you know,” she said with a mean smile.

Draco’s head buzzed with energy and his body began to tingle. Several things then happened simultaneously. Without uttering a single word, his wand flew off the table and landed in his hand. His legs unfroze without a single spell being cast and he advanced upon Hermione.

“Incendio!” he said, fire shooting from the tip of his wand and catching the hem of Hermione’s robe. She shrieked and immediately shouted, “Aguamenti!” Water gushed from her wand onto the little conflagration. She saw that he was readying another attack and silently cast a spell of protection around her. Draco noticed this however and instead of casting a spell walked towards her with startling speed. She tried to turn and run, but it was too late: Draco already had a handful of her curly hair entwined around his pale fingers. The pain caused Hermione to drop her wand.

She made a small “ah” of discomfort as Draco pulled her close to his face.

“Hm, this seems familiar…But oh, what’s missing?”

He turned her head roughly. Molten steel met sharp brown as their eyes locked in a battle of wills.

“Ah yes,” Draco whispered. “Potter and Weasley. They aren’t here to save you now, Granger.” His low, rumbling laugh was at once dangerous and oddly seductive.

“Who says I can’t save myself?” she whispered harshly. With a jerk, she smashed her knee into Draco’s groin. Instinctively, he kept hold of her hair while bring his hands downward. Hermione was flung to the floor as Draco doubled over in pain.

Hermione scurried to her feet and grabbed her familiar wand from the wood floor. She brandished it at Malfoy, who was still hunched over in pain. Eyes shining, she wordlessly backed away from him. Once she got to the stairs, she turned and sprinted up them.

Draco saw her rapid flight and yelled out to her. “This isn’t over yet! I’ll get you back, you pregnant dog!”

XOX

Hermione slammed her door and cast a locking spell upon it. She leaned on the warm wood, trying to quell her tears and catch her breath. The latter she was able to do within a minute. The former…she was not so successful. Crystalline tears dripped down her cheeks as she replayed the scene over in her head.

What just happened? What the hell just happened? she asked herself, fully aware of the answer. In simplest terms: Draco had attacked her. She sobbed into her hands, tears of fear mixed with tears of relief. Thoughts tore through her mind, whipping her into a panicked frenzy.He’s crazy. He’s violent. I can’t stay here with him. He’ll kill me. Oh Merlin, he’ll kill me soon. I can’t take this. I have to go. I have to go now.

She started frantically walking around her room. The more she walked, the more she shook. Quickly becoming physically unable to stand, Hermione finally steadied herself on the window ledge, chest heaving in exertion. The gentle scene of the school grounds calmed her. The sky was an array of light blue, lavender, and pink: the makings of a gorgeous Scottish sunset. She sat down on the ledge and leaned her head up against the cool glass.

I can’t keep this up, she thought while staring sightlessly out at the sprawling landscape beneath her.I can’t keep fighting with him and expecting to come out on top. He’s bigger and stronger than I am, and he’s right: Harry and Ron aren’t here to help me like in the past. I need to be more careful. And I need to start snooping, she added as an afterthought.

Hermione felt a little guilty. It was already two weeks into the year and she had not even attempted to find any information about Voldemort. I don’t want to disappoint Moody, Hermione thought. She resolved to start her mission in earnest tomorrow. She sighed, her breath fogging up the darkening scene before her. She started slightly as Crookshanks hopped onto her lab and snuggled onto her lap.

“I guess it’s time for bed then, isn’t it, Crookshanks?” He looked up at her with intelligent yellow eyes and allowed himself to be picked up and placed upon her bed. After washing the excess tears from her eyes, she changed into her pajamas and crawled into bed. Sleep came slower than she would have liked, giving her plenty of time to reflect upon the evening’s events and instilling in her an even bigger fear.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 15

Fight and Flight


Hermione woke to her alarm despite it being a Saturday. She liked getting up early – it gave her plenty of time to finish up her homework and start on assignments for next week. She could never understand how Ron and Harry could be content with sleeping until noon, successfully wasting half the day.

She took her time getting dressed and grasped the doorknob with a firm hand. Instead of turning the cool brass handle, though, she stopped and looked at the door. For a full minute.

This is ridiculous, she thought, still staring at the impenetrable wooden barrier. I have a plan. And my plan does not involve looking at the door all day. Despite her self-reprimand, Hermione’s feet remained stubbornly planted.

Another minute passed. I’m going have to leave this room eventually. What are the chances that he’s going to be up this early anyways? I should just go now before he wakes and try to avoid him as much as possible. I wonder if Ron would let me borrow the Marauder’s Map… She scoffed at her silliness. I’m being silly. I am leaving this room. Right…now!

With a deep breath, she turned the knob and swung the door open forcefully. She winced and braced herself for an attack, wand brandished in front of her. All she felt was a gentle rush of wind.

Hermione chanced a glance onto the landing and saw no one. Peeking her head out further, it was certain: she was the only one awake. Her shoulders relaxed. Feeling more confident now, she made her way towards the stairs.

She then heard the soft swish of fabric behind her back. A jolt of panic ran through her and she spun around, but it was too late. Her wand flew out of her hand and into Draco Malfoy’s. Hermione’s brown eyes widened with fear: Draco looked absolutely murderous. “Malfoy, please. Listen. About last night…” She held both hands out in front of her, as if that would retard his steady approach.

“Yes, about last night,” he said in a dangerously low voice. “You didn’t think I’d forget that quickly, did you Granger?” He advanced upon her, his wand pointed at her chest. Hermione stepped backwards as much as she could but was soon flush against the railing. She had nowhere to run.

“That little stunt of yours will cost you dear, Mudblood. Stupe-!”

Draco got no further in his curse. Out of thin air, Crookshanks hurtled at him. He yelled in surprise and swung his arm out to bat the attacking cat away from his face. His hand connected with fur and the cat gave a loud, screechy meow as it flew through the air and landed on its feet. Within a second of his landing, Crookshanks was back at Malfoy, who was desperately trying to protect his head from the spitting creature’s sharp claws.

Hermione looked on in horror as her cat was repeatedly batted away by Draco. “Malfoy, no!” she yelled, jumping into the fray. She tried to take hold of Crookshanks, who bit at anything that came near him. Recoiling from the hurt of his small, sharp teeth, Hermione was deterred from her goal for only a moment. In a desperate effort to save her cat, she shoved her way in between Draco and Crookshanks. She achieved her goal of an unharmed cat, but the got something she was not expecting from the mix: a clout to her temple.

Hermione saw, heard, and felt nothing. Her world became senseless and black. She fell to the floor with a thud.

XOX

Draco felt his fist collide with something that was definitely not cat. He opened his eyes and saw for the first time the damage he had done. Hermione was lying still on the floor. Her face looked serene, almost like she was sleeping. But the way in which her body was positioned – an uncomfortable contortion involved sprawled arms and folded legs – indicated to Draco that her repose upon the floor was anything but slumber.

Steel eyes wide in shocked, Draco panicked. Down the stairs he ran and quickly out the door, ignoring the portrait’s inquiry as to the commotion he heard inside and Hermione’s whereabouts. He strode purposefully towards the Great Hall and picked up an apple to eat for breakfast. He did not dare sit for a meal at the Slytherin table: the stares he was receiving from even the first years were frightening and ominous. He now knew the Slytherins were no longer friends to him. Indeed, quite the opposite.

This day keeps getting better and better, Draco thought, taking a large bite of apple as he headed towards the library. For hours, he immersed himself in books, researching his chosen Animagus animal further as well as finishing an entire potions essay. Thoughts of Hermione, lying unconscious on the floor in that uncomfortable position, kept floating into his head. It was quite distracting.

What if she hasn’t woken yet? He looked at the clock. No, she would be up by now. I didn’t hit her that hard…did I? He glanced at the clock again. What do I care anyways? If she dies, it’s all the better for me. Then, he accidentally broke the tip of his quill. Wait, what if she died? That’s all I need... Soon, he could focus on nothing but these thoughts. He threw down the broken quill in irritation, spattering black ink all over the table. d**n it. Fine, I’ll go check on her.

Draco was about to leave when he heard a familiar voice carry across the library.

“Hermione?” Ron yelled. “Hermione!”

“No shouting in the library!” Draco heard Madame Pince hiss. “Look around if you want to find something!”

nuts, Draco thought, ducking behind a bookcase. If the Weasel finds me here, he’s bound to ask me about Granger. Even if I don’t answer, I’m finished…that prat won’t hesitate to hex me.

“Dean?” came Ron’s voice from no more than two bookshelves over. “Have you seen Hermione?”

“No, not all day. She may still be sleeping or in her room. It is a weekend, after all.”

“No,” Ron said. “Hermione doesn’t sleep in, and she would have at least come down for breakfast.”

“Have you tried her room?”

“Yeah, ten minutes ago.” Draco’s stomach dropped uncomfortably. “There’s no answer.”

Both voices tapered off into silence for a minute, then Dean spoke up.

“What about Malfoy? He’s Head Boy. He may know where she is.”

d**n it, Draco thought. Their conversation had taken an unexpected and unwelcome turn. I have to get out of here.

“Have you seen him?” Ron asked.

“Yeah, actually. He was over a few tables a little while ago. He should still be there.”

“Great,” said Ron. “Thanks.”

“Hey, how did he get to be Head Boy anyways? Was it McGonagall’s idea of a joke?”

“Dean, you know as well as I do that McGonagall doesn’t joke.”

Dean laughed at this remark and said something else, but Draco could not hear it. By that time, he had successfully snuck past both of them and was out the door. He was not halfway down the hall when he heard his name angrily shouted.

“Malfoy!”

Draco knew it was Ron. Despite this knowledge, he turned anyways. Ron was standing high and proud at the library exit with a fire in his eyes matching the color of his hair.

Bloody hell.

Almost at the same time, Ron and Draco sprinted. Draco’s bag slowed him down a bit; he was barely able to keep in front of Ron, who was shouting a steady stream of threats and curses.

“Malfoy, you slimy git! What did you do to her? Where is she? I swear, if you as much as laid a finger on her, I’ll kill you!”

Not good, not good, not good, Draco thought as he sprinted through the Great Hall. Students looked up in surprise. The quicker ones cheered Ron and laughed heartily at the ridiculous scene.

Draco had the advantage of familiarity, but Ron had no bag to slow him down. Draco was losing ground, and losing it fast.

I can’t get in another fight. I’ll ruin it for myself! he thought, glancing over his shoulder to see a furious Ron. His eyes grazed the wall when an idea struck him. Perfect!

He took a sharp right turn and disappeared into one of the hidden passageways. He heard Ron shout in surprise and slide to a stop. After a moment, Draco saw a freckled hand experimentally poke itself through the wall. His brief respite officially over, Draco was off once again, winding in and out of the passages. He had the good fortune to lose Ron completely halfway to his dormitory but was not about to take a chance. He kept running and launched himself out of the exit.

Draco gasped for air as he looked up at the portrait, currently filled by Godric Gryffindor. He glared down menacingly at Draco, baring his teeth in a lion-esque snarl.

“Listen here, boy, and listen well. You shall enter without a password today for I fear for Ms. Granger’s life. But know this: if something such as what I fear is behind this wall ever happens again, you will incur not only the wrath of Headmistress McGonagall, but my anger as well.”
Draco gulped in understanding and dove through the open portrait hole. He was in the process of closing it when he saw Ron appear at the end of the hall. The tired boy let out an angry roar and dashed towards the portal. Lack of oxygen suddenly unimportant, Draco smirked smugly and closed the door just as Ron reached it. He could hear Ron pounding furiously on the portrait and Godric yelling at him to stop. Ron yelped in what Draco thought was pain and started to yell through the portrait.

“Hermione! Hermione! Can you hear me? Hermione!”

Draco dropped his bag and looked up at the balcony, where he had left her in her unconscious state. He saw nothing. A wave of relief washed over his body. Good, she’s alive.

He then heard her weak voice come from the other side of the couch.

“Ron?”

There was silence outside of the portrait hole for a moment. Then a tentative, “Hermione?”

Hermione’s response came louder now and more desperate. “Ron!”

Draco vaulted over the couch. Hermione was just starting to pick herself up off the cushions. He landed on the floor, kneeling next to the couch, and clapped a hand over her mouth. The force pushed her head back down to the pillow. “Shh, Granger. Shut up,” he hissed.

Draco looked into Hermione’s eyes, which were wild with fear. She struggled against his hand, but he was stronger than she. She realized this quickly and tears came to brown, panicked eyes. Her small hands stopped scrabbling frantically at his and instead seemed to clench and unclench spasmodically. Draco felt his heart tighten interestingly at Hermione’s raw fear.

“This is between you and me, Granger,” Draco said to her in a whisper. “Tell him that you’re ill and that you just want to sleep. Tell him to go away.”

Hermione’s tear-glazed eyes looked up at him with hesitant fear.

“Do it,” Draco demanded in a dangerous whisper, emphasizing his point by tightening his grip on her fine jaw.

He removed his hand from her lips and watched her take a swallow of air. Draco’s eyes were hardened steel. His determination and manic glint were probably what made Hermione actually agree to lie.

“I’m fine, Ron,” she said in a shaky voice, keeping her eyes locked on Draco’s. “I’m just not feeling well. I’ll…I’ll talk to you later.”

“But Hermione! Malfoy! He’s in there and he was running and…”

Her eyes looked unsure. Draco gave her a fierce stare and curtly nodded his head.

“He’s in his room, Ron. I didn’t even hear him come in.”

Draco heard Ron whisper something similar to “Bollocks” outside of the door. “Hermione,” he pleaded. “Just let me in, let me see how you’re doing.”

“I’m fine, Ron. Please, just go. I need to sleep.”

“But…”

“Go,” she said strongly.

Draco heard Ron swear again. “Fine, but I’m writing Harry about this!”

Before Hermione could say anything further, Draco heard Ron’s feet shuffle off down the hallway. He sighed in relief and looked at Hermione properly for the first time.

Her curly brown hair was tousled and matted; she had obviously been lying in one position for quite a long time. Draco’s heart gave another funny twitch. Her eyes were red-rimmed and glazed over with glassy tears, some of which had spilled down over her cheeks. Her skin was paler than it should have been and a great bruise was forming over her left temple – where Draco had accidentally hit her.

He did not know what to say. So, he said nothing. He made no excuse to justify his actions. He made no attempt to apologize or make sure that she was okay. He just looked at her, into her; into her tear-filled, wide, frightened eyes, into her shaking, partly shattered Gryffindor soul. She was so vulnerable…so weak…it was almost intoxicating…

Before he did something he would regret, Draco cleared his throat. “Thanks for that,” he said conversationally.

“You didn’t deserve it,” came back her glaring reply.

“There are many things that I don’t deserve, Granger. Mercy is one of the few I do.” He got up and started to walk away.

“Mercy?!” Hermione called to him from the couch. “That was not mercy. That was…that was self-preservation! You had the upper hand…what did you expect me to do? Tell Ron the truth and be trapped in here at your hands? After what happened this morning, that’s the last thing I want.”

Draco halted at the bottom of the stairs. He sighed audibly. “This morning…” he started, “this morning was…”

“You left me,” Hermione said in a soft and plaintive voice. “I could have been seriously hurt and you left me.”

.Draco’s conscience tore at him to apologize, to tend to her wounds, to care for her despite who and what she was. But he had much practice with ignoring things of the heart. Still facing the stairs and with a grimace distorting his lips, he said, “You’re fine now. My being here would have achieved nothing.”

He heard her yell in exasperation and get up from the couch. He turned around to see her marching towards him. “Yes, I’m fine now,” she yelled, standing no more than foot in front of him. “Do you think I was so fine earlier? I woke up and couldn’t remember where I was! I couldn’t move for at least half an hour and when I could, I fell down the stairs! For pity’s sake, Malfoy!” Hermione’s yells were getting louder and louder and her face was reddening. “But you! You didn’t…you… you didn’t…”

Draco watched as her brown eyes turned to white as they rolled back into her head. Before she fell to the floor in a dead faint, Draco reached out and grabbed her body. He pulled her unconscious form close to his, propping her up against his lean figure.

He stood there for a moment, puzzled as to what he should do next. He stood next to the stairs, grasping onto the railing for support. Hermione leaned entirely upon his body and one of his arms was wound around her, making sure she did not fall. To a stranger’s eyes, it would have looked like a very awkward embrace. To Draco, it simply felt like a very awkward situation.

What a fine day I’ve had, he thought ruefully. With a grunt, he lifted Hermione’s limp but light form as best he could and laid her back down on the couch. He sighed and took a seat on the nearby chair. I’m here now, you stupid Mudblood, he thought, glaring at her prone form. Happy?

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 16.

Delirium


Hermione was in a cold and cruel place. It was dark, her wrists and ankles bound with wire that cut with razor-precision. She could feel its sharp bite; warm, sticky blood slowly trickled down her fingers at the slightest movement.

Where am I? she thought, trying in vain to get a handle on her surroundings. She could not see for blackness, could not move for her bonds. She tried to speak, but her mouth was bound tightly as well. Her heart beat frantically as she pivoted on the rough stone floor.

Then, something entered the room. She couldn’t smell it, she couldn’t hear it, she couldn’t see it. But she knew it was there …something evil. It was dark, foreboding, forbidding – a specter that seeped into every corner and crevice of the room like a poison. She was still with fear as it blanketed her. All her muscles tensed and coiled; Hermione was ready to spring but knew full well that she was completely unable to move.

The menace took a perverse interest her, settling on her chest and restricting her breathing. Cold suddenly doused her body and the ethereal took on a physical mien: a man. He had long, cold, probing fingers which trailed along every inch of Hermione’s helpless body. One wrapped around her neck, with gentility barely hiding subtle hostility, while the other traced the flow of her collarbone, the curve of her breasts, and the plane of her stomach. It was an intimate touch, a lover’s caress. But instead of reeling in sensual pleasure, she writhed in utmost disgust. The fingers were making their way lower down her body, past her hips...

It was too much. Hermione did everything she could to escape. She kicked, she writhed, she threw herself into the ground, but nothing abetted the man’s violation. Just as it seemed like all hope was lost, all the bonds suddenly disappeared. Taking immediate advantage of her new-found freedom, she flailed out her arm at her attacker, who now had an urgent and low voice. It was caught in a warm grip and held steadily above her head. She lashed out with her other arm, only to have it caught in the same vice grip. She screamed in terror as the man had control of her once more.

“Granger? Granger!” shot a familiar voice from the darkness. “Wake up!”

She needed no more direction. Hermione ripped open her eyes. Her chest heaved as her eyes wildly roved the common room, finally settling on Draco, who was mere inches above her. Without thinking, she tore her arms out of his grasp and latched herself around his neck. She cried into his shoulder hot tears of relief.

“Oh, thank you, thank you, thank you. I was…he was going to…” she loosened her grip on him a bit to look into his stunned face. “He almost…” She burst out into tears again and hugged herself fiercely to him once more.

XOX

Draco stood over her, totally stunned. Fifteen minutes ago, she was looking at him with unadulterated fear. Ten minutes, she was screeching at him. Five minutes, she was out cold. Now, she was latched tightly to his neck and sobbing hysterically, no doubt expecting some sort of comfort from whatever nightmare she just had.

I will never understand this woman. he thought in amazement.

Draco had never been in this situation before. Never had he the opportunity to comfort anyone, nor had anyone ever asked it of him. He was a professional at the game of seduction and he considered pillow talk an art-form. But Draco knew no words of reassurance. He did not know what to do with the weak and frightened girl currently hanging off his neck. So he stood there helplessly and waited until she was through, hoping it would not take too long – he was getting rather cramped.

She stuttered and sobbed, wetting the skin of his neck with her hot tears. He was stone-still the whole time. Her tears eventually tapered to a slow trickle and her sobs slowly reduced to sniffles. When Hermione regained enough of her senses to realize just what position she was in, Draco felt her entire body go rigid.

Robotically, she loosed her arms from around his neck and fell back upon the pillows. She looked up at him with wide, red-rimmed eyes and flushed in embarrassment. Unable to keep his confused stare, she lowered her eyes.

An awkward silence filled the air while both of them tried to figure out what had just happened. It hung over them, heavy as a rain-filled cloud, ready to burst at any moment. It ruptured over Hermione first, dousing her in a torrent of humiliation, confusion, and frustration. She made a move to get up from the couch, eager to make it to the stairs and escape Draco’s gray eyes and furrowed brow.

As she sat up, Draco broke out of his trance. He jumped to his feet suddenly. Instead of clearing the path between her and the stairs, he blocked it and pointed his wand at her face. He saw her eyes widen and her chest rise with a deep inhale of expectant breath. She shrank against the couch cushion as Draco stood over her with his wand. He inwardly winced at her trepidation. He did not know why this bothered him so, but the thought of her violently flinching when he came near made his heart sink.

Instead of hexing her, as no doubt she expected, Draco muttered a healing spell. The bruise on Hermione’s face started to fade, then vanished altogether.

“The pain will still remain,” he explained as she touched where the cool spell had landed, “but at least you no longer have the discoloration or swelling.”

She said not a word as she unsteadily rose from the couch and walked carefully towards the stairs. She stopped at the bottom and gripped the railing tightly, turning her head towards him but keeping her eyes trained on the floor. Then she spoke to him in a soft voice.

“Physical wounds can always be healed. It’s the ones inside that can’t.”

When her plaintive, doe-brown eyes met his, an electric jolt scored through his body. It lasted only a moment. With that, she slowly mounted the staircase to her bedroom, leaving Draco in an affronted state of shock and a stark feeling of depression.

The next week was sufficiently tense between the already edgy dorm mates. Hermione and Draco did not speak to each other at all. Neither did they glance at each other unnecessarily. They worked together only when figuring out the portrait’s riddle. Then they immediately entered the common room and made a beeline for their respective rooms.

If it were a normal situation, Draco would not have minded Hermione’s silence. He would have been able to get away with knocking points from Gryffindor for no reason. He would have been able to organize his next plan without her interference. She would no longer have made annoying comments to him about his attitude towards the portraits or given him any uptight lectures about tardiness.

But as it was, Draco’s was not a normal situation. He could not get away with knocking off House points because every time he passed, students stopped in their tracks to stare at him, making him feel uncomfortably and uncharacteristically self-conscious. Draco had no “plan”, and was thusly loathed by the entire Slytherin house. And in a funny way, he almost missed her nagging.

At least then I’d be able to talk, he thought. Draco had not spoken for nearly a week, tragically having no one willing to listen. He looked around the Potions dungeon in annoyance. This is worse than the Order.

Blaise took a seat next to him, as was customary since they could not change their partners. Class started and the list of ingredients appeared on the board. Without a word, Draco rose to grab the ingredients from the cupboard. He had learned from the beginning of the week that Blaise no longer wanted to share in the responsibilities of potion-making, forcing Draco to get all the necessary ingredients and make the concoction himself.

It’s not like he did anything useful when he actually contributed, thought Draco while searching through the newt tails and dried beetles. More often than not, he screwed it up.

Finding everything he needed, Draco stood and turned to go back to his seat when he bumped into Hermione. Almost in slow motion, their eyes connected. Hers showed fear poorly concealed with apathy.

Exactly what I predicted, Draco thought smugly, struggling to keep the triumphant look off his face.

Since he had little else to do, Draco watched Hermione over the week; he was curious to see how she would react while what happened between them rested upon her mind. He saw her smile and laugh with her friends like normal. She studied and was the annoying, bushy-haired, know-it-all Mudblood that everyone was used to. But as her friends and her teachers turned their attention to other matters, Draco still watched. It was then that her true feelings showed.

Their contact was broken in a moment. Draco headed back to his seat where Blaise indifferently sat. He piled all the ingredients on the desk and was about to start chopping them when he noticed the fire under the cauldron was not lit.

Draco shot Blaise a look and shook his head, muttering the proper spell. What was supposed to be a small and controlled flame ignited into an incredible conflagration. A towering inferno of yellow and orange scorched the dungeon ceiling and lit up the dreary room with intense yellow light. Draco yelled in surprise and jumped backwards, but too late. The flames had already made their way onto his long robes, catching instantly. His body was soon engulfed in fire.

Draco’s senses blurred into one. Instinct took over as he tried to rip off his robes. He could feel his skin redden, blister, and start to crisp. It was only a matter of time before it started falling off in great chunks onto the floor. He could hear Professor Slughorn’s booming voice carry over the screams of his classmates, trying to at once call the class to order and figure out the cause. One voice then broke through all the rest.

“Aguamenti!”

Cool water doused his body, extinguishing the flames but not the hurt, which was nearly as bad as any Cruciatus Curse he had ever experienced. His vision started to fade to black as he dropped to the floor. He heard muffled voices floating above him, as if he was wearing a thick pair of earmuffs. “You…Hospital Wi …get him cleaned up…go…quickly, now!”

Draco felt himself being levitated and quickly navigated through the school corridors. He tried to talk, but his lips were seared together. All that he could manage was a soft groan.

“Shh,” said a shaky female voice from his side. “Shh, don’t speak. You’re going to be okay. We’re almost at the Hospital Wing. We’re almost there.”

Though his body had gone into shock and most of his thoughts were disconnected, he still managed to retain enough of himself to wonder what had happened. Who extinguished the fire? Was it the same person taking him to the Hospital Wing now? But more than that, he wanted to know why the fire had ignited as quickly as it did. Even in his semi-conscious state, he suspected foul-play. He moaned again, hoping for an answer to his unvocalized questions. All he got was shushed.

The next few minutes were spent in silence until Madam Pomfrey was reached. If he had been able to move his eyes, Draco could have winced at the sharpness of the woman’s shriek; the MediWitch’s voice pierced through his muffled hearing uncomfortably. With her high-pitched exclamation still ringing in his ears, Draco was floated over to a bed. He tried to talk again, earning nothing but a sharp pain in his arm. A moment later, his mind became comfortably fuzzy and his limbs completely numb. In an instant, he was unconscious.

XOX

Draco woke from a dreamless sleep in a panic. Where was he? How did he get there? Why couldn’t he see? What was that prickling feeling on his chest? And why could he not move his arm to scratch at it? He tugged his right arm again but it moved barely an inch.

What the hell is this? Draco thought groggily, finally wrenching opening his eyes. Even that slight movement sapped most of his energy. His blurred vision was met with the familiar ceiling of the Hospital Wing. The room was faintly lit by moonlight streaming through the windows. Shadows shifted eerily and elongated. Everything was black and white. How long have I been out for? Draco wondered. And why can’t I move?

“nuts,” he said quietly. His head felt like it weighed twenty pounds as he lifted it up off the bed to get a look at his unmoving arms. They were secured to the bed with thick leather straps which looked like they had hardly been used. He shuddered and tugged against the strap. The leather did not budge.

“Hey,” he said into the blackness. His voice was scratchy and raw. “Hey!” he repeated louder. He immediately wished he had not. The force put on his seared vocal chords made him want to cry out in pain. Draco stifled his cry and winced as his throat throbbed for a minute. It soon dissipated into a dull ache. “Is anyone there?” he said in no more than a harsh whisper.

He was met with a jarring silence. He waited tensely for a few minutes, straining to hear any sign of life within the empty room. Never had he known the Hospital Wing to be this empty. There was usually always someone there…

A modicum of worry wormed its way into his thoughts. Where the hell is Madame Promfrey? he thought anxiously. I’m her bloody patient! Isn’t she monitoring me or something? This is ridiculous. He fumed silently for a minute, maliciously glaring at the ceiling.

His chest started to tingle again. Draco squirmed to make it go away. But this time, the feeling did not cease. Instead, it intensified and started to spread across his body. He squirmed in discomfort and lifted his head as much as he could.

That is when he saw them.

Bugs. Thousands, no millions of them. Black and big, with sharp and maliciously pointed pinchers. Long and brown, with many legs and vicious, venomous fangs. Small, fast, and red, with claws as sharp as daggers. They seethed up from the edge of his sheet and, like settled over his entire body like a gigantic, moving blanket. They infested every cavity of his body, mouths working tirelessly at his skin, tearing miniscule chunks, ripping him apart a little at a time. Their spindly legs traveled up his neck to his face, burrowing into his ears, nose, and eyes. They ventured nearer to the corners of his mouth, on the brink of entering.

He shook his head, dislodging them for a moment. In that one moment of freedom, Draco’s tenuous grip on rational thought disappeared. In its place, taking up the darkness, was the eerie specter of hallucination.

He was beyond panic. The white bed sheets twisted with his naked body, enveloping him like a shroud of the dead. His pale hair stuck to his forehead with sweat. He was doused with moonlight, giving him the ethereal glow of a newly departed ghost. Draco screamed and begged for help.

“Get them off!” he yelled into the night, ignoring the blazing pain in his throat. “Get them off of me!” He writhed in place, twisting and contorting his body into impossible shapes despite his bonds. “Get them off! Help!” He screamed into the empty ward, a scream of raw and terrible fear that reverberated off the dark and cold stone walls. Terror mingled with grief as his yells turned to desperate moans. The unfeeling night gave him no leniency – Draco’s only company were the pitiful echoes of his wracked voice and the demons of his mind.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 17.

Hospital Visits.

Somehow, Draco managed to get to sleep in the early morning hours while soft dawn light streamed in through the hospital windows. Sooner than he would have liked, Madam Pomfrey came bearing a simple breakfast of oatmeal and a beaker filled with some foul substance that he could smell from across the room. Draco suddenly lost his appetite, which had been quite sharp until then.

“Drink this,” she said imperiously, shoving the cup against his lips and tilting. He barely had time to open his mouth when the simultaneously bitter and sour liquid came pouring out of the cup and onto his tongue. Unable to spit it out (she was holding his mouth tightly closed), he was forced to swallow the burning brew in one gulp. He sputtered and coughed as she took away her hand.

“I trust your night was difficult?” she said conversationally while removing the worn bonds from his arms. Draco turned his head towards her, intending to look her straight in the eye.

“Difficult?” he asked, his tone incredulous. “Where the bloody hell were you last night? I was…” Draco was about to say “eaten alive by insects”, but refrained, knowing how mental he would sound. “…in intense amounts of pain,” he finished lamely.

She gave him a skeptical look and undid the bonds from his legs as well. “What was it? Bats? Snakes? Spiders?”

“Bugs,” he said in a small voice, mentally reliving the horror of the previous night.

“Ah, that’s quite a popular one.” She must have noticed the surprised expression on Draco’s face because she said, “Don’t think you’re the only that’s come in here with serious burns before. Hallucinations are a nasty after-effect of that particular healing potion. That’s why you were strapped down. If you hadn’t been, you may have torn your own skin off.” She said the last with all seriousness. Draco believed her.

Finally, he was totally unbound. He sat up in bed and nearly cried out in pain.

“Not so quickly!” Pomfrey scolded him. “Your skin may be healed, but it will take at least one more night to repair the damage done to your tissues.”

She must have seen the flicker of fear that ran across Draco’s features because she said in an uncharacteristically comforting voice, “You will not have to drink anymore of the Burn-Away potion given to you last night.”

Draco could have smiled, but he did not want to jinx his luck. Instead, he asked for the oatmeal and clumsily ate in silence, wrists red, raw, and stiff from the night before.

For the remainder of the day, Draco was confined to his bed. His body ached almost continuously and he felt dreadfully weak. His only entertainment was seeing the other patients nursing various injuries walk in and out of the hospital wing. One boy looked as if he had been on the receiving end of a misplaced Transfiguration charm. Another had nose hair growing down to his feet. A few students came in with gashes up and down their arms. No doubt thanks to that bloody hippogriff lesson, Draco thought vindictively.

About mid-afternoon, a person Draco was not expecting to see walked into the ward.

“Granger. Come to visit me have you?” he said good-naturedly as she walked towards his bed.

Neither rising to his bait nor meeting his eyes, she dutifully placed her armful of books upon the nightstand next to his bed. “Here are your books. Your assignments are written on a piece of parchment inside the Potions text.”

Draco looked at the stack of books and back to Hermione. “You came all the way up here to give me my homework?” he asked.

She shrugged. “McGonagall’s orders.”

Draco was slightly rebuffed by her blunt response. It’s a ridiculous idea anyways, he rationalized. Why would anyone want to visit me for pleasure? But he wanted her to stay. After all, he thought, this is the most I’ve spoken in a week. And I have questions…

“Did you see what happened yesterday, Granger?”

He just caught the imperceptible change in her demeanor. Her eyes brightened and she sat up straighter, as if jolted by an electric current. “Yes,” she said quietly.

“Who put me out?”

He saw her stiffen. “I-I didn’t see,” she stuttered.

Draco gave her an appraising look. After a moment, he said, “I don’t believe you.”

“Believe what you want,” she snapped. “I don’t know who extinguished the flames.”

He rolled his eyes dramatically. “How about who took me here?” he persisted.

“How should I know?” she answered quickly.

Draco was frustrated now. “Well you were there, weren’t you?” he asked her in an irritated voice. “How could you not know? Did they not float me out of the room? Slughorn, he…”

“Everything was a mess in that room yesterday, Malfoy,” she interrupted sharply. “Anyone could have put you out and brought you here! There was a pillar of fire up to the ceiling, Professor Slughorn had to sit down and a couple of the girls fainted. People were screaming and running out of the classroom…It was chaos.”

This struck Draco. “It was that bad?” he asked quietly.

She looked at him with sad eyes. “You were totally engulfed in flames. And when they were put out…” Draco saw her shudder in remembrance. “It was terrible.”

A weight settled upon Draco’s heart. I came perilously close to dying yesterday, he thought, amazed at his good fortune and his savior’s quick thinking. If it hadn’t been for the girl who put me out, I’d be dead.

“I owe her my life,” Draco said, thinking out-loud.

“What?” Hermione said, who was looking out the window in a daze.

“The girl who put me out…I owe her my life.”

Hermione fidgeted in her seat and cleared the back of her throat. “I’m sure you would have done the same for her.”

Draco almost scoffed at this remark when another question popped into his mind. He was surprised he had not asked it until now. “Why did that happen?”

He could tell Hermione’s interest was piqued. “I don’t know. What spell did you use?”

“The one we always use to light the cauldron fires. Did you look around the cauldron at all?”

“No,” Hermione said, obviously puzzled now as well. “I didn’t have time for an investigatory work. But why? Do you think something was put into the fire to make it explode?”

“A blaze like that shouldn’t have happened with the normal spell, so it’s more than likely that…” Realization hit him like a brick. “Zabini,” he whispered. “Son of a pregnant dog.”

“What?” Hermione asked with a quizzical look.

“Nothing,” Draco covered, not wanting her to know his suspicions. He continued on with his questions. “I assume Slughorn had the area thoroughly cleaned?”

“Yes,” she replied. “Blaise volunteered.” She furrowed her brow, a thought coming to her slowly. “For being one of your friends, he didn’t seem too shaken when it happened…”

Draco did not realize he was sneering until Hermione questioned him. He shook off the inquiry. After a moment, she sighed. “I still have stuff to do, so I’m going now.”

Draco nodded without looking at her. He was too absorbed in his own thoughts to much care about where she was going.

“Oh, by the way,” she said when she was halfway to the door. “You’ve been made Quidditch Captain. Congratulations.”

“Wait, what?” Draco said. He only heard the word “Quidditch”; the rest was just a mumble.

“I said you’ve been made Quidditch captain.”

This bit of news made Draco quite happy. He wanted to jump around the room at the thought of Quidditch but, due to his sore muscles, had to be content with just smiling.

“Thanks, Granger,” he said genuinely.

She gave him a half-hearted smile. Draco watched her exit the room, grinning like mad at the brilliant news.

Draco was in a pleasant mood for the rest of the day and much of the night. He was still feeling weak, but the prospect of Quidditch boosted his spirits and his energy. Later, Madam Pomfrey told him that when he woke the following morn, he would be able to leave without an issue. By the time she extinguished the lights (around midnight, to Draco’s reckoning), he was only beginning to feel tired.

He leaned back against the plush pillows, folding his hands behind his head. He thought of his broomstick: the warm and worn wood against his fingers, the rush of wind in his hair, the thrill of a dive, the exhilaration of catching the Snitch…Just the mere thought of the stomach-dropping antics he could pull in the air was enough to give him a rush of adrenaline.

“All I really need is Quidditch,” he said complacently. “f**k the Slytherins.”

A meaty and sweaty hand then clamped over his mouth. Before Draco could think to move, his arms were pinioned to his mattress. He struggled against the brutes, running out of energy faster than he would have liked.

“Are you sure you want to give up on us quite yet, Malfoy?” came a deep and sinister voice from the dark. “Lumos.”

Wandlight illuminated the bedside scene, where Draco was easily held captive by Crabbe and Goyle. Blaise stood next to the bed, a cruel smile playing on his lips. The shadows thrown on his countenance made him seem like a demon from the lowest pits of hell, sent on a mission to make miserable all he encountered. Draco did not doubt that Blaise would relish the task.

He yanked his head out from the big hand. “Zabini,” he hissed. “You’re the one who made the fire explode like that.”

He inclined his head in a mock bow. “Who else?”

“And now you’re attacking me while I’m in the hospital wing.” Draco sneered. “You’re a bloody coward, Zabini. You always have been.” He was still now, resigned to his fate even though he wanted to launch himself at Blaise and finish what he started in the Great Hall.

“Temper, temper, Draco. You wouldn’t want to lose your position as Head Boy, now would you?”

“If it meant taking you out, I’d give up anything.”

Blaise chuckled. “That’s quite a threat from someone so incapacitated. We don’t deserve that kind of treatment, do we?”

Crabbe and Goyle laughed stupidly, but did not miss the hint. Without having to be told again, their fists flew into Draco’s stomach, arms, legs, face, head…wherever they could land. Too weak to defend himself, Draco had no choice but to take the beating and try not to scream. After what seemed like hours of physical abuse, Blaise’s imperious voice sounded out over Draco’s heavy grunts.

The two goons stopped the beating immediately. They stepped away from Draco like two panting dogs being called off the attack. Blaise then stepped forward, admiring their handiwork.

“We know you’re the Quidditch team captain and we’ll respect you then, but only then. When your feet are on the ground, you’re ours. Let this be a lesson to you, Malfoy,” Blaise spoke, leaning in close to Draco’s bloodied face. “Don’t f**k with us.”

He then muttered the same spell Draco himself used to clear up Hermione’s bruises. Draco felt the blood on his face disappear, as did the swelling and cuts. No evidence of their brutality was left upon his face; if he told anyone about this nighttime visit, he was sure to be ignored. The three boys silently made their way out the ward, leaving Draco to his misery.

XOX

“Get up, get up!” said Madam Pomfrey. Her bony fingers prodded into Draco’s sore arm. Pain shot through his muscles. He grimaced and hissed sharply. No longer even slightly asleep, he opened his eyes to the mediwitch’s puzzled expression.

“You can go now,” she said, her gaze critical and searching.

“Thanks,” Draco wheezed as he urged his screaming body into a sitting position. The first step he took from the bed almost resulted in him falling to the floor. He steadied himself on his nightstand, remembering that he also had to bring his books back. The textbooks in his arms felt like lead bricks and his arms shook with exertion after just a minute of holding them aloft.

“Are you feeling alright?” Madam Pomfrey asked to his back.

“Yes,” he said, trying to cover up the waver in his voice. “I’m fine.”

He walked out of the hospital wing as quickly as he could. He was but five steps from the door when he leaned against the wall for a rest. His chest was heaving and sweat had started to bead upon his back and forehead.

How am I ever going to make it?

Draco was unable to answer this question, for he remembered not the journey from the hospital wing to the Head’s portrait hole. It was a plodding, draining trip, involving him simply placing one foot in front of the other and taking frequent rests upon the cold stone.

He did not hear the words of the portrait, but it swung open without a password. Draco struggled to lift his legs over the threshold. The portrait swung shut with a click and he closed his eyes.

“Malfoy?”

He opened them again to see Hermione scrambling upright on the couch, staring at him intently. A black fog closed in around her and she became dimmer and dimmer by the second. Before he knew what was happening, his knees buckled and his books slid out of his hands.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 18

Damage Control.

Hermione watched wide-eyed as the books fell out of Draco’s hands and he tumbled to the floor.

“Malfoy!”

She rushed to his side, immediately shoving the fallen books to the side and untangling his limp limbs. She knelt beside his prone form, her eyes searching his body. Although Draco suffered no physical marks, Hermione could tell that something was not right. He was paler than usual and his skin was coated with a thin sheen of sweat. His breathing was heavy as well. She swept back his hair and put her hand on his forehead; it was quite hot.

“Accio pillow.” A cushion flew over to her and she caught it deftly. Hermione slipped it under Draco’s head and conjured a bowl and a rag. She wet the rag with cool water and dabbed at his forehead.

He flinched at the cold touch, but remained unconscious. Wake up, Hermione willed him. She wanted to know what was wrong. For a few more minutes, she wiped his face with the cool cloth, then rested it upon his forehead, which was still burning from exertion or fever.

Waiting for him to wake, she leaned against the couch. This doesn’t make any sense. He was doing fine when I brought him his homework yesterday. A little weak, perhaps, but fine otherwise. She narrowed her eyes in thought, training her eyes upon him but not really seeing. Did Madam Pomfrey give him some sort of potion before he left? Why the devil did she let him go?

Scenarios played through Hermione’s mind and she did not even notice Draco start to wake up until he groaned audibly.

“Malfoy,” she said quietly, pushing herself away from the couch to hover over him. “Are you alright?”

“How the hell do you think I am, Granger?” he asked.

Only half-conscious and he still manages to be a prick. She rolled her eyes but otherwise ignored his sarcasm.

“What happened?”

She saw him redden slightly. “Nothing,” he said testily. He looked at her with fierce eyes, as if his gaze could prove his point.

“Of course,” Hermione said sarcastically. “Nothing. Because nothing so often makes people collapse. Did Pomfrey give you some kind of medication or…”

“Pomfrey didn’t do anything,” Draco responded, pushing his way up off the floor. Hermione leaned back to get out of his way unnecessarily: he almost immediately fell back down onto the pillow. He groaned in pain, earning a look from Hermione.

“Fine, don’t tell me what’s wrong. But at least let me help you to your room.”

“I don’t need your help,” he wheezed from the floor. “I can make it on my own.” He tried to get up on his own again and, like Hermione expected, failed.

“Malfoy, don’t be ridiculous. You can’t even sit up. How do you expect to get up the stairs and to your room?”

“I’ll think of something.”

“Stop being so stubborn! Just let me help you,” she pleaded in a frustrated tone.

“Why do you care?” he said, giving her an accusing stare.

“Because I’ll feel incredibly guilty if I just leave you lying helpless on the floor,” she said giving him a pointed look.

XOX

The similarity of Draco’s situation to the one Hermione was in earlier hit him like a brick. Here they were: he almost unconscious and unable to move and her with a choice to leave or help him. The difference was Hermione was more than willing to do the right thing. In fact, it was her first choice. He sighed heavily and looked up into her deep brown eyes.

“You are to tell no one of this,” he said in what he hoped was a commanding voice. “Not a soul. Do you understand me?”

Hermione just rolled her eyes – not quite the reaction Draco was hoping for. “Yes, I promise. Now come on.”

To Draco, who was still extremely light-headed, Hermione’s hands were everywhere. They were touching his back and chest, helping him into a sitting position. They were under his arms and around his torso as she stood him up. Her shoulders were the perfect height for him to lean on while she walked him up the stairs.

Their progress was slow due to Draco’s need for frequent stops. Whenever Draco’s breath started to labor or his limbs started to shake, she would stop and lean him against a wall. Each time, he could feel her concerned eyes upon him, but he could never meet her gaze.

And admit that she was right? If it did not hurt so much, he would have laughed at the thought.

About ten minutes after they had started, Hermione and Draco reached his door.

“Alright, Granger. I can take it from here,” he said through shallow breaths.

“Nice try,” she said without sparing him a look. He wanted to argue, but knew that it was useless: they were already three steps into his room.

She led him to the bed and single-handedly maneuvered the blankets down from the pillows. Gently lowering him down onto the mattress, she half-knelt before him, looking up into his eyes.

“Is there anything you need right now? Anything I can get for you?”

He shook his head tiredly, too exhausted to give much notice to her odd request.

Hermione nodded and stood up. “Feel better,” she said as a farewell. Draco nodded as she quietly left the room and shut the door. With his eyes half-closed, his fingers stumbled over the buttons of his shirt and the fly of his pants. He had barely stripped out clothes when his body gave out. He flopped down onto the mattress and pulled the blankets up. Within seconds, he was in a blissful state of unconsciousness.

XOX

Later that evening, Hermione leaned against her door and sighed. “I wish he had told me what was wrong,” she lamented while walking to her bathroom. “Maybe I would have been able to help him more.”

She paused while brushing her teeth. “He wouldn’t have let me help him more,” she said with a mouth full of toothpaste. “Why do I want to help anyways?”

Because you feel bad for him, came the voice of the devil’s advocate from the back of her mind.

“Fine, I feel bad for him. That’s no crime.” She rinsed her mouth with cool water and spat into the sink.

But why feel bad in the first place? Has he ever done anything nice or compassionate for you?

“That’s not the point,” she argued while using her peach facial scrub. “Like the Muggle cliché: two wrongs don’t make a right. I should try and help him anyways. It simply proves that I’m the better person. And he realizes that. I can tell.”

This last bit of logic shut that part of her mind up. She smiled at the silly victory and hopped into her bed, where Crookshanks was already waiting.

“I just hope he does better tomorrow, Crookshanks,” she said while cradling the orange ball of fur in her lap. “He doesn’t look it, but Malfoy is quite heavy to lug all the way up the stairs.”

Her cat looked at her with great yellow eyes and let out a confused meow. Hermione giggled and turned out the light. In a few minutes, she was asleep, but not before thinking about Draco and the mystery surrounding his condition.

XOX

Draco woke up in a haze. He looked at his alarm clock, blinking the sleep from his eyes.

Noon, his brain registered. I should probably get up. There’s work to be done, after all.

His muscles screamed as Draco forced himself to sit. He winced at the soreness, but knew that once he got in the shower, he would feel loads better.

Draco was not disappointed. Steam from the almost-scalding water soon fogged up the entire bathroom. The hot rivulets ran over his shoulders and back, loosening his muscles to the point of total relaxation. He sat down in the black onyx tub, more than content to let the water soak into his skin and work the aches out of his body. He stretched his arms, legs, and back, satisfactorily cracking his joints and loving each and every pop.

More than half an hour later, Draco emerged from the tub, sufficiently wrinkled but much less stiff. A few readily-available pain potions later and Draco was good as new, or so he thought. Going down the stairs to the common room, Draco clutched the banister, not trusting himself to walk down without falling. His legs shook when he reached the bottom. Apparently the potions only worked to alleviate pain, not the cause. He sat on the couch, where he saw his books heaped on the table in front of him.

I suppose I should get to work, he thought, lifting open the potions text. He read the mercifully short list of assignments, hoping he could finish them within a few hours so he could go back to sleep. He had just retrieved a quill and parchment for his Potion’s assignment when he heard Hermione’s voice float down from the bottom of the stairs.

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

Draco did not look up at her from his position on the couch. “I’m fine,” he said shortly.

He shivered at the feeling of her eyes on his back. Knowing that she had seen him in a moment of weakness disgusted him.

“Do you need any help on your homework?”

Draco’s anger suddenly flared. “Why the hell do you keep asking if I need help?” he yelled, throwing down his quill and standing up. “I’m perfectly capable of doing things for myself!”

“I never said you weren’t!” countered Hermione. “It’s just that I did the Potions work yesterday and it was difficult and I thought that if you were still feeling ill then you might want some help! But forget it. You’re obviously well enough to argue so you should be more than fine to do homework on your own.” She stalked to the portrait hole without sparing him a glance. “By the way,” she said with anger in her voice, “if you snap your fingers, a House Elf will appear and give you breakfast.”

Draco knew that, if it was possible to do so without disturbing the inhabitant, Hermione would have slammed the portrait shut. But she closed it instead with a dissatisfying click. Draco glared out after her, noting two rolls of parchment clenched in her hands.

He sneered and snapped for a House Elf. Just as Hermione had said, one Apparated, ready to take Draco’s food order. A few minutes later, his breakfast was in front of him, as was the Potions essay which, again, as Hermione had promised, was more difficult than anticipated.

He decided he would do the essay later and headed up to his room with his breakfast, settling to business in front of his fireplace.

XOX

Hermione walked to the Owlery, clutching two scrolls of parchment – one to Harry, the other to Channing. So far, she had broken her word to neither of them.

Well, not technically, anyways.

She wrote to Harry every week and was always careful to omit the parts that Hermione was sure he would be the most eager to hear. But how could she tell Harry that Draco knocked her unconscious within their first month? Especially when he was supposed to be searching for the Horcruxes. No, Hermione could not do that to him.

He already has so much on his mind, she thought. It wouldn’t be fair to make him worry about me when he has battling Voldemort to look forward to...

So instead she gave him flowery reports of Transfigurations, commented on the difficulty of N.E.W.T. level Potions, raved about the wonderful Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and did not even bother mentioning the difficult class of Arithmacy. She knew he would not be totally satisfied with her news, but she forced herself to be content with her small act of duplicity.

Her second letter to Channing, though, was completely honest. Draco nearly being cooked to death in Potions turned out to be a mixed blessing. On the one hand, his health was added to her list of concerns. As if it wasn’t long enough already without him on it… she thought wryly. But his mishap also gave her an opportunity to go through his room. She carefully rifled through his drawers, his closet, and his trunk. She even checked underneath his mattress and found nothing. No doubt Channing would be equally disappointed in her letter as Harry, but she made it clear, several times, that she had been completely thorough.

He’ll understand, Hermione hoped. While Channing seemed like a nice enough man, he also seemed dangerous. He was altogether too cool and collected. Hermione wondered what kinds of emotions he kept hidden beneath his unassuming exterior. She was not entirely sure she trusted him.

” But if he’s good enough for Moody, he should be good enough for me as well,” she said, tying his letter onto the foot of a school owl. She looked up, trying to spot her barn owl, Amaris. It was near the top of the tower that Hermione saw the small white and tan bundle of feathers nestled next to a large, familiar eagle owl.

“Amaris,” she called. Her owl remained sleeping. The eagle owl, however, looked at Hermione and shuffled nearer to Amaris, jostling her with his body. This was all the urging she needed. The owl poked her head out from under her wing and looked around sleepily.

“A-mar-is,” Hermione sing-songed. The barn owl took off from her perch at once and landed on Hermione’s outstretched arm, with what Hermione thought was a somewhat embarrassed expression for an owl.

Hermione smiled and lovingly stroked the owl’s head. “Take this to Harry,” she said. “And be careful.”

Amaris hooted, alighted from Hermione’s arm, and swooped majestically out the window. Hermione sighed as her owl flew off into the distance. She turned to leave when she heard a forceful hoot from behind her. The eagle owl that had woken Amaris had descended to a low perch and was looking expectantly at Hermione.

She was puzzled for a moment; she had never seen an owl act like that before. “Um, thank you?” she said in a confused voice.

The owl bobbed its head a few times and took off, obviously content with Hermione’s reply. She shook her head at the peculiar behavior as she walked out of the Owlery.

XOX

The warm glow of the fireplace was the only source of light in the dark room. It landed lightly on a tall, thin, and pale figure sitting proudly in a high, red, wing-backed chair. Once it touched his cold skin however, the light and warmth died out forever, disappearing into nothingness, unable to exist upon such a harsh landscape.

“Well?” came the high-pitched voice from the man in the chair.

“I’m doing all that I can, my Lord, but she has not given me anything to work with as of yet.”

The man hissed in anger. “Consider yourself lucky that you are not in my presence,” he threatened ominously. The figure in the fire visibly gulped, obviously doing exactly as the Dark Lord suggested. He was about to speak further when Voldemort continued.

“She does not trust you. Have you been doing everything in your power, like I asked?”

“Yes, my Lord.”

“Lies,” he wheezed harshly. “You lie to my face!”

“My Lord, please. I – I’m trying…”

“Silence! I have no desire to hear your pathetic excuses. You must go deeper. Become her friend, her ally, her confidante! Become her most trusted and get me my information!”

“Yes, my Lord,” the figure said submissively.

“Leave now. Your very presence disgusts me.”

The figure disappeared in a flurry of ashes, leaving Voldemort alone and pensive in his chair.

[Liz-Miia Parker]

Chapter 19.

Ambush

A few days after she sent her letter to Harry and Channing, she received responses from each. Harry’s letter was simple. As always, it told her that he dare not go into detail about his mission to find the Horcruxes, but progress was being made. He reminded her to take care and warned her once more about how dangerous Draco was.

As if I don’t know that already, she thought, rolling her eyes over a sip of pumpkin juice.

She opened Channing’s letter next, eyes growing wide as she read his perfect block letters.

Hermione — I thank you for the work you have done thus far. Although you have not found anything yet, I am confident that you will be able to do so soon. I was wondering if you would consent to visit me during your Hogsmeade trip: purely a business meeting to discuss your mission. By that time, I will have thought about the matter more thoroughly and will have some ideas for you. What do you say to Madame Puddifoot’s around one? Send an owl with your response. Best wishes — Channing Orman

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Channing’s odd request. Madame Puddifoot’s? Of all places!

Despite her misgivings, Hermione scribbled a quick response on the back of the parchment and tied it to the leg of the screech owl, who took off in a flurry of feathers. She must have still had looked puzzled because Ron threw a bit of biscuit at her from across the table.

“‘Y de omm fay, ‘Erminy?” he asked through an enormous bite of sausage.

Years of practice made deciphering Ron’s speech easy. Nevertheless, she gave him an annoyed look and brushed the biscuit crumbs off her robes with a distasteful look. “No reason, just thinking.”

He looked at her shrewdly, then shrugged, helping himself to a forkful of eggs. Hermione was happy he let the subject drop; she was not sure how Ron would take the news that Channing wanted to meet her at Madame Puddifoot’s...

Unfortunately, she was not spared that question for long. She and Ron were off to Charms when he struck up conversation. “So about Hogsmeade this weekend. Luna wants to meet us at the Shrieking Shack around noon. Something about finding a Yarsarat habitat…” Hermione gave him an odd look — she had never heard of a Yarsarat before. Ron simply shrugged. “It’s Luna,” he said as an explanation. Hermione nodded obligingly and let Ron continue. “Anyways, I was thinking we can head off to the Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer when Luna finally gets too mental and perhaps Zonko’s after that. And there’s this new-”

Hermione cut him off. “I would love to, Ron, but I have to patrol.” Inwardly, she grimaced; Hermione had never been that good of a liar, and didn’t like doing it, especially to Ron. Yet she persisted. “You know, extra security and all that…” It may not be exactly the truth, but it was adequate enough. Ron somehow mustered enough grace to look disappointed.

“Alright then, I suppose I’ll see you there.”

“Most likely,” Hermione said. But hopefully not with Channing, she added silently. That is one argument I do not want to have.

XOX


The next few days were terrible for Draco. Pressure from seemingly a million sources pressed down on his head, pushing him almost to a breaking point. He had to endure Hermione’s vigilant stares and her flinching whenever he moved too fast around her. Zabini was still his Potions partner, so he worried about being blown to bits every class. Random groups of Slytherins attempted to ambush him in the halls, but he was able to stave off his attackers with detentions and House point deductions. He had Potions’ essays to complete, charms to memorize, and his Animagi transfigurations to practice. It was all becoming incredibly tedious incredibly fast. The only things he looked forward to were Quidditch practice, and Hogsmeade that Saturday.

Time seemed to go in reverse during his classes. He nearly tore his hair out in frustration during Transfigurations, his last class of the day. Since becoming an Animagi was an extremely high level of difficulty, McGonagall took a very active role in their education. She paired everyone up to practice proper pronunciation, which she used as a preliminary evaluation technique: those who seemed to grasp the concepts easily would be allowed to continue working on the non-verbal technique as separate project. Those who did not would simply follow the course syllabus. Of course, Hermione was Draco’s partner. She kept scolding his lack of concentration as he stared raptly at the clock.

“Five more minutes,” he whispered. He glanced at Hermione, who was glaring at him with crossed arms. Draco wanted to be the first one out onto the pitch. That would allow him at least a few minutes of solitude. He looked at the clock again. “Four and a half more minutes.”

He accomplished nothing else. McGonagall allowed them to continue the process, but it came as no surprise that she assigned them extra practice. He made his way quickly to the door, bypassing Hermione, who had her mouth open to spew some sort of aggravated insult his way. Whether she said anything or not was beyond Draco, however, as he zipped away through the corridors to the Quidditch pitch. He disappeared into the dressing room, changed into his Quidditch robes in a frenzy, summoned his broom, and zoomed into the air all in a matter of about two minutes.

A rush of cool wind whipped Draco’s face, making his heart rise in his chest. He let out a whoop and leaned down onto the sleek wooden handle, accelerating until the empty stadium seats were nothing but a blur of brown. After completing a few laps, Draco worked on his formations. He pulled up from a speedy ninety degree dive mere inches from the ground. He looped and twirled through the air, going higher and higher until he started to black out from the lack of oxygen. He relished every moment he spent under the cloudless blue sky of early autumn.

His joy only lasted for a few more minutes, though, as he saw six green-clad figures clutching brooms enter the field. His heart dropped with his height as he landed gently on the ground before his team of malcontents. Draco ignored their grimaces and launched into his pre-season speech.

“First,” he said in an unforgiving tone, “I don’t care what happens during class, but you had all better leave your attitudes in the locker room. I will not tolerate inter-member violence of any sort while on this pitch, else you’ll be out faster than you can say Snitch. Am I understood?”

His eyes were cold and hard as steel as he looked each and every one of his teammates in the eyes. In some, he saw utter compliance. In others, reluctant acceptance. But no eyes held defiance, for which Draco was grateful. He continued.

“We actually have a chance of winning this year. Potter isn’t here to keep his team alive and we know that both Weasleys can easily be outdone on a broomstick. Gryffindor is no longer our biggest opponent. If we can stay strong and compete as a team, I have no doubt that we will raise the Quidditch Cup.”

He spoke with such emotion and sincerity that he was not surprised to see the eyes of his teammates glitter with anticipation. He knew they were inspired, which was what he needed.

“Let’s get in the air, then!”

The team almost simultaneously leapt onto their brooms. Draco directed the practice from on high, showing no mercy. He ran formation after formation until they got it right and individually helped those that needed it. He drilled them harder than he ever had and after four hours of practice, when the sun was starting to set in the sky, he dismissed them.

They landed in good spirits and trailed off to the locker room happily chatting. Draco hung back, watching the shrinking backs of his teammates. He stood at the center of the pitch and looked up. He smiled at everything he saw: the three Quidditch hoops, the tall wooden stands, the outline of the Forbidden Forest, the shadowy stone of the castle, and in the distance, the subtle shine of the lake.

I love it here, he sighed.

Thinking it was safe, he walked to the locker room. He stored his robes and locked his broom in the cupboard. While turning and walking back towards the school, Draco spotted a figure moving towards him. He reached for his wand, but it flew out of his pocket as soon as he lowered his hand.

Shite, Draco thought, jaw clenched tightly, not again.

Blaise appeared out of the semi-darkness, his blue eyes dark with foreboding.

“Zabini,” Draco said smoothly. “Did you enjoy practice this evening?”

“Keep the emotions off the pitch, you said. If I had it my way, I would have killed you in the air.”

Draco arched a brow. “You’d think almost doing me in during Potions would be enough for you…

He chuckled darkly. “I’m not so easily satisfied.”

“Obviously,” Draco said. He looked up at the setting sun, bored of the conversation. He knew where his next remark would lead, but felt compelled to speak anyways. The sooner they finished their little farce, the sooner he could go to bed. “You know I can take you,” he said with a sigh.

Blaise ignored his practiced tone. He snapped his fingers and, like dogs, Crabbe and Goyle appeared, cutting off Draco’s exits.

“Three against one? And you beating me?”

Blaise smiled evilly, flashing each one of his shiny white teeth. “I like my odds.”

Before Draco had the chance to run, Crabbe and Goyle seized his arms, pinning him between their hulking bodies. He struggled valiantly against them. His foot landed hard on Crabbe’s, whose hold loosened for a moment. Draco seized the opportunity. His fist collided sharply with Crabbe’s jaw, sending the large boy reeling backwards. Just as Draco’s arm was swinging towards Goyle, a jet of purple light arced from Blaise’s wand. A magnificent gash appeared across Draco’s chest; it bled heavily. This was just the advantage Crabbe needed to grab hold of Draco once more. Blaise laughed meanly as Draco’s struggling tapered off.

“Give it up, Malfoy.” He cracked his knuckles then laid into Draco. His newly healed body jerked under Blaise’s harsh blows. His stomach was in agony, as was his face. Sharp fists pummeled his head. Stars danced in front of his eyes and blood ran down his throat and out of his mouth.

Blaise paused for a moment. Draco spat out a great gob of blood at his well-polished shoes. “Not very creative, are you?” he taunted in a rasping voice. Undoubtedly, he was only making the situation worse, but Draco found himself unable to stop. His left eye had swollen so much that he could barely open it, but he glared at Blaise nonetheless. “Will you ever tire of this stupidity?”

Blaise lifted his head proudly into the air and looked down his nose into Draco’s dulling grey eyes. “No,” he answered simply. With one more blow to Draco’s stomach, Blaise signaled Crabbe and Goyle to leave. They dropped him to the ground and threw his wand near his head. They walked away without a backwards look, leaving him bloodied and broken on the cool grass of the grounds.

XOX


Hermione looked up from her book. Something’s wrong. She looked about the room for anything out of place. But nothing had changed. She did not know what gave her this feeling, but it was there and it was persistent, like a fly at a picnic. Maybe the fire stopped cackling for a moment. Maybe the clock missed a beat. Maybe her heart did. Whatever the reason, unease filled her mind. She was soon unable to concentrate.

She rose from her chair and took a turn about the room. Assuring herself that nothing was out of place, she was about to sit down again when a silvery beast burst silently through the wall. Hermione screamed and drew her wand. She was about to launch one million different spells when she realized just what the silver form was — a Patronus.

“A dragon,” Hermione whispered, staring up in awe at the hovering winged creature. It was a ferocious beast, with long, sharp spines all down its back. It looked at her steadily with intelligent yet blank eyes. The dragon opened its jaws as if to roar, exposing every one of its two inch long fangs. But instead of a deafening yell came a noise so soft Hermione wasn’t even sure she heard anything at all.

“Help.” The plea was simple, but effective. Energy coursed through her body, but Hermione stood rooted to the spot. She wanted to move, to run to him, but her feet would not obey her brain.

The supplication came again, fainter now. “Help.” His voice was so weak…

The opaque dragon regarded her once more, then drifted towards the window. The threat of the dragon’s absence woke Hermione from her frozen stupor.

“Wait,” she yelled to the dragon. It did not slow. “Wait! Wait! Where is he?” Her voice was panicked and her steps were urgent. She followed the dragon to the window, where it diffused easily through the wall. She screamed in frustration and hit the stone half-heartedly, but kept her eyes trained on the barely visible beast. It floated across the grounds to a place near the edge of the Forbidden Forest. There, it disappeared in a wisp of smoke.

Hermione barely had time to see the silver smoke waft off in the breeze. She dashed around the common room, slipping on her shoes and cloak, grabbing her wand and an emergency medical kit that she had bought on a whim in Diagon Alley. She flew out of her dormitory and sped as quietly as she could to the exit. Even though she was a Head, she could still be penalized for being outside the castle after dark. She ducked behind a pillar to avoid Filch and continued once she was in the clear.

Once she was out of the castle doors, Hermione slowed.

I have to get my bearings straight. I saw the Patronus disappear in…that direction, she thought, turning her body towards the looming forest. The sun was almost fully set. Darkness impeded the eastern sky. Hermione shivered at the creepy setting.

She set her chin determinately and hurried towards the woods, hiding the small bit of fear that had wormed its way into her chest. The walk felt like a mile. She neared the edge of the forest and looked into the gloomy trees.

The Patronus didn’t disappear into the woods, did it? She strained her mind to remember, but in her haste, could not recall the exact area. Trepidation filled her. She took a deep, shaky breath and was about to step into the dangerous wood when something caught her attention: a soft groan from her left side.

Hermione pulled her wand and whipped around, ready to face her attacker. Nothingness met her eyes. The groan sounded again, like it was coming from the ground. She looked and there he was, lying facedown before her.

“Malfoy!” she said, surprised beyond belief. She rushed to his side and turned him onto his back. He was a mess. His face was bruised and bloodied almost beyond recognition. Dirt mingled with the blood and matted his hair. Tears filled her eyes at the pathetic sight.

She touched his arm gently and spoke to him in a reassuring tone. “I’m here.” He opened his eyes wearily; the usual alacrity they held was gone, replaced by a glazed and pained expression. “I’m going to fix you up, okay?” She tried to keep her voice from shaking, but was sure her attempt was unsuccessful.

She opened the medical pack and got to work. She siphoned the blood and dirt from his face and applied a healing salve. She gave him a potion for the pain and bandaged the cuts that she could. She saw the large amount of crimson blood on his chest and hesitantly lifted his shirt. A two-inch thick gash ran across his chest, from shoulder to hip; Hermione had to stifle a terrified gasp. The medical pack was for dealing with small wounds…nothing like what Draco had sustained. Unsure of what to do, Hermione conjured some gauze and wrapped his chest as best she could. Madam Pomfrey would be able to deal with this better than she would.

The sun disappeared by the time the majority of his wounds were healed. The forest was dark as pitch and the leaves were rustled by some creature with intentions unknown.

She glanced uneasily at the swaying trees. “Malfoy,” she said quietly, trying to rouse him. “Malfoy, we need to go now, okay? I need to take you to the hospital wing.”

He opened his eyes properly for the first time since she arrived. “No,” he said, voiced cracked and strained. “No hospital.”

“Now isn’t the time to argue. Your chest is torn open and you’re bleeding like mad. I can’t deal with this kind of injury — I need to get you to Madam Pomfrey.”

“No!” he said. His voice regained little of its strength but his look was so fierce Hermione quailed just a little. “No hospital,” he said through clenched teeth.

The shaking in the Forbidden Forest increased and several inhuman clicks rose loudly from the wood. Whatever was in there had smelled Draco’s blood. Hermione looked from the forest to Draco.

“No hospital,” Hermione said finally, panic lacing her unsteady voice. “No Pomfrey. Fine. But please, we have to go.” A hairy leg, jointed protruded from the copse out of Hermione’s peripheral vision; her brown eyes widened in fear: acromantulas. “Now,” she intoned fiercely.

Draco, whose attention was on the extended leg, grunted in acquiescence and allowed himself to be hoisted off the ground. His chest ripped open once more; blood dripped out steadily, dotting the dark green grass like gruesome paint. Like before, he slung an arm around Hermione’s shoulders while she gingerly supported his chest. She hurried him away from the forest, perhaps not a moment too soon. Together, they made their way awkwardly to the castle. After an interminable walk and Helga opening the portrait for them without a password, Hermione deposited Draco onto the couch.

Completely worn out, Draco’s eyes closed and his breathing steadied; it looked as if he had fallen asleep. Hermione stood over him, concern etched across her features.

“Why does this keep happening to you?”