Hermione, likewise, was feeling rather nostalgic. She was still a little bit anxious about acting as a completely different person; she had written and studied her profile the previous night, making sure that her surname had a little bit of history that she could relate to. She had also written Harry’s and Ron’s profiles; it helped her feel more in control. 

If there was anything about Hermione that she couldn’t hide under the false appearance of Blair Meriadoc, it was her need for control.

“Well, he isn’t. He’s a damn sneak!” Malfoy drew his wand, and Nate likewise drew his, standing. “You’ll pay for poking around where you don’t belong!” He sent a silent curse flying at Nate.

“Protego!” Nate deflected the curse with the Shielding Charm. “Expelliarmus!”

Damn it! Thought Blair. The moron! I can’t believe he just did that!

Malfoy had also noted Nate’s choice of spell; he narrowed his eyes. “Who are you?”

“Nate!”

Harry’s eyes snapped open; he looked this time into Peter Farr’s bright blue eyes rather then Snape’s cold, bottomless pair.

“You were thrashing about under your covers. Nightmares?”

Harry crammed his glasses onto his face. “Yeah,” he mumbled. “I had a nightmare about, er, werewolves. Sorry for waking you up.”

“So this is his idea of revenge. I suppose I’m partly to blame, although I don’t see how he took so much offense to it.”

“What’d you say, Ginny?” Ron moaned.

“I said that he was too pathetic to hurt first-years or something. And I asked him if is father had disfigured him, because he hid his right hand in his pocket and was cursing me with his left.” Ginny pressed lightly on her right cheekbone and grimaced.

“Surely that wouldn’t earn you a possible death warrant?"

“Will you quit your life as servant of the Dark Lord and turn away from the Dark Arts?”

“I will.”

A final flame, this time blazing white, would delicately around the clasped hands.

“…You foul git!” She said loudly. “You can’t just leave me to sit alone in Three Broomsticks. Where are you going that I can’t come with you?”

Malfoy pried her hands off of his sleeve, looking rather frustrated. “You wouldn’t want to come anyway, Arabelle. I just have to do something… private. I know you feel left out, but…”

Arabelle slapped him suddenly. Her violet eyes were on fire. “Don’t tell me how I feel. You’re going to go the same way as your father."

Hermione looked slightly unnerved at the thought of it. “But we have to plan it, Malfoy. We can’t just leave the school without an idea of what we’re doing!”

She stopped walking, and he turned to face her. “Maybe I should tell you everything,” she said.

“Yeah, that would be nice,” said Malfoy, eyes rolling skyward. He leaned against the wall of the corridor. “Hit me.”

“What happened?” Malfoy’s voice was surprisingly urgent.

Harry steadied himself against the wall. “Malfoy, Voldemort attacked the Grangers.” Desperation, panic, and sorrow were all evident in his voice. “Hermione… I’ve got to tell Hermione; her Dad’s dead, Voldemort killed him.” His voice broke at his last words.

Hermione glared at Ron, who was suddenly overly interested in his breakfast. “How you can you be so indifferent?” She snapped sharply. “It’s as if you don’t care!” She stood up abruptly, knocking her chair over loudly, scooped up the book, and stormed out of the kitchen.

Malfoy sighed heavily and righted Hermione’s chair. “Get off your bum, Weasley,” he said, stalking out of the room after her.

Ron threw his remaining toast at Malfoy, but it missed. Grumbling, Ron followed him out.

Hermione stared after him incredulously. Then she looked at Harry. "He found out we were leaving, didn't he?"

The sharp sound of metal on tile sounded from the kitchens.

Harry nodded from his place in the corner. Hermione groaned and followed Ron's path down the stairs.

Concentrating, Ron raised his wand and pointed it at the center of the yard. He closed his eyes for a moment, opened them, then said calmly but firmly, “Specialus Revelio.”

Nothing happened. “Try again,” said Harry, but Ron wasn’t looking at him. Ron was gazing at the yard in horror and fascination. Harry looked at the point Ron seemed to be focused on and saw… nothing. “Ron, what is it?”