Disclaimer - All canon characters/situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic, and WB. I receive no compensation. I mean , I do, but "fun and enjoyment" does not exactly pay the bills, am I right? Essentially, I do not own, I merely borrow ...
So here we go. Remember that one time in your life when something started, then it led to something else? No? Not descriptive enough? Can be used to describe every single day of someone's life? Of well ... I've never been great at summaries. Anyways, this chapter is something like that. Enjoy ...
- Chapter One -
Where Loyalties Lie
It was one week into a new year at Hogwarts. The scars inflicted by the death of Cedric Diggory the previous year had not yet begun to heal. All the while, the incessant mumblings of the return of the Dark Lord weighed heavily on the minds of the students and faculty. The weight of the wizarding world's future hung precariously out of balance.
Foreboding dreariness aside, the morning sky was clear and the air was crisp. As the students commiserated in any one of the numerous courtyards surrounding the castle, they could almost forget the back-alley whispers and monotonous propaganda being spewed about by the Ministry of Magic. For them it seemed, at least outwardly, to simply be the beginning of another term at Hogwarts.
In just such a courtyard, Harry, Ron, and Hermione were taking in some air between classes. Hermione had her head buried in a book, as was customary, while Harry and Ron rambled on about Professor Umbridge and her unusually tame approach to the Defense against the Dark Arts. Normally, Hermione would have interrupted them, as their choice of words bordered on impertinent. Things being how they were, however, she thought that Harry had enough going on inside his head. A healthy rant might do him some good.
"Oi, Hermione," Ron said when he and Harry had enough lambasting for the moment. "Harry and I are going to check out the Quidditch pitch. Decked it out nice this year. You coming?"
Hermione sighed unconsciously. It was truly the last thing that interested her at the moment, or any other moment, for that matter. While pondering over several possible answers that would allow her to pass on the offer, she suddenly noticed a group of first-years across the courtyard. They were huddled around a familiar sixth-year playing chess with what appeared to be a ferret. A subdued smile arose in Hermione's face as she closed her book and gathered her things.
"I'll catch up," she lied, slinging the strap of her bag over her shoulder.
"Where're you going?" Harry asked quizzically.
"To watch chess."
Harry and Ron were left dumbfounded, staring at Hermione as she walked off at a brisk pace.
"Watch chess?" Harry asked rhetorically, cocking his head like a befuddled puppy.
"She hates chess," Ron added, his face contorted and confused.
Shrugging it off, the two headed off towards the Quidditch pitch. As Ron had mentioned, with the previous year's Quidditch season being cancelled in lieu of the Triwizard Tournament, there had been many enhancements made to the arena.
Back in the courtyard, Hermione quietly approached the first-years. They were hardly aware of her presence, their eyes fixated on the chessboard and its violently animated game pieces. She stood silent as Killian sat on his stone seat, his elbows resting on the flattened trunk of a fallen tree that doubled as a chess table. His hands were folded under his nose as his eyes wandered over the board. Killian's ferret appeared to be contemplating. After a few moments, the ferret slid his bishop diagonally, taking Killian's knight in grandiose fashion. The first-years let out a wail of cheers and applause.
"Are you seriously losing to a ferret?" Hermione teased, smiling broadly.
Killian did not look up, but Hermione could see a grin peek from the corner of his mouth. She knew she had gotten into his head. Of course, she also knew that he was not about to let her know it.
"Thomas," Killian said as his eyes scanned the board, "like all those who I allow within my inner circle, is quite clever."
Oddly, Hermione never grew tired of his arrogance. Mostly because she knew that a great amount of it was just for show. Also, because she knew that she was, in fact, one of the very few to dwell within the confines of Killian's inner circle.
Killian moved his bishop, only to have it taken rather quickly to the thunderous applause of the spectators.
"Clever enough to have cleared your board," Hermione pointed out, relishing the effect it was having on Killian as he gritted his teeth and stifled another grin.
"Clever, indeed." Killian continued to peruse the chess table. As he did, a sudden glint appeared in his eye. Hermione rolled her eyes, knowing exactly what his expression meant. "But not clever enough my weasel-esque adversary."
Killian took Thomas' king. The first-years erupted with excitement. Hermione shook her head in a mixture a dismissal and disgust, knowing full well that it was the exorbitant amount of violence associated with the game and not the game itself that intrigued the young ones.
"A good show, Thomas," Killian conceded as the feisty ferret chirped with random sounds resembling a wet hand being dragged across a balloon. "So that is wizard's chess," Killian divulged to his audience with a dismissive wave. "Now, off with you. I have better things to do than indulge your trivial curiosities."
The scene began to break apart, the first-years mumbling to each other with wide-eyed excitement as they made their way about to explore other areas of Hogwarts' grounds. Killian gathered up his chessboard and stowed it in his bag as Hermione stood waiting, holding her book against her chest.
"Not exactly under the cover of darkness," he remarked as he looked cautiously about the grounds, referring to the manner in which he and Hermione had maintained their friendship over the last several months.
"I was simply watching a fellow student as he showed off for the first-years," Hermione came back with a snap of wit.
"I'm certain you were," Killian nodded with an extreme measure of doubt in his tone.
"I hadn't seen you in the halls," Hermione went on as Killian slung his bag over his shoulder. "I was beginning to wonder if you had decided to leave Hogwarts for Durmstrang."
Killian smiled. "Am I to presume that you were looking for me then?"
Hermione turned her nose in the air in jest. "You are to presume that I am observant."
"Of course," Killian conceded, narrowing his eyes.
"Did you get my last letter?" Hermione asked, clutching her book more firmly to her chest.
Since their chance encounter in the darkened stairway the previous year, most meetings involved a quiet crossing in the library or a walk through the trees the late evening. Each happening was a complete coincidence. They simply came upon each other in passing. Nothing more. At least, that is what Hermione convinced herself. With the tragedy of Cedric's death, however, even those simple moments could not be maintained.
Even so, they had been exchanging letters consistently throughout the summer. Hermione had tried in vain to do the same with Harry and Ron on previous summers, only to find the correspondence to be entirely one-sided. Killian, on the other hand, seemed to embrace the simple tradition of letter writing. With everything that had happened at the end of the previous year, Hermione needed something to keep her mind off of all the overwhelming drama. Killian provided just such a vessel.
"I did," he replied, fishing through his robes and pulling out an envelope. "Unfortunately, due to the late arrival of the letter, I did not believe a correspondence would be timely enough to reach you before the term began. So I have taken the liberty of delivering it in person," he concluded as he handed Hermione the envelope.
"You've been carrying it with you this whole time?" she asked, perplexed, although not as much as she would have been had it been someone else.
"I figured you would come looking for me at some time or another," Killian answered, his arrogant grin beaming across the hollowed features of his face.
Hermione groaned to the sky. She often thought she ought to be disgusted by his arrogance and self-serving mannerisms. They would certainly be well beyond annoying under most circumstances. However, Hermione could not deny that she had never had such intelligent, deep, and logically sound conversations with anyone else. Even taking into consideration that she and Killian rarely agreed—a circumstance she believed he purposefully pursued—she often found herself longing for the next time they could share a moment arguing about the political ramifications of the Goblin Wars or who wrote the best instructional guide to Transfiguration.
"You know," Hermione pointed out, "you could actually just tell me what you wrote. It doesn't make much sense to deliver a letter when you're standing here in the flesh."
"True," Killian agreed. "However, writing the letter encompassed a great amount of my time, and I would like to think that it was not time wasted. Now if you will excuse me," he added with smile and tip of his head, "I am going to be late for class."
He headed off towards the castle with Thomas bounding through the tall grass behind him. Hermione watched for a moment, smiling as she went to put the letter between the pages of her book. Before she could secure the correspondence, Daphne Greengrass bumped her from behind, either carelessly or intentionally, as she walked along on the arm of Adrian Pucey, a seventh-year Slytherin. Hermione's book tumbled out of her arms as the letter blew off.
"Mind your way!" Daphne scoffed as they continued on.
Hermione was going to let it go. After all, it was not the first time that a Slytherin had taken a shot at her, and it certainly was not going to be the last. She always considered herself to be above such trivial acts of aggression. Unfortunately, this time was going to prove different.
"You dropped something," Daphne cackled out as she deliberately stepped on Killian's letter, grinding it into the dirt.
Without warning, something in Hermione snapped. Seeing Killian's letter crumpled under the clumsy gait of Daphne Greengrass summoned a rage within her that erupted like the fire of the Furies. Never one to act without thinking, she uncharacteristically found herself drawing her wand and swinging it through the air.
"Locomotor mortis!"
Sparks flew from Hermione's wand and struck Daphne square. The unsuspecting Slytherin's legs went suddenly rigid, freezing mid-step, causing her to fall awkwardly and flat on her face. The theatrical cries that followed were truly something fit for the stage. Pucey drew his wand and reversed Hermione's jinx before helping the dramatic Slytherin to her feet, still wailing as if she had been lashed and scourged.
"What's gotten into you, Mudblood?" Pucey shouted at Hermione as he advanced on her, wand at his side, a menacing glare in his eyes. "Feeling awfully brave, are we?"
Hermione stood her ground, if for no other reason than because she did not know exactly what else to do at the moment. She certainly was not feeling particularly brave. Impetuous and stupid would be the words she would have used to describe her actions. This was why she never acted on impulse. Now she found herself in the middle of a courtyard, being advanced upon by a very capable and very angry seventh-year. Her cleverness would unlikely be of much service under these circumstances.
"Let it go, Pucey," came an extraordinarily welcome voice from behind her.
"Bugger off, Finn!" Pucey scoffed. "This has nothing to do with you!"
"In the interest of fairness," Killian argued casually as he joined Hermione's side, "I am disinclined to agree with you." He addressed Hermione and whispered, "Wonderful example you're setting for the first-years, by the way."
If not for the fact that she was quite relieved he returned, she would have certainly hit him for the comment.
"Disinclined?" Pucey asked, as if unfamiliar with the term.
Killian rolled his eyes in disgust. "It means reluctant, you uncultured half-wit."
As Pucey and Daphne exchanged befuddled glances, Nott, Baddock, and Montague—a rather large and unruly seventh-year—joined them in their face-off. Hermione could feel the tension in the air rise, but noticed that Killian remained rather stone-faced. This, she thought, was one of his more Slytherin qualities. That being said, if he was going to subdue his emotions, then she was certainly not going to be outdone.
"Is that how it is, then?" Pucey sneered, glaring at Killian with malicious intent. "And what, exactly, do you plan to do?" he went on, glancing over the motley crew that had gathered by his side. "There're five of us. Only two of you."
Killian drew his wand and swung it with purpose towards Montague. "Impedimentia!"
Caught off guard, Hermione jumped as a bolt struck Montague squarely in the chest, hurling him back several yards before he came to rest in the tall grass of the courtyard. The reverberation of Killian's jinx brought notice from many of the students wandering the grounds. Soon, a small crowd began to gather and huddle around the standoff.
"Four of you," Killian corrected, his wand still at the ready, as the remaining Slytherins' faces dropped in shock and awe, baffled by the preemptive strike.
Hermione's hand was shaking as she raised her wand to the ready. Although feeling no remorse for Montague, a slight pinch of fear crept over her as she looked into Killian's cold and emotionless eyes, now fixed upon Pucey. The remaining Slytherins gathered themselves and drew their wands. It appeared that in a matter of seconds, the area was going to digress into something that Hermione would rather not contemplate.
"What's all the fuss then?" came another welcomed voice as Fred and George Weasley came up alongside Hermione.
"Hey Hermione," Fred greeted in a jolly tone. "In a bit of a tussle, are you?"
"Wouldn't be fit to have a row without us," George added, eyeing the Slytherins with a silly grin.
"Not fit at all," Fred agreed.
Killian eyes never flinched as the Weasley twins stood by Hermione like some strange cross between lanky redheaded bodyguards and vibrant court jesters. No, his eyes remained locked on Pucey, monitoring his every pulse, waiting for the next move. It was now four on four. The playing field had been leveled.
"Shall we continue with this mathematical equation?" Killian queried, his eyes narrowing, his wand ready to strike.
Seeing that the odds were no longer in his favor, Pucey reluctantly lowered his wand. The rest of the Slytherins followed suit as Nott and Baddock helped a disorientated Montague to his feet. Killian lowered his wand, but held it firmly by his side, his focus still on Pucey. For Hermione, this was all becoming rather surreal. What had she started, and why was she suddenly filled with a confliction of fear and exhilaration?
"You've made your bed, Finn." Pucey scowled as the Slytherins walked off, Daphne returning to her place on Pucey's arm.
The crowd slowly dispersed, much to the chagrin of many of the onlookers. Not a moment too soon, as far as Hermione was concerned. She was sure that a gathering of students that large was certain to draw the attention of the faculty had it continued on for much longer. She certainly did not want to start the year in detention for being the cause of a riot on the school grounds.
"Well, aren't we popular this year?" George laughed, putting his arm around Hermione's shoulder as they watched the Slytherins retreat into Hogwarts.
"Very popular," Fred agreed.
"And who do we have here?" George gestured to Killian. "Scuffling within your own House? That's a bit off, isn't it?
"The Slytherin House at that," Fred added.
"And standing with a Gryffindor?" George went on.
Fred smiled and gave Killian a nudge in the arm. "One would have to wonder where your loyalties lie."
"Maybe he's a Slythindor," George suggested.
"Or a Grifferin," Fred suggested further.
Hermione could tell that Fred and George were having entirely too much fun. She also noticed that Killian seemed oddly uncomfortable. His eyes danced between Fred and George as they went on in their usual fashion, as if searching for the right words that would allow him to escape the current company and circumstances.
"Well, I'll say that I don't envy your visit to the common room this evening," George began.
"But any friend of Hermione is right with us," Fred finished.
"Do not draw any conclusions," Killian explained humbly. "I just happened along. That's all."
It pained Hermione to hear Killian deny her, but she knew that this was the course they had chosen. She and Killian were not exactly hiding their friendship, but they were not flaunting it either. Neither of them was entirely sure how cautiously or openly to proceed. As they had discussed in the past, the differences between their Houses could potentially wreak havoc.
"You happened along, all right," Fred concurred, dismissing Killian's humility.
"And blew Montague right out of his knickers," George added.
"An excellent strategy, by the way," Fred pointed out.
"Take out the biggest wand first," George agreed.
"You will have to excuse me, I have to get to class," Killian interjected as he bent down and picked up the envelope that had set this series of events into motion. "This was yours, I believe." He, once again, handed the envelope to Hermione. A slight, reassuring grin escaped the corner of his mouth as his eyes met with hers.
She took the letter and smiled, her cheeks warming. "Thank you."
With that, Killian walked off, leaving Hermione with the Weasley twins, who were still commenting on the distance that Montague had traveled while airborne. She watched as Killian disappeared into Hogwarts, wondering if Fred and George had picked up on anything. Did they actually believe his explanation about having come along by mere coincidence? They had certainly remarked about the oddity of a Slytherin standing by a Gryffindor. Contrary to what many thought, the Weasley twins were not as mindless and unobservant as they played themselves out to be, and they clearly must have suspected there was more to the altercation in the courtyard than what was being let on.
Alas, she dismissed her fears. Even if Fred and George had noticed, there were few people at Hogwarts whom she believed she could trust more with such a secret. She gathered herself up, tucking Killian's missive safely away in her robes with a heavy-hearted sigh. With the clock tower bell chiming, the trio made their way out of the courtyard and headed to class.
